#which id also pay for of course

[mistergoddess]

omg just remembered the highlight of my work day was seeing a BEAUTIFUL trad cuff tattoo and gushing about it and asking her who did it and her citing a local artist 🥺🥺🥺 ummm im not gonna run out and hit him up bc i need to budget and don't have much time left here for booking but WAOOOWWWW so exciting to see in person and know that there's a local artist who has done them... a trad cuff is rly like my current tattoo holy grail which idk is maybe a lil stupid and overdramatic but we don't have that many tough ass trad artists here and even for a trad artist who mainly does more conventional compositions i think it's gotta be a hard one to pull off, doing super super clean bold straight symmetrical matched up lines on such a weird small bendy wrapped body part, and it's super visible and probably a bitch to heal so i don't imagine people ask for them a lot therefore artists don't get to do them a lot... so i've always known that if i want one i gotta do my research and find someone who knows wtf they're doing and is confident with it. So idk it was just exciting as fuck to see one by a local artist i was like oh my gggggoooooddddddd freaking out and she was super sweet about it waaah

[pikslasrce]

im going to do it for real this time (drop out and get a job)

[savage-rhi]

I'm very much a, "fuck yeah and fuck you, I don't need validation! I'm me, cunts!" kinda fella, but sometimes I could use support.

[orcelito]

Actually it is SO weird to me to remember that I was an engineering student and that later on I had been pursuing a minor in statistics

I may be a IT & com person in the end, but I do have the foundations of engineering and statistics in my brain too. Wild !

[earanie]

Flow of conciousness time because it's tumblr and I can

[luvsavos]

life kicks me in the ribs yet again: more than likely i won't be able to get all the money i need in time for the alatreon model, so. got excited for nothing :)

[theautumnriverleaves]

i can tell its time for me to go to bed bc im coming up with real 3d chess ideas and I cant tell if they are good ones or not

[for-a-longlongtime]

Guilty Pleasure (6/7) - dbf!Joel Miller x reader

An open bar and Joel in a tailored black outfit mean trouble at your father's garden party. Enough reason to do something you haven't done before.

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only, mdni 🔞🔥 Series warnings (tba): Age gap (reader is 22, Joel is 43), masturbation (f), use of sex toys, oral sex, PiV, anal, hair pulling, dirty talk, getting caught, playful use of 'daddy', outrageous flirting, groping, reference to m/m, Joel's arms should always come with a warning. No outbreak!AU. Word count: 3.4K A/N: I finished writing the final chapter last night and y'all, I'm giddy as fuck. Big BIG thanks to @milla-frenchy and @reallyrallyauthor for your support and reading Part 6 and 7 early to make sure this hits juuust right!

< part 5 | series masterlist | main masterlist

There are too many people in your backyard. Mingling, chatting, networking, kissing ass - all accompanied by canapés that are too fancy, beer that is so painfully hip and micro-brewed that you don’t even want to try it, and outfits intended to seem semi-casual yet also upstage everybody. You hate these gatherings. It’s far from the first time you’ve had to endure them because of your father’s work, though. Even your grandmother liked reminding you when you were little that your grandfather also hosted affairs like this. “It’s important to build connections.”

You don’t care. All you give a damn about tonight - or maybe these days, if you are honest with yourself - was Joel, dressed like a fucking vision. Well fitting black pants, that you suspect are tailored, an ever better fitting black dress shirt which is absolutely tailored, and matching black boots. His hair, usually curly and messy, now looks so sharp that you wonder if he got a haircut this morning; it’s a little shorter, definitely neater, and brushed back a little.

But what your eyes keep going back to the most are the few buttons on his shirt that are undone, showing off his tanned skin and a smattering of freckles you had barely noticed before. It makes you want to trace every single one with your tongue and find out if he would whine when you'd suck a hickey on his neck.

He’s at the bar, waiting for his drink, so you slide in right next to him and bump against his arm. “Hey. Don’t tell me you’re drinking those craft beers?”

“Jesus. No, of course not.” 

The expression on his face is one of instant disgust, and you can’t help but laugh at the candid response. “Wow, didn’t think there’d be someone else who’d hate them as much as I do.”

Joel grumbles something, then gives the bartender a nod as he takes a glass of whiskey from him. When the guy turns to you to take your order, you point at Joel’s glass. “I’ll have whatever he’s having.”

The guy gives you a doubtful look. “Can I see some ID?”

“Yes, you can. It’s called ‘I’m the daughter of the guy who is paying your salary tonight’ and I’m twenty two. Thanks for making that drink now.” You stare at him, daring him to push back against you - you are NOT in the mood for this tonight, especially not in front of Joel. After a few moments, the bartender sighs and shrugs as he turns around, reaching for a glass and some ice. You can feel Joel’s eyes on you, so you turn towards him to give him a similar look. “What? Go ahead. Say it.”

“Say what?”

“That I’m being a brat.”

“Nah.” Joel shakes his head as he sips from his whiskey. “You’d just get off on that. That’s not brattiness - you’re actually being rude,” he says, then wanders off to go talk to someone nearby.

You stare at him with an open mouth, anger starting to creep into you. How the fuck does he dare to just say something like that to you? It hurts, and most of all it gives you a pang of concern that maybe you’ve ruined your chances with him - between this and the way he responded at the pool a few days ago.

“Oh honey, forget about it.” The bartender gives you a look that’s bordering on pity and disdain, his inflection drastically different all of a sudden as he pushes a glass towards you. “That man ain’t into you. Wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole. Why don’t you go find somebody of your own age to play with, hmmm?”

