#to say because i am a very boring and odd person. i never do anything i don’t have many friends i don’t have a gf or bf and whatever

[soulphiav]

why am i so fucking awkward ughghhh

[kp-alice]

Prove Her Wrong

Summary: Yunho knew that what that stranger had said to him back then wasn't true. He quite literally had physical evidence to prove it. And yet, he couldn't help but think about her comment a little too often.

AKA a well-endowed-and-very-desperate!sub!Yunho x bored!dom!f!reader

Word count: 3 820

Warnings: small-dick humiliation, roleplaying (reader pretends to be bored and unsatisfied), degradation (but no name-calling), mid-scene checking in, just another case of me writing about pathetic Yunho because I can't help myself and definitely have issues

A/N: This fic is the third part of my sub!Yunho Kinktober 2024! The event's masterlist can be found here.

"...and then she told me 'I have no right to act like an overcompensating asshole just because my dick is small'."

"Ouch," you hissed empathetically. "Yeah, I can definitely see how that would hurt for a while, even if she was totally wrong."

"That's uh, that's the thing," Yunho retorted nervously, shifting in his spot, "I kinda, well, liked it? I guess? Like- not because of her saying it, but because of what she said, you know?"

The silence between the two of you stretched to an uncomfortable degree, making Yunho chuckle nervously. "It's not too weird, is it?"

"Hmm, no, it's definitely weird," you concluded at last, eyebrows furrowed.

"...But I'd love to learn more about it."

"Wait," you said, sitting up straight on the couch, "so I'm supposed to have sex with you, but like, act like your dick is small and it's not doing anything for me?"

Yunho's blush deepened at your words, curling into himself even further. "I mean, when you put it like that, it does sound really weird, I'm sorry."

"No, honey," you said, leaning over to place a comforting hand on his thigh, "I wasn't saying it to make fun of you, I just want to make sure I understand it all correctly so that I don't mess up when we eventually try it."

"We seriously don't have to, though," Yunho opposed, starting to backtrack now that the nerves had caught up to him again. "It really is quite odd, and the last thing I want to do is push your boundaries just to please me and my weird kinks."

You sighed. This wasn't the first time Yunho had gotten like this when it came to talking about his needs and wants. No matter how many times you'd try to reassure him that it's fine to ask for things, it always took just a short moment of uncertainty for him to begin retracting back into his shell. "Yu, I've already told you that I'm completely fine with trying it. Sure, it's not something I'd personally bring up, but I'm not opposed to it either. Who knows, maybe I'll also end up liking it? Either way, I'm really not pushing myself to do anything, nor am I planning to do so. Just trust me, okay?"

"Okay," Yunho finally conceded, giving you a small smile. His hand found yours on his thigh, grasping it gently. "Thank you."

"Anytime, love," you smiled back, rubbing your thumb against the back of his hand. "Now, how about you elaborate on your little fantasy a bit more, hm? I need to know all of what I'm going to do to you."

A shiver ran down Yunho's spine at the words, visible excitement lighting up his eyes.

"Oh, we're going to be here a while."

After an open conversation or two with your boyfriend, you were finally ready to indulge him.

Yunho didn't want to set a specific date, though, feeling as though it would make the scene too staged and unnatural. So, instead, the two of you decided to just wait and use a non-verbal signal. If Yunho were to initiate sex while wearing a specific small blue bracelet, it was your sign to start the play if you felt up for it.

There were a couple false alarms of sorts, where Yunho would wear the bracelet the whole day, but would never actually gather the courage to initiate. You knew this was something that might happen, and yet you couldn't help the small twinge of disappointment whenever you went to bed with nothing from his side. You also suspect he might have worn it at least once just to tease you, but you didn't dare ask.

Then, it was your turn to decline a couple times. It wasn't payback for Yunho's nervousness in any way, obviously. It just so happened that the first two times when he'd tried to finally initiate, you were either not in the mood in general, or were up for something more soft and loving. And just as you had with him before, Yunho also completely understood your preferences, boundaries, and pace.

But then, one fateful night, things were finally put into motion.

You were lounging on the couch, watching TV while mindlessly scrolling on your phone. Yunho wasn't home yet, having to stay at work longer than expected today. You wouldn't have to wait much more, however, as you heard the front door opening just a few moments later.

Already from the sound of his heavy footsteps trudging down the hallway, you could tell he was tired. Then, a small thud resonated through the living room, making you sit up and look behind you.

There, Yunho slouched against the doorway, pouty and puppy-eyed. His hair was disheveled, likely from running his hands through it countless times from all the extra stress today.

"Hey there, love," you said warmly, turning his pout into a small smile.

"Hey," he replied sluggishly before pushing himself upright again to take off his jacket.

Which, to your surprise, revealed the blue bracelet.

If Yunho noticed the interested twinkle in your eyes, he didn't show it. Instead, he turned around, walking back to the front door to hang his jacket up next to yours. Afterwards, he wordlessly disappeared into the bathroom, likely to freshen up a bit after the awfully long day.

"Are you hungry?" You asked, watching him walk back into the room a few minutes later. "There's some leftovers from dinner if you want."

Yunho just hummed in disagreement, the pout from before returning to his lips. "'m not hungry."

"What can I do for you, then? What do you need?" You questioned further, scooting back to give him some room to sit down.

To your surprise (not really), he ignored the space you'd made for him, choosing to dive right into your arms instead. You huffed as he lay down on top of you, burying his face in your chest and wrapping his arms around you.

"You," he finally muttered, squeezing you just a bit tighter in his hold.

"Me? What do you mean?" You asked back, pretending like you couldn't already feel the slightest pressure against your thigh. Did he really rile himself up just thinking about his fantasy on the way home?

"Babe, please," he pleaded, an embarrassed whine to his voice, "you know what I mean."

Usually, you'd be satisfied with just a bit of teasing. A moment of playfulness before you'd get to the main event. But today? Today you wanted- no, needed, to truly savor the moment, both for your and Yunho's sake.

"I really don't, honey," you feigned ignorance, running your fingers through his hair with a mischievous smile on your face. "I'm afraid you're gonna have to tell me yourself."

And judging by the deep red visible on his cheeks even with his face hidden, you knew it was working for him as well.

"I just- I really need you right now," Yunho said, voice already wavering from the delicious anxiousness of being so small before you. "Y-you know, like, to be... inside you."

You chuckled at that, jostling your boyfriend's head a bit with the movement. "Ah, of course. It hasn't even been two days since you've last gotten off and you already wanna go again, huh?"

Yunho just meekly nodded, trying to bury his head further into you.

"I mean, I don't blame you, honey, but what's in it for me?"

Your question wasn't too direct just yet, still giving him some leeway to stop in case he felt uncomfortable or not ready.

But, much to your amusement, Yunho made no such attempt.

"Oh! W-well, I'll make you feel good too, obviously!" He promised, lifting his head up to look at you with hopeful eyes. "I always do."

You let out a loud laugh at that, making his face twist in confusion. "What?! You can't be serious right now."

"Wait, what do you mean?" Yunho asked in a shaky, uncertain voice, but the twitch against your thigh betrayed his real feelings.

"You seriously think fucking that small dick of yours is doing anything for me?" You ridiculed him, eyes wide in disbelief. "Why do you think I always ask you to eat me out after you're done? Even that tongue of yours feels bigger in me."

Truth be told, it wasn't you who usually asked for oral. Whether during, before, or after having "proper" sex, it was mainly Yunho who'd turn to you with hopeful eyes and an eager smile. But there's nothing wrong with a bit of fact-twisting for the sake of roleplay, right?

Your slight uncertainty was immediately solved with a choked moan from Yunho, along with a stuttered thrust against your leg. You could feel all of him through his pants now, dragging up and down your thigh with just enough pressure.

"P-please, babe," Yunho began again, gaze blurring into something more distant yet content. "I'll do anything to please you afterwards, but I'm so hard I don't think I can wait any longer."

"Wait," you said in fake awe, "you're hard right now? I can't even feel you against me! Are you sure you can actually stay inside with that?"

"Fuck," Yunho whimpered at your words, brows tightly knit together, "you're way too good at this."

You chuckled at his admission, breaking your mocking persona for a moment. "I'm glad you think so, hun." Lifting a hand to caress his cheek, you made him look into your eyes. "You're still okay with all of this, right?"

Yunho immediately nodded at your question, eager to reassure you. "Yes, please. This is better than anything I've ever imagined."

Feeling an almost embarrassing level of pride at the praise, you resumed your role with newfound excitement.

"You know what?" You spoke up again, challenging him with your unwavering stare. "I'll let you have your fun."

Yunho didn't need anything beyond that, diving into the crook of your neck the second you finished your sentence. You couldn't help the gasp leaving your lips at the sensation, Yunho's precision at finding your sweet spot catching you way too off-guard.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Yunho muttered lovingly, letting his hands roam free alongside your curves while he rutted against your thigh again.

His movements were halted, however, when a sharp sting shot up his scalp from where your fingers tugged at his hair, pulling him away from your neck.

"But," you continued, suppressing a mean smile, "you have to make me cum first, since you're so confident in your abilities."

You could see all the eagerness fall from Yunho's face and morph into a look of nervousness and uncertainty. Normally, Yunho would have no problem making you cum whichever way you wanted, but now, he knew it wouldn't be so easy. Your eyes screamed determination, excited to see him slip up and embarrass himself even further.

"I- I, uh- yeah! Sure, of course," Yunho finally replied, though the confident facade he tried to put on broke rather quickly.

You sighed, feigning complete disinterest as if you already knew what the outcome would be anyway. "Fine, go ahead then. Let's see how much magic you can conjure up with that tiny dick."

The two seconds of silence that followed after your sentence were broken by a chuckle from Yunho, making you join in as well.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I know that was supposed to be hot - and it was, but it was also pretty funny."

"Shut up," you retorted, annoyed, though you couldn't hide your own amusement. Fighting back the shy blush on your cheeks, you continued, "and get back to work. You have a lot to prove right now."

"Yes, ma'am," Yunho muttered, re-focusing on the task at hand. He crawled backwards on the couch, giving him just enough space to take off your sweatpants and underwear, ignoring the damp spot in the middle. Seems like he wasn't the only one enjoying this.

He then removed his own pants and boxers, making you scoff. "Are you seriously so horny you can't even take off my shirt as well? You're so pathetic."

Yunho whined at the delicious sting of your words, crawling back up to settle between your legs. Just as he'd told you, he was already rock hard, pent-up from daydreaming about this exact scenario the whole day. Today was going to be the day, he just knew it. And now that it was actually happening, not to mention how you seemed to like it as well? He was almost shaking with excitement.

"Don't even bother with prep," you said unenthusiastically, reaching over to the coffee table to grab your phone again. "There's no need to prepare for something that small."

Yunho's movements stuttered for a second at your words, unsure of how to proceed. You usually liked it when he'd take his time and warm you up to his size, but now you were telling him to just skip it and go right to the main event. Well, guess he's going to have to trust your judgment.

"It's not even that small," Yunho tried to argue, fumbling with his erection to line himself up properly, "just wait, I'll show you how good I can make you feel."

You looked up from the phone in your hand (you couldn't really focus on anything on there, but pretended to be distracted anyways in the name of your role-playing session), trying to seem as unbothered as possible. "Yeah, yeah, all that big talk just to-"

Your words got caught in your throat as he finally began pushing in. You knew it was going to be a bit of a stretch, but those expectations were exceeded anyways. Taking a deep breath, you tried to relax as much as possible. As the resistance from your muscles began to fade, so did Yunho begin to breach even deeper.

"You good?" Yunho tentatively asked, visibly affected himself.

Unable to form words at the moment, you just nodded as confidently as you could.

After a few more tense seconds, Yunho was finally fully sheathed inside of you. He stayed like that for a while, looking into your eyes for a sign to start moving.

"So? How does it feel?" He asked, a playful smile on his lips at the way you were biting your bottom lip with furrowed brows.

As always, Yunho just couldn't help but be a brat and keep challenging your authority at the most random of times.

But, of course, you were having none of that.

Fighting back a wicked smile, you feigned confusion instead.

"What do you mean?" You asked, trying to sound as genuine as possible. "I'm still waiting for you to put it in."

It was almost impossible not to burst out laughing at the flustered look on Yunho's face. His eyes widened, flitting between your seemingly innocent face and down where you were already connected. "But- but I-"

"But what?" You challenged again, that annoyed edge to your tone from before returning. "Too scared to go through with it now? Just admit I'm right and save yourself the humiliation, seriously."

Yunho shook his head, the blush on his face spreading down to his neck and chest. "No, that's not- I mean, I- I'm already-"

"Already what? Not hard anymore? Got so anxious that that poor excuse of a dick fell asleep again? Not that it makes much of a difference, really."

Yunho's bottom lip trembled as he squeezed his eyes, stomach churning as the humiliation seeped even further in. It felt so awful to the point it felt exhilarating. He wanted to believe you couldn't feel him incessantly throbbing within you, but he was smarter than that.

"That's not what I meant!" He cried out, voice wobbling from the tightness in his chest. "I'm just- It's already in, okay?!"

A deafening silence filled the room, making Yunho want to curl up on himself. All of your attention was on him right now, boring into him with an intense, unreadable gaze.

And then you began laughing.

"Oh my god," you wheezed incredulously, gasping for air. Your body shook with your breaths, unintentionally squeezing around Yunho as well.

It was confusing, feeling the mix of incredible arousal along with insane shame. Yunho could feel his stomach tighten to the point of almost hurting, and yet it felt so good.

