#sure this can go on the Saint blog

[silens-oro]

Retreat to Safer Waters

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Dr. Jack Abbot x f!Reader (slow burn) Shared grief/Comfort

The Pitt Playlist located here Masterlist Pass Slowly Series Patron Saint, Are We All Lost Like You?

Synopsis: With a little encouragement, you initiate some free time with Jack. Word Count: 2.8k Content Warning: Spousal death discussion; fluff; HEALTHY communication A/N: This is the next installment of my Pass Slowly series. Between this and my Pope series, the only thing going through my brain is every TikTok "at the same damn time" edit with Abbot and Pope 😭 save me Please comment and reblog :)

Two Weeks Before Patron Saint, Are We All Lost Like You?

“So, anything new with you and Doctor Jack?” Chrissy asked as you were out to lunch. You took a half day at the office so you could get an early start on the weekend and catch up with your sister. It was a question she brought up frequently. You were currently sitting on the outdoor patio to a Mexican restaurant that you both frequented during the warm summers, chatting over drinks and some killer nachos. 

“The same thing that’s always going on with me and Jack -nothing. It doesn’t matter how many times you ask, Chris. The answer isn’t going to change.” You replied nonchalantly, sipping on your margarita. 

“He’s interested.” Chrissy said like it was the most obvious thing in the world to say. You scoffed, laughing nervously. 

“He’s not.” 

“Yes he is.” She argued back with a scoff.  

“He’s dealing with a lot, and I’m sure the last thing on his mind is dating anyone…much less me of all people. Believe me, Jack’s a great guy-”

“-Very attractive-” Chrissy let her sunglasses slide down the bridge of her nose and wiggled her eyebrows. 

“Christine!” 

“You’d have to be blind to not think so. Tell me I’m wrong! He’s older,” She started using her fingers to count, “Very attractive, incredibly kind, a doctor. I can keep going,” Chrissy shrugged, sipping on her mojito. “But I might run out of fingers.” 

“You’re not wrong, but the whole situation is-”

“Messy?” She finished for you. Nodding, you looked down at your drink and swirled the straw. .

“Yeah. And even if I was interested, there isn’t a way of going into this where I don’t feel gross about it.”

“So you have thought about it,” Chrissy’s grin was downright lecherous. 

“Of course I have, but Janine was my friend, Chris. It’s weird, right? He’s definitely off limits, right? Am I overthinking this? Is there anything to even overthink?” Christine waved her hand with a shrug, stealing a chip off the plate between you. 

“I mean, if he was going to move on with anyone, I’d think it would be with someone he’s already comfortable with, wouldn’t it?” Chrissy sighed your name. “I’ve seen it with my own two eyeballs, alright? You two are absolutely clueless, I swear to God. I think you need to initiate anything if that’s what you want, and it is -I know you better than you know yourself. Then the two need to have an honest conversation, and then maybe some hand stuff-”

“Christine!” Your jaw dropped to the ground and that grin was back on your sister’s face. She leaned closer to you and lowered her voice conspiratorially.

“I’m just saying! I’m sure he’s a little rusty-” 

“-Stop!” You snorted into your napkin, waving your arm to bat her away.

“You don’t want to kill the guy. Just give him a hand!” Chrissy was nearly howling as you felt the heat of embarrassment run through your entire body. “Or two.” 

“Enough!” You laughed through clenched teeth. 

You ran into Jack when you both got to the main door of the building the following morning. He was coming home from work and you were leaving for your Saturday morning yoga class. 

“Well, good morning, Dr. Abbot.” You greeted Jack cheekily as you stepped out of the elevator. “Busy night?”

“It was surprisingly quiet. Not my preferred tempo, but I got through it.” He sounded tired and if you could see his eyes through the dark sunglasses he wore, you’d see the weariness there too. 

“Take the victories, Jack, even if they’re small.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” He noticed the bag strapped to your shoulder that had your mat. “Got a lot to do today?” 

“Just a class and some errands. Nothing crazy, but I am going to that bakery on Easton. Want me to grab you a loaf of that bread you like? My treat.” 

“You don’t have to do that-” Jack started to argue the same argument anytime you went out your way for him, and you cut him off to give the same answer you always gave him back. 

“-Either I’m buying it for you -and I can steal a few slices, or I’m buying it for me, Jack, but either way it is coming home to one of us today.” He held his hands up, but smiled nonetheless. 

“Don’t gotta twist my arm about it.” Jack rubbed the back of his neck in an odd display of nervousness that you hadn’t seen from him before. “You uh, got any plans for the night?” Small talk with Jack wasn’t all that weird, but inquisitive small talk was. You didn’t want to overstep, so you never asked him anything personal out of respect, and in turn he never really dug into what you did when you weren’t hanging out together until very recently. 

It was a subtle shift, one that would go unnoticed with just about anyone else, but nothing was subtle when it came to Jack -not by your standards, anyway. He was generally an upfront kind of person, so to see him not in his usual state piqued your interest. Your thoughts went back to the conversation you had with your sister the day before. You need to initiate, she said. Just the idea made you want to puke on the spot. 

“Figure I’d put a movie on and order some takeout. It’s been a very long week and some relaxation is very much needed.” Jack nodded, hands stuffed into the pocket of his sweatshirt. 

“Yeah, I feel that.” He said with a sigh. Jack was looking at you like he was trying to analyze you, like he was trying to figure something out and you hadn’t the faintest clue what. The feeling of his unyielding eyes made you suddenly very nervous. 

“Are you interested in joining me? Unless you’re working -I know you usually have Saturdays off, but I also know your schedule can be wonky. You know what, you probably already have plans-” Jack chose to give you mercy at that point, cutting off your rambling.

“-I would very much like to join you. I’m off tonight, thankfully.” He clarified with a chuckle, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he took off his sunglasses. Jack knew that he shouldn’t even think about it, about you, but your genuine smile allowed him to push his doubts down and allow himself to be around another person. Put the effort in, his therapist told him. “Something is drawing you to her, and while it could be a fleeting moment, it could be something more, but you have to put the effort in to find that out.”

“Great!” You replied almost a little too quickly. “There’s a Korean place that just opened up a few blocks down that I’ve been dying to try. Seems like as good of a night as any.” You tried to play it cool, act nonchalantly about…whatever this was. “Six o’clock at my place. Sound good?”

Something was off the second Jack stepped into your apartment. It wasn’t bad, but it was noticeably different. Jack held himself differently than he usually did when he came over to hang out. He wore cologne that you hadn’t smelled in years. He wore jeans and a nice, casual shirt as opposed to the comfortable sweats and pullover he usually opted out for. He was still comfortable, but definitely more dressed up than he needed to be. You weren’t going to think about the little bit of extra effort you put into your appearance. If you were being honest, the whole vibe shift was enough to throw you through a loop. 

Jack’s eyes, the way they looked at you -through you- were also different. The intention was different. His calculating eyes held a look that you couldn’t quite read and every time you peered over at him on the other side of the sofa while the movie played in front of you, he was already looking in your direction with his brows furrowed.  

“I’m sensing something here. This is different.” You paused the movie as you turned to face Jack. He looked slightly thrown that you were facing this head on, but went with it for the sake of cutting the growing tension in the cozy living room. “Does this feel…”

“Strange?” He finished, slightly shifting his body to face yours on the sofa.

“A little, yeah,” You breathed out, setting the remote down on the coffee table. “It shouldn’t.”

“But it does.” You nodded.

“I don’t want this to be weird, Jack.” You stated the obvious, heart pounding in your chest. 

“I don’t think either of us wants this to be weird.” Jack chuckled.

“Then why is it weird? We’ve had movie nights before. We’ve gotten dinner together. We’ve hung out.”

“Is that what we’re doing? Hanging out?” Oh, your eyes widened. OH. Goddamn Christine was right and you were never going to hear the end of it once she found this out. 

“Is that not what we’re doing?” You raised an inquisitive brow at Jack as you tried to get him to say exactly what was going on in the event that you were reading into things differently than he was. Jack sighed, your name slipping through his lips as he gave you his full attention.

“It’s been…a long time since I’ve done this. I haven’t put myself out there since I lost Janine, maybe I am so horrifically far removed from being practiced with any of it, but If I’m being completely honest here, my intentions were…not to hang out.” You nodded, a slight giddiness rolling in your stomach.  

“Okay…so this is mutual?” There was still this lingering doubt in your mind that maybe he didn’t really want this and was just looking for…you didn’t really know, but it still gnawed away at your psyche. 

“I sure fucking hope it is.” Jack chuckled, nerves peaking through, dragging one out of you as well. Part of the weight that was carried on your shoulders regarding him lifted ever so slightly. There was going to be a lot to work through, for both of you, but he put himself out there and you weren’t going to leave him hanging. 

Jack held out his hand for you to take, pulling you into his side when you accepted it. His warmth instantly radiated through you when your body met his, enveloping you in a comfort you hadn’t felt in years. You stretched your legs out over the length of the sofa and allowed yourself to sink into Jack as he pressed play on the remote.  

“Shit,” You groaned out, somewhat disoriented and stiff as you tried to sit up. At some point in the night, you and Jack had shifted on the sofa and right now you were wedged between Jack and the back of the sofa with your face pressed against him. His scent had your head spinning momentarily before his own groans brought you back to the present. Jack’s drowsy eyes blinked up at you, his brain catching up to where he was and who he was with. “God, what time is it?” You reached over Jack to check your phone. It was nearing two in the morning and it felt like you and Jack were in between dimensions where inky the two of you existed. It was a bubble you didn’t want to break and it seemed that Jack had the same idea because he gently pulled you back down to him, only now you were partially laying on him. 

Everything about Jack was comfortable, you were finding out. Not just physically, but his entire aura put you at ease. His hand rubbed lazy circles along your back. Jack’s steady breathing, the up and down motion of his chest, started to lull you back to sleep. 

“We’re gonna have to talk about this, Jack, but I don’t know if now is the time to dive into it.”

“We can.” He assured you. His voice was just above a whisper and you felt his breath in your ear. “I can sense you have some reservations about this.” Opening your eyes, you tilted your head to look up at Jack. You kept your voice as low as his, not wanting to break the barrier of peace that settled around you in the dim comfort of your living room. 

“I feel like I’m…intruding, but not because of anything you’ve done. Janine was my friend and you were her husband and also my friend. And I have to say this out loud because the guilt I currently feel for even looking at you too long will eat away at me if I don’t.” Jack nodded for you to continue. “It almost feels like I’m poaching. I know I shouldn’t, but I do because I don’t want anyone, especially you, to think I’ve just been waiting in the rafters for my time to strike, you know? I never looked at you as anyone other than Jack, Janine’s Husband, while she was alive. I’m not the type of person who looks at their friend’s husband or partner and thinks anything other than platonic, neutral thoughts. And I don’t want you to do something you’re going to regret because you feel some sort of obligation-”

“-Have I been reading this wrong?” Jack started to shift under you.  

“I really hope not because I do like you, Jack, but I want to make sure that this is the right thing for you, you know?” His hand continued moving along your back as he thought for a moment. 

“I understand your concerns.” He started, “I also only saw you as Janine’s friend, to be clear.” You never doubted Jack’s loyalty for a single second. “In the last…god, I don’t know, year? I’ve thought about this, us…often. Just haven’t pushed myself to do anything about it until now.” Butterflies erupted in your chest. Jack gently tilted your chin up so he could look you in the eyes as he spoke. “This isn’t something I’m jumping into without any forethought -believe me. I don’t do anything without completely overanalyzing it. I’ve spoken with my therapist about the situation extensively and I’ve put the work in to navigate through every roadblock I’ve given myself on why I couldn’t move forward with my life when I desperately wanted to after almost four years without her.” You clasped your hand in his, feeling the roughness against your skin, and brought up up to rest on his chest between you. His thumb traced over your knuckles as he continued. 

“You understand who Janine was to me -who she still is, and that is so incredibly important. I’m not looking to forget her or to replace her.” The earnestness in Jack’s voice simultaneously broke your heart and mended it back together again. “She was a part of my life for almost twenty years and will continue to be a part of who I am until I’m long gone. I had to accept that my life would continue on, because it does. It’s agonizing at times, and there was a point where I thought I wasn’t going to make it out, but you’re the one who pulled me through it. Those meals you dropped at my door? Those meant everything. The space you gave me while letting me know you were there? That meant everything. Just knowing you cared kept me going some days. You’re a true-hearted person and Janine loved you fiercely.” Jack cleared his throat and looked away, but you saw the tears that started to line his eyes. 

Without a second thought, you tenderly turned him back to face you. Please don’t hide from me, you said with your eyes. 

“I realized it would be a very long and lonely existence if I didn’t allow myself to continue. It was only a matter of how I wanted to continue -to spiral until I was a shell of who I once was, a complete disservice to every second of Janine’s life that she gave to make me a better person. Or be that better person from the get-go because that’s the legacy she left me -to grieve her loss and honor her memory. That’s all she would’ve wanted from me. Letting all of that work go undone would’ve been worse than not mourning her at all.”

“That’s a beautiful perspective to have, Jack. One I don’t think a lot of people end up with when they’ve lost a spouse.” You brought his hand up and boldly kissed the back of it. “Thank you for sharing this with me. I can’t imagine how difficult this still is for you.”

“I care for you -deeper than a friend. And I’m not sure how to navigate this, but if you have the patience to spare, I’d really like to figure it out with you.” When you smiled up at him, he brought your hand up to his lips to reciprocate your earlier gesture.

please comment & reblog :)

[digiflora]

🌺 ᯓ★୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐘!

STARRING. ノ dan heng

request. ノ anon: helloo if it's right up your alley, could you do a danheng x reader hanahaki au? one where the reader thinks he and someone else have something going on given how caring danheng is through that stoic face of his! but really, danheng is just too kind and you're much too caught up with your own feelings

word count. ノ 3.4k

contains. ノ hanahaki!reader, u and dan heng r both kinda dumb, angst pertaining to the hanahaki trope, you can tell how old this fic is because it's set during the jarilo-vi story quest, some unfounded jealousy of march 7th?, mentions of death and injury and some graphic descriptions of blood and illness

gia's notes. ノ this was the very first request that i ever received on this blog. over a year ago. i drafted this fic and wrote out about 70% of it then let it rot at the bottom of my drafts. anon, you have the patience of a saint if you're still here.

THE MOMENT THAT YOU STEPPED FOOT ONTO THE ASTRAL EXPRESS, you had the sneaking suspicion that you were doomed. Your fate was set in stone as soon as you felt the hard encasing of a seed clutch the walls of your heart in a vice grip when you first laid eyes upon him.

Dan Heng was elusive. The others had been warm in their welcome, but it took the combined efforts of yourself and March 7th to find him hidden in the recesses of the train’s records room. His greeting was a mere nod in your direction before Welt required your presence again, but that’s all you needed.

His eyes were cool, practically piercing through your skin as March 7th ushered you pack to the parlour car, and you felt yourself shiver as his intense stare burned itself into the back of your head.

And while he’s intimidating, sure, that’s not why you stayed away from Dan Heng. He had a cold and callous exterior that you had never seen crack, yet all the same you had felt the start of a crush start to take root.

And this may not have been a problem at all if it weren’t for two details that were like a slap to the face for you.

One, you were fairly certain that Dan Heng had his eyes for March 7th.

And two, if your crush didn’t return your feelings, you would die.

It wasn’t a case of exaggeration, either. You had been aware of the fact that to develop feelings for someone was dangerous, as it had been drilled into you from a young age by your parents. They had gripped your hands, steering you away from other children with little more explanation than that, always chastised you for wanting to forge a human connection, keeping you isolated from the world around you, better safe than sorry.

And you had felt so alone.

Being forced to live a life in confinement was not an easy one, and despite your parents’ wishes, you had told them of your plan to to finally go out into the world, to live a life from experience and not watching it unfold as an impassive reader of a book or on your phone screen, danger be damned.

So it wasn’t really your fault that you had been so quick to develop those feelings that had been so often described in the books you read, as an explosion of butterflies erupted within you upon meeting someone else, another person for the first time.

And yet you found yourself in the same predicament- a watcher from afar. The heart wants what it wants was a bitter mantra that seemed to enjoy your misery as you watched March 7th excitedly chatter with Dan Heng, and you could have sworn the man even cracked the smallest of smiles at whatever she was saying. And really, could you blame him for it? March was kind, bubbly, outgoing- a perfect match for the stoic and seeming immovable Dan Heng.

It was more common sense than pessimism that had you concluding that you didn’t really stand a chance for his affections against someone like her. You doubt that Dan Heng even looked at you more than he had to. You, so secretive and elusive that you gave him a run for his money; and two similar poles never attracted each other. It was a funny hand that fate had dealt you, but you had to play with those cards regardless.

As if to mock you, you ducked away from the outskirts of the room, feeling a coughing fit coming. You had barely made it to your room before you doubled over, feeling your insides run ragged by the prickly thorns of the rose bush that grew inside you.

A single bloodstained petal fell into your palm.

Besides the quickly growing issue that you refused to acknowledge, life on the Astral Express wasn’t awful. You hadn’t yet confided in anyone about your condition, so to speak, and not entirely because you didn’t want to. To be completely honest with yourself, there was much that you didn’t know about it.

And so you timed it well- you waited for the subject of your affliction- for Dan Heng to leave his unofficial bedroom before you slipped through the door into the records room, desperate to find any sort of information that might help you find some sort of cure.

There was a small computer in the corner that you quickly typed your symptoms into- flower. unrequited love. coughing fits. You didn’t know if the single digit of entries was a cause for concern or not, but your brows furrowed as you began to scan through them. The number of obituary entries that were listed on this one document alone was making you shiver. You clicked out of it, about to open the next one before the door sliding open had you starting like a frightened animal.

Dan Heng strolled in, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline as he registered that you were in the room, in his room. He spoke your name, softly, as if trying not to scare you further. You would have said something, honestly, if it weren’t for the sudden explosive coughing fit that came on a lot quicker than usual.

You could barely get a word out before you were bent over from the force of your coughs, tears pricking your eyes from the newfound intensity of the pain coming from inside you. Despite your hands clasped over your mouth, a couple of petals escaped and fluttered down to the floor, some distance between you and the horrified Dan Heng.

He was frozen in place, fingers itching to reach out to you and comfort you, but with the way you practically flinched away from him, he wasn’t sure if his presence was wanted. He barely caught a glimpse of your pained face before you darted around him and back to your own room on the train.

Dan Heng scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration at his inability to act, before his attention diverted once again to the bloody petals on the floor, and the files on the record searcher that you hadn’t completely closed. He cast one last guilty glance back in your direction before heading closer to the screen and beginning to read.

The Trailblazers’ journey must progress, and your heart hammered for another reason other than a sighting of the raven-haired male who you still harboured feelings for. You had ultimately left your home to explore the world, and with the Express finally stopping at the planet Belobog- your promise to yourself was a step closer to being fulfilled. You disembarked alongside Stelle and March, doing your best to avoid Dan Heng like the plague ever since that fated day. You didn’t know how much he exactly knew, but you had no intentions of finding out.

Your plans of peaceful exploration, however, were short lived with the arrival of Silvermane guards to greet you. In the chaos of the smoke, it was not lost on you that Dan Heng had instinctively protected March, practically shielding her with his body. As Stelle dragged you along some backway path in pursuit of some mystery saviour, you felt the excruciating addition of a new thorn in your heart.

The adrenaline of the escape had worn off by now, and you could feel your secret threatening to spill over any second now. You could barely warn Stelle to let you move off to the side before you were keeled over, closer to gagging than coughing as a large ball of petals and dark, dark blood forced its way through your throat. You felt faint, barely registering the panicked calls of your name as you felt your world turn sideways, Stelle’s face and voice being quickly replaced by another deeper one, with fear in their eyes and a certain desperate edge as you felt yourself slip into unconsciousness.

It's a dreamless sleep, yet it isn't restful, judging by how you feel like you've been hit by a bus when you sit up. Every fibre of your being aches, and there's a harsh overhead light that dazzles you as you blink awake.

As your eyes grow accustomed to it, there's a surge of panic as you don't recognise your surroundings. It looks like a clinic of some sorts- and there was the cloying smell of chemicals that invaded your nostrils. You struggled to sit up, until you felt a hand place itself gently against your chest.

A dark-haired woman with a doctor's coat smiles down at you warmly, and you eye her warily.

"Who are you?"

"My name's Natasha, I'm a doctor in the Underworld. Try not to move around too much, dear. You've been unconscious for quite some time and your condition is unstable, you still need rest."

"Where's the people that I was with?"