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”, you snap at him as you grab the glass and stalk off, his words feeling like claws that have sunk into your skin and won’t let go of you. The burn of the liquor doesn’t help you in the way you’d hoped for, and you find yourself craving something stronger, sweeter. Anything that’ll help you take the edge off.

Anything, in this case, turns out to be 6’3”, blond, looks like a jock and is named… Brady? Brody? Brad. Ben. Blake. Something like that, you can’t remember, but it’s unimportant after having chatted with him for all of ten minutes. What matters is that he’s not a bad kisser, smells fine - not woodsy like Joel unfortunately - and his hands are large as well as eager, pressing you with your back against the solid wood of the pergola. 

If it wouldn’t ruin the mood for him, you probably would’ve laughed at the irony of making out with Blaine - Brandon? Brayden? No. Bruno. Bruce. Barry. Maybe it was Chad after all - right against the pergola that Joel had built over the past couple of days. 

You’d been watching Joel from your bay window, his muscles straining in the sun, while he grunted the way you had memorized from his Instagram videos. And for all of those three days, you’d had several orgasms as you’d watched him. Some of them were thanks to your fingers, others due to toys - varying from the small bullet vibe to the thrusting rabbit vibrator you used for longer sessions. But in the end, all of this had been going on for too long. The flirting, the way you’d feel him look at you regularly, the build up of tension; it had you feral by now, and you just wanted Joel.

You are gonna get him. Soon. Even if it means needing to make him jealous.

“Should we- should we go inside?” Jock guy pauses his kisses, leaning his forehead against yours as he runs his hands down your body, and you can feel him press hot and heavy against your thigh. Fuck, he is hung. “We’ll have some more privacy, and…”

“No, this is fine,” you say quickly, your eyes scanning the crowd of people across the yard. Most of them are unaware of your makeout session, and your glance slides right past them, but suddenly you detect Joel not too far away from where you are. He is staring right at you, gripping his whiskey glass in your hand, and when the guy next to him says something, he only shakes his head, not breaking his glance with you.

“Are you…”

“I said this is fine,” you said sharply to the guy with his hands on your hips. A frown plays over his face, and in a gesture of good will you let your hand brush over the crotch of his pants, tracing the outline of his dick. “Nobody is watching.”

He groans, his lips finding yours again as he pushes himself against your hand. You kiss him back eagerly this time, your arms around him as you turn him just the slightest bit so you can keep your view of Joel. He’s talking to the guy next to him now, a back and forth conversation, but every now and then his eyes slide back to you, and then there’s a nod he gives you that makes you shiver.

Baxter, or Bart, Bobby, or whatever the hell his name is, slips his hand under your skirt, and you moan when his fingertips trace your lacy underwear. You hear how he sucks in air for a second, then his chest almost puffs up in pride at how wet he finds you. Silly guy. He thinks it’s because of him, that his not-too-bad kisses have riled you up so much. Has no damn clue how Joel’s eyes are back on you again.

“Touch me,” you breathe at him, and then hold your breath when he does so. Thick fingers - though not as thick as Joel’s - slipping under the fabric of your panties, pulling them to the side while your eyes remain locked on Joel. You’re trying to merge the touches with your fantasies and the visual of Joel right in front of you, conjuring up his voice. You think of the way he’d tease you with slow, playful strokes over your pussy, each time a little more focused on your clit, making you delirious with need before he’d even consider sliding a finger into your soaked cunt.

But reality seems more than unwilling to blend with your fantasies. While initially the guy seemed to smell fine, you’re now noticing the overwhelming amount of generic fuck boy cologne he’s wearing, the scent unsettling and clearly something Joel would never even wear. He doesn’t smell like a hard day’s work on Joel does and his hands are too smooth, too well taken care of. No roughness from manual labor whatsoever, no finesse to tease you, and definitely not much muscle memory on how to properly get a woman going. 

Instead he’s just clumsy, perhaps because all the blood has rushed to his cock that’s pressing insistently against you. Substitute-Joel’s fingers slide over your folds only one disappointing time, clearly not even attempting to find your clit. He fumbles around as his own breathing grows heavy, then suddenly tries to push two fingers inside of you - without any further prep or even checking if that’s okay with you. 

It abruptly ruins the horny spell you’d been under several minutes ago, and you swear as you grab his hand to stop him, your pussy strongly objecting to his fingers trying to invade you. 

“Hey! Fucking hell,” you hiss, pulling his hand out of your underwear before he can go any further. “You always fingerbang girls without properly prepping them?”

“What? You’re practically dripping on me,” he hisses back as he looks confused. But you’re not about to end up in a discussion about how being wet doesn’t mean he can just shove his fingers inside of you - let alone without any warning.

“Never mind,” you say as you push him away from you, then straighten your clothes as you move away from the pergola. “Let’s just forget this happened, okay? I’ve gotta go say hi to someone.”

“Bitch,” he mutters at you, adjusting his tie and the collar of his shirt. On most days you would’ve gladly torn him a new asshole for that, but you’re just not in the mood to further engage with him. So you start to head into Joel’s direction, but then see that he seems to have moved elsewhere, leaving you to look around in confusion.

You look up when you hear a group of men laugh, and see your father shake some hands as he offers his audience a few more words. Joel is there too, you realize, still with a drink in his hand. Your father gives him a friendly pat on his arm, which is returned with Joel’s signature nod, as he then heads over to some other people who look more than eager to greet him. It makes your skin crawl to see him acting like some kind of politician, eager to make a good impression on everyone, and you quickly turn away from him to look back at Joel - who is now looking straight at you again, without saying anything.