"Are you crying?" You gasped, marveling at the tears in his eyes threatening to spill over at any second. "You were so overconfident about that tiny dick of yours and look where it got you now. Crying because you can't even please a woman right. You're incredible."

That was the final straw.

Sobs echoed around the room as Yunho finally broke, letting the tears flow freely as he gave in to the humiliation. His arms gave out under him as he fell into your embrace again, wetting the pillow under you as he hid his face into it. He trembled in your hold in almost complete silence, safe for the occasional sniffles and an almost inaudible "fuck" whimpered into the cushion.

"You okay?" You whispered, tangling a hand into his hair to pet it softly.

Yunho quickly nodded in your hold before shuffling his head down into the crook of your neck again. "I'm gonna cum, oh my god."

You smiled fondly at his words, using his obstructed vision to relax your stern expression for just a second. "Aw, is that it? You've barely even put it in - or at least you say you did - and you're already gonna cum? What happened to our deal, huh? Are you that desperate you can't even wait for me to get off first?"

Just as expected, your words seemed to rile him up even further. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he said in a strained voice. His hips began rutting against yours with zero rhythm, focused on chasing the pleasure your body and words had brought him. "I'm so pathetic I can't help it, please!"

You rolled your eyes, but the clenching of your own muscles around him betrayed your true thoughts on the situation. "Ugh, fine. Not like I expected anything better anyways. Just clean up after yourself when you're done, and maybe I'll let you make me cum after."

Yunho grinned down at you, wet cheeks shining in the light. "Thank you, oh god, thank you!"

You gasped as his pace quickened, rocking you up and down on the couch under him. Yunho's face showed nothing but absolute bliss, eyebrows furrowing and mouth hanging open as he got lost in the feeling of you.

"Fuck- I love you, I love you so much," Yunho suddenly groaned out, head hanging low as he tried to keep up with himself, "you're the best thing that's ever happened to me, I swear."

You chuckled at the confession, trying to keep your breathing somewhat steady yourself. "Just because I told you your dick is small? That's not difficult criteria to meet, don't you- ah! Don't you think?"

Yunho just moaned in response, head too stuffy to form proper responses anymore. However, the increasing pleasure coursing through him felt so overwhelming to the point he had to at least say something, and so he resorted to that which he knew best.

"Love you, love you so much, 'so good to me, treat me so well all the time," he rambled on and on, hiding his face in the crook of your neck before lifting his head up to breathe properly, only to then drop back down again. "You feel so- fuck! So good, I love you! Please, can I come? Please, I need to-"

"Come, honey," you spoke in a hushed yet clear voice, slipping your hands underneath his shirt to press him closer to your chest. "Did so well today, took everything I gave you and then some."

Yunho let out another sob at your words, overwhelmed with both the warmth of your body and your words. Clutching your hips and waist tight enough to bruise, he pushed into you two, three times before finally stilling inside of you. His back tensed as the endorphins hit him all at once, even clouding his vision for a moment.

You held your lover close as he slowly came down from his high, holding onto you for dear life. Your hands rubbed soothing circles into his back.

Just when you were starting to think he'd fallen asleep, Yunho spoke up again.

"Well, that was insane."

You chuckled, making him raise his head up to look at you. "In a good way or in a bad way?"

Quirking an eyebrow, he nodded down to your half-naked bodies, still connected together in the middle. "What do you think?"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," you conceded. "I was just scared of accidentally hurting your feelings in the process, so I needed to ask for my own peace of mind."

"You could never hurt me with anything you'd said today," Yunho reassured you, bringing one of his hands up to cup your cheek. "Besides," he grinned, "like you said, I have quite a lot of evidence to prove none of what you told me is true."

That earned him an outraged slap on his arm, making him giggle mischievously. Nevertheless, it left the both of you smiling stupidly anyways.

"...Anyways, I have a favor to repay, don't I?" He asked in a husky voice, supporting himself against the couch cushions as he rose back up.

"Ah, you don't really have to," you replied shyly, suddenly reminded of the compromising position you were stuck in in front of him. "I mostly just said that as part of the scene, we can just go clean up in the shower like we usually do."

It was already too late, though, as Yunho began to slowly pull out of you, dropping down on his stomach right after to make sure you didn't make a mess on the couch.

"No, no, you were right," he disagreed, flashing you a devious smile as he disappeared between your legs.

"You already did your part, now let me do mine."

taglist: @justconniez @domribo @another-random-fanfic-blog

Thank you for reading! And remember, feedback is always very appreciated! <3

[astroboots]

Every You Every Me #8

COLLABORATED WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You embark upon 'a Cosmic Masterplan to survive' - Phase one

Word count: 6,600

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

Ten days have passed since your home was blown to a million pieces. 

Ten days since you found out that there are multiple universes. 

Ten days since you learned that your universe—the world as you know it—has less than three months left before it implodes unless you can somehow find a way to save it… and yourself.

Despite the fantastical nature of those events, you find yourself returning back to your everyday life, just as mundane and ordinary as ever, cosmic murder attempts notwithstanding.

The helicopter crash was featured across the front page of The Times by morning, and apparently no one was hurt. The pilot had somehow been flung from the helicopter into a nearby window and miraculously survived without even a scratch. The only real casualty was your every worldly possession. 

After a personal calamity of that scale, you’d hoped you might be offered an extended leave from work. Unfortunately, corporate America stops for no tragedy. 

The only thing you're offered is a very sympathetic email the day after with a gift voucher for Dominos attached. Then Sally from HR had let you know that, given the severity of your situation, the company was generously granting you three whole personal days to sort out your affairs. After that you were requested to return to the office—the second quarter of the financial year was beginning soon after all. 

And so you find yourself back at work.

Back to 8+ hours a day spent sitting in your rickety office chair, killing your eyesight in front of your computer screen as you pore over excel sheets.  Back to the same old boring one-on-one meetings with your boss, who keeps harping on about Key Performance Indicators, as if they mean anything. You don’t understand what the point is. No matter how key your performance is, it never seems to be enough to net you a raise. 

“Our total revenue increased by 15% compared to last year, which is a significant achievement considering the challenges in the market, but I know we can do better if we just–”

You stifle a yawn, as you readjust yourself in your chair. It’s Monday morning, and you find yourself in one of the stale meeting rooms, with staler treats that you’re not even allowed to have because they are for external clients only. Your boss is right next to you, droning on and on about how she wants to see better results in the next fiscal quarter. All the while you’re trying to fight the losing odds of keeping your eyes open and the temptation of gravity that wants your head to lay down on the conference table for an impromptu nap.  

“We managed to improve our profit margin by 3% by reducing overhead costs, but we need to focus on further optimizing our operations in order to–”

Out of nowhere, the sound of her shrill nasal voice stops, and for a second you think that perhaps, sweet mercies of mercies, the meeting is finally over. But instead she points out the window and says the last thing you expect. 

“Hey, isn’t that Spiderman?” 

Huh?

You whip your head around to stare out the window so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash, and the sight that greets you is nearly enough to give you a heart attack on the spot. 

Oh, it’s Spiderman alright. Your Spiderman. 

Your maybe-vampire-but-maybe-not (he hasn’t combusted in sunlight yet, but then again he wears a full-body spandex suit) Spiderman.

Your Spiderman is right there in front of you in plain sight on the outside of the building, plastered to the wide wall-to-wall meeting room window. That dark blue super suit with the angry red spider emblazoned on his chest like a neon sign screaming: ‘Here I am!’ 

Your boss skips closer to the window in giddy excitement, until the two of them are only about a feet away from each other separated by a half an inch of glass.

“Look, his suit is different! I wonder if it’s an upgrade?” she exclaims, tilting her head to study him from the window. “He sure is a lot bigger in person, isn’t he?” 

You feel the blood drain from your face, and the whole of your back breaks out in cold clammy sweat against your blouse. Doing your best to act normal, you force yourself to stay seated in your chair despite the shrill scream ringing in your head and the way your heart is threatening to leap right out of your throat. 

What the hell does he think he’s doing!?

Thank fuck your boss still has her back to you, too enthralled by the unexpected superhero sighting to pay attention to anything else. You take advantage of her distraction to gesture frantically at Miguel, waving him away with as covert of a shooing motion as you can manage and praying that he’ll take the hint.

You know he sees you because the triangular outlines of his eyes narrow into annoyed slits and then he turns his face away as if offended, refusing to look at you. But at least he finally moves, leaping into the air and disappearing out of the sight of the window. 

“Oh, shoot! There he goes again,” your boss says, letting out a long, loud sigh as if even she doesn’t want to go back to listening to her own voice for the rest of this meeting. “Well, back to work. Guess that was the excitement for the day.”

Scratch what you were saying before. There are no more completely mundane days. Not now that Miguel O’Hara has entered your life. 

Once upon a time, your biggest dilemma with him was that he was avoiding you, refusing all your attempts to force a face-to-face meeting. Now you find yourself in the strange position of having the opposite problem.

True to his promise, Miguel is always there to protect you. 

In fact, he’s just plain always there. 

Never more than 10 feet away, regardless of where you go. He’s the last thing you see… or rather, hear before you go to sleep, his incessant snoring reverberating off the walls of your shared hotel room. Then, when you wake, it’s to his big 6’9” frame draped across the tiny velvet sofa, his long legs sticking off the end and hanging out into the room. 

Miguel hovers over you when you eat, in case you get another piece of toast stuck in your throat and he needs to do the Heimlich maneuver on you again. Or, like that one time last week, in case you developed another hitherto completely undiscovered food allergy and have to be rushed to the ER. He is constantly on alert, eyes glued to you at all times.

Miguel comes with you when you go grocery shopping at the corner bodega. Sticking close to your back in the cramped aisles, lest one of the shelves fall over and bury you under crates of Lucky Charms and Fruit Loops… again.  He has a sneaky habit of covertly dropping the most nutritiously questionable grocery items in your basket: jellied donuts, sugar-frosted pop tarts, fun dip and jolly ranchers. He eats like a five year old who has too much pocket money and no understanding of the food pyramid. It’s worrying to watch and you definitely google diabetes risk for spiders at least once, but the internet has nothing helpful to offer on that front.

Even when you’re relaxing in the luxury hotel suite that’s become your home, flipping through Tik Tok-edits on your iPhone (the newest model, which Lyla snagged for you!) or catching up on Netflix, Miguel is always right there. Not two steps away from you, looking over your shoulder. 

Being the constant center of Miguel's attention is… disconcerting. You know it’s because he’s watching for the next random disaster to strike, but having his eyes on you nonstop leaves you feeling uncomfortably aware of him all the time. Especially when you’re trying to watch Bridgerton on your new macbook pro (also courtesy Lyla) and an R-rated scene comes on. You’ve resorted to having Lyla order books and magazines for him in an attempt to keep him occupied, but it doesn’t seem to make much difference.

It’s so bad that you can barely go to the bathroom without Miguel guarding the door like a zealous German Shepherd, his back plastered to the nearest wall when you emerge. You try not to let the lack of privacy bother you… or to think about the fact that his spidey-supersenses probably let him hear everything.

The only place Miguel doesn’t come with you is when you go to work, because he doesn’t have the clearance needed to get into the building—tourists and non-personnel aren’t allowed any further than the lobby. It doesn’t stop him from climbing the walls of the building and hanging around outside the 44th floor though. You know he’s there because, you see his shadow blurring at the window whenever you get up to get more coffee or unstick the paper jammed in the printer. 

It’s an adjustment, but for all the madness that comes with the package, having Miguel around does make you feel safe. 

Time always seems to pass too quickly when there’s a deadline approaching. 

The problem is that right now the due it’s not the date of a school assignment or some work project that you’re worrying about. And if you take too long, the consequences will be much worse than a lower grade or a slap on the wrist. If you fail to meet this deadline, it will be the end of the world—not just as you know it, but for everyone in your entire universe.

A week ago you had been dauntless, facing Miguel down across the table at Starbucks and announcing that you intended to fight cosmically impossible odds in order to live. Bold even, when you’d confidently declared that the only thing you needed was three months and his protection from the universe's murder attempts to make that happen.

In retrospect, you might have been less dauntless and more… delusional, because so far the only real progress you've made is drawing up a Master Plan, complete with a bullet point list and no idea if any of it is actually going to accomplish anything.

'A Cosmic Masterplan to survive' - Phase one

Step 1: Personal history:

Identify past wrongdoings

Determine if they could explain cosmic retaliation

Step 2: Analyze incident patterns:

Study recurring near death incidents

Identify commonalities and patterns

Determine strategies to stop or prevent future occurrences

Step 3: Research genealogy:

Explore family history

Investigate any ancestors who may have incurred celestial grudges

Determine if these grudges extend to descendants

Step 4: Examine past life wrongdoings:

Establish if reincarnation is real

Investigate potential past life transgressions

Assess if they correlate with current cosmic retaliation

Step 5: Seek cosmic expert assistance:

Consider approaching Dr. Strange for guidance

Request expertise in understanding cosmic phenomena

Things had started out okay. 

You completed Step 1 in less than a day, quickly compiling a list of all the people you’d wronged in your lifetime. Anything that might make the universe want to intervene on their behalf and dole out some karma against you.

So far, your life's most egregious crimes include:

That time when you wet the bed during a sleepover when you were six and blamed it on your friend Sally Jenkins.

The night you bailed out in the middle of a date with a dentist from Tinder who insisted on ordering for you and kept talking about Alpha and Betas. (It was only after a very confusing and awkward conversation that you realized he was not talking about the omegaverse). You’re pretty sure you did both of you a favor when you told him you were going to use the bathroom before dessert and took off without saying goodbye instead.