"They've all awoken a few hours before you." She casts a quick glance at the clipboard in her hands, as if to fact check herself, giving herself a quick satisfactory nod. "Don't worry, you haven't been abandoned. They should be just outside. The young man sat by your bedside while you were unconscious only left a few minutes ago- he got whisked away by one of my... colleagues."

Your mind's racing now, wondering who she could be talking about. Hoping that it was who you thought it was. But she reiterates her request to lie back down, and you comply begrudgingly. You start to settle down, until you catch a glimpse of the mess lying atop your blankets. A visceral combination of blood and crumpled petals rest upon the fabric, and you watch the doctor's expression become grave.

"That is the unstable part of your condition that I wanted to discuss." She pulls up a chair besides you, settling neatly, hands folded in her lap. "How long have these symptoms been ailing you?"

You furrow your brows, recalling how they started a mere month or two ago, after you joined the Astral Express. After you met him.

"A couple of months." Natasha nods, a frown forming on her face again.

"Considering how quickly it has developed, I imagine that your case is rather severe." You shrug, a humourless smile on your face.

"There's not much that I can do about it, Doc."

"I'm sure that you're aware of the risks that come with a confession, but as a bystander rather than a doctor, I think that you should talk to him."

"Who?"

"The man who refused to leave your side for all of these hours."

You hoped that Natasha was right. Deciding to ignore her advice of continued bed rest, you force yourself up, walking out of the clinic in search of him. Welt was no young man, and there wasn't anyone else that came to mind based off of Natasha's description. It couldn't be anyone else than him, right?

You stumble out onto the streets of the Underworld, garnering a few odd looks from passerbys as you wander around, looking for not just Dan Heng but anyone that you recognised.

You round a corner, seeing the back of a head and clothing that looks an awful lot like him. Who you're planning to confess to. You call his name, out loud, voice a little hoarse.

And he turns, beautiful crystalline eyes meeting yours. Call it a trick of the light, but you could have sworn that they shone a tad lighter when he saw you. But your gaze drifted past him, and all bubbling hope was quelled once again in your heart as you recognised the figure of March 7th stood with him.

Of course he would be with her.

If you looked closer at the pair of them, all signs indicated an intimacy to them that made you feel sick. There was a serious look on her face, one of her hands rested against his arm, but she soon recognised you too, her face instantly perking up as she began to ran towards you, calling your name.

"You're finally awake, you're OK!" she calls out in delight, her arms wrapping around you as she practically barrels into you, threatening to knock you off balance. You stumble, returning the hug, the nausea turning to guilt as you remember how the girl has been nothing but good to you. Of course Dan Heng would harbour feelings for her, not you.

The Doctor's order was wrong.

You sigh to yourself in defeat, unwinding your arms and shooting March 7th the best smile that you could muster in the moment.

"I feel better, but I'm still feeling weak so I might go back to the clinic."

March 7th frowns, eyes scanning your figure in concern.

"Are you OK, Y/N?"

"Do you want me to walk you back?" You twitched, not even realising that Dan Heng had caught up to the pair of you. He was also looking at you with concern, and you could feel an onslaught of petals coming.

"No, it's fine, I'll go back on my own." You don't really give either of them the chance to respond, spinning on your heel and trying not to run back from where you came.

You felt... worse. Before, you had at least been able to function, but now you felt so much limper, and weaker. You cursed at yourself for allowing false hope to be instilled, just as the coughing begins. It wracks through you, so hard that you almost dry heave as you keel over, and you watch in horror as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and see it come back crimson.

At least the clinic was around the corner.

You barely make it inside, unable to stand up straight by this point. Natasha springs to action, helping you back into a bed, helping you through the worst of the coughing. It's so much more draining than before, and you're quick to fall into a fitful sleep.

Even unconscious, you don't get a reprieve. Even in your dreams, he's all you can think of. There's a spitting image of him stood before you, eyes soft and voice like honey as he calls out to you, hands outstretched. And you try to join him, fingers straining to touch his before you watch them turn into branches and flower before your very eyes. You look down, and it hurts, with brambles wrapping themselves around your middle. And just as fast as they grow, your new floral appendages wilt before your very eyes. Branches drooping, flowers losing their hue, and you feel yourself start to fade, his name one last desperate cry from your lips.

You wake up, tears staining your cheeks and you trembling. For a few panicked seconds, you think you're still dreaming because he is here, sat by your bed, and as he stands up to wipe your tears you shrink back in fear of turning back to branches again.

But his warm palm cups your face, solid against your trembling state, deft thumbs wiping away your tears, an uncharacteristically soft hushing and cooing coming from Dan Heng as he promises you that everything is okay now.

It's easy to believe him, with the way he moves even closer to hold you, cradle your form against his warmth, patting your hair and letting you cry until you can't any more amidst the petals on your bedsheets.

You don't know how long the pair of you stay like this, your face pressed into his chest, his heartbeat leading yours back into the range of one at rest rather than its prior pounding against your ribcage. You would stay there for the rest of time, if you had a choice, but you had to admit that the oxidation of blood and its drying against your skin was making you feel ever so slightly uncomfortable.

You clear your throat, as best as you can in your hoarse state, and Dan Heng picks up on your withdrawal as he all but flinches away from you, returning the distance that usually lies between your two bodies. But his eyes still scour your figure, your face, for any and all signs of discomfort. Like a lover would. The thought melds with the already-bitter taste of blood residing against your tongue, and you frown down at your lap. At the petals. At your pathetic form lying beneath the blanket, obscured from view.

“How long has this been happening for?” Dan Heng sounds so timid, as if he were walking on glass sheets around you. Ever since that fateful day in the records room, it felt like he had done nothing but tiptoe and tread around you, a careful dance of avoidance that you were forced to be his partner in. You sigh deeply, a hand gingerly beginning to gather the gorey sight of such beautiful pink marred by the visceral crimson that remained, not yet dried.

“I’ve had it all my life, apparently, but it only started making itself known once I joined the Astral Express.” Once I met you.

“I, um- I looked into it more. In the records.” His admission made you snap your head up to face him, cautious of his next words, whatever they may be. He looked nervous himself, with eyes that refused to meet yours and fingers that twisted into his clothes, toying with the hem of his jacket.

“I read of many such cases where people were able to make a full recovery.” He sounds so hopeful, even daring to meet your eyes, that you almost feel bad for him. It was like looking back at a past version of yourself, so hopeful for a happy ending that once sparkled in your eyes, now a dull flicker you can see when the lighting is just right.

“It’s not that simple, Dan Heng.”

“What do you mean, it said that there weren’t any later cases of symptoms returning-”

“That’s because it’s not an illness from the body.” You’re snappier than you intend to be, you see it in the way his mouth snaps shut and his throat bobs against his collar, as he sits up straighter, waiting for you to continue. “The only cure is to confess to the person that I love.”

“And why haven’t you?” His voice is barely above a murmur, and even from his place in the seat next to our bed, you hear him just fine.

“Because I’m sure that he has eyes for another.” You’ve collected all the petals in your palm by now, observing them with a dry humour as you notice that they’ve begun to wither, much like yourself. You doubt that you could go on much longer after this conversation. Part of you urges to get it over with, to confess now and let yourself bloom with one last glance upon his face.

Dan Heng must have scoured each and every record, because you didn’t need to offer an explanation of what would happen with such unrequited feelings. He’s silent again, an awkward and palpable tension as you can feel his confliction from here.

He finally manages a lame “you never know” that has you laughing, a brief reprieve before you dissolve into another coughing fit. It’s hardly something to worry about, but Dan Heng is by your side again, palm smoothing over your shoulder blades as you are wracked with coughs. You appreciate it nonetheless.

“What would happen if someone else confesses to you?” You shoot him a sideways glance, confusion written all over your features, urging him to elaborate. “What if you held no feelings for them, but they confessed to you all the same. Would that cure you?” He’s earnest now, hands scooping up your dirtied ones, clasping them in his grasp as he looked at you with stars in his eyes.

Your shrivelled heart begins to beat again.

“What- what do you mean?” Play dumb. Don’t mistake curiosity for what you desire most.

“What if I told you right here and now that I love you?” His eyes are searching yours, pleading with you for an answer that you’ve been screaming at him for so long. One that he does not have to search for, because it’s been laid there at his feet this whole time.

“I would tell you, Dan Heng, that such a confession is not unrequited.” You’re grinning now, the smile on your face growing wider and wider as you watch recognition flood his features.

And then he’s smiling too, laughing, holding you ever closer to him before he pulls away again, just to cup your face now. It’s only natural to close the distance between the two of you, lips touching his for a kiss that quickly becomes searing, welcoming a new season of heat into your body.

The thorns in your heart reside. Spring begins to bloom.

➤ IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY ... enjoy the silence

roommate!dan heng x reader

➤ alternatively, you can find my hsr masterlist here!

[yoonmetogether]

not in the cards prelude pt. 3

pairing: gambler/drug dealer!yoongi x grad student!fem!reader rating: mature MDNI! 18+ only. Blank/ageless blogs will be blocked!!! genre: strangers-to-lovers, age gap, intro to e2l mafia/bodyguard au summary: he takes his time with you. will he make it last? warnings/tags: angst, scars, theft, implied gang activity/violence, 97% smut lolol, oral (m. and f. receiving), usage of sl*t, tit/ass smacking, slight masochism, cock warming, yoongi’s kinda a dom, reader’s kinda shy but mostly a brat, bantering, dialogue heavy, reader cries, a crumb of fluff, yoongi pov (he's going thru it), pls let me know if i missed anything!! also this is barely proofread so my bad for any mistakes, i'll go back and fix stuff eventually i just need this out of my system lol wc: 11.6k lmaooooooo thanks again to my beta reader @yoonglesyeobo for her fantastic support and feedback; to @syllviere for helping me come up with mafia names for jin and jungkook, and figuring out some lines and scenes and character development (her mind is just 😩🤌); and finally to @moochii-daisies for giving some wonderful commentary <3333 y'all are amazinggggggg

masterlist

The first thing that drew you to Min Yoongi was his voice. Husky and mystifying, like a storm settling down on the distant horizon after a night of raging, dragging you into the dark depths of lust and filth and enthrallment. Then his hands, warm between your legs and even warmer wrapped up in your fingers.

Now, it’s his hooded brown eyes as he stares at you, pressing you into the wall of the foyer, shoes off, hat and bag and bandanna dropped. Your blood roils when he leans in close, his face dewy, flushed, and beautiful. Ethereal.

That small pinch in his brows returns, and just as you’re about to crack at him with a defensive ‘the fuck are you looking at’ to rival the pressure in your chest, he raises a hand to press on the wall above your head. Leftover rain drips down the tips of his stringy bangs as his slow blinking stare moves to and doesn’t falter from your mouth.

He cups your chin, running a thumb down the corner of your lip, underneath it, an unreadable expression on his face and then he kisses you again; soft, gentle. Slow.

You’re pressed between his chest and the wall as he licks embers into your mouth, your hands sliding up to his clothed, solid muscles. Once on his shoulders and under the jacket, he drops his arms so you can shove it down to the floor, hands falling to your waist and gripping tight, pushing your hips into his.

In a somewhat coordinated fashion, he moves you over to the bed, and you end up in between his legs again as he sits on the edge, letting him tear off your jacket and shirt and unclip your bra, strewing them over the bed. You comb through his wet hair as he trails his lips down your sternum, across your breasts. His mouth attaches on your bare tit, lips pursing and tongue lapping against the bud, making your head tip back in bliss.

Your nails scratch his scalp and he purrs over your skin, mouth alternating between your nipples as you end up touching over his shoulders, the wet cling of his t-shirt.

“Can I take this off?” you request softly, pulling at the fabric on his shoulder.

“Turn the light off first.” Your eyebrows knit and you want to ask what he’s hiding from you, but you’re sure if you made the request, he’d comply without question. You kiss him before moving away, his hands lingering on your waist until you’re out of reach.

Prior to casting the room into darkness, you remember to retrieve a condom - the very reason you ventured out in the middle of the night. You toss it in his direction that he catches with ease and move back to the table, stuffing the bag of food in the minifridge and finally switching off the lamp. When you return to him, you waste no time yanking off his shirt, and he raises his arms with a chuckle at your eagerness.

The only light comes from a distant lamp outside, and the occasional illuminations from the storm, allowing you to at least see the silhouette of his torso. In awe, you drag your hands down, smoothing over his chest, tracing the subtle lines of muscle as you kiss him. But your eyebrows furrow when you pass over a small area of raised skin on his right shoulder, just under his collarbone. You run your thumb across it, stomach dropping when you feel that it’s particularly… round.

This shouldn’t come as a surprise. But it shocks you, only because you hate the thought of where he got it from. And how many more just like it he has.

When you part, your meddlesome tongue loosens to drop a blunt question, but his tough hand pulls your wrist away from that spot.

“Don’t say anything,” he pleads under his breath, and your heart twinges at the pain radiating from that soft whisper and you have no desire to inflict more of it. Fingers tenderly tangled in his hair, you tilt his head up and kiss him with your silent promise that this is territory you won’t ask questions about. He sighs against you, shoulders deflating.

“My turn,” you mumble, trailing kisses down his jaw, his neck, to his chest and sternum, sinking to your knees. He spreads his legs as you work open his belt and jeans, pulling them down with his boxers, tantalizingly slow. He kicks them away once they reach his ankles and you plant your hands on his thighs, slowly caressing up to his hips, humming at his soft skin. 

“The universe took its time with you, huh?” you muse, straying from his exposed dick so you can feel over his slightly toned stomach, and clarify in a murmur,

“I mean all of you when I say that.”

Nothing answers you, but you don’t mind as you gently wrap your fingers around his hard length, long and thick and barely able to fit in one hand. He takes a shuddering breath and leans back as you let spit fall onto his tip, spreading it with your thumb to mix with the precum that dribbles out at your ministrations.

As you take him into your mouth, the low growl that tapers on the end of his sigh as you wrap your lips around him and suck only makes you wish you could see more than the silhouette of his expression to know what you’re starting to do to him.

Hollowing your cheeks and relaxing your throat, you prepare to take more of him in. His hips jerk as you bring him further back into the wet heat of your mouth, both of you moaning when he hits the back of your throat and he apologizes for his involuntary thrust.

Dismissively shaking your head, you take him even more and pause, doing your best to accommodate him, tears squeezing from the corners of your eyes shut in concentration. He bucks his hips again, moaning when you take him a little further and gag, goosebumps covering your skin as he brushes back a loose strand of hair on your forehead.

“You sound so fucking hot choking on my dick, dollface,” he groans, fingers pressing into your scalp, and you keep going to draw out more of his sounds and praise, pairing it with twists of your hand on his shaft.

Jaw aching, you divert a little attention to his balls, and your clit throbs at his loud moan as you suck one into your mouth, continuing to jerk his shaft.

It doesn’t take long for him to mutter out, “Shit, I’m close.”

"Already?” Because of course you have to tease as you bring your mouth back to his shaft.

“I’ve been hard for hours.”

“Poor you.”

He scoffs and pushes at your head to send you back down on his dick, so you increase your pace of twisting and bobbing, salivating at his breathy moans warning his release.

Suddenly, he sharply inhales and stands up, knocking you on your haunches, large palm on the top of your head angling it back. Lightly smacking your hand away, he pushes into your mouth to thrust in and out with your tongue laid flat on a thick vein.

With one buck of his hips and then another, he pulls out, growling as he rapidly jerks himself, knuckles tapping your lip and chin.

“Fuuuuck,” he drawls as his release ropes onto your tongue, and your eyes close at the heat sliding down your throat, swallowing all of him down.

“Good girl.” And then you’re roughly tugged up by your elbows to stand chest to chest with him, lips smashing onto yours with an immediate tongue in your mouth.

You let him kiss you in this fiery way of his 

“Lay down. I’m gonna ride you.”

“Oh, are you calling the shots?” He muses, plopping back down.

“I’ve been calling the shots this entire time. Problem?”

“Yeah,” he puffs. “Still you.”

Shaking your head, you lift yourself by your knees onto the mattress as he maneuvers to rest against the headboard, fingers trickling the outsides of your thighs as you straddle him.

You squint as he sticks his two middle fingers in his mouth, rolls them over his tongue, and pulls them out with a lewd pop. You fall forward to grab onto his shoulders as he slides through your folds and curls into your cunt, scissoring you open.

“Can you come just from my fingers, dollface?”

“No, I need you.”

A rumble of thunder fills a pause before he asks, “Need me? How.”

“Fucking me,” you rasp. “Please.”

“I didn’t think you could be so polite.”

“Like you’ve had great manners,” you grit.

He chuckles and removes his fingers, sucking them into his mouth again. Your thighs shake, pussy throbbing, desperate to be filled again.

After he finishes tasting you, he locates the condom and tears it open while you take the time to rise on your knees, hands on the back of his head, kissing and licking along his neck, under his jaw, over the small hoops in his ear. He hums and leans into the marks you make on the column of his throat, arm flinging to the side to dispose of the wrapper before one hand goes to your hip, the other to the back of your neck, tugging you down to lock his mouth with yours.

Slowly sinking into his lap, you grind over his protected length that bobs in response. Lips locked, you reach between your legs to grab his dick, moving the head to gather up your slick, and when that’s not enough, you retract your hand to spit in it and jerk his shaft to lube up the rest of him. He hums deeply in approval, tilting towards you and leaning back on his hand as you slowly guide him in.

He breaks the kiss and your skin prickles with the sensation of his eyes roving up and down your naked form, palm coasting down your side to your back and ass. Breathing shakily, your nerves freeze from the pressure of it all.

“Gotta relax, baby.” His sultry tone lodges a pathetic moan in your throat.

“I am, you’re just fucking big,” you snap and he chuckles, massaging and kissing over your breast.

“You took me just fine before.”

“I was desperate.” You hiss as his teeth tease your nipple.

“Mmm. And now you want to take your time? Don’t stroke my ego too much.”

“You’re right, it’ll get as big as your head and no one wants that.” He smacks the side of your tit in retaliation and you yelp at the sting, but a dirty tingle in your gut wants him to do it again.

“Annoying fucking brat.”

“You weren’t saying that when you were fucking my face just now.”

“Because your big mouth was full and you couldn’t talk back. It was actually kind of nice.”

Keeping your head down, you take a deep breath to try and calm your racing pulse, but you can still feel him checking out your naked form, hand smoothing over your waist. You want to do this, but you can’t relax.

“Can you maybe just… not look at me?” you request quietly, pressing your fingers into his shoulders to pass over some of your stress.

“Why? Am I making you nervous?” Heart thudding at his teasing tone, you clap a palm over his mouth and push him away to get him out of your face. He falls back against the headboard with a harmless laugh, both hands resting on your thighs.

“What are you- oh,” he says as you unmount him, only to turn around to sit over his lap, knees on the inside of his legs, breathing freely now that you’re not facing him. You adjust your stance with your feet wiggling under his thighs, and he shifts down a little closer, head of his cock landing on the center of your ass and with a small moan, you lift up so he can prod your entrance but not push any further, seemingly waiting for you to take the lead. Finally out of your head, you feel a little less pressure and slowly sink back onto him.

“Fuck, there you go,” he hums as you completely sheathe him and find your bearings, basking in the fullness. Then the soft murmur that follows flings your pulse into a frenzy.

“I meant what I said earlier. You’re beautiful.”

And just like that, his simple assurance, which you (for once) believe whole-heartedly, gives you confidence. You start out slow and gentle, this position not one you’re wholly experienced with, but one that takes some of the performance pressure off. Fighting for breath, you arch your back, and receive a small hiss in response, and then, a growl. 

“Lean forward a bit,” he encourages, palm pressing on your lower back and your nerves tremor at the tender velvet in his tone. Accepting his guidance, you let out a wanton moan as your adjusted posture allows him to fill every inch of you at a delicious angle.

It takes a second to find your rhythm, what movements and angles give you the most pleasure, silently grateful for his hands on your ass supporting you.

“Yeah, use me,” he grunts, a harsh swat and grope of your ass sending a pleased yelp to the ceiling. “My good fuckin’ slut.”

You stutter out a whimper, the possessive term something you could get dangerously hooked on, despite doubting that he means it literally. He’s just caught up in the moment.

Right?

Grinding back on him, slick sounds of his hard cock sliding in and out of every inch of your core mix with his gratified purrs.

“Damn, this pussy is driving me crazy.”

“Good.” He huffs and swats your ass.

“Brat. Where’s my bandana?”

“You want me to go get it?”

“Nah. Stay right here.”