It’s not until you’re back at the bar for another whiskey - you’ve lost track of how many you’ve had - that he shows up next to you, giving you a gentle nudge like you had done to him earlier. “D’you eat anything recently?”, he asks, absentmindedly playing with a coaster on the bar. You can smell the smokey alcohol on his breath, see that the buttons on his shirt are just a little more opened than they were a little while ago, and it just makes you ache for him.

“Shut up, Joel,” you mutter, but he doesn’t follow your suggestion - instead he picks up the whiskey that the bartender slides over to you and takes a sip of it.

“A water for her, please?”, he asks, then covers the liquor glass with his hand when you try to reach for it. “No. You’re done.”

You’re starting to seethe at this point. “Who the fuck you think you are telling me how much I can drink?,” you snap at him. His eyes are infuriatingly calm, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips makes it clear he’s a lot more amused than you are.

“Easy, darling. Just looking out for you, okay?” He pushes the glass of ice water on the counter over to you, but you have half a mind to throw it at him.

“Why are you bothering me?”

His eyebrows raise at the word ‘bothering’, but he doesn’t quite respond to it. “Just have some water and food,” he says softly. “You’ll feel like shit if you don’t.” 

“You’re drunk too.”

Joel rolls his eyes at you. “Yeah, well… have to get through this all somehow, don’t I? Been drinking water too, though.” He gives you a look as he takes another sip of whiskey, sighing.

“I don’t get why you’re here.” Your head is spinning a little, but at this point you’re not sure if it’s the booze or proximity to Joel that’s getting to you. The memory of that jock guy’s cologne is far from your mind by now, replaced now by that smell that you crave - the cologne you would recognize anywhere, layered with Joel’s own scent. And it’s driving you mad. “Nobody is making you, unlike they’re doing with me.” 

A smile plays over Joel’s face and he shrugs. “Your mom asked me.”

You can’t help but laugh. “My— what? And that’s why you’re voluntarily subjecting yourself to all of this?” You gesture around the yard, the groups of stuffy people, pretentious bite sized food and music that makes you desperately want to connect your phone to the speaker system. “I’ve been to so many of these. It’s awful, every single time.”

You’re waiting for him to tell you it’s not that bad, or even that you should suck it up. But instead he simply doesn’t respond, and only gives you a raised eyebrow as he has some more whiskey. When he puts the glass down on the bar, you impulsively swipe it and drain it before he can interfere, waiting for an actual retort this time. 

A frown slides onto his face and you grin almost triumphantly at the reaction, pushing the empty glass back towards him, only ice cubes remaining in it now. “I think you like dramatic,” you then blurt out, and see how he blushes slightly, the red flush creeping up from his chest to his neck.

“That what you think?” His eyes flick over you, and you nod, poking him in the chest with your finger. 

“Yeah. You’re… practical. Proper. Maybe kinda boring. You got your routine.” You really should stop talking with all that liquor in your system, but you refuse to admit he was right about you needing to sober up. “Maybe getting close to a midlife crisis? Working your job and then all the reno on your house. Don’t see you chill a whole lot.” 

You run your finger a little down his chest, then place your full hand against his shirt as you lean over to his ear. “I think you want some fun,” you whisper in his ear, barely audible due to the music playing at the party. “Somebody who shakes things up. Brings a little drama and excitement.”

Joel’s eyes are slightly unfocused from the whiskey, just like yours probably are, and you can tell that his guard is down in ways that you haven’t experienced before. “Old, huh? Boring, old, and close to a midlife crisis,” he says after a moment, a smirk on his face as he shakes his head. “But you would shake things up? Why would you bother with an old man?”

“Maybe I’m into that.” You bite your lip as you hesitate for a moment. “The whole DILF thing. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you watching me.”

His smirk widens into an actual grin now as he laughs, looking away at some commotion or a gathering that’s happening at the party. When he looks back at you, his eyes are darker than usual, and you can’t help but feel a shiver run down your spine.

“Little girl. You are in over your head.” His words are measured and quiet as he seems to pick them carefully, his hand now reaching for yours that’s still resting against his chest, and he gently pulls it off his shirt. “ Y’don’t even have a clue of what you’re playing with, darling. What are you gonna do? Rock my world? At your father’s party?”

“I don’t give a shit about his party,” you say sharply, but he shakes his head, interrupting you.

“But that’s the thing. You do,” he murmurs. “Y’couldn’t be more thrilled than to do so here, just to make a scene. Like you did with that guy.”

You feel victorious hearing him confirm that he had been watching you, and together with his ‘little girl’ comment it’s enough to make you soak your panties on the spot. “Were you jealous?”, you ask him challengingly.

He chuckles again, this time getting up from the barstool, and you take in his physique, admiring the way those tailored pants fit around his thighs. “Have some more water. And food,” he tells you, and in the split second you have before he turns away, you make up your mind. Perhaps it’s more like instinct, to do what you’ve been stopping yourself from doing for a while now. 

You grope him. 

Fingers quick as you cup him through his pants, closing around his balls and a part of his dick. It takes effort to bite back a whimper at finally feeling him, thick and hot and heavy in your hand, after all those weeks that you’ve been here and tried to figure out what the right move was. You hold his eyes defiantly, lips parted as you’d like to use your words but they all seem stuck in your throat.

His surprised intake of air when you grab him is immediate, and he looks frazzled as he shakes his head, tugging your hand abruptly away from his cock. “You out of your damn mind?”, he hisses, looking more than just a little flustered. “In front of everyfuckingbody?”

“So come insi—” The words die on your tongue when you suddenly see your mom approaching from a couple of feet behind Joel, unaware of what’s happening between the two of you, but apparently in search of you as she calls your name. Joel and you immediately step away from each other, him leaning against the bar as he seems to need a moment to compose himself. You have even less time to plaster a smile on your face for your mother, so you just nod enthusiastically as she rambles at you about some person’s son you should come meet. Your heart feels like it’s hammering out of your chest as you force yourself to tell her that you’d love to meet them, bringing a smile to your mom’s face.