That summer you brought only chocolate with coconut back to share with your coworkers after your vacation in Canada so that Matt in accounting (who always steals your yogurt out of the office fridge) couldn’t have any because he's allergic to coconut.

Are those the actions of a good person? Probably not. 

Are they petty? Oh yeah. 

Are they bad enough to justify karmic retaliation from the universe in the form of death? You doubt it.

As for Step 2, despite all the near death experiences you've had recently, there doesn’t seem to be any discernible pattern that could help you predict or prevent future incidents. After all it’s a bit difficult to predict that an impromptu mounted police parade would take place near your office, only for there to be a wild stampede of panicky horses that tried to mow you over. 

Step 3 of your plan? Another dud. 

Your family line is made up of uncles working blue-collar jobs at warehouses, aunties who pester you about being single, one grandfather who likes to talk about how things were better in the old days and a grandmother who likes to complain that you never call every time you call her (and another grandma you actually like because she feeds you sweets and cakes when you go visit).

There are no skeletons hidden in your family closet. Nothing interesting at all except maybe that one cousin who claims to have hooked up with Leonardo Di Caprio at Coachella (unverifiable and unlikely).

Your mission to try to figure out if all of this is caused by any past life connections in Step 4? 

It had seemed like a reasonable thing to look into, but how the heck do you go about doing that? You’ve put it on hold for now.

As for the final step? Your search to seek out cosmic expert assistance is still ongoing.

Contacting another Supe that has a magical expertise in the cosmic should be the most logical avenue. Doctor Strange is the superhero that famously deals with the magical cosmos stuff, so you figured maybe he could help in some way. That it wouldn't be hard for Miguel to reach out to him, one superhero to another.

It’s the one part of your plan you could actually take action on that seems like it might lead somewhere. Problem is, you've run into a big sassy roadblock named Miguel O'Hara. 

Miguel flatly refuses to have anything to do with Dr. Strange. 

His justification? 

"Hate that guy."

Repeatedly pestering him has gotten you nowhere, and it’s not like you, a random normie, can just rock up outside of Dr. Strange’s residence and ask for help because the universe is out to get you. That’s a good way to get yourself hauled away, like that guy from Colorado who was in the news last year for faking a UFO invasion with cheap props on YouTube and then camping out outside of Bruce Banner’s lab. Idiots like that show up from time to time, Superhero fanatics seeking the attention of the Avengers for some fake emergency.

Worst comes to worst, you could probably just stand outside Doctor Strange’s house until something tries to kill you again and hope that he’ll notice, but you’re not sure the universe won’t thwart you on purpose. Probably not the best use of your limited time, especially since you’re out of PTO. 

For now, you’re hoping to change Miguel’s mind through sheer persistence, but given how stubborn the man is, that might be more of a lost cause than trying to thwart the universe itself. 

It’s payday today, and you’ve decided to take Miguel to dinner in Chinatown as thanks for the man’s continuous efforts in saving your life.

As touristy as that area can be, there are some good, cheap diners owned by grumpy Cantonese families that serve large enough portions to feed this horse of a man.

It’s not entirely selfless. You’re tired of being cooped up in the hotel room as soon as you get off work, and you want to stretch your legs. You’re also hoping that stuffing Miguel full of food will make him more receptive to the next round of your arguments in favor of Step 5 of your Cosmic Masterplan. 

But you’ve been here for two hours now, and you’re not sure Miguel knows the meaning of the word full. 

He’s ordered egg tarts by the dozen. Crispy fried seafood noodles drenched in sweet cornstarch slurry. Deep fried turnip cakes soaked in sweet soy sauce. Beef Ho Fun. Every other dish is deep fried and slathered in XO sauce, and you are starting to be genuinely concerned about his cardiovascular health as you watch him shovel it down his maw, barely pausing to chew as he goes.

At least he looks happy while eating? Endearingly so. It’s the only time you’ve seen him relaxed and finally drop his guard a little bit, though you’re sure he’s still aware of every minute detail in his surroundings. You decide it’s better not to say anything since scolding him about being a glutton would be like the pot name calling the kettle. Your wolfish food habits is a shared hobby you have with Miguel at this point. 

“What’s wrong with the egg tarts?” you ask, eyeing the plate that lies still untouched on the table, the only food to have escaped Miguel’s massacre. Given how sweet they are, you would have expected him to inhale them within seconds. 

“I ordered them for you,” he says, not slowing down as he spears more food onto his plate. “Your favorite, right?” 

You nod slowly and reach for one, touched by the gesture but not sure what to say. 

There’s a fleck of sauce smudged on his cheek, a stray rice grain on his nose. He looks like any other civilian as he scarfs down the food in quick succession.

Out of his super suit, he looks different. He’s partial to oversized clothes that makes him look oddly gangly even with his build. You’ve caught him with glasses on more than once, even though you’re pretty sure he’s mentioned that supersight is one of the things he’s gifted with. You can’t help but wonder if he wears them out of a sense of habit or if it’s a conscious fashion choice. Probably the former, given what you’ve seen him wear so far—fashion doesn’t seem to be one of his fortes. All in all, it makes him look like a much homelier person with a slightly nerdy vibe than the handsome superhero when he’s on the job.

He’s softer without the supersuit. Still scowling, but it’s less intimidating when he’s doing it wearing a big hoodie with dumb logos printed across his chest. 

It’s still odd seeing Rude Spiderman in these domestic settings, but you think you prefer him like this.

“How’s your plan coming along?” he asks, mouth full of fried rice as he’s already reaching for a piece of char siu. 

Of course, he has to ask you a question just as you bite into sweet and creamy egg custard. 

“I’m kind of stuck,” you admit, the words muffled slightly by the pastry in your mouth. “I think we need to talk about reaching out to Dr. Strange.”

“No.” He doesn’t even bother to stop eating, still chewing with a gusto as the word emerges.

Nothing more than that. No reasons or explanation given, just ‘No.’ 

Irritation brews in your chest at his unhelpfulness. He’s throwing a monkey wrench into your cosmic survival masterplan, and he won’t even tell you why. 

Too busy stuffing his face with crispy wontons. 

“But why? He’s the only Avenger with an expertise in cosmic magic!”

“Expertise, my ass,” he retorts. 

“Why do you hate him so much?”  You slide the plate of roasted duck across the table, away from him, and that finally makes him pay proper attention. 

Miguel is doing that scowling thing again, first at you and then dropping his gaze to glaring down at his rice and chopstick like he’s about to stab it. 

“Because he’s an idiot. “Doesn’t have a clue what he’s talking about. Gives terrible advice.” 

“He was one of the world’s leading brain surgeons,” you huff. “I don’t think he’s an idiot, Miguel.”

Miguel leans over the table, sliding the plate back closer to where he’s seated. 

“Being handy with a scalpel isn’t a transferable skill to the supernatural. And he wears a cape. Only idiots wear capes.”

“Wait, what? You don’t like him because he wears a cape!?” you spit out incredulously. You don’t understand this man’s logic sometimes.

“Capes are impractical. Get snagged everywhere. No superhero worth the name would wear one,” he explain as if this alone perfectly justifies hating someone. He stabs a piece of meat with his chopstick and brings it to his mouth. “I will never ask that man for help again.”

Then he inhales the rest of the plate of roasted duck. 

You leave the restaurant frustrated. 

Miguel’s stubbornness remains as immovable as stone, and this big red and blue boulder has left you stuck at a dead end roadblock in the middle of a street, one you don’t know how to get around. He won't agree to talk to Strange, and you don’t know what else to do.

You need divine inspiration, or failing that maybe just… a hint. Something to tell you what direction to go in. Some kind of a sign.

Deep in thought, you turn round a corner, barely noticing how the alley narrows as you keep walking forward.  It’s not until a pile of crates in front blocks your path, forcing you to stop dead in your tracks that you lift your head to survey your surroundings. 

You and Miguel are at a small alley that you don’t recognize, which is weird because you know this area like the back of your hand. Somewhere along the way you must’ve taken a wrong turn.

Just ahead of you, there's a red stall set up on the sidewalk surrounding a small rickety table with red cloth draped over it, a couple of folding chairs set up in front.

Above it is… a giant sign. Fortune Teller, it says. 

Not quite the metaphorical sign you were asking for a few minutes ago, but maybe the universe has given up on subtlety for today. Hey, at least it’s not trying to kill you… unless fortune teller assassins are a thing. Shit, is the universe resorting to baiting traps now? You really hope it doesn’t start setting out poisoned cookies on window sills, because then it will be game over for you and Miguel both. 

You look the stall over, noticing that there are no crystal balls. No tarot cards. No trinkets or ancient scrolls like the ones you see in the movies.

There’s just an old lady. Her head is cleanly shaven, shining slick under the sole street lamp in the alley. She’s wearing a thick robe with a blue shawl draped over her shoulders that seems much too warm for the current weather, and cheap oversized sunglasses perch on her small nose despite it being evening. That outfit is certainly a choice.

Maybe you should be more cautious, but what harm can it do at this point?

The fortune teller certainly looks harmless and frail with her big round cheeks, sitting on a small stool. Even though she looks nothing like her, she makes you think of your grandmother—the one you actually like to call. The grandma who always has cookies stashed away for you when you come to visit.

Maybe she can give you a reading of who you were in your past life.

Maybe she can give you a protection amulet to make the universe chill the fuck out for a while.

Maybe she can burn some incense that will make you relax and get rid of the migraine you've gotten since the universe decided to murder you.

"Miguel." You tug at the lapel of his jacket, and point in the direction of the sign.

He turns around, scanning the space and then his eyes narrow disapprovingly.

"Fortune… teller,” Miguel reads off the sign in a slow skeptic drawl. He doesn't need to say more to express his complete and utter disdain, but that doesn’t stop him.

"You know it's all a scam right? People like this can't actually tell the future. They have no supernatural powers. What they do is cold reading."

It’s entirely unsurprising Miguel doesn't like the idea. There are a lot of things Miguel doesn’t like.

"What else do you propose we do?"

"Ask someone with actual skills who can help us?"

"You were the one who shot down the idea of asking Doctor Strange for help," you remind him.

"I don’t want his help," Miguel shoots back, grimacing as though the mere mention of the name is enough to leave a bad taste in his mouth.

"Yeah, so you keep telling me." You continue on to the stall, despite your companion's strong protests.

The sweet old lady greets you as you sit down at the table. She looks even weirder from up close, her bald head abnormally large for her small body. You try not to stare, not wanting to make her self-conscious, but you can’t help but wonder how gravity keeps her head upright. 

“Fifty dollars,” she announces the moment you take a seat. 

Fifty bucks to get your fortune read!? Talk about highway robbery! You could get seven overpriced Spiderman cookies for that. 

“That’s too much.” You shake your head, rising from your seat. 

“Okay, okay. I can do cheaper,” the woman immediately concedes, looking nervous at your sudden outburst, and you have to bite back a smile. 

That was easy. 

“How much cheaper?” you ask. You know how this game is played. 

“Twenty?”

If she’s willing to drop the price from fifty to twenty that easily, you can definitely get her to go lower. 

“Ten.” You cross your arms where you stand, making no move to sit down.

“Are you really haggling over this? You were the one who wanted to do this, and now you’re going to cheap out over ten bucks!?” Miguel says from behind you, but you ignore him. It’s enough to have him there looming over the lady as you stare her down, taking a note out of his intimidation tactic book. 

“Some of us aren’t made out of money, Miguel–” 

“Fine! Ten, I’ll do it for ten,” the lady says over the top of your arguing. 

She’s skittish in the sudden silence that follows, looking over her shoulder to her left and right, as if she’s checking if your loud outbursts have attracted any attention.

Seemingly reassured that there’s only the three of you here, she gestures for you to sit back down and then tilts her head towards you. 

From behind her sunglasses, you can see that her eyes are clouded white from glaucoma, but when she raises her gaze to give Miguel an appraising look from head to toe, it’s obvious that she’s still able to see.  

“Your husband is tall.”

You see Miguel go rigid out the corner of your eye and chance a quick glance up at him. His sour expression hasn’t changed but you can tell he’s uncomfortable from the way his fingers are gripping the fabric of his hoodie where the chain holding his ring is hiding underneath the layers of clothing.

"Can you do a past life reading?" you ask instead, trying to steer the conversation away from anything that might inflict further painful reminders upon him. "I want to know if I could have attracted bad karma in my past lives."

“No such thing,” she says bluntly, shaking her head, "You have no past life. Reincarnation is not real."

That’s step 4 taken care of, you think to yourself, and you think you hear Miguel choke back a laugh behind you. You’re not thrilled that he’s having fun at your expense, but at least he’s not sad anymore. 

"Uh… okay…" You try to think of what else was on your list. "Then can I buy a protection amulet or something? I've had really bad luck lately."

The old granny looks you over appraisingly, eyes traveling from the top of your head as far down as she can see before the table top gets in the way, and her benign and friendly smile fades as she does. 

"No," she says, eyes wrinkling with worry. "An amulet is of no use to you. Just a waste of money."

Oh wow, grandma is really dissing you right now.

She gestures her hand in a come hither motion to get you to lean down, and then pulls out a paper and pen and starts to draw an uneven circle with thick, crude lines.

"See here?" she says as she loops the circle closed, "This is all of us, our world" 

Miguel is suddenly right next to you, hunching down and bent over the small table. You don’t know when he managed to sneak up on you, but he’s right there, so close his shoulder is brushing up against yours. 