Lightning flashes, and his words sends a shiver down your spine just as thunder cracks. You watch the windows in front of you rattle with nature’s vibrations and for a moment as you roll and grind on him in a somewhat sloppy rhythm, you focus on the tempest whirling around outside, blackening the ocean, dark waves smashing up on the stone wall near where you were just sitting on Yoongi’s lap as he smoked.

But then he starts uttering praises and pleased hums, hand never straying from your ass, and your mind goes blank as you focus on your motions to evoke more of his enticing sounds.

Thighs starting to ache at the exertion, you find purchase with your fists on the mattress between his legs and arch forward, jaw dropping in a gasp when his cock hits a spot so deep inside you that you see infinite, sparkling galaxies behind your closed eyes. Riding through the strain, you whimper in ecstasy as he moans behind you, kneading your ass in continuous support of your riding.

Ultimately, your muscles give out in exhaustion, so you groan and tip forward, fingers finding his ankles as you stop to catch your breath and he grabs onto your waist to hold you in place.

“You alright?”

“I’m tired.”

“Had enough?” You shake your head.

“Good. I’m not done with you.” His promise is gruff as he pushes you off and handles you to the head of the mattress, stuffing pillows under your head before standing on his knees outside of your legs, forcing your ass into the air with a firm grip on your hips. Adjusting one of the pillows to comfortably prop yourself up, you use it to muffle a moan when he lazily slaps your clit with his cockhead, circling it a few times before gliding to your fluttering hole.

Hand pressing down on your spine, he rolls into you, easily finding that patch of nerves and hitting it with steady thrusts. You bury a prolonged moan into the pillow, eyes squeezing shut in a telepathic prayer, thanking the universe for throwing this dangerous man in your life when you least expected but needed him most.

You’re not alone now.

And then he fills you to the brim, making you whimper as he starts fucking you at a languid pace, completely contrary to the ardent rhythm he set in the closet, but you take it with pleased moans. But at some point you find yourself moving on your own accord, whining your hips to meet his thrusts, desperate to bring out that demon in him.

“You keep trying to take over, dollface,” he muses, letting go of your hips completely when you don’t stop rocking back on him. “Not that I’m complaining, but I thought you were tired.”

“Maybe I want you to go harder.”

He hums, smoothing both palms over your ass to your lower back.

“If you want something, you could try that polite thing again.”

You suck in a deep breath. “Fuck me harder. Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Please, Yoongi!”

He chuckles and then slams into you, sending your conscience to travel in another plane of existence, fucking you until you’re so far gone, you don’t even realize you’ve been chanting his name like a song you never want to stop singing.

“Not gonna lie, I hate you for winning my money, Angel,” he grumbles, bringing you back down to earth. “Fuckin’ hustler.”

“Is that why you really came back?” you taunt out in between moans. “So I could make it up to you?”

He suddenly stops and roughly yanks you up by your shoulder, handful of your tit, pinning your back to his chest.

“You made it up to me in that closet,” he tells you thunderously. Another bolt of lightning brightens the room for a split second, a boom from the sky responding loudly a few seconds later. But you barely notice over the blood storming in your ears.

“I came back because I can’t get you out of my head. Happy?” He says it like you shouldn’t be, lips ghosting the shell of your ear.

“Are you admitting that you like me?”

“I’m not fucking admitting anything,” he snarls, distracting you from the scorn in his tone with his fierce re-entrance after he lets you fall, snapping into you and picking up his unwavering pace.

Dare you say impassioned?

The echoes of squelching matches the smacks of skin as he pounds into you relentlessly, cock plunging deep and rigorous, and your mind dissolves when his balls roughly slap your clit.

He angles against your spot and keeps his momentum there, the fire in your belly growing hotter, tightening your muscles, heightening your whines, jellifying your mind.

“You gonna come again for me, hm?” he coos in a cocksure timbre.

Smug bastard, you say to yourself, not realizing you’ve spoken out loud until he delivers another smack to your ass with a low chuckle.

Grabbing your hip, he lowers himself on top of you, chest pressed into your back, sinking you further into the mattress. Mewling as you’re heated and weighed down by his flushed skin, he curves his arm around your head so your face is nestled in the crook of his elbow, driving into you at a fast, consistent pace.

“Yoongi!” you wail, breath collapsing as he fucks you to your peak. “Don’t stop! Please, I’m-“

The words catch in your throat as your climax approaches, and he reaches under to stroke your clit, the muscles on his bicep flexes just as he growls right in your ear, “Come.” 

The simple word muttered in his low, lusty tone is the final push to the edge of a tsunami-esque wave of pleasure, mouth hanging open soundlessly. For once you’re speechless, like the force of your orgasm depleted all the brain waves responsible for forming cohesive sentences or even thoughts. His mouth sucks hard on the back of your shoulder, rolling his hips at a sharp pace so he can drag his dick through every inch of your core. He hits you deep over and over and over as you pulse, violent and overpowering, and you feel the need to scream. The only way to muffle yourself is by biting something and the closest thing is his bicep. So you scrape your teeth on his bulging muscle, and he groans, grabbing your ass as his elbow tightens a pinch more around your head.

“Harder,” he demands in a growl, and you obey, clamping down. The divots you’re leaving in his skin are enough to nearly draw blood, but it doesn’t seem to phase him as he ruts into you.

In fact, you think it’s spurring him on.

He slides up, tags on the back of your neck, clenching the sheets beside your head and burying his face in your neck as he uses the support of his thighs to ruck into you with thorough, earnest thrusts. Is he trying to split you in half?

In the midst of your spiral, your heart palpitates upon just barely hearing him whisper with lips and chains weighing on your skin,

“Fuck have you done to me?”

You shudder. You could ask him the same question.

And then he pulls out of you, lifting up so an onslaught of slightly chilled air encompasses you. You don’t have time or the mind capacity to object before his hands on your waist roll you onto your back and, bleary eyed, you gawk up at his pallid features blurred by the darkness - his broad chest heaving, biceps flexing, damp bangs and long chains dangling in the air.

His fingers brush up your sides, trailing across your stomach, kneading into your breasts and your skin prickles with sweat and electricity. He ducks his head to kiss down your neck, your sternum, then to lick over your nipples.

Oh, god. Can he feel how fast your heart is pounding? It’s not just from the aftermath of your orgasm.

He continues his descent and on his knees hunches over, fingers digging into your ass to tip up your hips. Your back arches with a pitiful moan when he ravenously slurps at your cunt, drinking in your cum and humming gravelly as he swallows. At this rate, he’ll make you shatter into pieces and you don’t think you can handle it.

So you weakly wrench his hand from your hip, and he sets you down, pulse faltering when he slips back inside you before falling forward to hover above you, one hand on the headboard.

He shifts to fuck into you so deep, and when you reach up to tangle your fingers in the links, he drops his arm from the headboard, caging you in.

Getting high off the sounds of him breathing heavily and moaning darkly, head ducked to watch his hips clap against yours, you slide your hands up and down his torso, brows pinching when you coast over more areas of raised and jagged skin; some long and linear, others small and circular like the one by his clavicle. So many violent scars on his ribs, his chest, his back.

Just like you expected.

And at that, unexpected tears prick the corners of your eyes. Soon the sides of your face flood, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down so you can hide the streaks in his neck, biting your lip in a poor attempt to stop your cries.

A few intense thrusts in, you moan, but a small whimper followed by a sniffle slips out, and his hips roll to a stop, pulling halfway out and lifting to plank above you. You shut your eyes to avoid his stare, more tears squeezing out.

“Hey, you crying?” he asks this gently, no judgement in his hushed tone. Concern? Maybe. Care? …

“I’m fine.” The croak in your voice betrays you.

“We can stop.”

“No, it’s-” you scramble for anything but the real reason you’re shedding tears for him. “I’m glad you came back. And not just for this.”

He doesn’t say anything and you don’t expect him to. Although you want nothing more than to know what he’s thinking about you, about what you just said, about the fact that you’re laid up beneath him fucking crying, you’re content with the fact that he’s just still here.

“I get scared thinking about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t shown up.”

Okay, that’s real. You doubt that the symbol on your neck would’ve deterred those men from getting what they wanted when you’re so far from home.

“Hmm, girl like you can fight, no?”

“You maybe,” you quip with a sniff. He chuckles, breath and tips of his bangs tickling your forehead. “But not all those guys at once.”

“Well, then I guess you’re lucky I found you just in time,” he says, voice soft and small.

“And you’re lucky I’m letting you stay here for free.”

“So, we’re even.”

“Not yet.”

Fisting his hair, you tug him into a searing kiss, free hand sneaking to his ass, eliciting him to moan over your tongue and move again.

Legs bent next to his waist, your nails rake up and down his back, scratching harder when he grunts and increases his rhythm, face dipping to pant against your throat.

“Where can I come?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you wheeze, and he growls, sucking a sloppy bruise under your ear.

Your teeth end up on his shoulder, and you bite like you did before, hardly anticipating the sharp hiss that he sucks in as he surges forward, balls deep, spilling heavily into the condom.

“Mm, Angel,” he moans, staying in a spot inside you that sucks him in tighter as he comes, hard and drawn-out, dick pulsing wildly in place, purring for an entire low and long exhale.

“Shit, I meant to-” He starts pulling out and you curl a hand over the side of his neck.

“It’s fine.” You make a mental note to get a pill first thing after you wake up.

“You just-”

“What?” But he shakes his head.

Softening inside you, he starts to pull out, but a spike of panic has your knees pressing against his sides, arms wrapping around his neck to hold him in place.

You don’t want him to leave at all.

“No, stay,” you whisper, scared that as soon as this moment is gone, everything will be over. “Just for a minute.”

Silence permeates the air, and more panic joins the energy wearing off in your veins as you fear you just messed everything up. When he pulls out, apologies tumble from your lips, but he just shifts you onto your side, settles behind with a hand on your lower back, skin a buzz away, and gently pushes back into you, arm passing above your head.

“A minute.”

Eyes closing at the feeling of being so full, and not just from what’s in between your legs, your hand finds its way into his palm. His wrist bends but his fingers don’t curl over yours when you tangle them together. You take a deep inhale to try and calm your pounding heart, hoping he can’t tell just how much you’re overwhelmed by this moment.

By him staying so close, not leaving, not pushing you away, despite how fucking intimate this is.

“I’m sorry I was a jerk to you, Angel.”

“So he can apologize.” Teeth graze your earlobe and you only giggle, but your chest swells with gratitude.

“Well, I’m sorry I hustled you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Then I’m sorry I made trouble for you by winning all of their money and not thinking that they’d come after me.”

You turn your head in an attempt to look at him over your shoulder and despite the darkness, you can feel his dark eyes piercing into yours.

“You weren’t under any obligation to help me, and the fact that you did anyway is why I opened the door.”

Rain playing in the background, your heart pounds when you’re unable to break this stare, a newfound tension growing that ignites once he captures you in a chaste kiss. You relax into it, ignoring the strain in your neck so you can soak in all of these unspoken feelings the two of you are passing over your tongues. He breaks it with a small pop, lips dragging across your cheek and you turn away, unable to quell the whizzing in your chest.

A moment later, his fingertips press ever so lightly over your knuckles, his mouth pressing to your shoulder and an involuntary smile appears on your face that you’re glad he can’t see.

“We can’t fall asleep like this, dollface,” he mumbles after a short while, voice worn and thick in his throat.

You want to protest, but you’re sure you’ll sound pathetic, not in your right mind. Biting your tongue, he gently pushes at your waist and slips out and both of you moan at the loss.

Your bottom lip juts in a deep pout when he climbs off the bed and shuffles away to the bathroom, the snap of the condom coming off accompanying him.

When the door closes, you roll onto your stomach to plunge your head under the pillows, floating back down to earth and into reality -  that you just slept with a stranger and it was the best goddamn sex of your life. You want to scream into the bedding to release all of these emotions mounting inside of you, ones that you could define if you weren’t so afraid of them.

After a minute or a century, the edge of the mattress dips and the pillow lifts from your head, but you just bury your face further into the sheets.

“Oh, good, you didn’t die this time either,” he teases, the humor in his tone at your expense making you never want to roll over.

“Fucked you quiet, huh? Finally.” You shove your middle finger back in his face because that’s the only part of you that can move at the moment. He pushes it away with a laugh and a gentle tug on your elbow forces you onto your side and you begrudgingly take in the cool air stenched with sex. Room still swathed in darkness, you’re unable to see how he’s looking at you but at least notice that he’s once again covered by the robe.

“You should get up.”

“Already bossing me around?”

“Fine, get a UTI for all I care.” You scoff as he stands, then raise yourself up with your arms crossed over your chest. You’ve barely moved but your ass is already so fucking sore. You’re gonna pay for that when you have to hop back on a long flight later.

“I’ll just bill you, then,” you mumble as you start to walk past him, gait uneven, whipping around with a squeak when he lands a lazy but heavy palm on your bare ass.

“Yeah, okay. Get your pretty ass in the bathroom.”

You flip him off before swiveling around and scurrying away. The light flickers on and heat inundates your cheeks when you just bet he did that to stare at your behind while you walk away.

After cleaning yourself up, you spot the sweater he hung up on the doorknob, now completely dry, not thinking twice about grabbing it to slip on. Finders keepers. It’s so soft and it smells just like him and you want to sleep in it forever and…

Damn girl, you need to reel it back - you just met the fucking guy. It’s barely been twelve hours.

When you emerge, he’s back at the table with his phone plugged in again, staring at it with a frown.

“Still no deposit?”

He shakes his head, glancing up with his brows furrowed and one cocks as you pass by him for the mini fridge.

“Uh, what are you wearing?” You shrug nonchalantly.

“A sweater I found.”

“I’m getting it back.”

“We’ll see.”

He scowls at your cheeky smile, reluctantly accepting the water bottle you pass him. Spotting the remote by the outlet, you reach over him to grab it, switching on the TV hung up in the corner of the room across from the bed and then giving him the control.

He regards you hesitantly before taking it. As you sit down across from him, rooting through the snacks you bought and passing them out between you, he flips through the channels.

In the background, the news plays, and as you start eating, the reporter starts giving updates about the weather.

“Storm’s letting up in the afternoon,” Yoongi announces softly, picking up a snack, the pitter-patter of calm rain hitting the windows behind him.

Mid-chew, you glance over your shoulder to the forecast displayed on the screen, predicting a decrease in precipitation over the next few hours.

“Hm. So I’ll be able to fly out then.” The words turn sour in your mouth as you focus back on your food, and his next question turns your thoughts grey.

“Going home?”

“No,” you sigh, picking at the wrapper. “My brother would be pissed if I popped up out of nowhere. And I’ve already skipped two classes anyway, so.“

He tisks, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I slept with someone who plays hooky.”

His growing smirk gets smacked with your balled up wrapper.

“Didn’t you literally stab a guy?”

“Touche.”

You match his playful smile and go back to eating and listening to the news in comfortable silence.

Exhaustion seeping into your bones, you think about how slowly it’s killing you how much you’re coming to like him. Even more so that you’re struggling to find the confidence to tell him. Because you two are about to part ways - who knows if this is meant to be more than a one night stand.

“Here,” you say, taking out the box of condoms and tossing it at him. “Restock your wallet.”

He peers at you curiously but doesn’t touch it at first, just what you were hoping for.

You can’t stop the disappointed frown when he ultimately reaches into the box and takes out a few square foils.

“I hope your next fuck treats you to something better than a moldy closet.”

Oh. So then he’s not expecting this to last. Not what you were hoping for.

“Well, I hope your next fuck sends you into crippling debt,” you sneer and he gazes at you with a diminished light in his eyes that you hold with a lasered glare.

You get up, chair loudly scraping the floor, and snatch the wrappers from your side and his to furiously throw them away. You know this reaction is strange and out of character, feeling so rejected when you’re accustomed to one night stands. But something about this man - you can’t help it. And it’s really not fair.

That pisses you off even more.

You storm in and out of the bathroom to aggressively brush your teeth, and then head for the bed, heart jumping when he’s standing right there in the small hallway. A hand around your elbow stops you from passing him in your path of fury and you twist to face him with a hard-set expression, not expecting his unsure frown.

“You’re flying out.”

“And?” you snap.

“And I don’t stay,” he states firmly, letting go of your arm. “Much less date.”

You exhale a short, calmer breath, resolve softening. “You’re staying now.”

You wait for him to say that it’s because it’s still raining. But he doesn’t - eyes just darting between yours, frantically, like he’s looking for something. Your chest tightens because you don’t know what he’s expecting to find.

“Well, if you don’t want to exchange phone numbers, we could write letters or something,” you half-joke, knot in your gut unraveling.

“Yeah?” He lifts a brow. “And how would that work? I move around a lot.”

“Hm. So do I.”

His jaw clenches as bows his head, pressing three fingers into his eyes, and then offers you his palm, expression flat and begrudging.

“Give me your phone.”

It’s hard to not let the excitement show in your smile, but your cheeks beam with a radiating heat as you scramble around to snatch your phone out of your discarded hoodie, practically shoving it into his hands after you unlock it.

Your nerves vibrate and a smile dances on your lips as you watch him type in his number, eyes downcast when he passes over your device displaying his newfound digits.

“Does this mean you like me?”

“No,” he gruffs, frowning, and your eyes roll at his stubbornness.

“Whatever. I don’t like you either,” you lie.

“Then why do you want my number?”

“So I can bother you from a different time zone.” He lunges for your phone.

“Delete it right now.”

“No! Too late!” You hold your device high in the air but don’t back down from his advance.

“Angel, I swear-“

“What are you gonna do about it?” His eyes narrow at your challenge, lips pulling into a line when he glances down at yours.

As you turn to walk away, he grabs your shirt by your waist, yanking you towards him and into a kiss, one that has butterflies spinning throughout your veins, limbs melting like butter. Until you feel his fingers slither over your wrist and attempt to pull your phone out of your grasp, lips lingering on yours, do you lean away when you realize he kissed you as a ploy.

“Nice try.” He glares at you and, smirking, you kiss him again. He scowls when you pull away with a grin and turn back around to crawl into bed. As you get comfortable under the covers, news reporters covering some more about the storm, you watch him collect his shirt from the floor and frown at it still being wet. You almost take off his sweater and give it back but you’re so damn comfortable and warm in it that you can’t help but be selfish.

“I have a shirt you can wear,” you offer a little shyly. “You mind handing me my duffle?”

When he nods after a slight pause, he picks it up and sets it on the edge of the bed, waiting for you to dig through and pull out one of your favorite graphic tees. He takes it with a quirk of his brow, staring at the design on the front and you don’t care if he’s judging.

“I’d rather just wear my sweater.”

“I’m wearing it.” Duh. He rolls his eyes, shaking his head at the graphics.

“Well, you’re definitely getting this back.” You snort and tell him to hurry up so you can go to bed. You pay him no mind as he trudges away muttering something under his breath. You grab one last thing from the bag, making him turn around with a tap on his elbow.

“Here’s an extra toothbrush. Toothpaste is on the sink.”

He doesn’t look at you as he takes it, murmuring a quiet “Thanks,” and then disappears into the bathroom.

When he returns, you peer over the headboard to see he’s wearing your shirt, long enough to fall past his waist, partially covering his boxers, and you almost squeal in delight.

“That looks cute on you,” you say as he shuffles towards the table, voice cracking with the threat of laughter, barreling out when he grits “Shut up” and flips you off.

“What? It does!”

He shakes his head in denial and reaches for his phone again, probably checking for his deposit, and with a silly idea, you grab yours to type out a message.

night cutie

sent 5:03am

After it sends, you stare at him as his phone buzzes and he picks it up, biting your tongue when he quickly sets it back face down. 

“I could block you,” he grumbles as he stands beside the bed, hands on his hips.

“Just like you could’ve pushed me out of the closet? Or like I could make you sleep on the floor?”

His head tilts. “Actually, that might be better for my back.”

“Go right ahead, old man.”

He grimaces and picks up a pillow to land it in your face. Holding it against your chest, you fall back against the headboard with a giggle.

“C’mon,” you say, patting the bedding beside you. “I don’t bite.”

His eyes narrow, holding out his right arm to present the deep set marks from your teeth in the skin just above his elbow. Your eyes widen in delight. “This begs to differ.”

Rising on your knees, you crawl to him, peering up with a sly smile when he doesn’t resist as you reach for his arm.

“It might bruise.” He shrugs and you tilt your head, analyzing it and experimentally pressing the pad of your thumb against the divots, and he shifts. You blink up to his hooded eyes, the subtle tongue flick on his bottom lip.

“You like that?” you tease, smirking at his lack of denial. “Hm, I got a little masochist on my hands.”