Just as you’re about to join her to meet this person, your mom pauses at the bar and puts her hand on Joel’s shoulder. “By the way, he said that he could use your help with moving that thing, if you have time? Think he’s inside, couldn’t find you,” she said, and Joel nods while humming something affirmatively. His eyes flit to you for a split second before he looks down at the bar again, and he seems to wait until the two of you have moved away until he goes inside.    

You’re in a mild daze as you follow your mom through the crowd, performing the role you’re expected to play, while the moment that you grabbed Joel plays on repeat in your head. The gasp that spilled from his lips, the way he didn’t say “no” - just “in front of everybody?”, which was an entirely different thing, and frankly… he wasn’t wrong.

You can wait. Just that little bit longer. It’ll be so worth it.

Joel's outfit at the party (as a dress shirt and pants instead of a jumpsuit):

series masterlist | main masterlist

Thank you for reading, commenting or reblogging - I appreciate it so very much 🙏

🚨 Follow @longlongtime-updates + turn on notifs to see when the finale drops later this week!

[the-muppet-joker]

hello! i've been reading about your interactions with your roommates and i don't know if its just me but the whole arrangement you've got going on feels... controlling and vaguely abusive? like I get having house rules, but forcing you to sleep under the bed, or in a closet as punishment, not sharing any blankets even though there are 6 in the house, making it so you have to be emo or follow their beliefs to live there, and restricting the music you listen to... it feels super controlling. also the fact that there's a hierarchy, that's not a good sign. and then also that stuff about athena maybe having taken your kermit plush??

of course i dont know as much about your living situation as you do, but if i were you id probably get a job and work towards getting somewhere to live independently of them. I know it's hard to hear, but getting your book published will not sustain you, and you also have to consider the possibility that a publisher will want to publish your book in the first place. Puppet/clown erotica isn't in high demand. And even if you do get your book published, you still need to have money in order to pay your publisher and get copies printed (which could be in the thousands of dollars). So please get a job!!! you cannot sustain yourself only on your book!!

The only reason there is not high demand for puppet/clown erotica is that the American people do not realize how much they need it.

And my roommates are a little odd, but I have no reason to think they are toxic or that they have stolen my Kermit plushie. Why would they invite me to live with them rent free just to torment me?

[7ndipity]

“Like Crazy”

Jimin x Idol Reader

Summary: Jimin asks you to fill in as his dance partner for a Like Crazy performance

Warnings: not proofread

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this! I hope you like it!

Masterlist

Requests are open

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

“Ok, let's take five and then we’ll go again!” The choreographer called.

Gratefully, you slumped down to the floor, letting your head rest against the wall as you took a few deep breaths. Comebacks were always exhausting, but this new choreo you’d been working on was really kicking your butt.

Letting your eyes fall shut, you made a mental note to try and make the next single be something slower, only to be jolted out of your train of thought by the sound of your phone.

Quickly digging it out of your bag, you couldn’t help the small grin that crept across your face as you read the caller ID. “💖Chimmy💖”

“Hey you.” You answered.

“Hey, uh, I have a huge favor to ask, and I need you to not hate me.” Jimin said quickly, sounding stressed.

“I would never hate you.” You replied.

“Would you be my dance partner?”

“What?” You blinked.

“Jinsol’s sick, and we need someone to fill in for this weekend's performance.” He explained. “I know it’s short notice, and you’re doing promotions right now too, but you’re one of the only other people who already knows the choreo.”

“Would the company be okay with us doing that?” You asked. Although it wasn’t a secret that you and Jimin were ‘close’, the exact status of your relationship was, and you knew that performing like this would inevitably stir up rumors.

“They said they could make it work, if you agreed.”

You considered it for a moment before speaking again. “Which days would you need me to cover?” You asked.

“Just Saturday.”

You sat up a little straighter. “Jimin… That’s Music Bank.” You said, stating the obvious.

“I know.”

“I’m also performing on Music Bank?”

“I know.” He repeated. “You can say no, it’s totally okay, I just had the thought-”

“No, I’ll do it.” You said quickly. The chance to actually perform with your boyfriend was not one you were keen on passing up, however sudden and hectic it might be.

“You will?!” He exclaimed.

“Yeah, sure.” You replied. “The managers will probably hate it, But what the hell?”

“Ah, Y/n, thank you!!” He cried through the phone. “I’ll find a way to pay you back for this, I promise!”

“You better,” You giggled at his enthusiasm. “I’m risking the wrath of army here.”

“They’ll behave, don’t worry.” He said. “I gotta go and update everyone, I’ll call you again later. Love you.”

“Love you too.” You replied, hanging up and taking another deep breath.

Well, this weekend just got more interesting…

The next two days were filled with ducking between rehearsals, wanting to make sure you had the choreo for ‘Like Crazy’ down perfectly. Jimin had taught you the main portion of the dance a couple months ago as he was getting ready for promotions, but you still had to get the hang of dancing with the group for the other sections.

Now, as you were weaving through the crowded backstage area to catch up with the rest of Jimin's team and quickly change outfits, you were beginning to feel the pre-show nerves settling in, despite having just finished your own performance.

As soon as Jimin caught sight of you, he tackled you in a tight hug.

“You did amazing out there!” He said excitedly, giving you a squeeze before releasing you.

“You watched?”

“Of course I did!” He said, cocking his head at you. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t support my amazingly talented partner?”

Before you could come up with a retort, you were all being called to the stage. You and the others watched from the side as Jimin went out and greeted the crowd, thanking them all for coming and expressing how he hoped they would like the performance.