The fortune teller moves her pen inside the circle to draw a much smaller one, then a forked line sticking out of it, and another line across the center of that one. It’s so crudely drawn it takes you a second to realize it’s a stick figure. 

"This is you," she points at it with a pen, seeming to admire her own creation.

Next to you, Miguel is staring down at the childish drawing with his hands crossed against his chest in irritation, his right eyelid is twitching. He looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm.

Even though he’s not saying a word, you swear you can almost hear his inner monologue, protesting the lady’s poor handmanship and drawing skills. He doesn’t need to say it but even $10 is too much of a price to pay, even for a man with infinity dollars.

Seemingly oblivious to Miguel’s irritation, the fortune teller proceeds to draw angry darts from inside the circle aimed at the poor you stick figure. Pressing so hard with her pen that the ink bleeds into the paper and the darts are starting to look like daggers. You almost wince when you see a couple of them pierce through your stick figure. “Outside interference has brought bad luck to you. It will never go away; it will follow you forever.”

You peer down at the paper with a sense of unease. Aren’t scam fortune tellers supposed to tell you what you want to hear? Where are the reassuring lies? Shouldn’t she be telling you that you’re going to meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger? Or that you were a princess in a past life? Since when do they tell you that you’re doomed to die over and over?

“So what am I supposed to do?” you ask. 

“Keep moving,” she says with an unfaltering smile as if she hasn’t given you the most grim fortune telling of all time. 

You lean back in your seat deflated. Scam or not, the prognosis isn’t looking good for you right now. 

The lady ducks under her desk, and is sorting through a pile of junk paper, before she pops back up again. She shoves something into your hands, and leans over to you with a piercing gaze in her milky-white eyes. “The man who will help you lives here.”

Hope sparks bright in your chest at her words. Finally, a lead! Someone who can help you! You can’t believe your random decision to stop has given you the first clue that might actually lead somewhere!

You look down at what she’s given you. It's a pamphlet map of New York. Yellow and bright, the title reads: ‘Star Maps of Celebrity Homes.’ One of those cheap plastic ones they hand out with the tour buses. 

The hope that had been building in your chest deflates, popping like a cheap balloon. 

You make yourself scan the tacky star map for any clues as to who she means, but you you don’t see anything to lift you out of your disappointment. As much as you love Robert De Niro and Whoopi Goldberg and would love to get their autographs, you don’t think any of the people on this map are in any position to help you. 

You sigh. 

Ok, maybe Miguel was right. The fortune teller was a bust. What a waste of money. 

From behind you, you can already hear the rustle of movement from him, as he’s stepping away. 

“Come on, Cielito,” he says as he nods his head in the direction towards the exit of the alley.

The fortune teller grabs your hands in hers, as she leans in closer to your ear and whispers, as if trying to be out of earshot of Miguel. “Be careful with that one. He’s not from around here.”

Back at the hotel, you plop down on the ridiculously wide and fluffy bed, but not even the luxury of your surroundings can lift your spirits. You’re still uncomfortably full from dinner. The overload of delicious egg tarts sit like lead in your stomach, weighing you down. 

Wasn’t there a Swedish king at some point who ate too many sweet buns and died of a burst stomach? Wouldn’t it be ironic if, after all the calamity and disasters you’ve escaped, your gluttony was the thing that ended you? You don’t think anyone who knows you would be surprised to read ‘died from eating too many egg tarts’ in your obituary. It’s perfect. A stupid and meaningless death to match your stupid and meaningless life. 

From the corner of your eye, you see Miguel drag off his hoodie over his head. You squint your eyes, pretending not to look as the tan skin of his firm muscled back is revealed to you before he pulls on a tight-fitting white t-shirt that pulls taut against his chest.

The free peep show usually makes excitement and heat thrill through your spine, but tonight it does nothing. You feel… oddly numb. 

The lights go off with a gentle click, and then you are left by yourself in darkness with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company.

You don’t know what to do. The fortune teller had been as stupid and pointless as every other idea you’ve had. 

You grit your teeth, sighing as you turn restlessly onto your side in the bed, stretching out your leg to make yourself more comfortable, hoping sleep will claim you so that you can stop these thoughts from running on a constant loop on your brain like the world’s shittiest radio channel. 

God, you can’t believe you spent $10 dollars on that fortune teller, and got nothing to show for it except a crappy map meant for gullible tourists. 

What are you going to do if you’re too stupid to think of any other ideas? Your skin crawls at the thought, a tangle of worry sitting in the pit of your stomach, climbing upwards and trying to burst out of your chest. You roll over, but it only seems to get worse. 

Are you just going to wait out your time like a sitting duck? 

You twist your body, squeezing your eyes shut. The thoughts won’t stop. 

Are you just going to sit here doing nothing? 

Are you going to di–

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeech.

The loud noise startles you, and you freeze, suddenly aware of just how vulnerable you are with only the sheets and comforter for protection. 

Oh god, what is trying to kill you this time? 

Your eyes are wide open with a strain, staring off into the darkness like a deer in the headlights as you listen to the sound of something sharp scraping against the wooden floor.

It’s coming closer. 

Fuck. Is it an assassin? Some kind of otherworldly monster that’s come to drag you to hell with it? 

And where is Miguel? Why isn’t he stopping it!? 

Maybe he’s gone, a cruel voice whispers in your head. Maybe he’s had enough. Maybe he sees what you don’t want to—the futility of what you’re trying to do. Running around like a headless chicken trying to find a way out of the grand cosmic slaughterhouse that is set on ending your life. Maybe he’s given up on you. 

Maybe you need to give up too. 

You’re too scared to risk making noise, but you can’t not do anything. You turn as soundlessly as you can in bed, rolling towards Miguel—hoping with all your might that he’ll still be there to save you—only to be greeted by the sight of his back closer than you expect, hunched over the lounge chair as he drags it towards the bed, the metal legs scraping against the floor, making the very sound that had just scared you half to death. 

You dart upright in the bed, outraged.

“What are you doing!?”

Miguel looks back at you, then down at the chair he’s moving, and then back up at you with that blank expression on his face. 

“Moving this?” He sits down on the lounge chair that’s now next to your bed, “I heard you tossing and turning. Thought you couldn’t sleep.” 

There’s a pause as he peers at you in the darkness, then he rubs his hand at the back of his neck.

 “Shit, did the noise scare you? Sorry, Cielito.”

There’s that nickname again. You don’t remember when it started or where it came from, but it’s something he’s been calling you more and more often. He’s wearing a wrinkly oversized t-shirt and a sheepish expression as he’s eyeing you, making sure you’re okay. It’s almost, nearly endearing. 

“Why do you keep calling me Cielito?” you ask. “Is that what you used to call other me?”

“No, I didn’t call her that.” He shakes his head, the same aching longing in his eyes that’s always there at the mention of your other self. “I called her Nena.” 

“Then why Cielito?”

He tilts his head down at you as if the answer is obvious, and then he breaks out into a small smile. “Because you keep falling through the sky.”

You stare at him in silence for a second, at the goofy looking grin he’s wearing.  He looks so proud of himself and his silly dad joke that you can’t help but smile back, laughter bubbling up and out of your chest. His smile just gets bigger.

What a dork.

You lay back down in bed, still tittering with laughter, and there’s a comforting weight that rests on top of your head for a brief moment. It’s his hand. The touch is pleasant, his palm warm against your skin, and the comfort of it erases the last trace of residual alarm in your body. 

“Just go to sleep already." The words are impatient, but his voice is gentle, and it makes your chest warm as he continues, “It’s okay. You don't have to worry. I won't let anything happen to you.”

He hasn’t given up on you. 

His words drip through your insides and warms you from inside out. It’s comforting, the way a blanket feels wrapped around you in the winter when your heating is out. He sounds so confident when he says them. Like there’s no doubt in his mind that you’ll survive this, because he will personally see to it. The anxious chatter in your mind finally quiets, and you close your eyes, knowing he’s only an arm’s length away. 

Somehow, with Miguel here, the impossible odds you’re up against don’t seem quite so impossible, and hope buzzes pleasantly in your chest as you drift off to sleep. It's the best sleep you've had in a long time.

~ Next Issue

Credits & Dedication: Love a thousand and million years for @thirstworldproblemss who had to finely comb over and beta-read and edit this chapter over and over and rubber duck i with me while I was fixing up the details. I hope that I get to write with her til I go old and grey and senile, because it is the most wonderful joy and experience and I love her so.

This chapter is also dedicated to the wonderful and talented @forwantofwill who was endlessly kind in doing this amazing, beautiful piece of art of Miguel eating cookies in the windowsill Thank you so so much for making this and gifting me not just with your immense talent but also your time!

For those of you who haven't yet please follow her! She's amazingly talented and have such a wonderful blog filled with gorgeous and amazing fanart!

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow astroboots-writes and turn on notifs.

[luvtak]

birthday blues, psh

☆ pairing fratboy!sunghoon x reader

☆ genre/tw fluffy fluff fluff, a twinge of angst, sunghoon has a case of the birthday blues :(( i wrote the mc to be quite introverted, hand holding lmao, cheek kisses! a little miscommunication, a very sweet and soft getting together fic <33

☆ w/c 1705

☆ a/n happy holidays!! i began this fic on sunghoons birthday but because i am terrible at planning anything i just finished tonight lol, so heres a little present from me!! i hope you like it <3

masterlist

With the bad music and the smell of cheap beer, you find yourself regretting walking through the door. The house is bustling with conversation and rhythmless dancing–not a sweater in sight despite the frigid air outside. Not one person you know or like is occupying the four walls around you, and even worse, your drink is weak. 

The melting ice is enough to kick start a negotiation with yourself, you’ll leave after this drink… tell Sunghoon happy birthday, and then we’re gone. You’re not sure why you even bothered… you’ve been on three dates with the boy and barely kissed twice. While he’s handsome and funny, you don’t know if that's enough to endure another mindless frat party while your roommates are cozying up at home watching the new season of Love is Blind. 

While initially you held some reservations about going on another date with a frat boy, Sunghoon proved himself to be very sweet.

 The first date was nice, dinner and a movie (action which was ironically very boring) and a chaste cheek kiss that kept you up way past your desired Tuesday bedtime. His lips were soft and his eyes were kind–a sort of unfamiliar shy glimmer staring down at you. He was ever the gentleman, opening doors and making sure to tell you how pretty you looked… He was perfect. Which was odd for a guy who spent all his time with boys who carried a carousel of girls around. 

The second date was quick but sweet, a speedy lunch in between classes, leaving a smile on your face until you got home that night. He had asked about you the whole time, wanting to know how your day was, and if you had had a good time when you went out before. And finally, the third, wherein the very pretty boy asked you to come to his birthday party before placing a swift kiss upon your lips. 

It was almost like you were possessed. Feeling a great urge to be there to celebrate with him–very unlike the person you claim to be, but he asked so sweetly. His fanged smile was large and on display, and he had a look in his warm eyes that reminded you too much of an overloved puppy. Too much time with those eyes and you were agreeing before he could say please. 

Now, you wished you had the gift of prophecy. If you knew you wouldn’t see the boy once since walking through the doors 45 minutes ago you never would have said you’d come. Of course, it’s his birthday and you’re sure he’s busy being shuffled along friends and pretty girls who’ve long since held his favor, but he asked you to come and if you have to spend another minute listening to mindless chatter you might never speak to him again–no matter how much you like his company.

The boys next to you are crass and the girls much more indulgent than you feel prepared for. Enabling their counterparts with enough alcohol and shitty pick up lines to put you out for the whole year. And while listening in to others' conversations isn’t the nicest thing to do, the loud groanings of, “Hey, pretty lady…you’re heating up this whole place.” were just too nauseating to ignore. 

While slurred words are always swoonworthy, it may be time to head out. 

It is barely eleven, but you’re ready to go–ego bruised and brain ready to rest with some mind numbing television. Not too mention, phone long dead from too many tiktoks watched to pass the time. You can’t believe he didn’t even make an effort to say hello. You made it clear you didn’t like this sort of thing–would rather spend a Friday night away from the hubbub and cheer of a college party that lost its charm the spring of your freshman year. 

Whatever, if he didn’t care you’re just glad he showed his true colors sooner rather than later. While it sucks,  it’s no use crying over another too pretty boy. 

Peeling yourself from the back corner, you find yourself jostled this way and that until your skin meets the chilly December air. A momentary shock of relief rings through your gut, finally away from the rotten place a younger you loved, and an older you was over. 

The night for all its misadventures did end up being a pretty one; stars barely peeking through the light covered city and shining down on the car packed street. Straining your neck to see them for just a minute before making your way to your car, you eye a startling figure sitting on the frat house’s roof. 

A boy with a curious resemblance to Sunghoon, but why would the birthday boy be out here instead of at his own party? His hair is mussed and though he is far up, it’s easy to see the messy state of his clothes–sweatpants and a sweater one could only describe as something a grandfather would wear. 

“Sunghoon? What are you doing up there?” it's too far, but you think you can see the little lift of his lips, a look of relief gracing his features. 

“What do you mean? I’m waiting for you, didn’t you get my message?” His voice, while covered by the echoing party and the nighttime sounds, still carries over the expanse of the front yard as if he was in front of you–as confused as it was, it does little to ease the annoyance of before. 

“What are you talking about Park? I’ve been here for an hour and haven’t gotten anything from you.” 