Continuing to press over the marks, you bat mischievous lashes as his pupils dilate.

“Don’t start, I’m beat,” he says, moving his arm back.

“Aww, is it past your bedtime?”

“That’s getting old.”

“Yeah, like you.” He sighs in exasperation.

“You walked right into that one,” you snicker.

“Just scoot over,” he mutters, shooing you away as he takes the covers you offer and lifts a knee onto the mattress.

“I thought the floor was better for your back.”

“I’m not sleeping on that nasty ass floor.”

You blow a raspberry, heart skipping a beat as you side-eye him situating himself next to you, leaving a significant amount of space between you that you pretend you’re not disappointed by.

“So are you stuck here for the time being?” you find yourself inquiring through a yawn as you turn your attention to the TV.

He hums, adjusting the pillow under his head. “Until I get paid enough for a plane ticket.”

You stare at his side profile for a moment, debating whether or not you should offer to pay for his ticket, but decide against it, figuring he would say no again.

“You’re welcome to stay here until then,” you pose gently, not taking it to heart when he just gives you a side glance and a single nod.

For a moment, you pensively chew the inside of your cheek.

“And maybe you can drop me off at the airport?”

His eyebrows lift, a mild uptick on the corner of his mouth.

“Maybe.” A blip in your heart conjures up a smile.

“‘Ppreciate it.”

“Mm,” he hums indifferently, turning his head to roll his shoulders and crack his neck.

After turning off the TV and pulling the covers up, your body is drawn to his warmth and you shimmy your way towards him. But just as your head hits his shoulder, he leans away, and you do the same, like you’ve suddenly become magnets of the same polarity. Glancing up to his side eye and clenched jaw, you realize your small action showcasing your desire to be close crossed a boundary of something he’s not comfortable with. You respect it, but you can’t deny that it hurts a little.

“I don’t do that,” he says, no malice in his tone, like he’s just stating a fact.

“Okay,” you murmur, shifting to your side of the bed with guilt crawling through you. “I’m sorry. Night.”

A tiny tug in your chest, you turn on your side, back facing him, and settle into the sheets, closing your eyes and focusing on the rain softly hitting the windows to help lure yourself to sleep.

Just as you’re about to drift off, your eyes fly open as his weight dips behind you, a tentative hand on the dip of your waist, elbow nudging the back of your head. His legs brush behind yours and you don’t react, as if any sudden movement will scare him away. But your heart runs like the wind.

“This is your imagination. Got it?”

Huffing, your smile turns into a grin as you cheekily wiggle back so your body slots ever so lightly against his, ass barely touching his pelvis.

“Since it’s my imagination, I can do this?” you probe, poking your toes between his legs to slide your calves together. He hisses and kicks his feet back.

“Not when your feet are freezing!”

You giggle and he pushes at your hip but doesn’t move away. Finally, he settles and you close your eyes, wishing your heart to not go into overdrive.

“I meant to thank you,” you whisper, disrupting the tranquility. “For everything.” A soft exhale flutters over your scalp. “And I ho-” And then his palm flies up to cover your mouth. 

“Please go to sleep.”

Bringing his arm down to curl over your middle, you expect him to move it as you nuzzle into the pillow and close your eyes once again, his face plastered in your mind as you finally succumb to sleep.

His arm pulls you just a bit closer.

When Yoongi wakes up with your head next to his shoulder, it’s light out and you’re fast asleep. You’re stunning, even in slumber.

Reaching under the pillow, he panics for a second when his gun isn’t there. Oh, right. He left it in the bushes by the bike. He did well to hide it on him in places you wouldn’t find it, thanks to his quick hands and quicker thinking. He had it tucked in the back of his waistband when he found you in that restaurant, and if he hadn’t gotten a hold of those chopsticks, last night would’ve ended a lot differently. You don’t deserve to see something like that. Something he’s seen and committed countless times - but he doesn’t want to think about that right now. It’ll ruin this whole thing.

He does his best not to disturb you as he maneuvers out of bed, checking his phone first, noting that it’s almost noon. He shakes his head - it’s been a while since he’s slept in like this but you two were up very late last night after all. And you wore him the hell out. He's exhausted, mostly physically, but the sleep he managed wasn't interrupted by terrors inside his mind or out. For once.

He frowns when there’s no notification of his deposit, just a text from Lin telling him to call, and sighs, gently places his phone back down. He’ll deal with that later.

In the bathroom, he waits until he’s started the shower to turn the lights on, ignoring his reflection as he takes off your shirt and then his delicate, most treasured silver chain, placing it on the corner of the sink to avoid any drains, dog tags swinging on his chest as he steps into the stall.

The warm water gloriously cascading down his chest, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. This is something else he’s not accustomed to - showering in the same place where he hooked up with someone. Especially for a second time. He wasn’t lying when he said he’s not the type to stay the night. But it’s different with you. With you, he feels… safe. Like he doesn’t have to run. It’s an odd relief.

Grabbing soap and a cloth, he starts lathering his body, and when he passes over the teeth marks you left on his bicep, his head tilts back with a moan at the slight sting. He props a hand on the wall to stare at the nasty bruise blooming on his arm, a smile curling his lips at the memory of your teeth sinking into his skin while you came hard around his cock. He wishes you’d bitten harder. A lot harder. He wouldn’t mind having a scar from that. He’s not sure what that says about him.

He likes the way it hurt, likes it even more that you caught on, paid attention to and cared about what he liked, dragged your teeth along his clavicle, biting sharply into it to drive him to the hardest-hitting orgasm he’s had in a long time. His dick stirs to life thinking about you mouthing and nipping all over his body, making marks on his hip bones, and he craves the opportunity to bury deep in your cunt again and stay there.

There’s a strange tightness in his chest when he thinks about how you’ve made him feel since the moment he fucked you in that closet. Maybe even before that. Maybe when you shoved in his face how much better you are than him at poker. Maybe when you walked into that dingy room with an air of confidence he didn’t expect.

Pretty. Alluring. Badass. Fearless.

Irresistible.

His heart hasn’t raced for someone like this in… well, he can’t remember.

He hangs his head, water dripping down the back of his neck, pouring off of his chin and ends of his hair and he watches it all swirl down the drain.

He needs to get it the fuck together.

As he starts rinsing off, his ringtone suddenly blares, loud and shrill, and he scrambles out of the shower, haphazardly throwing a towel around his waist, darting out to grab his phone from the table.

“Sorry,” he murmurs when he sees you squirming under the sheets, pillow punched over your head to drown out the noise. He squints at the caller ID and his temple throbs, so he quickly answers, whispers “Hang on” into the speaker, and picks up his boxers and robe that you wore on the way to the door, peeking over his shoulder to where you’re settling back into sleep.

“Hello? Suga, you there?” the voice on the other line asks. His friend, Lin, one of the few people he actually trusts, rarely ever calls with good news.

“One sec,” Yoongi mutters as he balances his phone between his cheek and shoulder, dropping the towel and yanking on his boxers. He swings on the robe before propping open the door with his sneaker, peering through the crack to make sure you haven’t gotten up and followed him.

“I don’t have all day, man.”

“What’s up?” he asks, jogging down the stairs in his bare feet. The stone pavement is wet and cold. It smells like more rain.

“You need to get your ass back here because Axe is livid about the deal. He’s blaming you and if you don’t come and fix it, he’s gonna make you pay with your life.”

A cloud fills Yoongi’s lungs. He can’t die. Not yet.

“Is my deposit coming through?” 

Lin laughs. “If he’s not cutting our checks, he’s definitely not cutting yours.” Yoongi really, really wants to punch his friend in the nuts for laughing at a time like this.

“I don’t have any fucking money for a plane ticket,” he whisper yells, glancing around to make sure no one is around.

“That’s your problem. You gotta find a way back ‘cause he’s got thugs in Jeju that’ll take care of you for him.”

A stressed hand flies to his hair, fingers tangling and tugging like that’ll make him think of a solution.

“You’re also supposed to be in charge of handling that shipment coming through. Don’t miss it or you’ll really be dead.”

“I won’t,” he promises through gritted teeth. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“I hope so.”

The call drops and Yoongi almost throws his phone to crack on the concrete, but he has one more shot at not being totally screwed. He dials another number, eyes closing in relief when it picks up on the fourth ring.

“It’s a little early to be calling,” the familiar male voice chirps. “What can I do for you?”

“Hey, I’m sorry, but do you think- would you mind wiring me an advance? Please?” Fuck, he’s never been one to beg. It’s pathetic. “I’m kind of in a spot right now and my deal in Jeju fell through so I’m not getting any money any time soon. I hate to ask but-”

“Why don’t you have any money?” Shame. Guilt consumes him.

“I lost it gambling.”

“I see.” There’s a pause and Yoongi holds his breath, thinking he just flushed his whole life down the drain. Oxygen whooshes out of his lungs when the man he will eventually owe his life to continues.

“Well, you can’t play away all of your money like this, understand? I won’t tolerate having my funds being used to get yourself out of situations that you shouldn’t be in in the first place, especially when you haven’t earned it yet. I’ll let it slide this time but if it happens again, then you’re out. I won’t be able to help.”

He nods solemnly. “I understand.”

“Good. I can’t wire any until tomorrow, but you’ll receive a decent amount to get you through until your next job, okay?”

Fucking shit. He can’t wait that long. He wants to ask if there’s any way he can get enough now for a plane ticket home, but he can’t risk getting out of the good graces of Don Kim’s son.

“Yeah, thank you. And again, I’m sorry.”

“I know. Actually, this might be a way to make up for some of it. My brother isn’t doing so well, and I have to go out of town for a while soon; do you think you can check in on him while I’m gone? I’ve been trying to get him back into boxing and I know he enjoys doing that with you.”

“Sure. I have some stuff to take care of first though. I’ll head up in the next couple of weeks?”

After he does some damage control and manages a risky deal without ending up dead or in prison, he’ll play babysitter if it means he can keep his secret other job. And his livelihood. Sol may be a troubled kid, but he’s generally easy to get along with. Sometimes when he’s sober and in his better moods, he makes Yoongi think of that kid back home. The kid he’s doing this whole can’t-die-yet thing for.

“Okay, great. In the meantime, have you gotten anything on Axe that I can use?”

Yoongi looks around again, squats next to a wall and cups his mouth to muffle himself. “He’s planning to intercept a shipment trucking out of Incheon and I think it’s coming from one of your suppliers. You might have a mole.” Oh, the irony.

“Hm, interesting. I just caught a cop working undercover in the harbor, so he’ll have some intel if he knows what’s good for him. Keep me posted.”

��I will.”

“And hang in there a little longer, D. We’ll get you out.” God, he hopes so. Yoongi knows these things take time, it’s less dangerous that way, but he’s been trying to get out of this game for years. Well, out of one and into another, but at least this time he’ll have a little more security.

He has to figure out how to scrape his way back home. He slinks back inside while trying to come up with lies and excuses to weasel his way out of this, but it’s hard to come up with ones convincing enough because in the short time that he’s known you, he’s learned you’re smart enough to see right through his bullshit.

He looks over to your bag sitting on the floor, remembering the wallet you stuffed all of your cash in.

Fuck.

He could ask you to spot him enough to get on a plane, but after all the times he adamantly denied it when you offered to give him some back, never anticipating that he wouldn’t get paid, he knows you’ll ask questions that he won’t be able to answer.

He could also just… take some cash and dip out before you wake up. But he really doesn’t want to do that. Doesn’t want to become the person he tried to hide from you. Even though you figured out that he’s a dealer with a habit for getting himself into dangerous situations, you didn’t completely write him off, giving him a chance to show you he’s not entirely a bad person.

But he is. And he’s far, far worse.

He considers it - coming clean to you about everything. Well, at least the part about him being in a tough situation and if he doesn’t make his way back soon, he might as well be six feet under. He thinks you’ll understand, having gathered that you know about his side of the world, experienced some of it - whether through friends or boyfriends or whomever. Does he think you’re better than that, better than him? Yes. You’ve got shit going for you, more than he’ll ever have. You don’t need someone like him dragging you down. Despite the fact that he wants to see you again, wants to run someplace far away with you, he knows he can’t. You deserve a life where you’ll make something of yourself. One that you won’t get with him. But he thinks he can spend just a little more time with you, at least until you have to go to the airport. He’ll take you there, maybe kiss you one last time, and pretend that his heart won’t sink when you turn your back on him. He’s used to being the one to leave. So it hurts like hell to be on the other side.

Maybe that’s just because of you.

He’s conflicted as he returns to where you’re still sleeping. A little of the cloudy afternoon sky has made the room a light gray and despite the regret churning in his gut, he catches himself smiling when he hears you snoring softly. He wonders if he can brush his lips over yours, imagines what you’ll look like waking up to him.

Just as he turns to change, you shift onto your stomach, head still under the pillow, and a small etching on the back of your neck right below your hairline catches his attention. He has yet to put in his contacts, so he carefully sits on the edge of the bed to have a better look, curiosity piqued.

The ink has the shape of something with wings, so he leans a little closer, pressing a fist on the mattress to hold himself up. He expects the wings to be that of an angel, a nod to your name, but when he finally sees what it is, albeit a bit blurry, his heart freezes and plummets to the floor, smashing into pieces.

It’s a bird, but not one he expected to see on your skin.

A crow.

And it's drawn as if it were flying high in the sky, talons digging into an upside-down human skull.

How did he miss that?! That’s what he gets for always fucking in the dark.

To anyone else, its meaning is ambiguous, edgy, but to him, to others like him, it's the symbol of a direct relation to the family of enormous power, made by generations of blood, money and greed. He would know - he has a tattoo on his back (a tiger, clawing at his left shoulder blade) belonging to the gang he got caught up in as a teenager that branded him to force his loyalty. A gang that will be shredded and not missed by the organization that owns the symbol tatted on your neck.

Holy shit. He might throw up. He just fucked the daughter of the country’s mafia kingpin, the sister of the man he was just on the phone with, the one you were probably talking to earlier. If Atlas doesn’t want his mole playing around with his money, he damn sure wouldn’t want him playing around with his sister. If that man found out all that he did with you, Yoongi would die a slow and gruesome death, he’s sure of it.

There’s no way he’d make it out alive. And Yoongi has promises he needs to keep. He can’t do that if he’s sleeping with the fishes.

His stomach clenches, though, thinking about what your reaction will be when you wake up and he’s gone, leaving you with nothing but his sweater.

Because he knows how you looked at him throughout the night, like you felt something for him, like you might want something more than sex. And you not knowing all of his sins, or that there’s nothing he can really offer you, made him feel like he was good enough for you to let him in like you did, to touch you, kiss you, fuck you, just… be with you. In a normal way.

Where you weren’t expecting drugs and/or money at the end of it.

With your wit and your charm and your smart goddamn mouth, you managed to knock down a wall that dismantled his normal cold exterior, penetrating a part of him that he’s had to lock away.

(It’s scary how easily you did that. And Min Yoongi doesn’t get scared. Not for himself).

You turned his world upside down in less than a day. For most of his life, he’s been living on the dark side of the moon, but with you, he got to see the sun for a little while. You offered him your spare toothbrush when he didn't ask for one. Sharing a meal, staying the night, giving you his number, fucking cuddling with you. How you got him to do something normal is beyond him. He doesn’t do that because he’s never deserved it.

So who is he kidding?

Because at the end of the day, for someone like him, good things never last. He’s sinful and marred. He’s been to prison, for fucks’ sake. The bike that he came to your rescue with, drove you around on - he stole it. Saw the man who parked it, pretended to bump into him, and managed to slip the keys out of his pocket. Granted, you being the reason behind losing all of his money kind of fucked his opportunity for getting around town in an honest, law-abiding way, but he can’t blame you. He severely underestimated you and paid for it. Literally.

He’s a liar and a gambler and a thief, and that’s the tamest part of his sins. He’s had blood on his hands that’s not his. Far too much to ever really wash away. He can’t take the risk of your brother finding out that a crook and a murderer like him messed around with the most precious jewel in that family.

They don’t know his name, and now he’ll make sure they never will.

How can he explain that to you? He knows that makes him a coward.

So he comes to the decision that there's nothing for him to do but leave you in the dust and never look back, tacking this night onto the murky cloud of his many mistakes. Even though it makes his chest hurt. Because he thinks - thought - that he could feel something deep for you, something he was starting to. Maybe even... No. That’s so damn foolish. Someone like him doesn’t deserve to love, much less be loved back. All the more reason to coat his heart in tar, making it impenetrable to him and anyone else.

In the days and weeks and months to come, he'll force it to forget you. He has to. And that will only make him colder and more bitter.

Forlorn. He fucking deserves that.

He leaves the robe in a pile next to the bed, quickly and quietly pulling on his jeans, shirt and jacket, and grabs his phone and contacts case from the table, staring vacantly at your backpack until he comes to the conclusion that he has no other choice. He doesn’t have time to pickpocket or hold up a gas station. 

Glancing towards the bed to make sure you haven’t stirred, he reaches into your bag, finds your wallet, swallows down the disgust for himself, and pulls out enough cash that will get him a plane ticket, food that he can stretch over a week, and gas that’ll get him to where he needs to be. Eventually to Incheon. He shoves the wallet back in its place, folds the cash into his jacket, and hauls ass to the door so you don't wake in time to see him disappear without a trace. But in the rush, he forgets the one thing most precious to him that he took off before he showered.

It isn't until he's zipping away on the motorcycle that he’ll ditch on the side of the road, blaming the cold and whipping wind for the tears piercing the corners of his eyes, that he realizes and curses himself. The one thing he was supposed to never lose, to always take care of, he forgot. For the rest of the way home, his mother’s words ring in his ears - he’s a fuck up who’s lost all chances of redeeming himself. No one will want him. So going forth, that's what he carries with him every day when you come up in his thoughts, no matter how hard he tries to keep you out. 

He hopes he’ll never see you again.

It's better this way. He did you a favor.

When you wake up, it’s not your empty stomach that makes you feel nauseous.

It’s the frigid, deserted sheets next to you. The quiet, hollow room. The robe on the floor, embedded with the scent of his musk, sex, and cigarettes. The condoms left on the table.

Okay. Don’t jump to conclusions. Maybe he stepped out, went to get food or more cigarettes.

But with what money?

So you find your phone, ignoring the disarray of the room as you click on his message thread that holds your text he left on delivered, and start a call.

One ring. Then another. Then a click and you open your mouth to ask him where the fuck he is, but instead you’re met with a robotic voice.

“We’re sorry. The person you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please try again later.”

You shoot confusion at your screen, a cold front moving into your chest from your fingers. You call again.

One ring. Fast pulse, bated breath. Then three ascending beeps.

“We’re sorry. The number you have dialed has been disconnected. Please hang up.”

A piece of your soul collapses. Loud ringing blares in your ears as you stare at nothing, as everything sinks in.

What was the point of him giving you his number if he was just gonna block you? What was the fucking point of leading you to believe that he wanted more than just a one night stand if he was going to leave before you woke up?

It takes all of your willpower to not chuck your phone clear across the room, to have the screen crack so you can’t see the numbers he typed in only hours ago, mocking you now that he blocked you.

Now you’re nauseous with embarrassment. Anger. A heart disintegrated. Made worse by the sweater you’re still wearing, engulfing you with the comforting scent that you’ve been wanting to drown in. You rip it off and throw it on top of the robe, a tear slipping down your cheek.

Once you dare a look in the mirror, it’s his marks all over your skin. The lingering smell of him in the bathroom from the shower he took. The silver chain on the sink that dangled on your throat and back when he fucked you like you’ve never been fucked before. The touch of his hands all over you, his mouth on yours that you won’t get rid of for weeks, no matter how hard you scrub. The sound of his voice in your ear, some of his words making things stir in your chest that felt like a prelude to what could’ve been love.

How could you be so stupid?

You’d been so vulnerable and open with him. You feel like you spilled your guts and all he did was pick them up with bare hands, chuck them in the trash, and set it on fire, looking back with no regrets.

After shoving the sweater and chain deep into your duffel, you leave in a flustered hurry, eager to escape the room encapsulating a passage of time that will torment your subconscious. Near the airport, you rush into a pharmacy for a morning after pill, because you’ll be damned if you get knocked up, especially by someone who doesn’t have the fucking decency to say a single word before dipping out after a night like that.

When you get out your wallet to pay, the wad of cash stashed there is significantly lighter. In a bathroom stall, you hastily count out just how much.

Motherfucker took 500,000 won. The betrayal just increased tenfold. He fucking played you.

You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to go back in time and make sure this night never happened.

Most of all, you want to call your brother. Because he would hunt Min Yoongi down.