As the lights went down and you and the other dancers moved to your places, you heard a couple surprised shouts of your name, making you bite back a grin as you glanced back at Jimin. He shot you a quick smile and thumbs up before turning away.

As the music started, you took a deep breath, your earlier jitters quickly dissolving as you let everything else fade away, focusing only on following the others and Jimin.

When you reached the solo part of the song that was just you and Jimin, you had to bite back another smile as the two of you made eye contact as he sang, sending him a quick wink before you spun behind him, hearing the slightest waver in his voice as he fought back a laugh.

The rest of the dance went smoothly, and almost too soon, you were back in the starting position as the final notes of the song faded out, only to be immediately replaced by the crowd’s thunderous cheers.

Everyone quickly ducked off stage and headed back to the dressing rooms in flurry, you and a couple of the other dancers talking and complementing each other on the performance. After a few minutes, Jimin managed to pull you off to the side, pressing a quick, enthusiastic kiss to your lips.

“Thank you so much.” He whispered.

“You’re welcome.” You said. “Although, you know you’re gonna get in trouble for making moves on your dancers like this.”

“I can’t help it,” He whined. “You were too cute out there.”

“Do you think the fans liked it?”

“I hope so, I know I did.” He said.

“I’ve noticed.” You giggled as he tried to kiss you again, only to be interrupted by the sound of your names being called as your teams tried to find you.

He groaned. “We’d better go. Can I come over later?” He asked.

“You better, you still owe me payment for today, remember?” You teased.

“I’ll have to come up with something really good.” He grinned before slipping out the door ahead of you.

“Can’t wait.”

[hazshit-hotel-hater]

Hey, can you explain to me like I’m 12 what Vivzie did irl? I’ve seen a lot of allegations and refutations to said allegations that make me confused as to what is actually happening or what ppl are angry at since I’m not really in either hh or helluva boss fandoms? Sorry if this is weird or annoying and feel free not to answer if you don’t want to

Hello! I put a lot of things vivzie has done in my critical posts so you can look at my long character post analysis things if you want more in depth things, but let me try to make this as digestible as possible. And of course I can’t list everything theres way too much but I’ll do what I can.

1. Defended her story board artist (Raph) with a rape fetish who uses Angel Dust to fuel said rape fetish. If you do not believe me (anyone reading this) Raph also made a fan animation to the song Valentino which was ORIGINALLY a somg about Vox being abused as well as Angel. Raph removed the aspect of Vox being abused and changed it to where Vox jerks off to Angel getting raped. This is still the same person Vivzie actively considers a friend a wonderful employee. And before anyone says it. No. “They’re coping” isn’t an excuse.

2. Vivzie retweets Angel x Valentino fanart

3. Vivzie was discovered to have a public YouTube playlist labeled “favorites” that included videos that involved women being sexually assaulted. Whether these were skits or real, I dont care and its disgusting either way.

4. Drew a Hitler “Sausage Party” OC. This was a while ago but worth mentioning

5. Does not pay her employees fairly.

6. Shit talks other indie artists and show runners constantly.

7. Demonising “voodoo” (vodou) by making it a “scary evil” magic Alastor used and then tried to excuse it by saying Alastor is black.

There’s much more competent people with screenshots and such on here if you want to look these up for more information! Id suggest staying out and away from hh/hb if possible so seems like you’re doing well. Hopefully this helps!

[gothhabiba]

[ID: a tumblr post containing a screenshot. Text in the screenshot reads “lol @ academics on twitter dotcom once again handwringing over students using chatgpt to write essays. don’t work for the enforcement of access barriers institution and then get mad when people try to elide or mitigate the access barriers, hope this helps.” The OP of the post adds this commentary to their screenshot: “I think the access barrier is the borderline incomprehensible amount of money you need to pay them to let you matriculate (this was about america). not the fact that you’re expected to be interested in the course once there.” end ID]

some people are so allergic to questioning anything they consider to be “common sense” it’s pathetic. worshipping meritocracy and the supposedly automatically edifying qualities of “effort” and suffering while also proclaiming oneself to be some flavour of progressive. sheesh

also I know this isn’t the point but it never stops being fascinating to me that so many people with this “you need to learn to Be Literate In The Correct Ways, Which Is An Easy Thing That Anyone Can Easily Do” sort of attitude (the elision between “think in the incredibly specific way and write in the highly specific way required to complete an essay that adheres to this particular school of thought about what essays should be like” and “be interested in the course” is telling here) are also, like... not great at reading comprehension imo.

it was super clear, even just in this ungenerous cropping of a longer point, that the original post was (among other things) criticising academia as a whole for being intended to institute access barriers to accumulating wealth, prestige &c. such that skills the university considers necessary (& performance within the limits afforded by university disability ‘accommodations,’ which are a joke) are considered automatically necessary, unquestionable, unimpeachable &c. as though the academy and its conception of “literary” are natural and inherent facts of life, rather than representing a particular interpretation of which “skills” are needed and how those skills are evaluated based on what the institution of academia is intended to do, economically / politically / socially, within a given society (cf earlier discussions on my blog about the material circumstances under which the field of literary studies arises)

which is simply basic materialist analysis. but most people in the notes were again too busy being outraged at the people trying to “game” this already highly rigged system to be able to comprehend a criticism of the highly rigged nature of said system

[suzukiblu]

Day twenty-seven of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

They walk to their first planned destination, Kon being unfairly adorable and also an asshole at the same time, because it’s Kon so of course he can multitask that kind of shit. Tim gets teased about his taste in kids’ toys and his date budget and his theoretical Smash skills, which he’s clearly going to need to educate the bastard on the hard way. Alternately, Tim also gets Hawaiian gummy candy shared with him, never mind that Kon apparently both really likes it and hasn’t had it in months. 