“Oh I’m Park now? But it’s my birthday.” betrayed by your own temper, you can’t help but let your teeth show. His ever composed countenance running away as he whines his words. 

Maybe it’s dramatic and maybe he did send you a message, but the bitter pain of feeling ignored won’t go away just because he’s cute. 

Even if he is really really cute. 

“How am I supposed to know if you really did send me a message and aren’t just saying that now that you’ve been caught?” 

“Come on now, Silly, charge your phone.” he’s grinning now, tongue running along the points of his left canine. “I’d invite you up, but it looks like you may just push me off.” 

“Why are you up there anyway? There's a bunch of people in there waiting for the birthday boy.” 

It could be your imagination, or a trick of the shadows, but it’s almost like that one word made his whole body falter. Straight shoulders falling below his ears and long eyelashes hitting the peaks of his cheekbones. Eyes closed and figure sad. 

From a young age you’ve been rather curious; looking through hidden presents and asking too personal questions to the people around you, but you don’t think you’ve ever been more interested than now. Looking at this handsome boy–too early to love, but too late to ignore–sitting alone on his birthday is enough to make you pause. 

“Sunghoon? Are you okay? I won’t push you off if you help me up.” 

While he doesn’t answer your question, he does reach out a hand to show you the way. Laughing loudly when you stumble through the tree branches, and quick jabs at your obvious roof climbing inexperience. It’s only when you’ve safely landed next to him that you can really see the slightly blue expression on his face. Of course he’s smiling–you don’t think he’s ever looked at you without one, but there's something invading his form. An ever present dusk sitting along his spine. 

The both of you sit in silence for a long time, looking out at the street and laughing at the party goers retreating through the yard. Young men and women stumbling and giggling their way through another weekend. It’s only when the music changes from obnoxiously loud electronica to obnoxiously loud rap does he speak. 

“I’ve never really liked today, you know? I get so excited for it to come, thinking it's gonna be a magical day that changes everything. Then I wake up and it’s just another boring day. I guess I haven’t learned how to deal with the disappointment, 

I’m sorry you were in there alone, I– I wish I knew you went inside. I was hoping I’d catch you going in and bring you up here. I thought maybe if I spent it with you, it could be life changing. Exciting enough to be worth another year.” 

How interesting birthdays are, to be so momentous and yet so disenchanting. You wait 365 days for a moment to pass, another year older with no magic in sight. Although you can’t ignore that he believed you to be life changing. How sweet, to think after only three dates he’s already decided that you’re who he wants to spend his day with. Face warming and hands shaking, you’re able to let out a soft laugh, before finally answering, 

“Well, maybe we should just treat it like any other day. No cake or presents, I won’t even wish you a happy birthday." It's strange how this seemingly mean sentiment lights up his face: brown eyes becoming crescent moons, a goofy grin settling along his mouth. A look worthy of a birthday. 

“What should we do instead?” 

“Hmm, if you come with me right now we might be able to see the rest of Love is Blind with my roommates. Kazuha and Intak swore they wouldn’t watch the weddings without me… Only if you want to.” 

And the way you looked at him with wide eyes and a hopeful smile, how could he say no. How could he tell you that all day he wished he could spend it with you.

He helps you down and keeps your hand in his as you begin the trek back to your apartment. The night is cold, but his figure next to yours heats you right up–brightening the walk back to your apartment, and making you thank whatever power made you stop to look at the stars, never knowing the tall boy was wishing on every birthday cupcake that you’d join him on the roof and change his life.

© LUVTAK

[girl4music]

The idea or take that romance isn’t as important as friendship when friendship can evolve into romance is an odd one for me and I think it’s because I don’t think romance can be a romance without a deep friendship.

I’m partial to the “love is friendship on fire” adage and fictional ships or couple romances or love stories that begin from friendship. I favour friends-to-lovers and slow burn platonic-to-romantic relationships in art/entertainment because the depth of the connection is not only depicted but also drawn out and developed.

You get the whole journey so there’s never any rush to get to one development to another. There’s no time-skipping. And there’s no push for something more to happen because what you see happening is part of why you want it to be something more. You appreciate all of it. Even the negatives like the fights and conflicts because that also helps to evolve the relationship into higher degrees of love and devotion than ever before if you’re able to get the whole journey of what you want.

And I think this is why I am fundamentally bored with romantic WLW ships of today in TV art/entertainment.

Because you don’t get the whole journey of the ship.

You don’t really get a love story.

You barely get a pamphlet. 😒

But shows like ‘Xena: Warrior Princess’ and ‘Wynonna Earp’ give you WLW ships where you get everything in the ships because the journey is the whole point to it.

And for me - that feels significantly more romantic than something that’s explicitly made to be romantic.

I’ve come to realize that that’s probably because they both begin as friends and that that never changes. All that happens is the friendship evolves into romance. And I feel like a lot of TV show WLW ships get it very wrong when they change the friendship side of things. That’s if it even starts as a friendship first. I am often surprised by how many WLW ships I’ve seen in TV art/entertainment that do not. That immediately go into romance. That’s usually just because those shows are just too damn short and linear and they have no time to show you the journey. Thank fuck for fanfic then because in fanfic you can rewrite the beginnings and endings and also explore all the detail in the middle.

What can I say? TV show storytelling just isn’t a good medium for WLW representation not because they don’t want to give you the whole journey… but because they’re prevented from being able to do so.

And I’ve had enough now. I’ve had enough of being made a side storyline or liner notes in a straight person’s show or being killed off or cancelled or tragically broken up and separated when it’s not.

I either want to be a main narrative or not there at all.

I don’t want to have to settle for a half-way state and position of existence just because I’m not male and not straight. I don’t want to have to just make do and I think anybody that believes that they should seriously need to watch something more “dated” where the censorship might be rampant throughout, but… least you still get to see the whole damn journey of what is. Least there is development for those characters and even a conclusion and closure to their relationships…

Least you actually get to see yourself be … someone.

And none of it has absolutely anything to do with your sexuality or gender identity in the way where you have to feel like you’re apologizing for it or sacrificing for it… but rather… this is what is happening and it’s fine.

People really think it’s contradictory that why I love Xena and Gabrielle so much is because their sexuality or the nature of their relationship is never made an issue. They see that as an erasure of who they are.

When no, that’s not it at all.

It’s just not all they are.

It’s not all they do.

There’s so much more about them that’s detailed instead over that and it still never takes away from it.

And that’s what you want. That’s the kind of format to a love story you want to be watching or reading about because it’s normal, it’s natural and it’s just how it is.

They’re lead female characters with many main narratives across the span of 6 whole ass seasons.

And oh yeah, they just happen to be queer and in love.

The journey of the relationship as a friendship is always put first and made the focus with Xena and Gabrielle but it’s always up to you what else they are. It’s just for me - the friendship is what IS so romantic. I can’t really separate one from the other because to me… the reason why they’re the greatest love story that I’ve ever seen in TV of all-time is because they begin as friends and they never neglect this aspect.

[maxislvt]

vampire!wanda waiting for her good girl to mess up so she could go rough on her without looking like the bad guy

warnings: manipulation,smut, face slapping, mommy kinks, vampire Wanda being a little meaner than usual because I am a slut!

Though she'd never admit it, Wanda was spoiled. Her parents had high expectations and she was expected to meet them, but she was never denied anything. Not a toy, not a car, and not even an entire business. If Wanda wanted something, she got it. Which is to say, when she finally claimed you as her beloved pet, she was beyond confused with how often we heard the word "No" from you. She could hardly believe it the first time you denied her. Yet it was so fresh in her mind.

When her hands began to wander during a dreadfully boring dinner party she'd been forced to attend the expectation was that you'd let them. Instead you pushed your owner's hand away and whispered the dreaded word. Wanda couldn't even bring herself to try again after such an embarrassing interaction. As if it weren't hard enough, Wanda's associates had taken a liking to you. Employees and business partners alike would run up to her just for permission to come and fawn over you. It was cute the first time, but it certainly prohibited her from engaging in her usual sadistic acts. Constantly being told off by her elders for her "needless aggression" was irritating. Fortunately, provoking you was incredibly easy.

"The scans came back pretty similar. Our brains are very similar in most aspects. Shape, size, cellular makeup. Some of the chemical productions are a little different, but it wouldn't be too hard to accommodate for!"

As much as Wanda loved your academic ramblings, she couldn't stand another minute of Tony's obnoxious personality. It was a shame Bruce wasn't as outspoken as his associate, he was much easier to talk to. She simply drank her wine as you two continued to talk. "Ah, sweetheart. I'm going to get some more wine, please be good." She planted a firm kiss on your cheek before turning to leave. The wine was subpar at best, but she needed distance to get away with her plan.

You nodded obediently as you listened to Tony talk. He was one of the few vampires that you shared interests with. Tony never treated you differently for being a pet and you appreciate that, but you were having a hard time keeping up with the words coming out of his mouth that night. Not because the topics were too advanced or the words too big, but because you literally couldn't hear him at times. "Yes, I'm sure," You said. Suddenly, you remembered why you felt like this. It was the same sickness Wanda would give you when you dared to demand alone time or personal space, but you hadn't asked for either of those. So why was she making you sick now? "Um, I would recommend being careful with certain…certain chemicals. Humans can have all sorts of allergies and respond in odd…ways." Just as you finished your sentence, the wine glass in your hand slipped from your hand.

Silence fell over the party and all eyes were on. Suddenly that sick feeling was gone and all you felt was embarrassment.

"And as you can see, alcohol is one of those chemicals," Wanda chimed in. "Come on, sweetheart, you've clearly had enough for tonight." The smile on her face was one only you could see through. To everyone else, Wanda was just a concerned owner looking after her beloved pet. To you, she was a predator about to take advantage of the trap she put you in. "Let's get you home, I don't want you breaking anything-"

"You made me do that!" You didn't mean to shout, but you were upset. "That's not fair, I didn't even do anything," You whined. When Wanda reached out to grab your hand, you snatched it away. Despite the fact no one would be on your side, you defended yourself anyways. "I didn't do that! Well- I didn't mean to! You're trying to make me look bad!"

It was hard not to smile when you just fell right into her trap. "Puppy, I need you to apologize to Mr. Stark for getting wine on his shoes so I can take you." Her voice was sickeningly sweet as she grabbed your hand. "If you do it right I'll think about not punishing you on the ride home, but you're saying sorry whether you like it or not." She pulled you by her side and raised her eyebrow expectantly.

You looked around frantically, hoping someone would take pity and speak up on your behalf. When no one stepped forward, you let out a defeated sigh. "I'm sorry Tony, I-I don't know what happened. I really appreciate your intelligence and I understand if it seems like I don't, but I promise I do."

Wanda nodded along as you spoke. "You'll be lucky if Stark ever talks to you again. Now let's go home." She roughly pulled you out of the party and towards her car. Wanda could only relish in the scared quietness of the ride home. Your nervous sniffles and meek apologies only further burned the pit in her stomach.

You kept your head down all the way home. The mere thought of looking at Wanda made you nervous. Even when she clipped the collar onto your neck and commanded you to sit down in front of her. "W- Mommy, I'm sorry for being bad. I just thought you-"

"Tricked you? You know it makes me sad when you doubt me." Wanda's thumb gently caressed your face and she spoke. "Five slaps for causing a scene and five more for hurting your mommy's feelings. You better thank me for each one." She quickly raised her hand only for you to flinch away and duck your head. "Ah, none of that. Sit up straight and look at me." Wanda smiled at you for being obedient before her hand harshly came down on your face.

The smack had sent your head spinning. "Ah! Thank you, mommy." Wanda was strong enough to send you flying across the room, you were thankful she was holding back. It didn't make your cheeks any less tender as you suffered through the torture. They came one right after the other and you barely had time to follow the rules Wanda set for you.

"Awe, you look so pretty when mommy fucks you up," Wanda coed and she pinched your cheeks. The sounds of your cries were music to her ears. "Don't pretend you hate it, I can smell how wet you are!" She gripped face and forced you to lay over the edge of her bed. "Spread your legs, let me see how much you enjoy being a pain slut."

[petitelepus]

hello! i apologize in advance for writing so much

but i hope i can get a normal matchup for twisted wonderland! i go by she/they. i’m 21 and pansexual.

traits: ENTP 6w7, leo, deadpan (i say jokes with like a straight face so people genuinely get shocked by me saying something unexpected), diligent (people have told me their first impression of me is that they think i am boring because i am somewhat of a teacher's pet), funny, perceptive (i am good at reading people and it's something that i'm proud of but also sometimes sad about. i can read when people are sad even if i haven't known them for long and it can either startle them or comfort them when i bring it to light.), thoughtful (i do things with others in mind), physically affectionate, 'sardonic and sarcastic' (my teacher's words, not mine.), creative (i have random bouts of energy that i use to make ideas. random things pop in my head every now and then and my friends whom i share them with think they are very odd but they expect it from me), eager to learn (i like to challenge myself intellectually so i come off as nerdy), "mature" (i don't like saying this because my definition of mature is probably miles different and some people would say my humor is immature but ive had people tell me that in serious situations, i show a lot of maturity), tomboy, empathetic

i have a lot of hobbies, but i get so bored i drop them every now and then– my only consistent hobbies are probably sketching, gaming, writing, running, and editing, but i also recently picked up needle felting. i like wearing and having cute things but my personality in general is very stereotypically 'masculine' so i hang out with more dudes than girls.

favorite things: psychology, typology, games, animanga, rice, heavy rock/metal

dislikes: wasabi (or anything that has a strong flavor), inconsiderate people

I match you with Malleus Draconia!