But doing that would mean also telling Jin that you’ve been in Jeju this whole time and that you were gambling, which would not go over well.

So you leave and go back to your life separate from the place now tainted with memories that ruined the good ones.

Fuck him. Fuck him big time for being just like everyone else. And for fucking stealing from you. You know what your father (if he ever really cared) and brothers would say - that's what you get for letting your guard down. Naive and weak-minded people only get themselves hurt. So just like you’ve done countless times, you pick up the pieces of your heart that were stomped and crushed and left for dead, and stifle them in the dark regions of your mind, keeping all of your pain to yourself. Pain is weakness, especially the kind you can’t see on your skin, and weakness is forbidden in the blood you share with your family. You’ll become hardened and vindictive but maybe now the lesson will stick. Because for the years to come, his eyes, his lips, his touch, his voice, will haunt you in your dreams and your nightmares. You hope to all hell you never see him again.

If you do, he'd better watch his fucking back.

.

.

.

Okay finallyyyyyyyyyyyyy!! i'm sorry this took a hot minute to finish but thank you so much for reading!! I know this has been long winded 🙃

(Btw I’m not super proud of the smut 😅 and not 100% confident in how this turned out which is why it took me so long to post sooo hopefully it’s not all a dumpster fire lol. if it is, lmk but pls be nice about it! Im just a girl)

Pls feel free to drop some thoughts and theories in my inbox or comments! I’m dying to know what y’all think. like no pressure but you'd make my day!! it's literally a serotonin rush whenever i get a comment or an ask lol

xxx - claret

<<<previous chapter * next chapter>>>

taglist:

@viankiss @lixies-favorite-cookie @mar-lo-pap @polarnightmyg @jajabro @busanbby-jjk @ktownshizzle @wonh0oe @futuristicenemychaos @rinkud @taegijns @nansasa

[saintslewis]

𝐢𝐟 𝐰𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 | 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒

- drabble.

pairing: sir lewis hamilton x black! fem reader

summary: reader will never let the paddock forget who Lewis Hamilton is.

warnings: cussing.

saint’s team radio 🪩: this is just a lil something. I was pissed tf off yesterday because of some lewis “fans” and i will never miss an opportunity to let ppl know who my goat is 🫦. enjoy

ps, i’m not adding actual reporter’s names for this so i made up random names.

taglist: @mauvecherie-writes @perfecttrashface @non-stop-imagines @emjayewrites @purplelewlew @hopefulromantic1 @motheroffae @exotic-iris13 @httpsserene @queenshikongo3 @greedyjudge2 @cocobutterqwueen

-

The tag from your denim jacket had been irritating you since the second you put it on but you chose to forget about it, often adjusting it with your nails or a little shimmy of your shoulders.

Holding the mic from Sky Sports F1 wasn’t all too odd for you, the broadcast team only handing it to you when talking about Lewis and his achievements. Your support for the Stevenage driver was strong, often being as labelled as biased but you couldn’t care less. The support was mutual between the two of you, usually lingering on the line of friendship but doubt and time was always against you.

Your sunglasses sat on your braided head with a bored expression on your face, just wanting to get this segment over with so that you could go back to your individual blogging and interviews. Standing patiently in front of the cameras while other reporters ran around unorganised, you played with your beaded ‘44’ bracelet.

“My goodness, Y/n! I have no clue how you are so calm, this is always so hard!” One of them exclaimed, laughing in the process. “Not to mention the outfit! You look like you could go to a party!” Another laughed, her smile faltering when your eyes snapped to her, expression never changing.

After a while, the segment began and off the reporters went on a scripted tangent about other teams before getting to the main topic; Lewis. “Now, onto a different subject, Lewis Hamilton’s performance in that car has been nothing short of a…disaster if I could say.” Jimmy said, deciding to look at you as he spoke. Almost as if he was challenging you.

“For a specific race weekend or overall? His teammate, George is doing significantly better. I don’t know what’s wrong with him, it’s like he doesn’t know how to drive.” Jennifer spoke, poorly making an attempt of a joke.

“I’m not too sure why you’re speaking as if he is a rookie. You lot can see that Mercedes hasn’t been doing well as a collective yet you’re targeting one driver who has brought then 8 constructer titles rather than the other who has one win.” Lifting your mic, you spoke with a clear voice, never stuttering.

Frank shook his head and tried to chuckle. “Look Y/n. We understand he’s your boyfriend or whatever but we need to be factual here. What Ferrari has done is a mistake by signing him. I mean, there needs to be more space for others and he’s taking up space.”

“And Alonso’s dusty ass doesn’t need to leave? Using my support for Lewis to try and justify your dislike for him is unprofessional. I have no clue how you have the gumption to say all this.” You responded, still not moving from your spot.

The other 4 reporters stared at you in shock along with other people stopping in the paddock, surrounding the space just in front of the official f1 hospitality suite.

“There’s no need to use aggressive language, Y/n.” Jennifer lifted her hand to place on your shoulder but you moved away in time. “Aggressive for who?” You challenged, tilting your head.

It had gotten quite. “The viewers. It’s not a lie, Lewis is just not good anymore. He needs to make space.” One of them spoke up but you couldn’t be bothered to listen to anyone else other than Frank, your eyes trained on him.

“What? We need to speak with the producers, having an independent journalist was a mistake.” Frank smirked.

“You can take your opinion and shove it up your ass. Thanks for having me, Sky Sports F1.” You turned to the camera to blow a kiss then you gave the mic you were holding to whoever would catch it.

Walking away from the set, you knew what you did was undeniably unprofessional but those people had always had a vendetta against Lewis and any reporter/journalist who support him. Breathing out, you sashayed your way through the paddock with people staring as your braids glided in the slight breeze.

The buzz of your phone shook you out of your racing mind, a little gasp escaping your mouth as you read the notification from instagram.

lewishamilton no joke, that was the best thing i’ve ever seen. glad we have that interview together in 5 minutes :)

You first looked around the paddock after reading that message but you figured that he watched it live just like everyone else did. Your anger for that segment had clouded your thoughts so much, you forgot about the interview you were supposed to have with the champion.

Rushing to the large luxurious paddock club, you received all types of looks from those who either clearly watched the broadcast live or they’re looking at your outfit, although the latter was made up in your mind.

Luckily, he hadn’t arrived to the designated room you booked to have the interview with him but as soon as you got your phone out to record and your notes, the screams and excitement were heard from outside the door and a smile couldn’t help but sneak on your face.

You have only interviewed him three times in your entire career but every time you did so, he never wanted it to end, always trying to make it longer by asking his own questions to you or just sharing a laugh.

With security opening the door for him, he entered the room and spotted you with a smile on his face. He entered alone in the mercedes shirt already on. No words needed to spoken by either of you, Lewis opening his arms for a hug to greet you. Once in his embrace, you thought it’d be quick but to your surprise, it lasted a few moments longer.

“Hi Y/n.” Lewis spoke, a hand still on your shoulder. You took a quick breath and immediately relaxed on the spot. “Hey Lewis.”

“Your response to Sky was insane but I liked it.” He chuckled, sitting across from you with his legs open and a ring clad hand sat comfortably on his lap.

You didn’t want to show him how the sight affected you especially when your emotions are sky high so you remained calm on the outside. “It’s just…I’m pretty sure I lost my job just now because of how I reacted.” You sighed out, flicking a few braids back.

“Some of them had said worse things so you’re okay.” Lewis responded, his tone wasn’t all too sure but he just wanted to lift your mood. “Yeah but I’m black. They used micro aggressions too.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at everything once recalling back to that moment.

“I heard. I’ll have a word with Sky.” He reassured you. “Oooh okay, Sir.” You joked, masking how the reassurance made your stomach flutter. You’d like to think he was openly flirting with you but you quickly put that thought at the back of your mind.

“I just don’t want those people to forget who you are, you know? I’m sure you hear this all the time. You know what you’re doing and you’re the best at it. I wanna remind the people who the goat is.” You rambled a bit, noticing his smile growing as he listened to you.

“You’re too kind, really. I know what I am, it’s just a little tough right now.” He shrugged as he fully leaned back into his seat. “If you need me to fight anybody in your team, let me know.” You winked, flashing a comical smile that made Lewis laugh.

Giving you a once over, Lewis leaned forward and rested his tatted arms on his knees. “You look good today. You always do but today…phenomenal.” He spoke, his voice noticeably relaxed. “Don’t make me blush, Sir.” You smiled, failing terribly at hiding your feeling.

“That nickname, Y/n,” He chuckled. “Is that door locked?” He asked. All you had to do was nod at the man and Lewis smirked, licking his lips in the process.

“C’mere.”

saint’s notes 🪩: slightly rushed, george pissed me off, hope you enjoyed. bye. <3

[writers-potion]

Writing Magicians

If you are drafting or deepening a magician character, consider these personality traits and common characteristics of magicians. Your magician doesn't have to be set in stone or have all of these traits.

Intelligent

Magic requires a critical, quick, analytical mind to practice and implement. Must be capable of making difficult decisions.

Good Memory

For memorizing spells, potions ingredient lists, rituals and anatomy of magical creatures.

Creative

Magicians need to adapt existing spells and rituals to the situation

Self-disciplined and focused

Casting a spell or conducting a ritual requires the magicians to have unwavering focus and self-control.

Patient

Magic takes time to practice, especially if it's not a talent that you're born with. You also need patience to calm your human sacrifices down and make those stupider than you understand what's going on.

Highly trained

Mere talent is not enough. Practice - and pain - makes perfect.

Specialist

Magicians will have a spell/an element/a potion they are exceptionally good at

Musical

Many forms of magic involve drumming or chanting, or even singing.

Spiritual

Many forms of magic are linked with religious practices or concepts. Your magician might be heralded as a spiritual saint, or hunted for being a heathen.

Prayers are often a part of magic rituals.

Studious

Magicians are always keen to learn more, expanding their skills range, acquiring news spells, understanding different forms of magic and exploring scientific subjects.

Many magicians will amass books, or sign up for every available online class.

Well-orgnized and Methodical

The best magicians always have information and ingredients at hand and know where to find them.

They prepare thoroughly before rituals and have Plan B,C,D ready

Introvert

Many magicians like quietude and solitude in which they can recharge to practice a new spell in peace.

However, some magicians love social gatherings, maybe even showing off their power.

Ethical

Magic gives a person power, and requires moral judgements to apply this power wisely. You magician protagonist will be ethically challenged, but pull through difficult decisions guided by his good heart.

You magician villains, of course, will fall due to their unethical practice of power.

Sharp Sense

Your magician is likely to have a goos sense of smell/sight/sound, so that they can tell poisons part and catch the exact note of the chant.

Descended from Magicians

Magic is often portrayed as a talent that is passed down generations. It can be of blood (you must have "magical blood", so to speak), or it can be a guarded family secret.

On the flip side, your hero can be the only one with magical talent in a family with no such powers.

Psychic

Although magical and psychic gifts are separate matters, the power of foresight is often considered a branch of magic.

If your hero is a psychic, make sure it has limitations and consequences!

Day Job

Few magicians practice openly. Even if the magician earns money from her practice, she'd want to disguise her identity and pretend to work a more everyday job.

Many modern magicians work in the medical sector; other are employed in scientific, engineering or the arts field.

Pet

Magicians are known for thei close relationships with animals.

This can be a typical pet, or a mythical animal, or perhaps an incarnation of the devil, who knows?

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[thatordinaryoddity]

hot take on 3x03 sweat tent scene

and since I know that most people here seem to feel differently about that scene than I do and actually love it (which I don’t), I’m putting my thoughts below the cut. You know, don’t like, don’t read, etc etc.

I’m finally gathering the courage to voice my thoughts on why this scene bothers me so much. Please keep in mind that this is my personal opinion, shared on my personal blog, based on my own impressions and experiences with this topic.

Call me prude, but for me, the entire scene felt uncomfortable and left a sour taste in my mouth for several reasons. I honestly can’t wrap my head around why so many people seem so unbothered by it or even love it that much.

First of all, even if we assume that Moiraine and Siuan are breaking up, I’m not on board with the whole “yas, go for it, girl” rebound narrative. They’ve been in a relationship/marriage for over 20 years. Unless the word breakup is used, I don’t think we can assume they’re officially done. Yes, Siuan betrayed Moiraine in 2x07 (though, to be fair, Moiraine wasn’t exactly a saint either so I don’t place all the blame on Siuan). But considering the depth of their relationship, I’d expect them to have a definitive conversation before ending things, especially given their shared responsibilities and history. No matter what Moiraine assumes about their status, I feel like there needs to be a clear, final acknowledgment of their separation before we treat them as truly over.

And honestly, they don’t seem over. Moiraine’s emotional support fishing net, her saving Siuan and her little eyebrow twitch, the kiss from the trailer - all suggest there’s still something between them (and we know there will be). Even if they are broken up at this point, it’s only been about a month. I get that people handle breakups differently, but I don’t see Moiraine as someone who immediately starts messing around the moment she’s out of a long-term relationship.

Now, setting aside the possible cheating aspect, there are other issues with this scene: Lan. Oh my god, brother? We see in 3x01 that Moiraine is still yearning for Siuan. She’s clearly not over her and isn’t emotionally in a good place. Lan basically even mentions indirectly how unhappy she seems. And yet, he suggests this as a solution? As if Moiraine is just going to forget 20+ years of Siuan because some random stranger flashes her tits? I’m so sick of the trope that sex is a magical fix for emotional distress after a breakup. And… Moiraine wasn’t even thinking in that direction until Lan put the idea in her head, which makes it feel even more forced and icky. His suggestion kinda boils down to “quit moping and get laid so we aren‘t that miserable anymore,” without any thought given to the emotional fallout.

Does he (or Moiraine) really think she’d truly feel better afterward? Has anyone who’s ever had rebound sex actually forgotten their ex because of it? Did it magically fix everything? Did it bring you lasting happiness? Or regret and even more pain? Anyway. His advice felt dismissive, and more broadly, the way the show treats cheating as something casual or insignificant is frustrating. (Honestly, this issue extends beyond Moiraine and Siuan. Rand/Egwene comes to mind, and Egwene deserved so much better as well).

And yes, maybe it was intended as a lighthearted, funny moment, just some banter between Lan and Moiraine. But for me, it’s an absolute flop and not cute at all. I hope we don’t actually see Moiraine cheating or anything like that, but even the implication alone already makes me mad and sad. If the show actually goes there, I don’t think if I can stand behind it.

And before anyone argues that maybe Moiraine and Siuan aren’t monogamous, or that Siuan wouldn’t care. Sure, we don’t know for certain. But based on what the show has told us about their relationship, all we’ve seen so far is a deep commitment, loyalty and resilience, at least up until 2x07. And if we’re going with the idea that wanderer!Moiraine can be off having casual sex with strangers while Siuan sits in the Tower, unable to do the same because of her position as the Amyrlin… well, that doesn’t sound like a very balanced dynamic to me.

Which brings me to another issue: Moiraine is off in the Waste, thinking about casually hooking up with some stranger, while Siuan is back at the Tower, dealing with absolute chaos? I saw other posts about how lonely Siuan seems, and I felt that. Imagine being in her position! I say it again; Imagine being in her position! She’s probably riddled with guilt and regret and hurting too (as we can see in her expressions in both 2x07 and 3x01, and in her conversation with the kiddos). But she’s got responsibilities, political turmoil and an entire broken Tower to manage. I’m pretty sure she’s not off checking out some other naked woman because, you know… she has business to handle and shit to deal with (as does Moiraine, actually). Idk, I just feel so sorry for Siuan. And again, if we assume they’re truly broken up and will try to reconcile later, Moiraine’s “one hour of happiness” would/could complicate things even more.

I also know that Tumblr is obsessed with Moiraine/Lanfear, which is another idea I don’t love and haven’t been quiet about. But honestly? I’d rate the sweat tent scene as even worse because that is happening in real-time. Moiraine isn’t dreaming, isn’t having a vision, isn’t being threatened or forced. She isn‘t even gaining knowledge or power or whatever by (considering) sleeping with that woman.

Moreover, the sweat tent scene rubs me the wrong way because I cannot see Moiraine‘s character behaving like this. Yes, she’s human and has needs, blah, but I personally just don’t see her doing this. All of it feels like such a loser move. Why does there have to be so much toxicity and awful tropes all the fucking time? Can’t we just have that one pairing that is loyal and loves each other? I know this is my hopeless romantic side speaking, but I’m just disappointed in this scene and how the show suddenly portrays Moiraine and the fishwives.

That being said, I do love how diverse the show is in its portrayal of different relationships and I do think that‘s great and beautiful, and I do embrace it! But when it comes to the fishwives? I personally can’t mentally go there. Sorry.

If you made it through my TED Talk, my condolences.

[gatheredfates]

WELCOME TO SEAFLOOR'S FFXIV ALL SAINTS WAKE GPOSE CHALLENGE!

The purpose of this challenge is simple: it's a fun excuse to do some Halloween-inspired GPOSES that will hopefully expand peoples' creativity, confidence and connections in the community! Be frightful, be fun, be quirky and esoteric!

Please use the tag #seafloor saints wake if you participate and consider joining our community!

FAQ

Is it mandatory to complete every prompt? Not in the slightest! Do as many or as few as you like; double up on prompts or do sixteen MAGIC SPELLS for all I mind! This is about you guys having fun. The challenge exists for people who like that kind of thing, but the prompts are meant to be fun and accessible.

Is the use of mods/shades/tools okay? Yes, of course! Whilst there'll be bonus kudos points if you structure a costume or scene using in game items/means, there's no penalty for going beyond it.

What about NSFW (gore, sexual or otherwise)? Use common sense and appropriate tags as necessary, especially for common fears and phobias. I obviously cannot control what Tumblr sees as being too much, but the general rules for SEAFLOOR apply where possible. Additionally, the prompts don't have to be scary or sexual at all! If you want to pose your OC as a Disney Princess seven times in a row, you can absolutely do that.

Where do I post works? Hopefully your Tumblr blog, silly, but you can also reblog them to the SEAFLOOR Tumblr Community or join us on Discord! If someone posts their work in either of those spaces, consider reacting with a piece of candy! 🍬 It's a fun, easy affirmation if you're not to sure how to tell them you like their work otherwise.

I've got no one to pose with for the couple's cosplay! NPC's are fine, or you can reach out and ask if anyone else participating in the challenge is willing to lend their oc. Always consent check the content/pose first before posting it publicly, but you can use this as an excuse to pose with people you might not have before.

Is there a prize? SEAFLOOR Discord members get a fancy, cosmetic role! Otherwise, no. Maybe I'll make up some candy and distribute it around Halloween, or we can all dress up and get together closer to the date. I'll keep you posted!

Anything else? If I think of it, I'll post it here!

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Wow! As the header says, my blog just went past 5k followers - I'd like to extend a heartfelt thank you to everyone who hopped on for this journey; I'm having the time of my life sharing my writing with you all.

In celebration and as a way to have a little fun - I'll be opening my inbox for a day and letting those who want to send in something fill it up!

Now, I know you're probably asking yourself 'Hal, I thought you said requests are going to be closed so you can finish the ones you have and work on the AUs?' And you'd be correct - I did say that. I'm not going to be writing full-length works for this event.

To anyone who sends something in (and follows the rules I have in place on my Request Form (be sure to check it even if you've already read it, I added some more characters and other stuff)) I'll be writing one-to-two page drabbles!

All this being said, after this post is uploaded I'll be opening my inbox up to anyone who would want to participate and closing it exactly one day after!

Thank you again for being the best community ever - I'm incredibly lucky to be surrounded by kind and respectful individuals as well as mutuals who are mind-numbingly sweet. I could not have achieved all of this without you; I think that's beautiful.

This post will also serve as the Masterlist for all of the expected drabbles, so if you'd like to keep updated on what's going to be happening/being written soon, this would be a good place to hang out!