Tim continues to be in way too deep and finds it sweet of him, possibly because of the excited and pleased way Kon grins at him when he tells him likes the candy. 

Tim is definitely in way too deep. 

They get where they’re going, and Kon . . . pauses, and then tilts his head and raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Seriously?” he asks. 

“Trust me,” Tim says with admittedly unwarranted confidence as he squeezes his hand, then leads him into the modern art museum looming in front of them. Kon isn’t the type to really be that into museums, he knows, but they did “meet” in one and also this specific exhibit seemed, well . . . 

Promising, he guesses. 

“Sure, pretty boy,” Kon says with a laugh, squeezing his hand in return. Tim is idly mystified as to why Kon keeps calling him that, but in no way intends to dissuade him from it. If Kon wants to call him completely illogical things, that’s up to him.

He takes Kon to the ticket counter and buys them both a ticket. The clerk asks for their ID and Kon hesitates, because he’s obviously never had or needed an actual ID in his life, but Tim’s already pulling out the fake ones he made for “Alvin Draper” and “Connell Hill”. They won’t stand up to Bat-level scrutiny, obviously–he didn’t have the time or see the point in going that far–but they’ll get them into an adults-only museum night. He’ll do up something more reliable to buy the cul-de-sac with. He has a few identities that could buy property established, but Bruce knows all of those identities, so he’d rather avoid using any of them. Easier to just build a new cover ID from scratch than hide an active one setting up a new residence that isn’t an obvious safehouse, he figures. 

He pays the clerk, pockets his receipt, and they head down the hall together. The museum is one of the nicer ones in Gotham, and decorated a little bit more nicely than usual for the event, but not outright extravagantly. It’s due to be open a little later than usual too, though Tim doesn’t know how late Kon will want to stay. He can probably push back their dinner reservations if it comes to it, though he’s not expecting that to be necessary. 

“It’s an 18+ thing?” Kon asks as soon as they’re out of the clerk’s earshot, raising an eyebrow curiously. “The frick kind of museum is this?” 

“Not that kind,” Tim says, trying not to blush. “They just do adults-only events sometimes. It’s just so there won’t always be a bunch of bratty kids and annoying teenagers running around distracting the older museum-goers. And there's hors d'oeuvres and drinks.” 

“Babe, I don’t know about you, but you are aware I am technically both a bratty kid and an annoying teenager, right?” Kon asks him with a smirk. 

“That would be why I got you a fake ID too,” Tim says reasonably. 

“So we just snuck into a museum with fake IDs,” Kon says with a laugh. “I mean, I’ve done weirder, probably, but what the fuck, Tim? Where’d you even get that?” 

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Tim says only a little bit sheepishly, carefully avoiding the latter question. Also every other version of this kind of exhibit he found was way more kid-oriented and definitely not going to count as the kind of “nice” date to have convinced Kon to dress up for or actually look like Tim had put effort into any of the night. 

“What, did the goat idol end up here?” Kon asks in amusement. “We checking up on the little guy?” 

“No, he’s still living his best life in Metropolis under increased security, last I heard,” Tim says, though that’d be kind of funny, so depending on how long they’re seeing each other maybe he should keep that idea in mind. 

“You actually checked?” Kon asks with a laugh. 

. . . right, that’s not something a normal teenager would do, is it. Well–too late now, so Tim’s just gonna have to lean into it. 

“I was just wondering what they were going to do with it, after a whole gallery wall got blown in and everything,” he says. “Apparently the answer was ‘close for a weekend and then back to business’. Don’t ask me where they found contractors that fast.” 

“It’s Metropolis,” Kon says. “If you can’t find a contractor to fix superhero damage, you’re not trying.” 

“It wasn’t actually superhero damage,” Tim points out. “You didn’t break anything.” 

“A real fucking important vase, apparently,” Kon snorts, but he’s smiling a little as he shrugs. “Alright, fine, but ‘mediocre museum robber damage’ probably doesn’t sound as good on the insurance, now does it? And I look much prettier in the paper than a bunch of mug shots of idiots who didn’t even know how to work their cute lil’ magic goat buddy.” 

“Definitely, yeah,” Tim agrees wryly, steering him down a side hall towards the sounds of other people. Frankly he’s counting them lucky the goat didn’t try to start a magical apocalypse or something, given how their lives usually go. And also it was Metropolis, which sucks enough as it is. So like, of course the apocalypse would come from Metropolis, given the option and opportunity to. 

“I don't know much about art or whatever, you know,” Kon says a little bit awkwardly, peering down the hall towards the dimly-lit gallery ahead. “Like–that was not prioritized in the ‘how to be Superman’ educational package. Especially because it was written by committee by a bunch of people who I'm still pretty sure had never even met the guy. Like ever.” 

“You don't have to know anything about art to like it,” Tim says reasonably, resisting a vague urge to frown over the way Kon phrased that. Note to self, maybe. Just–for later, obviously. “But this isn't really that kind of exhibit.” 

“Isn't this an art museum?” Kon says with a puzzled frown. “What else is there?”

“It's a ‘multimedia experience primed to dazzle and delight all of the observer's senses’,” Tim recites wryly off the website copy he was reading earlier this week. “Also known as a sensory exhibit.” 

“A–what?” Kon wrinkles his nose in confusion.

[justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms]

Forced Proximity

In honour of the FnaF movie coming out, I wanted to write something. I was inspired by a cosplay video by astrocadet on TikTok and that video's comments section, so credit to them!