You're clever and independent, and as a Scarabia's student you can be cunning but most of all you are diligent. You take time to make decisions and in the end, it pays off well for you.

Now, you and Malleus aren't that different, which is why you two are well-suited for each other. You're both deadpan, not letting your emotions show outside, but like you said, you can read people like open books and this is how you saw how lonely Malleus really was despite his royal status.

You're a kind one, eager to get to know Malleus better, and while your friendliness may be a little weird to him at first, in the end, he appreciates that you are willing to try and get to know him. Most people fear him and he is so used to it that he never expects kindness from others.

But you weren't just another human, but a thoughtful and affectionate one. You're willing to put aside all the rumors you may have heard of him and try to start anew with him. An act that warms Malleus' heart and encourages him to open up to you.

You take your friends' comfort seriously and this includes the Fae. May God help those who talk bad about Malleus while you are at earshot because if you hear someone talking about anything that can even be considered mean, you will go and defend your friend fiercely.

You don't need to do so, Malleus is already used to people talking, but you insist that he doesn't deserve to be treated like that. Words that echoed in his mind and how cute you- Wait, cute?

As you are eager to learn, Malleus is more than happy to share his interests with you, and that includes his love for gargoyles. He may be showing you the magnificent stone statues when you suddenly look at him and smile.

"You could say these guys were the original… Rock musicians?"

You start giggling and laughing at your own joke and while Malleus may not understand it at first, your smile is all he needs to feel joy.

"Child of man, your humor amuses me and keeps me entertained but it's your smile that I treasure most."

Dayem, when did he become that smooth!?

As you are physically affectionate, and while Malleus is a little awkward, he happily accepts your affection and tries his best to return it to you because he understands that it means a lot to you.

Malleus is new to technology of any kind so when you introduce him to video games, he is in awe.

He has this naive and childish wonder in him as he watches you play and if you try to teach him, he takes a lot of glances at you, trying to see if he is playing right. You're a good teacher, patient, and kind, so even if he fails he has fun with you there by his side.

[miracles-and-butterflies]

For @dandylion94, based on the prompt: “Camilo and Mirabel are trapped together somewhere and have a heart to heart while waiting for rescue.”

Post rebuild, Camilo tries to prank Mirabel but it ends up backfiring on himself as he accidentally locks them both in the laundry room. While waiting to be found by the family, the two get to talking and learning stuff about each other.

Change Your Mind

Mirabel yelped as the door suddenly slammed shut behind her. The action and noise almost loud enough that it made it the walls tremble. Her knuckles gripping white against the basket, she turned around. Only to find a snickering Camilo, waiting beside the wall by the recently closed door.

“You’re an idiot,” she muttered.

“Uh, no, you’re the idiot, primita. You’re the one who just freaked out over a door.” He remarked. “My sister’s gonna be mad.”

“Your sister is also going to know exactly whose fault it is and is going to inform the adults of such.”

Camilo groaned a little. “You’re so boring. It’s just a dumb joke you don’t have to take everything so seriously. Would it kill you to find the fun for once?”

“I can have fun,” she countered, setting down the basket and beginning to sort through the laundry. “And I can manage to do so without insulting or humiliating someone in the process. Not that you would know anything about that. Would it be so difficult for you to take something seriously?”

“I took the rebuild seriously.”

“Your first comment was quite literally about us no longer having a house.”

“That wasn’t my first comment, actually. You weren’t there for it because you ran off.”

“Well, I was present for the rebuild and I can confidently say you weren’t much help.”

“You weren’t either, thread-head. All you did was sew something for the kitchen. I carried a few bricks, babysat several kids and, as horrifying as it is to you, actually got my hands dirty!” He insisted, lifting his hands and waving his fingers, dramatically.

“And there you go again, acting like a child,” Mirabel clicked her tongue.

“Uh, newsflash, I am a child,” Camilo commented. “We are both children. I can be silly and messy and loud and annoying and vulgar and reckless and whatever else you complain about it if I want. You’re the odd one out, prima. Not me.”

Mirabel glanced up from the clothes she was sorting through. “This is all very concerning as it’s coming from someone who is meant to be a role model and guardian to young children. I dread to think what kind of awful impression you are leaving on the children you babysit and the messed up futures they’ll have,” she said, as though she was merely talking about the weather.

That struck a nerve in Camilo.

And he wasn’t going to leave without getting the last word in.

His hands fell to his sides in tight fists as he stepped away from the door, wanting to fully stand down his cousin. “Yeah, but I’m clearly a better person than you are, seeing as you’re the one here who wasn’t good enough to get a gift!”

Mirabel slowly dropped the blouse she had been holding. She turned back to him, eyes narrowed up at him, pushing herself away from the counter.

He’d grown a lot recently - and though he already has a vision from Bruno has guaranteed he’d end up taller than his sister - he has clearly never stood so close to Mirabel in a while. Because she was really, really short and maybe that ruined some of the conviction in her words.

“You don’t know when to quit it, do you?”

“Clearly not if I’m such a kid.”

Apparently done with this argument, Mirabel turned away sharply and returned to her work, ignoring him entirely. Camilo gave one final scoff before stalking back to the door. He reached for the doorknob and tried to twist it, but nothing happened.

Getting more frustrated, he jiggled the doorknob harder. Twisting one way and then the other. Pulling and pushing with all his weight. Kicking at the door and then bashing his shoulder into it. Trying anything to get it loose. Nothing worked. Even Casita tried helping with the floor tiles and a wooden beam, but nobody was strong enough to free the door. He slowly came to the realisation that during his earlier prank, he must have slammed the door too hard and gotten it jammed.

“What is it?” Asked Mirabel from behind. She didn’t sound as upset as she had a moment ago.

“The door’s jammed,” Camilo admitted in defeat. “We’re stuck in here.”

Mirabel shook her head. “Only temporarily. Lunch can’t be that far away and my absence will be noted by—”

He couldn’t help himself from bursting into laughter at that. And he was mildly surprised that Mirabel didn’t immediately chastise him for it. “People don’t notice when you don’t show up at meals, just guess you’re off sewing or that you are there. You’re quiet. It’s the same with Dolores. It’s why I use you two if I want seconds.”

“Then surely someone will notice your absence…” she trailed off from her question, realising. She sighed heavily. “Or no, they won’t. They’ll assume that you have shapeshifted into somebody else or have gone out to town to see your friends without informing anyone.”

“Dolores is having a day off in her room,” Camilo said, after a beat. “And there’s no windows in here.”

“…Looks like we really are stuck here then.”

“I guess so.”

The first hour or so passed with no drama. They remained on opposite sides of the small room and said nothing to each other. Mirabel continued with the chores she was meant to actually be here for without compliant (cleaning clothes, darning holes, etc), while Camilo was slowly losing his mind. There was nothing to do in here.

The second hour came and went. And then the third. And then… well, Camilo stopped counting by then. His stomach was really starting to growl and though he kept checking through the gap at the bottom of the door, he couldn’t see any sign that the family had come back. Though surely they had eaten lunch by now? Wouldn’t Dolores have to leave her room at some point and would hear them? The small source of light outside of the room, slowly faded.

He thinks he must have fallen asleep because, when he next opens his eyes, the entire room was pretty much pitch black. Mirabel had to stop what she was doing as she could no longer see much beyond the slight glimmer of her needle. He could just make out his cousin’s figure in the same place - has she even moved at all? - her knees huddled up against her chest, the same way Antonio does after a nightmare. It’s too dark that he doesn’t even notice Mirabel is looking over at him until she breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have said those things about you. You are wonderful with the village children and Antonio.”

Camilo shrugged a little. “Eh, I probably deserved it. I went out of my way to prank you, even when I know you don’t like ‘em and scare easy. I mean, that’s not setting a great example to kids.”

There was a pause. “Well, neither is what I’m doing,” Mirabel continued. “I can be cold, stubborn and very closed off about my feelings, which can’t be the best impression for Antonio. I never thought being so levelheaded and responsible would be a bad thing, but… I just spent the last eight hours, trapped in a room, working.”

“Why? Why would you do that? What’s wrong with you?”

“If I were to guess a lot of anxiety, trauma from Casita’s collapse and a crippling need to over-compensate for not getting a gift. Aside from the literal answer, it feels wrong to be not doing something productive.”

“Yeah, you're the weirdest sixteen-year-old I’ve ever met. And I’m me.”

“Apparently, I’m also a hypocrite to Luisa.”

“Yeah that as well— wait, it’s been eight hours!?”

“Eight hours and twenty minutes, I think; I could be wrong. That is what I counted. Isn’t that what you’ve been doing?”

Camilo stared at her in shock.

“You aren’t human.”

“It’s just counting. It’s not impressive—”

“You kept count of time for like almost half a day in the middle of doing that sewing and shit, how the hell is that not impressive?” He exclaimed, gesturing to the clothes. Or where he assumed they were.

“The counting was the more challenging bit, but only because mathematics isn’t something I care about. Stitching is all second nature to me at this point, as simple as mere breathing,” Mirabel explained.

He slowly picked his jaw up off the floor. He had always thought Dolores wasn’t completely human - as a child, he was convinced she was some higher being because of her smarts. He’d never really paid much notice to the fact that Mirabel easily caught up as her equal. Sure, he knew his prima was smart; his teachers use to complain about his grades being appalling in comparison to his “baby, female, giftless cousin”. But like… what the actual hell?

“What else do you know?” He asked.

Mirabel blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Like, off the top of your head, what else is in there? Wait, that’s a dumb question… um, you know how my sister claims she can play any instruments she touches, could you do that?”

“First of all, Dolores can actually do that. I have seen it with my own eyes and that is something to be regarded as impressive. Could I do that? No. Having only tried the piano, accordion and a few woodwind instruments, I don’t have enough knowledge on the other families of instruments to even know where to begin. Anyone could try, but not many instantly gain understanding of a new instrument.”

“You can play the piano? What? Since when?”

“Since about three? Pa taught me the basics and, with the aid of Dolores’ music books taught myself the rest.”

“How did I not know about this? I’ve never heard you play!”

“You never asked. I only play when the rest of you are at work.”

He nodded in understanding. “I guess now I should share some facts about me that you don’t know. Just to make it equal.”

“Is there something I don’t know?” Mirabel questioned, unconvinced.

“Probably not, I’m very loud and open about myself.” He chuckled. “Uh… yeah, no, I got nothing. What is there to say? I babysit, I act, I play football, pull pranks, have a boyfriend, am the weird kid in my class. Oh no, actually, wait! I got something! When my parents first moved me into the nursery with you, I wanted to be your friend.”

Nobody said anything for a long time.

“You what?”

“Yeah! You were the only other child in the house who wasn’t going to school at the time and we’d be roommates.” Camilo went on to say. “I remember being excited for our play dates, I remember Mamí telling me about a new friend and thinking it was the best present ever. I couldn’t wait. And then… you clearly weren’t as interested, maybe scared of me and my energy, and we had two very different ideas of what ‘play’ meant. And rather than help, our mothers just kept trying to force us together which made it all worse. No wonder you eventually burst before I started school, begging Luisa to put an end to it. That really hurt, by the way. I started school thinking nobody would want to be my friend.”

There was another quiet moment as Mirabel shifted. “Well, now I feel bad,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I just couldn’t understand why the adults were doing this; I was convinced I was being punished for something.”

“Don’t be. We were kids,” he waved off. “We weren’t the second Isabela and Dolores, no matter how hard they tried to force it. We probably would have turned out completely hating each other if things didn’t happen the way they did. And I made a ton of friends within ten minutes of getting dragged into school.”

“I know… I’m still sorry I disappointed you. But, I suppose that is very consistent for me.”

He was going to ask her what she meant by that because she’s one of the last people who disappoint someone. Always polite, always helpful, flawless behaviour and grades, and— oh. That. That makes a lot of sense.

“You’re not as bad as you seem to think you are,” he ventured. “You’re not as bad as I thought you were. Still an abuela trapped in a school girl’s body, but you… I don’t know. I don’t want to see you get punched in the face anymore. It’s just nice getting to talk about all this shit, you know?”

“I concur. You aren’t the court fool I thought you were.” Mirabel hummed, softly.

“…I’m just gonna pretend I know what you said.”

“I said that I agree with you.”

He cackled for a moment. “That’s a first.”

He thinks she might have chuckled a little too. “Savour the moment, for I doubt it will happen again.”

“We’re not gonna go back to… all that arguing, are we? When— if we get out of here?”

“Of course, we will get out of here. Dolores will hear us and get Luisa any minute now.” Mirabel answered. He could almost hear her roll her eyes. “But, to answer the first question, I wouldn’t mind it if we stopped with the arguing. Perhaps we could try being civil?”

“Great! I don’t know what you mean, but same!”

As if on cue, the room was suddenly flooded with light as the door was smashed clean off its hinges. Camilo scrambled back into the wall, only narrowly avoiding being hit by the thing. Mirabel slowly crept towards the light from the other side of the room, smiling in relief at the two figures - of their older sisters - stood in the doorway.

“I told you so,” she remarked.

“But how did you know?” Camilo whispered in horror, then gasped. “Witch!”

Dolores just held a hand out to the room. “See, Luisa? I told you they weren’t dead.”

She was immediately shoved aside as Luisa shoulder-barged her way through the doorway, running into the open room and drawing Mirabel into a tight hug.