ALL COMPLETED AS OF 11/5/2023

IMAGES USED: A black retriever in an extensive mountainous landscape by Maud Earl & L'angelo, la morte e il diavolo by Roberto Ferri || TOTAL: 5

➣The Perfect One

╰┈➤ ❝ [He stares at the rings under the glass with an acute narrowness to his eyes. He inspects every one as if a bomb might go off at any second, not missing a single detail in the metal.] ❞

➣Get In

╰┈➤ ❝ [Coming home with bruises and stitched wounds, you drag him into the bathroom to wash away the memories.] ❞

➣Hum Me A Tune, Blue-Eyes

╰┈➤ ❝ [You listen to his heartbeat as he keeps you to his chest, his breath tickling your hair.] ❞

➣Here Now

╰┈➤ ❝ [He nearly misses one of the most important moments of your lives together.] ❞

➣Burst Veins

╰┈➤ ❝ [He never noticed you weren't behind him.] ❞

IMAGES USED:  Fallen Angel by Roberto Ferri & Nature of Fear by Nicola Samori || TOTAL: 5

➣Nervous Eyes

╰┈➤ ❝ [No one understands how you two get along - not when you're so different. It makes you second-guess yourself. He notices.] ❞

➣Blood Like Obsidian

╰┈➤ ❝ [Simon can only fight against so many nurses as they shove him back from your operation room.] ❞

➣Supposed To Happen

╰┈➤ ❝ [You died and left him a child he had no idea existed. How can he even begin to try and understand?] ❞

➣Digging Gaze

╰┈➤ ❝ [You indulge in a one-night-stand after you'd both called it quits, only, it leads to more problems. When he sees you again, how will he react to the swelling of your stomach?] ❞

➣Sole Survivor

╰┈➤ ❝ [Your father died years ago, and so you fall under the stiff, and unyielding, protection of your Uncle Simon. But it's not all bad. He can be funny when he wants to be.] ❞

IMAGES USED: White and Black by Vadim Gorbatov & Saint Augustine by Philippe de Champaigne || TOTAL: 7

➣Didn't Mean It

╰┈➤ ❝ [Arguments are rare, certainly ones that leave you in tears.] ❞

➣Him, Her, and the Dog

╰┈➤ ❝ [The woes of pining after a woman whose deadly K9 looks like it hates his guts.] ❞

➣Drunken Sappiness

╰┈➤ ❝ [You can't say you've ever had a boyfriend as perfect as Kyle.] ❞

➣How Do You Listen To That?

╰┈➤ ❝ [It was three a.m. when you all got the call to load up, but what's the best way to wake both yourself and the Sergeant up?] ❞

➣Finally Broken

╰┈➤ ❝ [Childhood friends turned lovers. The realization was far more violent and instantaneous than you'd like to admit.] ❞

➣Don't Look At Her

╰┈➤ ❝ [The bomb starts ticking down, rapidly firing to zero. Gaz won't let Price near you. Not after he'd remembered the Captain's actions when they'd first met.] ❞

➣In His Head

╰┈➤ ❝ [Collection of his SFW and NSFW quirks.] ❞

IMAGES USED: Scene from the Great Flood by Joseph-Désiré Court & Saint Jerome in Prayer by Carlo Dolci || TOTAL: 7

➣Life Snaps By In Flashes

╰┈➤ ❝ [A collection of memories from the second he laid eyes on you. All flashing past in the soft buzzing of the overhead lights.] ❞

➣Heart-Eyes

╰┈➤ ❝ [Being a medic wasn't pretty, but when your boyfriend was the subject under your needle you can't help but enjoy his unwavering gaze. Today, he has something to share with you.] ❞

➣From Ten To Twenty & Beyond

╰┈➤ ❝ [You've known him ever since the incident on the playground, and now you can't help but imagine that same boy as you watch him make supper with flour in his hair.] ❞

➣Find Me

╰┈➤ ❝ [You're finally back in One-Four-One's hands, but that doesn't mean you're saved. Johnny tracks you down after a violent episode.] ❞

➣Still The Same Fools

╰┈➤ ❝ [There was always a rivalry between you two - that hasn't changed even if both of you have. Years later, the boiling point is finally met.] ❞

➣Is This Why?

╰┈➤ ❝ [He finally sees why you never introduced him to your parents.] ❞

➣Oblivious Pining

╰┈➤ ❝ [Johnny hangs off you like a silent beast. Not that you would notice, of course.] ❞

IMAGES USED: King Gustav III of Sweden and His Brothers by Alexander Roslin & Geography lesson by Eduard Karl Gustav Lebrecht Pistorius || TOTAL: 6

KEEGAN P. RUSS:

➣Paint The Dawn; Paint My Eyes

╰┈➤ ❝ [In the midst of war and death, there's little time for pleasure. All you had was a ripped-up sketchbook to call your own, its contents littered with the rough face of your comrade.] ❞

➣Hold Her Close

╰┈➤ ❝ [Keegan cares for his young daughter.] ❞

➣When The Fighting Stops & The Silence Sets In

╰┈➤ ❝ [Continuation of (Don't) Go To War: the aftermath of recovery and a budding relationship.] ❞

➣Movies and Stale Popcorn

╰┈➤ ❝ [Oak and Keegan finally get to watch that movie.] ❞

DAVID 'HESH' WALKER:

➣To The Boy of My Childhood

╰┈➤ ❝ [Ten years came and went fast, but the memory of the Walker boys stayed. One more than the other. You never got to tell him you loved him.] ❞

➣Keep The Sheets Warm, My Love Is Coming Home

╰┈➤ ❝ [If this wasn't enough to prove that you were the only person for Hesh, you didn't know what did.] ❞

IMAGES USED: Saint Catherine of Alexandria by Caravaggio & Amor Vincit Omnia by Caravaggio || TOTAL: 17

CAPTAIN JOHN 'SOAP' MACTAVISH:

➣New Paint

╰┈➤ ❝ [Fighting to forget you, MacTavish finds comfort in whoever he can. Yet, like the layers of paint on the walls, it always peels back to you.] ❞

➣A Song of Gnashing Teeth

╰┈➤ ❝ [There was never a day where the two of you weren't butting heads - everyone was at their wit's end. Of course, you would both be forced to cooperate at some point.] ❞

➣Listen To My Voice

╰┈➤ ❝ [He orders you to focus on him as the sounds outside the cell get closer. He promises nothing will happen to you. You know he's lying.] ❞

➣Look At The Stars; Look At Me

╰┈➤ ❝ [Stargazing in the middle of an overgrown and wild glade.] ❞

➣Alive and Breathing

╰┈➤ ❝ [You're sick. Very sick. John takes drastic action.] ❞

➣I Can See It In Your Eyes

╰┈➤ ❝ [It's finally time to meet the family.] ❞

➣A Green-Eyed Monster

╰┈➤ ❝ [You'd slept together, sure. No strings attached. Then why are you trying to make him jealous? Who cares, the point is that it's working.] ❞

SERGEANT GARY 'ROACH' SANDERSON:

➣Dance With Me Before The Chill Sets In

╰┈➤ ❝ [Tired? Yes, but he's never too tired for you and your loveliness. But maybe you need to remember to lock the door when you're home alone.] ❞

➣Raining Cats and Dogs

╰┈➤ ❝ [Roach has a deep love of storms.] ❞

OPERATION OFFICER ALEX KELLER:

➣Bright-Eyed History Lesson

╰┈➤ ❝ [A librarian with a fascination for war history and a soldier who loves how her eyes light up. Like a dog, he can't stop himself from coming back; smiling like a fool.] ❞

COLONEL ALEJANDRO VARGAS:

➣Hold Me Longer

╰┈➤ ❝ [Mornings spent in the sanctity of warm sunlight and bare skin.] ❞

SERGEANT MAJOR RODOLFO 'RUDY' PARRA:

➣A Love Like Ours Makes Us Strong

╰┈➤ ❝ [Rodolfo came back, alive but bruised. How do you explain how terrified you were?] ❞

COMMANDER PHILLIP GRAVES:

➣Sleeping On The Porch

╰┈➤ ❝ [As it turns out, your husband never really died. It's safe to say you're not overjoyed.] ❞

➣Love Echoes In Silence

╰┈➤ ❝ [You can feel him watching you, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a small smile. Humming to yourself, you listen to the birds outside the window.] ❞

SEBASTIAN JOSEF KRUEGER:

➣Ain't Giving Up My Pride

╰┈➤ ❝ [You get on his nerves, partially because you want to. But what happens when he finally snaps?] ❞

ALL 141 INCLUDED (SEPARATE):

➣Count The Hours

╰┈➤ ❝ [Collection of what the One-Four-One do on their down-hours with their Lovers] ❞

➣Wide-Eyed Panic

╰┈➤ ❝ [Why were you behind the couch?] ❞

[circus-clangen]

asking a bunch of cool clangen blogs (yea you) a question cause I’m working on making one right now- How did you find the main plot based on what clangen generated and make it all mysterious and interesting and stuff?

OHH this is so tricky because SO much of the main lore I’ve interpreted from clangen events hasn’t happened yet, and I can’t spoil it…. How about a very vague one: rng gave me a cat in the future that looked VERY similar to an existing cat I had, with a kit that looked VERY similar to a kit that same existing cat also had. Now I admit that the “Oooh secret family member!” Is probably the most common and least mysterious way you can interpret clangen lore, and I myself have had to tone down my own use of it, but that’s just one example!

I’ve also had cats die of non-murder causes, but given circumstances and relationships with another cat, I choose to interpret it as a murder.

My two big pieces of advice for you are this:

1. As you’re making your plot, write down EVERY little thing that happens. Im even talking the randomly generated character statuses that change every time you reload the game. You don’t have to USE everything and in fact you shouldn’t, but sometimes two correlating minor details are all you need to get a good idea going.

2. Clangen isn’t going to magically make you a wonderful storyteller, and your readers aren’t always going to be captivated. When making a mysterious dramatic plot, know that you’ll get better over time. I look back at my old moons and cringe SO hard, because I just didn’t know what I was doing. And don’t get discouraged if your readers dont seem interested in your mysterious plot or don’t notice all of your foreshadowing details! A good mystery cannot be super intense 24/7, or it’s exhausting. If you want a good mystery, take it slow, and trust that it’ll be more rewarding for the people who really care to stumble across your little details months later, than it would be to compromise and water down the storyline.

You’ve got this! It won’t be easy, and writing mystery is in my opinion the hardest thing you CAN write, but just do what you can and what you love and you’ll do just fine!

GENUINELY both work very well for him. Any accent that’s aggressively and nauseatingly city boy American, that’s how he talks

Anon to be so fr I changed it recently but for MONTHS that’s exactly what it was. Gold star 🌟

Aww weird… that’s crazy… it’s a good thing there wasn’t any kind of supernatural occurrence going on the exact instant Tigertoe found out she was pregnant because man that’d be awkward

*checks toaster over strapped to wrist* hm

U right anon

🫲👀🫱

You guys are not ready for the video essay I’m going to make in like 2 years when Circusclan is completely finished. I have a bottle of wine I’m saving

THIS GUY GETS IT!!

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I completely understand and even encourage the Ringstar haters—he’s not a saint—but THISSSS is how I see my boy… he never wanted any of this to happen, and yet it’s his own fault it all did.

Of course—of COURSE he had to let his baby girl live, even though it meant she couldn’t never be anything more than an insect to him for the rest of his life.

Did Goldmasks deal extend to Starclan? Will he even make it to starclan? Something in him knows that surely he cannot… yet something else dreams that maybe his soul and the devoured part of his heart waits for him there. One day, maybe, he’ll peer down through the clouds and once again feel love for his one and only daughter.

[megalony]

Disgrace

This is an Eddie Diaz imagine requested by Anon, I hope you like it and this is what you were hoping for. Any feedback is always lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@butlegendsneverdie@langdonzvoid@jennyggggrrr@rogmeddows@radiob-l-a-hblah@rogertaylorsbitontheside@chlobo6@rogertaylors-lipgloss@sj-thefanthefan@omgitsearly@luckytrashgooprebel@scarsout@deaky-with-a-c@killer-queen-ofrhye@bluutac@vousmemanqueez-blog@jonesyaddiction@milanosaurus@httpfandxms@saint-hardy@7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls@mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me  @hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@noonenuts@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway

911 Masterlist

Summary: When the school calls and asks (Y/n) to collect Chris after a fall, she ends up having a row and calling Eddie at work to meet her in the emergency room.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With his shoes on his feet and his rucksack hooked on his shoulder, Eddie was five seconds from walking out the front door when a voice caught his attention and stopped him in his tracks. His hand let go of the door and he pushed it shut, smiling as he spun on his heels to face his son.

"Daddy,"

"What's up bud? Didn't I say goodbye to you five minutes ago?" His voice was soft and his head tilted to the side as he looked down at his boy but he could feel his smile slipping away.

Christopher wasn't smiling, he was stood far back in the hallway near the living room, clinging onto the wooden rail Eddie had drilled into the wall so he could easily move about the house without his crutches. He was still in his pyjamas even though Eddie was sure (Y/n) had told him to get ready just before he said goodbye to him.

He had kissed Chris and hugged him and told him what time he would be back from work tonight, their usual routine if Eddie wasn't the one dropping him off to school. Had he forgotten something?

"Mummy fell in the bathroom," Chris tilted his head to the left, looking up at the ceiling for a moment while he pointed behind him towards the bathroom.

It was his routine to brush his teeth and wash his face before he got dressed but before Chris could even get in the bathroom, his mum beat him to it and practically fell in there. And now she was being sick. Chris knew if she was sick he had to get his dad.

He watched his dad's upper lip curl in panic and his rucksack dropped to the floor next to the door.

"Fuck," Eddie muttered quietly under his breath, scraping his boots against the carpet as he dashed from the door past the living room towards the hallway. When he reached Chris, he patted his shoulder and turned him in the direction of his room. "Go get dressed for me, you can brush your teeth in a minute. No one wants to be late today," He kissed Chris's head to shush his distaste at changing his routine before Eddie moved over to the bathroom.

He was expecting to find his wife on the floor cradling her arm or her foot, he was expecting her to be hurt from catching her foot on something or tripping in a hurry to get in.

Eddie wasn't prepared to find (Y/n)'s legs curled beneath her awkwardly on the bath mat, her arms loosely draped over the toilet and her head practically hanging inside the toilet. Her upper body was slumped over like she had fainted but when Eddie heard her groan, he knew she was conscious.

"Mi amor, talk to me." He crouched down beside her, arching his knees out so he was curved around her with her between his thighs. He was careful when he pulled (Y/n) up so he could look at her but their eyes barely met before (Y/n) turned back down and hurled into the toilet. All she could throw up was the water she had tried to sip this morning, anything she ate last night had come back up with vengence already.

(Y/n) felt pitiful when she cried and gasped for breath, wiping her eyes on her arm but it didn't make her feel any better and she could feel more tears replacing them anyway.

She had prayed Eddie would have been out the door when she almost pushed their son out the way so she didn't throw up on the floor. (Y/n) didn't like Eddie seeing her like this, especially not when she was now going to make him late for work. It wasn't fair.

She could feel Eddie's lips pressing against her bare shoulder and his hands slowly rubbed up and down her arms. His hum and shushes vibrated against her skin and made her shiver and when Eddie pulled her back and let her flop against his chest, she tried to smile and look up at him. They both knew her smile did nothing to calm him down, he raised his brow as if asking if that was all she could manage.

"I-it's all out,"

"That's what I'm worried about, I can see last night's lasagne made a reappearance." Eddie sighed before he leaned his arm over to flush the toilet. He cared a lot that she had thrown up last night's tea because it meant she didn't have anything left in her system. She was five months pregnant and having morning sickness like she never had with Chris. Eddie could see his wife was going to be dehydrated and if food wasn't staying down she wouldn't have any nutrients or energy left.

"Go to work baby, I'll get a shower and-"

"Don't baby me, you're burning up. Go to bed, that's an order." When he pressed the back of his hand against her temple, he clicked his tongue. She was getting a temperature and thought buttering him up would make him ignore it.

"I have to take Chris to school," (Y/n) tilted her head back on Eddie's shoulder and reached a heavy hand up to cup his cheek. When he only stared down at her with that dark, infectious, if possessive look, (Y/n) could have melted on the spot if she didn't feel so icky and uneasy.

She found the strength to loop her arms around Eddie's neck and he took the hint, grabbing her hips to pull her up to unsteady feet.

"Go to bed, I'll get you a drink and drop Chris off on my way to work."

Something whined at the back of her throat and she dropped her head into the crook of his neck, bringing her hand up to brush his jaw while he kissed the top of her head and slowly guided her out of the bathroom. Deep down they both knew she was in no fit state to drive Chris to school, let alone walk about the house until her stomach had settled and she managed to get some sort of fluids into her system.

There was no way Eddie was about to leave when she was in this state, he would take Chris to school and ring to check up on her when he had the time. He wasn't happy about how unwell she was and he made a mental note to call the doctor tomorrow when he was off work.

When (Y/n) flopped to sit down on the bed, Eddie stood between her legs and cupped her face, tilting her head up so she could look up at him. His thumbs brushed over her cheeks and his wet lips smoothed against her burning temple.

"Rest, mi amor. And I want you to call me before lunch so I know you're alright, if you don't I'll come home and check on you."

He was being deadly serious and they both knew it, if (Y/n) couldn't ring him or answer the phone and let him know she was alright he would panic and end up stopping by on a call to make sure she was okay. He didn't want to leave her like this but it was far too little notice to call off his shift.

"I will,"

"Good, I need to know my girls are okay,"

He trailed one hand down (Y/n)'s neck and over her arm, feeling her shiver beneath his touch until his hand landed on her slightly rounded stomach. His thumb brushed across her stomach in a slight hope to feel some movement but it seemed she was asleep.

"Alright Chris, you better be dressed bud because you're coming with me this morning and we gotta go." Eddie jogged out of the bedroom and headed over to Chris's room, peering around the door to see him just slipping his glasses on, fully dressed. "That's my boy, go do your teeth while I make mummy a drink."

He glanced down at his watch, clicking his tongue, he had ten minutes before he had to be at work and this was going to be a half an hour job.

"What about breakfast?" Chris slipped his hands into his crutches and walked towards Eddie who grinned down at him.

"I fancy a Mcdonalds, what do you think?"

The widespread grin on Chris's face and the squeal he let out told Eddie he had come up with a good plan. There wasn't time for Chris's routine of scrambled eggs, toast and a homemade smoothie and Eddie knew if he tried ot make Chris eat in the car or have something different, he would panic and have a meltdown. But a Mcdonalds was always an exception, Chris would always change his routine for their pancakes and Eddie would let him get syrup all over the truck, he would deal with the mess tomorrow.

"Go clean those teeth and say bye to mummy then."

***

(Y/n) arched her back out and rested her forearms on the counter near her bottle of water that was now finally almost empty. Eddie would be pleased to know she had managed to eat a few biscuits and drink a bottle of water, none of which had come back up yet.

She had done as promised and called him around ten to say she felt a lot calmer and was up and about to try to eat. She could hear the relief in his voice and Chris had gotten to school fine, covered in golden syrup and laughing away about breakfast.

When the boys left, (Y/n) managed to lie in bed for an hour and her cold sweat wore off and when she didn't feel like she was burning up anymore, she tried to move. She sank into the bath for a while, changed into one of Eddie's button up shirts that she was starting to wear a lot recently, and tried to tidy up a little. The house wasn't as messy since it was during the week and Chris was burning up most of his energy at school and was burnt out when he came home.

It meant (Y/n) could have a resting day today and try to recouperate before she had to go and pick him up.

Looking around, (Y/n) debated whether or not to try and make something light to eat, maybe some toast to line her stomach so she could proudly tell Eddie she was alright.

A smile wormed its way onto her tired face when her phone vibrated on the counter. Was Eddie trying to make sure she ate lunch so he didn't have to come home and check on her? The smile slipped from her face and turned into a deep setting frown when she read the name. It was Chris's school.

"Hello?"

"Is that Mrs Diaz? I'm calling about Christopher,"

"Yes, is he alright?" (Y/n) could feel the dread setting in the pit of her stomach as her baby did a twist inside her. She could hear it in the woman's voice, something wasn't right with her son, something wasn't okay.

She had gotten this phone call too many times recently.

"He's had a minor fall outside during playtime and he was upset, we think it might be best if you come and take him home for the rest of the day."

"Oh God… tell him I'm on my way I won't be long I promise." (Y/n) rubbed her temple, forcing the tears back in her head as she felt her food creeping back up her throat.

"Thank you,"

With a grumble, (Y/n) hung up and threw the phone down on the counter, shouting a loud 'fuck!' as she did so. How had they let this happen again? Two weeks ago they had let him play on the climbing frame and surprise surprise, he fell and cut his knee open. Then they hadn't watched him another time outside either and he scraped his hands and twisted his ankle.

Christopher wasn't the best at walking, even when he was on his crutches he was fast but clumsy and he couldn't help it. If they didn't supervise him properly he could stumble or bump into people and he was always desperate to join in the fun with everyone else. He tried to join in what others were doing and no one stopped him.

It had to be bad if Chris wanted to come home, he was stuck on his routines and if they changed he got disgruntled and nervous. He didn't always want to come home early, he liked his classes.