When does this happen in the timeline? Who knows. Which pizzeria is the reader working at? Why is Michael called Michael and not one of his (possible) aliases? What year is this happening in? Why does the timeline for this game make no sense? These aren't important questions right now. Also yes, I'm using Michael's in-game sprite for the picture; you can picture him however you want. Hope you like the fanfic!

Fandom: Five Nights at Freddy's

Characters: Michael Afton x day shift! gn! Reader

Word count: 2.1k (2,122 words)

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When you realise you left your bag at work, you don't think much of it at first. But when you remember your keys are in said bag, you have no choice but to go back to Freddy Fazbear's. But your co-worker, the night guard is acting strange and when you get stuck in the office together, who knows what will happen?

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

"Damn." You rested your head against the steering wheel. Of course you forgot your bag. And of course your house keys were in your bag.

Why you hadn't just put your car keys with your bag instead of in the key bowl at work, you had no idea. If you'd just done what you always do and put all of your stuff together, you wouldn't be sitting outside your house with no way of getting in.

You really needed to stop procrastinating and get that spare key made.

But, for now, there was nothing to do but drive twenty minutes back to Freddy Fazbear's and get your keys.

You turned the car back on and began driving back to your place of occupation. Why were you working at Freddy Fazbear's? After everything you'd read about it in the newspapers, you weren't really sure. The pay wasn't bad, but you knew you could get a better job. Maybe it was just morbid curiosity that held you there. Maybe if you hung around long enough, you'd find out what had happened to all those missing kids.

You'd never been in the pizzeria after hours. You knew there was a night guard but beyond talking a few times at staff meetings and the one Christmas party that had been held, you didn't really know much about him. Michael. You were pretty sure that was his name. He was sort of cute in a "crush on the guy on the bus" kind of way.

The drive passed faster than you thought, your mind filled with thoughts of work and your co-worker. Before you realized it, you were pulling into the parking lot of Freddy Fazbear's. The lights were off inside, and the doors were locked. You knew, you'd locked them yourself before leaving. Of course you had keys for the pizzeria and not your own house.

You locked your car and walked to the door. This place was way creepier at night-time. You'd have to try harder to remember your keys so you could avoid a repeat of this, no matter how cute your co-worker was.

The key turned with a loud clunk. you heard it echo off the concrete walls and linoleum floors. You pushed the door open. The room inside was dark, the only light reflecting off the security cameras in the corners of the room.

Thankfully, you knew your way around the place well enough that you could make your way around in the low lighting. But you could feel the hairs standing up on the back of your neck. Something felt off.

You stepped into the staff room and quickly found your bag where you had left it. You opened it and ran a hand through the contents. You’d be damned if your keys weren’t in there. But no, your keys were exactly where you thought they would be, in the inside pocket next to your staff id.

You closed your bag again and turned to leave. But halfway across the room you heard a loud thud from somewhere in the building. You jumped.

Could it be intruders? What was the security guard doing not patrolling the halls? You stood, locked in place. You knew you should just leave. You weren’t even supposed to be here. And it was already about 1 o’clock and you had the opening shift which started at 6. You were barely going to get 4 hours of sleep if you left right now.

But some strange duty of care made you stop. It wouldn’t hurt to just have a quick look around, or at least check in on the security guard. Maybe he was asleep? You sighed. Who needed sleep anyway?

You made your way through the halls, your shoes squeaking ever so slightly against the plastic lined floors. The noise seemed especially loud in the oppressive silence.

Suddenly a bright light flashed across your eyes from somewhere to your right. You stepped back, trying to shield your face.

“Oh my god, it’s just you.”

You lowered your hand as the light dropped to the floor. After the glare, the room in front of you seemed even darker than it should have. You could barely make out the figure inside, but you knew from the voice that it was your co-worker. Michael.

“Hey,” You tried for a calm greeting but the shake in your voice made it sound anything but, “Sorry, I left my bag here and-”

“Get in here.” You felt Michael grab your arm and pull you into the small security office. You began to protest at the rough treatment, but Michael shushed you before you could say anything. He pressed a button behind you and the door you’d just been pulled through closed with a metallic clank.

Your eyes now adjusted to the dim light, you shot Michael a questioning look. He ignored you, looking at the footage being shown on the television sitting on the table in front of him. Then, he pressed the button again and the door opened.

He leant back in his chair. “Sorry about that. You just needed to…uh…you being in the hallways would have messed with my check in on the rooms. Might have thought you were an intruder or something.”

His excuse seemed feeble and he looked like he knew it. He tried for what you assumed was meant to be a welcoming smile but instead came across as forced. “So, what are you doing here?”

“Like I was saying before I got pulled in here, I left my bag. And my keys. So I had to come back before I could get into my house.”

Michael’s eyes darted towards the screen, then to the clock. You followed his gaze. Already 2am. Time sure was passing quickly tonight. You were starting to give up on the idea of getting any sleep. Maybe you’d just have sleep in your car and then have a nap during your lunch break. You began backing towards the door.

“Well, I should go, let you get back to your work-”

“No! I mean…” Michael cleared his throat, “uh, you can’t leave right now. It’s not safe.”

You raised an eyebrow. “No safe?”

Michael nodded, eyes again darting to the screen.

“And why is it not safe? I made it here didn’t I?”

A pause. Then Michael sighed. “I don’t really know how to explain it without sounding like I’m crazy.”

You were pretty sure that ship had long since sailed. There was no way this guy was fit to be a night security guard. Or at the very least, being alone in this place every night was starting to get to him.

Michael beckoned you forward. You took a tentative step. He pressed the button again and the door closed once more. You were getting more and more concerned. Was this just a set up? Were you going to show up on the news tomorrow, the latest victim of a serial killer who was hiding as the security guard at Freddy Fazbear’s?