“I was so worried about you!” The strongest was saying, maybe she was crying. “My poor hermanita! I’m so, so sorry! I didn’t realise you got locked in here! I had— well, I thought I was having a conversation with you for a full ten minutes until Bela asked me ‘what the fuck I was doing talking to myself’! And Dolores wanted to leave you in here until the morning because she was busy writing poetry, so I dragged her here to make sure you didn’t die. I’m never letting go of you again!”

“That’s wonderful, Luisa, and I have missed you very much too, but I can’t breathe,” Mirabel winced.

Camilo scampered out, heading straight for the kitchen, as Dolores followed after him, dusting down her dress.

“I can’t believe that food is the first thing on your mind,” she complained. “Not even a thank you.”

“Hey! I’ve not eaten since breakfast! I’m actually starving for once!” Camilo yelled back. He gratefully sank his teeth into some of the leftovers. Shovelling spoon after spoon into his mouth. “Thanks for coming to get us, hermana. You couldn’t have done it sooner?”

Dolores scoffed, “Nobody told you to lock yourself and your cousin in the laundry room, hermanito. I fetched Luisa as soon I realised what had happened! Though… it sounds like something good has come out of this and it means I will get to hear less of you arguing with people, so I don’t really have any regrets. In all honesty though, I am glad that you and Mirabel have made up. If you can get along with me, you can do it with her. Besides,” she added, smirking, “I was going to need you two to work together to plan my wedding.”

“But Mirabel wouldn’t know romance if it smacked her across the head?”

“You will bring the romance and dramatic elements, she will bring everything else. It is a flawless plan—”

“You couldn’t use Isabela and Luisa because they would embarrass the shit out of you?”

“Precisely.”

He had a light bulb moment, dropping his spoon into the bowl. “Maybe I should the jam the laundry door on you three and get you lot to make it up to each other!”

“Camilo Valentino Estrada Madrigal—”

“What? I’m only kidding!”

[theladyofshalott1989]

Writer Interview Game

Thank you so much for tagging me @infernalrusalka! This was a lot of fun to reflect upon and type out. :)

No pressure tagging: @morelikeravenbore @ravenwind-75 @myokk @moongurl95 and honestly anyone else who wants to join in. I love reading about other writers' processes <3

When did you start writing?

Fanfic? When I was a young teen (roughly age 13/14). I wrote Star Wars (Anakin/Padme) fanfics on FanFiction.net.

Writing in general? When I was around 5. I used to "write books" (that is: take construction paper, bind it, and create little stories with pictures when I was bored at home, alone). Only child syndrome; am I right, or am I right? Haha.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

I enjoy reading angst, but I don't (typically) write it. I also read a lot of published nonfiction for fun, but I hated writing essays in school. I was more of a creative writing gal.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

You know, I've never actually thought about this, probably because I like to write for myself. I think it would be odd to be compared to another writer, even a famous one. I also read oodles, so it's difficult for me to choose an author I'd want to emulate. I suppose if I were forced at gunpoint to choose, I'd say John Steinbeck. He had a way with words; he turned phrases beautifully and his books have really stuck with me over the years, especially East of Eden.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

My office, which my husband recently renovated for me. It's Hogwarts: Legacy themed, naturally. My husband is the best; he loves to encourage my "Sebastian and Damien delulu," my words, but he would definitely agree and approve. XD

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Hmm, good question. I don't know if I have one actually, unless setting a writing schedule counts? I write every morning, rain or shine, for one hour before work. If I'm in the middle of writing a long-fic, I also write during my lunch break. I don't typically take days off either. So...I dunno? I do like to write while drinking coffee. Maybe that helps. Yes, let's say that.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

I tend to prefer writing morally gray characters that eventually have a redemption arc. Not sure what that says about me, but I don't mind it. Haha.

What is your reason for writing?

It's a type of therapy for me. It's the only time of the day that I get to myself. I work full-time and I'm a mom, and as thankful as I am for that, I have my own desires and passions outside of those two things that I don't want to lose. Writing is my way of keeping that part of myself alive.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

I love all types of comments, but I will worship the ground you walk upon if you're the kind of person who does reaction comments with quotes included. I try to comment this way too on other writers' fics to encourage more of this style of commenting because it's the best!

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

If someone reads anything I've written and comes away with the sense of joy that I felt while writing it, I'd be absolutely thrilled.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

I have a few that I'm proud of. Dialogue, particularly banter. Push-pull dynamics in relationships, especially in established ones. Morally gray characters. Foreshadowing and twists. I'll even it out by saying I'm not as confident in my description-writing abilities, which is partially my fault. I tend to skim descriptions in published books because they more often than not bore the hell out of me. LMAO. So...that's my bad. Interestingly, I really enjoy reading descriptions in fanfics, possibly because they tend to be more unique. Descriptions in published books are often very cookie-cutter and I feel like I've read them a million times before. Oh well.

How do you feel about your own writing?

Some days I love it, other days I think my writing is the worst, but I'm finding that's pretty normal when it comes to creators. We are very critical of our own work. I try to be kind to myself on days when I'm in a negative headspace because I know the feeling will pass. <3

[almacambiondaughterofsaleos]

Your responses to the Stolas/Blitzo debate are… odd. I agree that Stolas is being hypocritical, overly judgmental, unfair, and ignorant of his own behavior- but isn’t that the point of the show? Blitzo’s also messing up in a lot of ways, he takes jokes/insults too far, he has problems respecting boundaries, he’s acting unfairly aggressive and apathetic. But that’s the whole point of the show, isn’t it?

We are only halfway through season 2 of a 3-4 season show, which means we still have sooo much further to go in the story. Therefore, of course the characters are still flawed. If Stolas and Blitzo were perfect and weren’t being flawed the story would be flat and boring- or if Blitzo was the only one making mistakes. Then there would be no show to watch, no?

Also, I feel like, if Blitzo’s allowed to be ignorant, narcissistic, and intentionally hurting others due to his insecurities, trauma (like being overly rude bc he’s defensive, disrespectful of boundaries) AND he’s allowed to make mistakes on his path to healing and redemption-

then so isn’t Stolas? Stolas also had a hard upbringing and an abusive marriage, so there’s many things he flawed in (like expressing proper intimacy, or properly self-reflecting). He’s not as far as Blitzo right now in his journey to be better but he will get there- as Vivzie has said herself. There’s still AT LEAST one and a half more seasons, in which will contain Stolas’s self reflection.

This is also why I think you might have the perspective that the SHOW itself sets Blitzo up as the bad guy. Because 1. Anyone with proper media literacy can also see Stolas’ flaws but more importantly 2. The show is about Blitzo, and at the moment is focused on Blitzo. Therefore we are seeing every side of him, the good the bad and the ugly. We haven’t entirely begun Stolas’ arc (we’ve like… dipped our toes) and thus the show isn’t putting a main focus on anything about him- his mistakes OR his healing. But those things will start to unravel as this season goes on and into the next season.

If you have the opinion that the FANDOM hates on Blitz? Well I can’t really help that, besides saying idk what side of the fandom you’re on. My side very much stays in the middle and admits they are both wrong.

I just feel you’re being too harsh on Stolas and aren’t really seeing the show for what it really is: HALF of a story about two equally flawed individuals.

Thoughts?

You think I'm too harsh. I will be even harsher. The reason why I am harsh on Stolas is because the crew doesn't realize how much Stolas is fucked up as a person and how realistically in life Blitzo would get the heck out of their with that crystal and leave. Yep, no being gaslighted into a relationship based on a facetious grand gesture but just leave that unapologetic bird. The guy said he was trying to make things right but he never properly apologized nor showed he truly understood the gravity of power he had on Blitzo. Also most of all he doesn't understand how condescending and bigoted he was and even when Blitzo spells it out the doubles down and claims Blitzo is the bigoted one. It's projection on his part and shows he still hasn't learned anything while pretending he is. The problem is he doesn't have he narrative harshly hold him accountable. It doesn't try to correct his behavior but gives him new excuses to feel sorry for him as we groan at the narrative's favoritism towards him and how supposedly he's actually this great guy despite that erasing all of season one. Sorry, but Stolas is worse and the show refuses to admit it because they have fallen so in love with him. Also the guy should expect to instantly be forgiven and be sympathetic for it. That is what shows Bojack called out for which is feeling entitled to forgiveness after you didn't do anything to try to properly heal those around him while Blitzo gets wrecked for the same thing. The show is hypocritical on who it wants to punish and who it wants to reward. And it's rewarding a abuser who thinks he's the victim.

[citylawns]

World doesnt need the beauty standard saying how poor they are for being the standard as much as it doesnt need millionaires saying how bad they have it with packed wallets

I would switch places with you in a heartbeat if I could but instead Im stuck with the reflection i hate and half of my life taken away by disordered eating and shame but go off queen, tell us how bad you have it for being skinny

Hi there ! I’m sorry you’re feeling this agony about yourself - eating disorders are truly insidious and I’ve got many friends who have survived them and had experience myself.

But anyway, you have definitely misread or misunderstood something I’ve said ! I have never claimed, nor do I think, that it’s “hard” being skinny! Thats not to say it’s not without many issues and my reactions and frustrations about how people talk about my body are real, but I’m very much aware of the way different women’s bodies are treated online and in public. if you have a look through my blog you’ll see I’ve said time and time again how I am privileged for thinness and how my face and body have literally made me money as a model as well as speaking about the odd relationship to this with the bad experiences I’ve had (sexual assault from an employer).

I’m guessing you’ve been confused by this post? It was referring to the fact I don’t post photos of myself because of the way my appearance becomes the focus from my online audience instead of the things I spend more time talking about and posting like music and literature and art. I’m tired of talking about politics then being asked for weight loss tips. It’s crazy because idk why people think I would condone starvation given everything I have been through and write about on here??? I am frustrated when people praise me for my body because I make no effort with it and don’t think there should be such things as beauty standards, that make women compete with each other and form a hierarchy. This obviously doesn’t mean it’s “hard” being skinny, it’s just true that there are negative experiences when as a woman you’re trying to say something important or show your creative work and you’re just continually reduced to your body. It’s very misogynist. Because of this any femme presenting person finds their appearance becomes their focus from their audience online - no matter what we post.

My emotions about people (often female customers and girls with eating disorders) commenting horrible things about my weight are real and are allowed to be shared on my personal blog that is about me and my experiences. But just sharing my personal experience is very obviously not an insinuation that there is any structural disadvantage of being thin! It’s a structural disadvantage of being a woman - and within that there are always women who have lived experiences both better and worse than you. Again, im completely positive you’ve misread something because it would be very odd tell someone they aren’t allowed to talk about how patriarchy and ED culture affects them lol

You can see these posts if you scroll through my blog but I’ve recently explained I don’t give out appearance tips because 1. I don’t do anything/find it boring and redundant to talk about given it’s the only thing the world wants to talk about, but more importantly 2. Systematic privilege allows me to be low maintenance and it would be hypocritical of me to pretend otherwise !

I hope that’s cleared things up!! ❤️

[beevean]

Is it too soon to speak of the concept that Lanolin has wasted potential yet? Because I am so convinced she could have been a far more likeable, or at least tolerable character if:

We got an actual explanation for why she acts the way she acts, because right now we simply have no idea why she suddenly is so bitchy. I really do think that showing that she acts this way because it is how she thinks leaders act (stern, always right, always knowing what to do, always in control) and then learning that no, being leader means respecting those around you and knowing that you are not high and mighty above your subordinates, makes for a far more interesting character than... well, this.

It didn't constantly appear as if she hates her teammates and everyone else around her except for Duo. This isn't from recent issues either: she's been drawn odd, bored, tired, annoyed, etc etc more than a dozen issues ago already.

Like... give me a Lanolin who is such a control freak she starts stressing out and panicking the moment things go south because she knows she is not cut out for this yet. Someone who sees Silver and Duo arguing and knows she cannot intervene, thus she lashes out and stops the argument before it can, in her mind, go further south. Someone who sees Whisper accuse a new teammate and clumsily tries to calm her down, which does not work. Not that constant anger and irritation, especially aimed at Tangle, and her sheer contempt for Silver. Someone who is really doing her best and wants to do well, but who has the entirely wrong idea of what constitutes the role she has put herself into. No more disappointed kindergarten teacher who is never called out by anyone in the narrative.

I personally would wait until the end of this whole story arc before deciding how much of a waste she is. It's what I did for Surge and Kit... and even then the comic is bringing them back so who knows what's going to do with them 😂

Lanolin is more of an interesting case of writers clashing, because you just know that ABT had a completely different personality in mind when he designed her.

You've seen anything like this so far? Lanolin being more of a stepford smiler? Yeah, exactly.

Lanolin's behavior would make sense if we had confirmation that she, like Whisper, has been left with trauma after everything she went through off screen. She would be a foil to her! Whisper became an introverted loner, Lanolin now insists on forming teams and having them hyper-organized. Whisper's personality is withdrawn, Lanolin forces her (fake) personality on others. Hell, even her overreaction over being grabbed could be passed as one stemming from trauma!

But I don't get that. Lanolin doesn't seem to be high-strung. She seems, as you say, like she can't stand a single person around them and only interacts with them out of polite courtesy. She's mean as a personality trait. And it's not even that she clashes naturally with certain kinds of people, like say Tangle who is scatterbrained so of course the control freak wouldn't stand her; the only person she has shown something resembling respect so far is Sonic, and even then not always. Around Tangle, Silver, Whisper, she has this constant disdainful look on her face.

Who pissed in your cereal, ma'am? This isn't funny! She's mean! And Tangle has fallen far down in my list of liked characters, but ffs she hasn't done anything to deserve this glare!!