(Y/n) stormed down the hallway and burst into the bedroom, looking around for something else to wear. She couldn't go collect Chris dressed like this.

Ripping off her/ Eddie's shirt since the curtains were closed, (Y/n) grabbed her bra and hooked it on before she pulled Eddie's shirt back on after a second thought. She didn't have time to look for a blouse or a dress or something more fitting, it would have to do. Her tight black trousers were the first ones she could find in the drawer but when (Y/n) tried to pull them over her stomach and tuck Eddie's shirt in, the zipper and buttons wouldn't do up.

"For God's sake!" She was in a rush now. She yanked the shirt out and pulled it down, thankful it covered her bum and crotch so no one would see her trousers couldn't do up.

She could feel tears welling up in her eyes when her head went dizzy and the water crept back up her throat.

After throwing up her last mouthful of water in the toilet, (Y/n) stumbled down the hall and threw her phone in her bag and grabbed her keys. She stuffed her feet into her flat shoes and headed out the door. She had to go and pick up her son.

It was almost a fifteen minute drive to the school and (Y/n) was tense the entire ride, keeping her hand pressed against her mouth whenever she thought she was going to throw up again. She had to keep it together, she had to drive and be well enough to look after Chris. If he wanted to come home he was going to surely have a meltdown at some point and he would be unsettled.

He would want and need a lot of comfort and loving, (Y/n) couldn't be sick when she had to look after her son. Chris always came first.

"I'm here to collect Christopher Diaz," (Y/n) blinked away the tears welling up from how lightheaded and uneasy she felt. She planted her hand down on the counter to prop herself up and tightened her other hand around her bag strap.

She didn't look her best, in one of Eddie's shirts with the sleeves awkwardly fumbled up past her elbows and her hair in a messy bun at the back of her head. And she was sure the receptionist could see she looked far less than her best or her usual self.

"Yes, he's just this way. If you'll follow me,"

(Y/n) followed the stout lady past reception, down the hall and into a quiet corridor with a few small meeting rooms and offices rather than classrooms. They never usually kept Chris waiting down here for her, he waited in his class or at reception for her.

Why had they brought him out here?

Something churned in her stomach and her heart jumped into her throat when the lady led her down to the medical office.

"Mummy!" The relief was clear in Chris's voice but so was the pain and the yearning and the fact that he had been crying for a while.

But when his mum saw him, a fire lit up in her eyes and her body went rigid. What had they done to her baby boy? Chris was sat slumped on the medical bed, his shaking hands itching up and down his legs, a habit he did when he was anxious and didn't know what to do with himself. His glasses were hanging round his neck, presumably since he had been crying.

What caught (Y/n)'s keen eye was the school nurse stood by the bed with a wet towel pressed against the right side of Chris's forehead just around his hairline. There were smudges of blood on his cheekbone, his neck, it was stained onto his school top and his right elbow was scraped and they hadn't even bothered to clean it up for him or even give him a plaster.

"What happened?" Her voice was stern and low and she dropped her bag to the floor and moved over to her son.

He curled his arms around her waist, buried his face into her chest and whimpered quietly. He held her so tightly that he made her shake too. (Y/n) gently took the towel away from his head but Chris felt her sharp intake of breath when she looked down at his head.

He had a deep gash down his forehead that extended up two inches into his hair that was wet so it could be patted down and parted to see the damage. Why didn't they tell her how bad this was? Why had they given him a limp paper towel when this was clearly going to need stitches? How incompetent was this place?

"He was playing with some other children at recess and he fell, he hit his head quite hard on the cement lip separating the field and the playground."

"Quite hard?" (Y/n) repeated, turning to the receptionist and blinking in utter disbelief.

"I'm sorry?"

"He hit his head 'quite hard'? Are you fucking blind, he needs stitches!" (Y/n) couldn't control the shaking that set in her bones or the way the baby started to do summersaults in her abdomen and made her feel sick. Even Chris whimpered and burrowed deeper into her chest, nuzzling his nose against her bump.

"Mrs Diaz, please calm down… we know Christopher is unsteady on his feet but-"

"No, don't you dare tell me to calm down you incompetent woman. I was told he had a minor fall, I wasn't informed my son had cracked his head open and needed stitches. And what do you call this limp disgrace?!"

Moving her hand, (Y/n) grabbed the paper towel that was soaked with blood and water. How on Earth did they think that would help Chris? A wet towel wasn't going to take away the pain, it wasn't going to stem the bleeding or keep the skin pressed together. It was going to inflame his headache.

The receptionist gasped and took a step back when (Y/n) threw the useless paper towel towards her and watched it drop to the floor.

"A paper towel? No gauze, no antiseptic to clean the wound-"

"Mrs Diaz this is unacceptable-"

"Yes it is! My husband came down here a week ago and told you specifically that Chris needs to be watched and helped and what have you done? Do not expect him back here again. Expect a complaint to the school board. I'm taking my son to A&E."

(Y/n) could feel her nails piercing through the palms of her hands when she unravelled Chris from her stomach so she could grab her bag.

This was disgusting. They had been told hundreds of times that Chris needed supervision, that he didn't always understand that he could hurt himself when he tried to play with the other kids. Chris didn't have danger awareness and he didn't like asking for help unless it was from family.

They hadn't been watching him and he had hurt himself, badly. And they didn't even try to help patch him up at all. Now on top of being ill and having to collect Chris early which was going to disrupt his routine, (Y/n) was going to spend the afternoon down in A&E to get him patched up. It was lucky she would soon be seeing a doctor because (Y/n) could feel her own blood pressure rising through the roof right now.

"Mummy?"

"Come here baby, we're leaving now."

She grabbed his backpack and put it on her other shoulder before she wound her arms around Chris's waist and picked him up. There was no way he was walking out of here in this state, she would carry her baby boy to the car and try to comfort him after this idiotic parade.

Her back started to strain when she straightened up with the bags on her shoulders, the baby weighing down on her abdomen and now Chris perched high on her hip, but she didn't care. Her son curled his legs around her waist, whimpered into her neck and bound his arms as tight around her as possible like he was afraid something bad would happen if she let him go.

She grabbed his crutches with her free hand and had it in mind to hit the receptionist with them on the way out but she refrained. She walked out of the room with her eyes anywhere but at the two snotty women who would be reported as soon as (Y/n) got home tonight.

(Y/n) pressed her lips against Chris's curls when she walked out of the reception as slowly as she could so she didn't drop him or any of their things.

It was usually Eddie who carried Chris, he had told Chris now that (Y/n) was pregnant she was already carrying a baby around with her and therefore couldn't carry him as well, but that didn't matter right now. Eddie wasn't here to scold her and their son needed as much comfort as he could get.

"I'm sorry mummy."

"What for, baby?"

"Stain shirt now, a-and I fell… wanted to go home." He pulled his head back enough to look at (Y/n) but his frown softened when she kissed his nose, and then his cheek twice.

"You don't have to be sorry, for anything. It isn't your fault you fell over, but we do have to go to hospital to get it checked out, okay?"

"Okay,"

When she finally reached the car, (Y/n) dropped her bag and the crutches and juggled the keys so she could strap Chris in his car seat in the back. She didn't have time to mess about and move his seat up front, they had to go.

When he was strapped in, (Y/n) looked around the car and then in her bag but all she had was a pack of wipes which wasn't going to do much good. she kneeled in the footwell and leaned over him to gently clean his elbow before she dared to touch his head. He cried out and curled back in the seat, biting his thumb as he frowned and started to cry even as she kissed his head and gently shushed him.

"I know baby, I'm sorry. Try and keep this on it until we get there," (Y/n) handed him a clean wipe but she knew he wasn't going to press it to his head, he was going to fiddle with it for something to occupy himself until they got there.

(Y/n) hastily dumped everything in the car and got in, clipping her phone into the holder and pressing Eddie's icon. She prayed he would answer, he said he would try if she called because she hadn't been well today.

"Mi amor, how do you feel? Have you managed to eat anything?"

"Eddie baby, we have a problem," (Y/n) turned on the radio for Chris so he wouldn't pay attention to what she and Eddie were about to talk about.

"What's wrong, are you okay?" The panic was clear in Eddie's voice and (Y/n) hated worrying him at work, she didn't know if he was just about to go out on a call or if he was coming back from one. She wasn't sure what he was doing or if he was meant to be answering the phone right now but she had to talk to him.

"It's not me, I've just picked Chris up from school… baby I gotta take him to A&E, I don't wanna ask but c-could you meet us there? Would Bobby be okay with that?"

"What happened?!"

"They weren't watching him and he fell, he's cracked his bloody head it needs stitches. And that bloody reception woman… she didn't tell me that, she just asked me to come pick him up. We can't keep doing this if it was any worse-"

"Mi amor calm down, you've already picked him up? You're not well, you shouldn't even be going out, fuck! I'll meet you at the hospital in ten minutes and you can explain it all to me there, okay? But don't worry, he's not going back to that place again."

Eddie racked his fingers through his hair but he couldn't stop himself from colliding the heel of his boot out against the locker in front of him, earning a large dent in the metal.

He shouldn't be getting a phone call from his wife saying she was ill but had to go and take their son to the hospital. When Chris was at school he was their responsibility and that meant they should look after him and watch him closely and attend to him if he hurt himself.

They didn't get to call the parents and admit they didn't do their job and didn't want the hassle of helping Chris when he was hurt. He didn't go to school to be left unattended and wind up getting hurt.

If Eddie left now he would get to the hospital either just before or right after (Y/n) did, depending on how far from the school she was. He knew Bobby wouldn't bat an eyelid at him going when he explained why. Bobby was good like that, he understood family matters, he wasn't annoyed when Eddie came in late this morning. He knew Eddie would always pick up an additional shift or stay late to make up his hours if needed.

Closing her eyes, (Y/n) tilted her head down until she could nuzzle her face into Chris's shoulder. She continued to slowly shift their weight from foot to foot, leaning and swaying left to right to try and keep him calm and settled but she could feel him starting to panic.

He had his arms loosely draped around her neck and she could feel his jaw clicking against her shoulder as he mumbled a few quiet noises every now and then.

When she went to the reception desk in the emergency room, (Y/n) had told them Chris had CP and autism and therefore wouldn't be okay waiting. She had moved to stand near the entrance doors out the way of everyone else who was sat muttering, crying and demanding to be seen. There were too many sensory overloads here for her to sit with Chris on her lap. He would have a meltdown.

Whereas if she stood in the corner and rocked him in her arms, despite the growing ache in her back and stomach, it kept him calm.

The receptionist had been very understanding and she could see it wouldn't help to wait when Chris had gone over an hour with his gash that hadn't been treated or cleaned yet. They wouldn't make him wait long.

"Daddy," Chris's voice was tired and strained but he smiled when his dad came into his sight.

Relief swarmed through Eddie like a wildfire when he ran through the main entrance and his eyes instantly set on his family. He bolted over to them, breathless and panting with his arms stretched out just as (Y/n) turned around to see him.

He curled his arms around them both, one arm tight around (Y/n)'s waist and the other wrapped around Chris and he pulled them both into his chest. As if trying to stuff them into his heart and keep the safe. His lips pressed longingly to (Y/n)'s forehead and he could feel her shaky breaths fan against his neck.

When he was sure his heart had calmed down and the panic started to dwindle, Eddie pulled back and moved to cup Chris's face in his hands so he could assess the damage. His lip curled up in distaste and his eyes narrowed, filling with sorrow at the state of his son's head.

"Oh buddy, that's bad," Eddie kissed his head, feeling his curls brushing against nose. "What were you doing?" There was no blame or anger in his voice at all, only sympathy and concern.

"Playing on field, it hurts daddy." Chris leaned his face into Eddie's touch, trying to fight off another wave of tears. One moment he was trying to run with Adam and Leo on the field and the next thing he knew, he was screaming on the floor with blood trickling down the side of his face. He didn't even feel the pain in the graze on his elbow, all he could feel was the splitting headache burning behind his eyes and across his temple.

"Christopher Diaz?"

"Here we go look, you'll be patched up in no time. Come here,"

(Y/n) adjusted Chris in her arms so Eddie could carefully pick him up and carry him instead and as soon as he was out of her arms, she had to click her back into place. Chris instantly nuzzled himself into Eddie who curled his free arm around (Y/n) and guided them down the hall towards the doctor calling their name.

When they got in the small treatment room, Eddie sat down on the end of the bed in the centre of the room. He perched Christopher on his lap and kept his arms around his waist while (Y/n) pulled up a chair and sat next to them. She rested her arms on Eddie's thigh and rubbed her hand up and down Chris's arm. They both knew this wasn't going to go down well.

"I'm Doctor Abbot, can you tell me what happened?" She looked down at Chris with a kind smile but he didn't pay attention.

He wasn't in a talking mood anymore, he was starting to shut down because he knew what was going to happen and he knew however she helped his head, it was going to hurt. He wrapped his arms around Eddie's middle and pressed the left side of his face into his dad's chest, basking in the warmth as he closed his eyes tight.

"He fell in the playground, the school didn't clean it very well and I tried but I couldn't do much,"

"Okay, I'm going to take a quick look,"

She pulled up a stool and sat down in front of them. Her movements were slow and gentle as she carefully tilted Chris's head down so she could look at the gash. Her fingers parted his curls and when she pressed the pad of her finger down in various places, Chris hissed and jolted.

"Is your vision blurred? Can you see alright?"

"I can see," He whispered in a soft voice, pushing back into Eddie suddenly when the doctor flashed a light across his eyes to check his pupils.

"That's good, I need to clean your head, then I can see how best to fix it."

"You're doing so good baby," (Y/n) encouraged and took Chris's hand so she could kiss it and hold it close to her chest. She smoothed her thumb across the back of his hand as her other hand gripped Eddie's leg.

They both watched intently as the doctor pulled over a tray and got a pair of tweezers. She dunked some gauze into a bowl of antiseptic and using the tweezers, very carefully dabbed it across the wound. They had to be sure there was no dirt or grit in the cut and prevent any infection before they closed it up.

Chris pinched Eddie's back and dug his nails in every time the cloth dabbed at his head. His nose twitched and his face tensed and tightened until he cried out and squeezed Eddie so tight he coughed breathlessly.

"Alright, it's okay, shh." Eddie rubbed his hand up and down Chris's arm but his eyes focused on the cut. It wasn't deep enough to see any muscle or his skull but it was more than just a graze or a little slit. And when the doctor dripped some saline over the cut to thoroughly cleanse it, Chris screamed.

"That's the worst part done, Chris, you're being a brave patient today." Doctor Abbot got some clean gauze to wipe away the saline and dried patches of blood before her attention moved to the couple.

"I think it would be best to glue the wound rather than stitch it. I can give him a small pain relief, he's not allergic to anything?" She danced her eyes across his notes before she looked back at them for confirmation.

"If that's what's best, he's not allergic to any meds."

"I need someone to push the skin together tight so I can apply the glue… am I right in assuming he wouldn't let a nurse do that?"

A silent exchange passed between Eddie and (Y/n) before they both shook their heads. Chris was perfectly fine talking to strangers and getting to know new people, he enjoyed conversing and playing. But this was different, if someone strange walked in and hurt him to try and help him, he would have a meltdown. It wouldn't help him trust people in the future and it would frighten him.

"Are you okay holding his head?" She looked at (Y/n) who nodded; she was going to have to be okay doing that because Eddie was going to need to hold him down. "I'll go get it set up,"

Eddie gently shifted Chris round so his back was tucked up against Eddie's chest, making it easier for the doctor when she came back in. The more Chris tried to tuck into his dad's chest, the less likely he would be to cooperate and get his head seen to. He was upset, tired and in pain and he wanted to go home. He didn't want to be here.

"Baby, you have to stay still now, it won't take long and you're going to get some medicine to make you feel better," (Y/n) kissed his hand and gently moved his arm so it was laid out on her lap when the doctor came back in with a trolley.

A silent look between Doctor Abbot and (Y/n) made it clear telling Chris about the needle wasn't going to be a good idea. So (Y/n) smoothed her hand up and down his arm and blocked his view so the doctor could easily and effectively push the needle into the back of his hand and give him a dose of pain relief.

By the time he cried out and started to twinge and pull back, it was all done.

"Good lad, that wasn't bad, was it?" Leaning down, Eddie kissed the back of his head and gently jostled him up and down on his knees. He kept his arms bound around Chris's waist, saying nothing when Chris gripped his forearms tight in anticipation of what was about to happen.

"Chris, I'm going to show your mum how to hold your head, then when I've put the magic glue on, everything will be done."

"Don't want to,"

"I know bud, but you need to be brave for us. I've got you,"

Chris snapped his eyes closed and braced back into Eddie's chest, starting to tremble at the prospect of what they were about to do. He tensed so hard he started to shake so Eddie held him a bit tighter and started to repeat one of his favourite stories that Eddie now knew off by heart. He had to distract him somehow.

"Okay, fingertips pushed against the skin like this, stay very still and tight."

With a deep breath, (Y/n) stood up and loosened her fingers before she tried to copy the doctor. She pressed the end of her fingers against either side of the cut and pushed them together. Wincing when she heard Chris cry out beneath her. The skin had to be close and held for a while so the glue could set and bind them together.

It looked like craft paste that came out of the tube and slicked up and down the cut like cement precisely and carefully being poured into a crack in the floor. The sight made (Y/n)'s stomach churn and she wanted to be sick but she braced her hands and tensed her arms to stay absolutely still.

It was hard when Chris started to scream.

His nails punctured into Eddie's arms and created long, bloodied scratches. He started to push his back into Eddie's chest, bashing back and forth, desperate to get out of his hold and make the pain go away. Eddie's calming voice and (Y/n)'s quiet pleas did nothing to calm him down, all he could do was sob and scream for them to stop.

When he started to swing his legs and kicked (Y/n) in the thigh, she bit down into her lip and hobbled to stand just behind Eddie's shoulder. Her stomach pressed into his bicep and shoulder to stay out of the firing line and she tried to keep hold of his head, the glue still needed to set.

"Shh, buddy it's all over, you've done it. Shh."

Eddie kept his right arm pressed tight into Chris's lower chest to pin him back into his chest and he moved his left hand to cup Chris's cheek. He leaned over his shoulder and kissed his cheek, pressing kiss after wet kiss to his skin to try and soothe him and give him the comfort he needed to calm down.

"That's it, good boy. You've done so well."

[watership-clown]

Debunking Lily's "Behavioural Psychology Degree" with facts and logic (and a two minute google search)

First of all, big ups to @skrinkskronk (EDIT: ammended the screenshot credit :) thank you to skrinkskronk for both the picture and the clarification!) as, without their keen screenshot button, this post could not and would not exist. You can check for yourself - the original ask no longer lives on Lily's blog (a fact that I'm sure many Lily defenders will have quite the opinion about - please see the questions section below! <3) Second of all: who the fuck am I?

Someone who attended university in Canada, that's who!

For real though: I have a bachelor's degree from the University of British Columbia, double majoring in English Literature and History. Does this mean I know anything at all about getting a behavioural psych degree?

No!

But I do know how attending university in Canada works. It is not at all as Lily describes. I'm going to largely avoid talking about the degree itself in this post - CrimsonEnder has already done the research on that and I highly recommend checking out his post for more information on why Lily couldn't even get the degree she claims to have studied for. Instead, I'm going to go forward as if we are in an alternate dimension where Lily made the far more believable claim that she was working towards a Bachelor of Science degree with a focus on Psychology.

Let's do a close reading, shall we?

And barely graduating is still graduating.

Starting off strong: this is a true statement! She's right, to get your high school diploma in the province of Nova Scotia, one must:

Meet the minimum number of credits requited for graduation, which is 18 (source: creditsforgraduationdiplomaen.pdf (ednet.ns.ca) )

That's it! (in my province we also had to pass a literacy assessment and do some 30 odd hours of community service. no, I'm not still salty about it 10 years later.)

However, passing is not succeeding. Lily has stated that she barely passed high school, did the bare minimum to get it over and done with. This is fine in and of itself. I attach no moral or intellectual weight to not caring about high school as it is by no means set up to let every child succeed. However, doing the "bare minimum" to pass does not open many doors for further schooling down the road. So, in order to pass a class, one must achieve a minimum of 60% - otherwise known as a grade of C. Assuming that for her 12th grade year Lily took a full load of 4 courses over two semesters, achieving the minimum grade that would allow her to walk the stage and get her diploma, she would leave high school with a 2.0 gpa.

Remember this score. 2.0. We will come back to this.

This is in Canada, there's no SAT's to take.

Look at that! 2 for 2 true statements. Canada has no SAT or nation-wide equivalent. Understanding this, in order to meet the minimum requirements for admission into university, one's GPA plays an extremely large role. For example, in order to even be considered for admission into McGill, one of Canada's top universities, one must have a 3-year minimum grade range of 85% (an A) and a final GPA of 4.0. Grades equal to or above this minimum do not guarantee admission (NO, I'm NOT still salty that I didn't get admitted). With a 2.0 GPA, Lily's application would have been tossed after a glance. "BUT BUT BUT!" I hear you say, "this is from one of Canada's most selective institutions! In a province Lily doesn't even live in! You're holding her to an improbable standard!" And you would be right! But this was just an example to showcase how university admissions function. Let's look at a uni a little closer to home. Let's even look at four:

Dalhousie University Undergrad minimum requirements: 75% or 3.0 (source: General admission requirements | Dalhousie University) )

Mount Saint Vincent University: 70% or 2.70 with no individual grade below 60% (source: Admissions (msvu.ca) )

Saint Mary's University: 70% or 2.70 with no individual grade below 60% (source: Canadian High School Curriculum Requirements | Future Students | Saint Mary's University (smu.ca) )

University of King's College: 75% or 2.0 with no individual grade below 60% (source: Undergraduate Admission Requirements | University of King's College (ukings.ca) )

She doesn't meet the minimum requirements for any local Halifax university or college with a psych program. However, if we are to be charitable, (and believe that Lily scored slightly above the true minimum of 60%) MSVU could have admitted her based on individual merit. From their mature students policy, we can read:

Applicants who present overall grade XII averages between 65 and 69 percent will be reviewed for admission on an individual basis. (source: Admissions (msvu.ca) )

I'm not going to pretend this isn't the case or couldn't be true or try to obfuscate it from her and her defenders.

... But if the rebuttal is so easy, why doesn't she say that?

You either graduated High School or you didn't.

I'm sure Lily did graduate high school. I'm certain she did so after putting in the minimum amount of required work. I do not believe that she has or ever intends to attend university in Canada.

Objections I'm sure this post will spark:

"skrinkskronk's screenshot could be faked!"

And I could have blue skin, but that is not reality. Rather than taking my word for the fact that this ask was real, the answer Lily gave was as shown above, and many people saw it before it went MIA, I instead invite you to consider something: asking Lily yourself. Go on! Ask her! In whatever way you find most comfortable, ask how she went to university for a) a degree that doesn't exist b) with a below-requirement gpa and c) paid for it with money she doesn't have. When she deletes your ask, ignores your superchat, or approaches your honest and genuine thirst for truth with hostility, I then want you to ask yourself why that is.

"Lily could have upgraded her scores at a local college before applying to university!"

Did she say that? Has she ever claimed to have done that? Or are you putting the right words into her mouth so she can easily go "Yup! that's what I did! Obviously!"

If she had done this (or had at least thought of this herself), why didn't she claim to have done this in the original ask? Wouldn't it be easier to just say "I upgraded later" than pretend that a measly 2.0 could get you into an advanced degree program? I have no doubt that Lily is going to recount her story and claim the above statement was true all along. "[She] just upgraded!" But I ask you to think on this, to really consider it: why is the story only changing after confrontation? If the answer is so simple and so obvious... why was it not always true?

"You say at multiple points that Lily could easily provide a rebuttal but she doesn't owe you or any of her critics a response!"

This is true! However, she responds to criticism all the time.

Her taking down Sai's streams is her responding to Sai's criticism. Her snarkily talking around Ant and his content in her videos is her responding to his criticism. Her answering asks from her fans (despite in her "rules" stating that she will not) filling her in on the goings on of her critics is a response to their criticism. A response isn't always the literal "and to that I say: blah blah blah".

If Crimson, I, or anyone else who thought twice about this situation were wrong: could we not be easily disproved? She is the one who (supposedly) attempted the degree. The records would exist. She would have access to them. She would not run away when challenged with a very easily disprovable argument. As much as Lily loves to protest that she ignores the haters and refuses to respond to criticism, that claim is demonstrably false. She responds to criticism all the time - she can't keep Sai, Crimson, or Ant's names out of her mouth while on stream, in her videos, or on her blog. If she had an easy win, she would take it. She has before. She will again.

Closing Arguments

I feel like I have adequately demonstrated that, even if Lily did apply for an undergraduate degree, if not the flashy shiny

Behavioural Psychology

that she claims, she likely wouldn't have even made it past the admissions stage. I don't want to say that it's completely impossible for her to have attempted post-secondary education. As stated above: MSVU could have admitted her based on individual merit.

What I do hope is that this post invites people think more critically about her claims.

What do I think happened with the original ask? I think some anon, the original question asker or otherwise, challenged her before I or CrimsonEnder did. This scared her and, realizing she'd been caught, tried to wash away the evidence before anyone else could trip on the lie. Sadly, that's not what happened.

If she did attend university, how did she pay for it? Is a 2.0 GPA enough to qualify her for a scholarship, grant, or bursary? A 4 year degree in Canada can easily run a person $6,463 per year, not including textbooks or other fees. Where did she suddenly get that much money? These claims are so easily questioned and disproven because Lily Orchard thinks her audience is too whipped and fundamentally too stupid to ever seek the information for themselves.

She does not respect you. She does not respect your intelligence as a human being.

You deserve better.

[dailyrothko]

Do you mind when other people blog Rothko

Ha, no. The whole point of this blog really is to educate people on his art and spread it around, the problem is that there are some things that go along with that.

One of them is that if I correct somebody online about their fake painting or a painting that's upside down generally they will not pay attention and if they do pay attention generally they will not fix it. Sometimes they block me. Other times, a "lifestyle blog" will put a bunch up and those are much more popular than art blogs so it's difficult to correct this new audience to the possibility that what they're looking at is fake or mutilated,

Sometimes, as many of you know, I will re-blog one as an example of something to avoid. I try not to blame the people that are putting it up because there's no reason they should know any better, but some of them don't want to know any better and it puts me in a weird position because the work is copyrighted and it could be taken down, and I'm not going to encourage that, but I also don't like to encourage people mutilating works of art. I'm not the person who thinks it's cool when you colorize old movies so we can all "relate" and I'm not the person who thinks that presenting color photographs in black-and-white is good if it goes along with your "theme", I just don't think we should meddle with the artist's intentions if possible

I have a close relationship with many people in the Rothko world and I know that, for instance, if a museum person sees a painting at their museum and somebody has photoshopped it or it's a terrible picture? they would love to see a good one in its place. This blog is often able to provide those pictures by keeping up with the newest scans, but people don't want to re-blog because they like to get the credit for posting the pictures in the notes, which, to me, is very immature blogger attitude.

My blog has greatly benefited from submissions and I get a lot of them, many here and many on Instagram, and I always credit the photographers and keep their credit intact, which seems like the normal thing to do, and that way when one of the people that takes museum trips and takes good pictures gets to the next Rothko exhibit, they are sure to offer me some pictures they took because I'm not going to just steal them. It's not that I am a saint, I think it's polite but its also practical, and I think that sometimes if you play the long game rather than alienating everybody, you end up in a better position to do the things that you like to do. (obviously I am speaking of etiquette here or not alienating nazis or punching fascists which I am greatly in support of).

It can also be a little bit frustrating when all the information is stripped from the painting, when a lot of people would like to know the details and they are right here.

I don't mean all of this to sound holier than thou I think of it as a simple fact. I have put this work in for reference. If you don't want to reblog me, or let's say you were at San Francisco MOMA and took a picture of number 14 1960. You could look it up here and get the details if you did not know them, and I would consider that to be a good use of this blog.

So no I am happy for people to spread the word and get the art around to different audiences and different people but I wish they would have cared about it, partially because I'm right here to help and it would not be much effort to ask me or Reblog, but the truth is that most people don't care about that stuff and there's nothing I can do about it unless I want to go to great lengths.

Sometimes frankly I just don't understand it. There are particular blogs who put up bad scans but worse they put up fake paintings year after year after year and it's not like they have not been informed that they are fake. I don't know if they are art bots like the off the easel scammers who had all the "artist Rothko" type blogs, but those people were tech Bros stealing your personal information and mining wiki paintings which is a terrible place to get art, and they were spreading paintings that were sideways year after year. There's a rule on Tumblr against bots but it's not enforced, like everything around here.

So the short answer is no, but the long answer if you made it through it, is  that I wish people had a little bit more interest in precision. This month I must've told 20 different people that they had a problem in their painting post, not a single person changed it. And everybody makes mistakes, but I actually prefer if people correct mine because it embarrasses me!

Apologies for the long reply

[panlight]

Hello! I’m always very happy to see posts from this blog! The question I have is, what do you think are key components to Bella’s personality? Like, while reading the books, or even reading fanfics, what makes you go: that’s Bella!! There’s usually a lot of talk about her sarcasm and stubbornness, so what are other key traits?

I think one of the key aspects of Bella's personality is that when she commits to something, she commits. I think either Charlie or Renee say in the books that she was always a "constant little thing." Once she makes up her mind about something, she's going to follow through with it, even if everyone tells her it's a bad idea. (Lucky for her that she has plot armor that usually protects her!) This is related to stubbornness but I think it's more than that.

For example, she decides to move to Forks so Renee can travel with Phil. Renee tells her she doesn't have to do it, tries to talk her out of it. Bella has made up her mind, though. And she gets to Forks and she hates it, but she made up her mind. She's following through. She decides she wants to be a vampire and no one can sway her from it. Not Jacob, not Rosalie, not even Edward. She's made up her mind. She decides to keep the pregnancy that is killing her but she's mind up her mind, she's following through.

I think another factor is something of a martyr complex. That is she's selfless, sure--but she's mostly selfless with Big Gestures whereas with the little things she's more human and flawed, like stomping her feet and whining it's not fair that Jacob isn't aging but she is. "What kind of world is this? Where is the justice?" etc. But she'll move to Forks for Renee. She'll go to confront James to save Renee. She'll go to Volterra to save Edward. She'll almost/actually cut herself with a rock to distract Victoria and Riley to save Edward and Seth. She'll carry this dangerous pregnancy to term so Renesmee can exist. But she'll also whine about the weather and having to age and write Eric off as a greasy chess club type. She's not a perfect saint, but she's self-sacrificing.

She's also got self-esteem issues (don't we all?). Sometimes to a frustrating degree. I remember reading New Moon for the first time and after her reunion with Edward and how it takes her a long, long time to be like, "oh you love me," when it was just screamingly obvious the whole time. It was obvious when he left he was doing it to protect her, but her self-esteem was so low that she believed the lies. She thinks she's mousy and unattractive but literally every teenage boy in Forks is throwing themselves at her. And one of my beefs with Breaking Dawn is that she doesn't really develop self-esteem so much as she becomes a sparkling, gorgeous superhero because vampirism and the problem is solved.

She follows through, she's always going to volunteer as tribute to save someone else, and she'll always worry she's not good enough, not smart enough, not pretty enough.

[cripplecharacters]

Hello! Thanks for all your hard work.

I have a character who lives through a war and experiences a traumatic head/facial injury that leaves him with asymmetrical features. Before discovering this blog, I wrote him as being a little insecure about it even years later (the main story takes place long after that), but have since retconned that as I realized writing it that way was the result of ingrained disfiguresmia, which I don’t want to perpetuate. As it currently stands, he does not have any particular feelings about his appearance itself/the visible remnants of the injury, nor is he treated differently for it. It’s just a thing, and not the focus of his character. Recently, however, as I was working on more of his background, I realized he ended up bearing a strong resemblance to one of his parents, who harmed him quite badly as a child.

So, my question is this: While nobody would be happy to experience a traumatic injury, would it be in bad taste for him to eventually end up being pleased that he no longer looks so much like his parent? Not that the genetic resemblance has somehow disappeared as a result of an injury, but rather that when he looks in the mirror, he sees himself instead of someone who hurt him?

I want to be careful to portray facial difference respectfully. I thought that maybe associating the visible result of something traumatic (cranio-facial injury) with gaining a stronger sense of identity (in a positive way) might be alright. But I wanted to check, because I don’t want to go too far the opposite direction and romanticize it.

(I’m using this emoji combination so I can find my ask later:🪞💙💥)

Hey!

My original note when drafting this was "This is genuinely a rare and interesting take on a character's feelings after getting a facial difference and it goes hard as fuck", which is a Way to say that I like it.

I don't think it's in bad taste at all, it's more of a breath of fresh air with interesting characterization mixed in. Has the character's backstory influencing his feelings on a current event. I get to mildly see myself in this kind of experience as I'm also glad to no longer be told I look really similar to a family member since my partial paralysis got more obvious. Cool as hell.

I really love that you figured out something positive that makes sense for your character to take out of an acquired facial difference. I mean, this is what people do in real life; try to find positives. It looks like your character managed to do that and that's awesome.

I wouldn't consider this romanticization at all, but even if it slightly was then I think we can have a bit of it as a treat after decades of hearing how looking different makes us fundamentally worse. It's not like you're doing some inspiration porn shtick about how an acquired disability suddenly made him into a saint who no longer has a single mean thought in his head.

If this worries you though, try to keep in mind the negative symptoms that he almost surely has - does he have nerve damage, migraines, problems with speaking, fear of loud noises? These things don't go away if you feel positive about something, though it might make it easier to mentally deal with. Show the parts he's more glad about, and the ones that make his life more difficult, days that are better and days that kinda suck. Make him struggle in areas of life unrelated to his disability, and have joys that are unrelated to it too. The usual advice.

This was probably my favorite synopsis of a character with a facial difference I read in a long time, so thank you for sending this. I'd love to see more characters as carefully thought out as this one.

mod Sasza

[druidrot]

so i was looking at the other parts of the ways to show emotion prompt list and part 3 has some great lists so i was hoping you could do “opening mouth slightly” pupils dilating” and “licking lips” with Gale from the how to show desire prompts 👀👀 no worries if not, congrats on the new blog!

thanks so much! and thanks for being my first requester! i’m happy to oblige. now i’m posting on mobile so i apologize if the formatting is wonky. with that being said, enjoy!

just a short little drabble, unsure of word count

pairing: gale dekarios x reader

rating: mature - more suggestive than anything else;)

he’s allowed to have fun at the tiefling party okay?? just let me have this. i get it’s canon divergent just shut up and let me be horny

It was here Gale felt his resolve crumble.

He prides himself on his self-control. In fact, he thinks he’s been a saint since he joined your adventuring party, since this painfully slow dance started between you both.

But he feels his patience waring thin. The tiefling party at the camp has no doubt been a success. He waited patiently as you did your rounds accepting their gifts and thanks so very graciously. He bid his time as you danced and sung and drank with everybody else, working your sweet charm on them.

He knows better, though. He thinks you are a different person under the cover of moonlight, here where you stare up at him with half-lidded, glassy eyes, lips pulled up in the sweetest little smile. You still hold your chalice of wine but your free hand has taken to his, twirling your fingers around his long, narrow digits. He feels his mouth drop open as you take a step closer, your pupils dilating until the beautiful color of your iris is all but hidden.

Around you, the little celebration rages on. In the distance, you can hear Karlach whooping over some drinking game the rowdier of the bunch had taken to playing. Just down the camp from you, Alfira sings a lovely ballad of lover’s lost, Lakrissa bobbing her head from a few paces down.

Gale should be excited about the festivities, elated with the things your party accomplished, ready to drink his troubles away for the night. Instead, he finds himself totally enamored with you., eyes locked on your every movement. He doesn’t know when you became so intoxicating to him, but in this moment, he finds he can’t complain.

“You look like the tressym got your tongue,” you whisper, sidling even closer. “My my, have you been brooding here because I’ve not paid you any attention? Or is saving poor helpless refugees not really your speed?”

You bump your nose against his as your tongue wets your lips. His eyes are immediately drawn to the action and he has to physically fight the urge to rush forward and kiss you. Instead, he grins roguishly at you.

“Quite the rotten little minx, you are,” he teases. taking a step back to cool his body. “Go enjoy yourself, darling. Besides, I’m sure there’s quite the line to get a dance with you tonight. You’ll have plenty of time to harass me later.”

“What if I want to harass you right now? What if I want to spend all night harassing you?”

Gale feels like he’s on fire. Before either of you can really process, he pulls you into a slow, heady kiss.

“You will be the death of me,” he pants between desperate kisses. “You will be the death of us all.”

He is quick to escalate, despite his warning and his lips grow frenetic as he chases your tongue with his, pushing into your mouth with a sense of urgency you didn’t think him capable of. He pulls your body close, impossibly so, and you can do nothing but moan as he continues to kiss you.

“The orb,” Gale tries, whimpering between consuming kisses.

“Don’t blow up on me,” is your only retort, happily losing yourself to the weight of his kiss.

[selfpositiveundertale]

Hey everyone. Probably a long post. Not a very happy one. Tw for scary medical stuff, but it's not for me.

My husband spent the night in the hospital. Yesterday he called my mom and asked her to come get him from work because he felt dizzy and tingly on one side of his body and his vision was doubled, so she took him to the ER and called me. I got an Uber there and we stayed with him late. They did various tests including blood work and a CT scan and neurological tests and checked the pressure on his eyeballs and he passed every test with flying colors but his blood pressure and cholesterol were high and his eyes were rolling in different directions like plastic googly eyes and his pupils were super dilated and he couldn't focus and they couldn't figure out why so they admitted him for the night and gave him an MRI today.

Turns out he had a mild stroke in the thalamus. The neurologist said he dodged a bullet because he can walk and speak and his coordination is fine and both sides of his body are functioning the same, but his vision is still wacky because his eyes don't want to work together right now. He's gonna have to see a vision therapist and wear an eye patch but switch eyes every 4 hours while he's awake to strengthen both of his eyes. Since his depth perception is so bad right now he's going to have to practice driving in an empty parking lot before he can be on the road. He won't be going in to work tomorrow and I'm not sure when he'll be able to go back to work since he's a truck driver. He has to take an aspirin every day forever and he has a cholesterol medication to take.

I'll need to make a few adjustments to the way I cook for him and be mindful of the amount of sodium that goes into anything. I'll probably make salt free versions of the spice blends I use regularly so I can add salt as I see fit. The neurologist said other than salt and added sugars he doesn't need to really change his diet but I'm going to look up foods that can help him and ask my chiropractor for nutrition advice for him. As I've said in the past, my chiropractor is a licensed nutritionist and I've gotten really good sound nutrition advice from him before so if there are any foods that can help my husband, he will know. I did tell my husband I'll make whatever he wants for dinner this weekend and he requested chicken and dumplings so you better believe I'm gonna make him the best chicken and dumplings he's ever had. I mean my chicken and dumplings are already the best he's ever had but that's not the point.

My husband's best friend has been a saint through this whole ordeal. He's been calling and texting to check on us, asking if we need anything, he and his wife brought us dinner and got my husband's car from his work and brought it home and they'll do our grocery shopping tomorrow so I can stay home and look after him. Their young daughter even made my husband a get well card. These folks are like family to us and I'm so so thankful for their help in this trying time.

But then the next issue is going to be the hospital bill. We don't have any health insurance so we have to fill out financial assistance paperwork and hope it'll cover enough so we won't be buried under even more debt. And of course, getting by for however long he'll be out of work. Monday is a holiday so he has the day off anyway and he's got PTO days but I don't know how many. He is getting a paycheck tomorrow but idk how long it'll have to last. I'm trying to work on things for my Etsy shop because every little bit I can bring in helps. I'm also still working on my art and trying to get to a point I might feel justified offering commissions. I need to post more on my art blog and on my bluesky and try to get more of a following there so I might eventually be able to take commissions and maybe even start up a Patreon but I have to keep practicing and studying.

We are both in our early 30s, and he had a stroke at his age. It was probably caused by stress but we don't know for certain. Please please please, for the love of everything good in this world, take care of yourselves. Look after your health. Practice self care. I don't want this to happen to any of y'all. It's been so scary and we've both cried a lot today. As much as I've been crying, I have to be strong for him and support him when he breaks down. He's not used to being scared and sad, especially for himself, and he doesn't really know how to handle it.

He's home and sleeping now. I currently have a migraine, the first I've had in over a week since getting on a new medication for it and it's probably being caused by a mix of the stress of the last 2 days and I might also have some ribs out of place because the chairs beside the beds both in the ER and in the room they moved him to wrecked my back. But unless it escalates bad enough to render my psych meds ineffective and make me uncoordinated and incapacitated, I'm still going to be taking care of my husband in whatever way I can.

Good vibes are appreciated.

Stay determined.