Anyway, to get at your point. Lanolin has shown one moment of vulnerability very early on, when her operation failed. That was the one time she admitted she didn't know what she was doing. That was a moment of relatability and sympathy for her, because the audience could see a hidden side of her and understand where she was coming from.

It hasn't happened so far in this arc. Again, I have no idea how much we're meant to understand Lanolin. I only know that so far she has only shown one emotion, and it's contempt against people who don't deserve it. This is not how you write a likeable character, not even as an antagonist. She's not fun to hate. She's just a bully.

[birchbow]

Thank you for PoF it literally rewired my brain a normal amount eons ago when I first read it. Every time I make a new character for anything and I start to worry maybe they're just a little too unhinged, I remember PoF, and know that I'm valid and so are my insane little horny characters 😌❤️

I am so excited that you say this because it's important to my heart! Insane little characters with strong wild opinions or reckless horniness or huge blind spots or weird personality quirks or frequent fuckups they often learn very little from are the heart of stories that keep my interest and provoke reaction from me as a reader!!!!

Let every character be a character!! I have never been more bored as a fanfiction reader than the other day, when I read a fic where only the villains were allowed to be rude or irrational or petty or angry without immediately apologizing in uniformly articulate and modern "I've learned what people are supposed to say in apologies" speak. Because they're a Main Character! They're a Good Guy! But sometimes good guys and main characters are going to fuck up!! Sometimes they're going to be bizarre! Sometimes they're going to be at odds with other characters who are Good Guy Main Characters, over things that may or may not be a big deal for their characters!

Listen!! Sometimes I write a character talking shit and I'm wincing the whole time, not just because they're being an asshole, but because I know they're going to double down on it later! Because they just,,, don't think or feel the same things as the person they're being an asshole to! Do I the author agree with one more? Probably! Do I necessarily have to resolve "and this one was right, so the other one apologized"? No! Characters conflict with the other characters! It's uncomfortable to write sometimes! But my level of comfort or discomfort with the uncomfortable is part of writing stories where THINGS HAPPEN and goddammit I am out here for things happening otherwise what is even the point. >8U

[themostleastuseful]

A Review of a Thing

Greetings denizens of the incomprehensible abyss known as the internet, I am a random nobody who criticizes the art of people far more talented than I will ever be. This is the first time I have done anything remotely like this, so do not be surprised if you find it lacking. I know I sure do. Anyhoo, today I will be talking about a horror movie that wants to be a poem so badly that it forgot to have a point.

How do I describe I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House? Boring is too simple a word for how little I cared about anything that happened in this movie. Maybe colorless, or would that be too obvious? When the most interesting thing in a multimillion dollar film is a mold stain, money has not been spent well. It is styled as a gothic horror in the tradition of The Fall of the House of Usher and other Edgar Allen Poe works, but Poe it is not. His stories had themes more interesting than “death is kind of scary, right?”

The movie is about a woman named Lily who is hired to work as a live-in nurse for an old horror novelist (named Iris Blum) with dementia. A simple setup with potential for interesting payoffs. Are there going to be nightmarish creatures spawned from the mind of a creative individual slowly losing their grip on reality? Is the nurse on the run from a past she can never truly escape? Will the main character ever go outside? All of these questions, and more, will be immediately answered no because there isn’t enough time between all the shots of walls.

The plot goes thusly: The nurse shows up, Iris mistakes her for the ghost she’d been talking to for inspiration, Lily reads the book based on Polly (the ghost)’s story and figures out that it had actually happened in the house, then sees Polly in person and dies of a heart attack. Iris dies too because there was nobody left to care for her, then the last ten minutes are Lily monologuing about how dead she is. 

Lily is one of the main problems I have with the movie. For starters, she talks like a grandma with an odd cadence reminiscent of someone telling a bedtime story. It kind of works for her monologues (though the language is so flowery it makes me want to sneeze) but she even does it when talking to her friend, who she calls a slut the way you might call a puppy silly. I am aware that the actress is British, but then why make her do an American accent? 

 Lily is a mix of childish and extremely odd that might make sense if she were supposed to be mentally handicapped in some way, but there is absolutely no indication that she is. Not to say it would be a bad thing, I’m autistic myself. It’s just that, if you’re going to make such a character, you’re going to need to establish or at least hint at it at some point.

 There is a ghost, but we never really find out much about her or her motives. It seems like she wants to show the world what her ultimate fate was, but then she goes and makes Lily hallucinate that there’s mold growing on her arms (the only remotely interesting scene in the movie, by the way.) What’s that for? If she just wants vengeance on the living, why does she tolerate the writer living in her house for decades? Why was she murdered anyway? What’s the significance of her walking around with her upper half on backwards? 

While I complain, the movie does manage to set an atmosphere of doom. The house feels empty and dark even during the day, and the music sets you on edge when it’s supposed to. The problem is, though, that the movie barely does anything with it. building tension without adequate release leaves viewers feeling stressed. A movie that has you feeling worse than when you started is not one you want to see again. Anyway, more complaining.

Like I said before, there is a foundation for something good buried within the snores. The movie has themes of aging and decay, with Iris being shown to have once been quite attractive, but time has taken her mind and body.  Very gothic horror, but none of it feels like it was used to its proper potential. It should have focused more on the author and her futile struggle against time, with the house visibly deteriorating as a reflection of it. Maybe the ghost could change too, slowly becoming more corpselike until it disappears and the actual body busts out of its hole to do some spooking. As it is, I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House bats the idea of beauty being transient around like a cat with a toy but never goes in for the kill. (The two central characters are named after flowers ooo so deep)

[seancamerons]

i really dont like the fb fandom for degrassi. i regret joining. its not fun. i just got desperate for community and like this was like a mistake. im done with this kind of behavior this girl had.

In one of these stupid ass groups, I think I've met the mosts meanest nastiest bitch in the world, can't relate. How dare you? Come bullying people who like to joke and have fun? Ew. Nasty writing indirectly like fu, don't get cocky with me. I'm not cool with people poking fun at others. I'm aware im friggin ugly as hell but you know what? I don't care she don't live anywhere near me but now she's nothing but a memory bc shes blooooocked.

here is the scoop, this one girl tried to be rude to me that i was 'weird' bc i wore a stupid friggin character costume with my bf, unorthodox bc its not a popular show or film franchise or whatever but like ugh shaming people? what is with you, boring bitch?

tell that to all the moanas, disney dressed, superhero, queens and kings, Harley Quinn and Barbie's walking around this week! Just because I made my costume kind of out of odds and ends doesn't mean shit. If you got nothing nice to say leave me alone, your opinion is invalid I don't care, but that was out of line. Blocked. I have half the the mind to contact the moderator to get me out of that nasty group of stupid ass people. Ugh I hate being mad about stupid shit but c'mon. i really am starting to be like super hurt and bent outta shape bc i worked really hard and like i was just trying to have a teeny bit of fun. I don't even know. I hope she ain't on here. She seems more casual bc whatever.

I been around this for 84 years, half of my life (exaggerated) but basically i know shit, you don't and it shouldb't be this serious but shaming people isn't nice. I'm trying to be a nice person keep the piece she is disturbing my peace and i just wanted to show off a fun thing I did. Ugh people. I do not wanna be in a group with this girl bitching about something so ridiculous and making me all hot and angry maybe this is why I almost never do shit or open up about anything I'm about to blow a gasket over a basic bitch!

She got blocked hope I don't see nothing, even if she did like semma/sean/emma or whatever i don't wanna know. Leave me alone or I'll report your ass. I had to block 3 people today, 3 I do not care. Don't push me I will.

I am done with people who do not give a fuck about me, pardon my french. Do me a favor and lay tf off or you're blocked. I will not respond. You will be insignificant.

I am very pssionate about things i like. Do not make me an enemy. I will go to literal war. I do not care. Understand? Ughhhhh I hate this.

so you're blocked if you say anything neg, i have no room in my life for people being nasty for the sake of being nasty. stop being mean girls, this isn't 2004. support ladies, don't be a bitch bc you don't have fun, and shit on others parade.

that is a double negative, you are a double negative and you're raining on my love parade. or something like that.

[trainsgenderjamie]

Okej so this is gonna be all sad and weird feelings and emotions shit so if you do not want to like read what i have to say about myself and get all sad for me, feel free to just scroll on by, but if you feel like hearing what i have to say, it's below the cut line (idk what to call it, but it looks like those 'cut here' lines, so I'm calling it that).

I feel like I've been weirdly like. lonely for a really uncomfortably long time. Not in that I don't have people around me, I have alot of very great and awesome friends, and I still live with my family and I am genuinely eternally grateful to have every single one of them. But more like in the sense that i feel alone to some odd extent.

I couldn't begin to tell you why I feel that way, maybe something to do with not feeling like I fit in (something I have and still do feel at times with my friend group) or like maybe it's to do with the fact that i don't see my friends very often or something along those lines. I just like- feel out of place, yknow. There's a lot I've missed out on, and I'm not gonna act like there's any way for me to like catch up on all of those things in any reasonable way that isn't just "explain it to me if it comes up in conversation". And like I wish I could go back and just have broken up with my (at the time) partner once I realized I couldn't hang out with the very people I really wanted to hang out with, and like have been there from an earlier point, so I could feel like I actually belong to this friend group, but like I know I can't, and I'm well aware that I can only stick to the group and try and fit in while it's still here (since we're all now in college and shit, so it might just dissipate over time).

It's been like this for like i dunno a couple years at this point, because there was a time where I felt like I belonged to some group, before it split up, splintered, I got into a very toxic, jealous relationship (wherein my ex didn't like me talking to other people), and very haphazardly and suddenly rejoined a friend group I had alienated myself from against my own will. It had just been weird, abject loneliness, even though I was in a relationship or part of a big friend group, or had multiple friend groups, or something along the lines of "I was never actually physically or socially alone in the literal sense". I know why it was like that, at least while I was still in a relationship. Dedicating yourself to one person and one person only is fucking taxing, because shit gets boring. Shit gets sad. Shit gets upsetting. If they're upset at you and don't want to talk to you, you have no one else to go to, because it's been so long since you've talked to anybody else at that point that it becomes weird when you text them out of nowhere. If they're busy, it's the same thing. It ruins your perspective of personal value and how much you matter. It shatters any self worth you have, especially when shit like this is one sided, and especially when you would have considered yourself a social butterfly beforehand. It's demoralizing and humiliating. It fucking crushes you down into nothing, just a source of affection for someone to tap into when they start feeling bored. It's gut wrenching when you're excited to talk to someone, and you calling or texting them first results in them getting upset at you for bothering them. It's embarrassing to get basically cheated on and be aware of it and unable to do anything about it. It's genuinely the worst fucking thing in the world to be in a relationship like that, where one person asks you to dedicate yourself to them, and doesn't do the same in return. You become a pushover and weak and frail and this fucking shell of a person. To any of you where I've mentioned "trying really hard to be a person again" this is what I mean. All of that said, that is why I've felt lonely for so fucking long. Nearly two years of that shit will make you feel like there was never anyone in your life to begin with, and suddenly you've forgotten your friends' interests and likes and tastes, and trying to interact with them again is like meeting them for the first time, but they already know you. It sucks, and I wouldn't wish this upon anyone in the world. It's been forever since I've just had people to text regularly, and I still don't. I know I have friends who really do not care if I text them first, and I have friends I flirt with, but I cannot bring myself to text people first 9 times out of 10. Maybe it's leftover behavior from previous interactions, maybe it's just anxiety, maybe it's a mix of both. I don't know, but I miss that feeling of having people to talk to. Just bouncing between conversations, texting multiple people at once, but like what am I supposed to do now? Do I just. go on discord and hit the first ten people with a "hey what's up"?? How do I even follow that shit up? I hate opening conversations with that shit, cuz it's flat and boring and it sounds like I want something from you (I do, I want interaction). It's a horrible fucking opener and I genuinely refuse to olen conversations with any variety of "Hey how's it going" or "hi what's up" or whatever the fuck. Being lonely for like two years is hot shit.

I don't really know what I, or anyone for that matter, can do about it. I think it's just a time thing. I've been in Discord VCs with several of my friends daily for like a few weeks now, and it doesn't seem to do much. There is a facade of whimsy and joy, that is genuinely and truly a mindset that i would like to inhabit, that hides a deep sense of just fear that people don't think I fit in or that they think I'm weird and that I'm just an extra in a group of tightly knit network of friends and relationships. I don't want to be like this, because every time that facade cracks it scares me, and this is one of those times, and I've decided to make a post about it. Venting, Crying for help, Talking to strangers on the internet and a few friends, screaming into the void, call it what you will, I am posting all of this, eventually. Maybe not the night I'm writing it (03:44 on June 15th), since I know my feelings shouldn't be trusted when I'm tired (I'd convinced myself I had a crush on someone a night or so ago when it really was just me panicking over not comprehending something they were doing). My entire facade has kind of crumbled the past few days because I started realizing just how alone I really am. Like feeling jealous that one of my friends is hanging out with another one of my friends??? That cannot be normal, in any reality. Maybe that is normal (I have had one person tell me they'd felt the same too before), and maybe I'm just overreacting to a number of very normal things, but like I dunno man.

Shit sucks. I'm sad. Hopefully this shit just washes away over time, and I feel like a normal person again. Fucking hate being like this. It feels so sad and pathetic and shit.

If you made it to the bottom of what is now my least favorite post i will ever make on this site: Hi. Thanks for (probably) reading this, I love you. And I hope artist one of you loves me too.