But then Michael pointed at the screen, you leant forward, trying to see the room clearly through the grainy footage. It was the hallway on the other side of the door. For a few seconds, there was nothing. Then a figure ran down the hallway. You could hear metal clanging as the figure passed the door, before the noise faded into the distance.

Michael pressed the button and the door opened.

“Why are you opening the door?” Your voice was shriller than you would have liked.

"We can’t use too much power."

"What do you mean we can’t use too much power?"

"This place only has a limited amount of power available each night. I have to be careful how I use it." Michael pointed to the green bar at the bottom of the screen. The words above it read “power remaining: 50%”.

“And what was that thing?” You could feel yourself beginning to shake. Shock was setting in fast that you’d expected.

“Foxy.”

You laughed. You couldn’t help it. “Foxy? You’re telling me that was Foxy? The animatronic from Pirate’s Cove? The one that gets shut down every night before we close up? The one that couldn’t be running down the hall because that’s not in its code?”

Michael nodded.

“Uh huh. And you want me to think you’re not crazy?”

Michael sighed. “It gets worse believe me.”

“Oh really?” You could hear the hysteria creeping into your voice. Because if that really was Foxy, you sure didn’t want to be in this building anymore. “Go on. Tell me how it gets worse.”

“The animatronics are possessed by the ghosts of the missing children.”

Silence.

“So the kids are dead?” You couldn’t believe that was what you were focusing on.

Michael nodded sombrely. You ran a hand over your face. Either this guy really was crazy, or he was telling the truth. No one in their right mind would joke about dead kids like this.

“And I can’t leave?”

Michael shook his head. “Not unless you want one of the animatronics to get you. We used to have more security guards you know.” From the haunted look in his eyes, you guessed he was telling the truth.

You took a shaky breath. “If I find out this was just an elaborate prank, I’m reporting you to management.”

Michael gave a weak smile. “I wish that was the case.”

You glanced at the clock. Just past 2am. Michael followed your gaze. “We only have to make it until 6. Then everything stops.”

“Only four more hours huh?” A question suddenly occurred to you, “Why do you still work here? You do this every night?”

“Let’s just say I have history with this place.” Michael’s expression was tight, “I can’t quit just yet.” You could tell he wouldn't say any more.

"I guess we just have to make it through the night then."

~

The evening passed quickly, Michael focusing on keeping the animatronics out and you trying to keep your fear at bay.

The clock now displayed 5am. But it had only showed the hours, not minutes so you had no idea how close it was to 6am and freedom.

You glanced across to Michael. He seemed more frantic than earlier in the night.

"Sorry, I don't think we're getting through tonight."

Your stomach dropped at his words and your eyes flicked over the power bar: only 1% left.

"We might still make it."

But before Michael could reply, the lights turned off with a loud clunk and the whirring of some machine turning off.

You smothered a scream and felt around until you found Michael's shoulder. You wrapped your arms around him and felt him hug you back.

"I'm sorry." His voice was soft and you could hear it shaking.

You tried to calm your breathing, though it was getting increasingly hard. "You did your best."

A loud clanging noise echoed down the corridor outside.

"Just in case we die, I always thought you were cute."

You could hardly believe it. Now you were getting a confession? Just as you were about to die? "Really?"

"Yeah."

"I've had a crush on you since my first day here."

"Guess we were a little late with figuring out our feelings."

The clanging grew louder until it sounded like it was just outside the door. The percent of power ticked lower.

Michael hugged you closer, pressing his face into the top of your head. "I'm sorry."

Suddenly, a bell chimed, playing Westminster Quarters as the sound of children cheering played over the speakers. You jumped at the sudden noise, clinging closer to Michael, your eyes squeezing shut.

So you were surprised to hear him laugh, short and almost hysterical. "We did it. We did it!"

You opened your eyes cautiously and saw, on the camera monitor in large white letters "6 am", pixilated confetti floating down the screen.

"So we're alive?" You could barely believe it.

Michael nodded, smiling at you. "The animatronics stop after six so we're fine."

You began laughing. "Oh my god, I thought we were going to die." A thought suddenly occurred to you, "Did you really confess to me when you thought we were both about to die?"

Michael winced. "I was almost hoping you'd forget." Then he blinked, "But you said you liked me as well?"

You felt your face heat up. "Yeah, I guess I did..."

"Well I guess there's only one thing to do about that. Can I take you out this weekend? I'll be off and I know you're not working."

You smiled, nodding. "That sounds nice."

But you figured you'd better clarify one thing.

"As long as it's not a pizza date."

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Hey, did you enjoy this? If you like my writing, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi page! This will allow me to make some money off my writing, something I enjoy doing.

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[shuuen-no-cimory]

Also of course, it ain't me if I don't crossover my current hyperfixation with my ultimate current hyperfixation. So... Degrees of Lewdity x ProjectMoon! (This post is full of me yapping as I explain each drawing, so I guess, be ready?)

First, I'll go hard with Whitney as R Corp. 4th Rabbit Team. The initial idea was that he reminds me so much of RHeath LMAO But eventually I love the idea because I think he'd go along with Myo well. Plus... Somehow imagining Whitney in Rabbit Team Hatchery shenanigans seems... Interesting.

Next is Eden. If anyone notice, I originally designed him based of 2 Abnos: Der Freischutz and Big Bird. Der Frei was, of course, a nod to his title as a Hunter, and a marksman as well. For Big Bird... Yeah definitely there's the Big Bird in DoL, yet I think temperance-wise, Eden does felt similar to Big Bird. A creature living in a forest, thinking they protect others by doing the action that definitely doesn't seems to be out of protection. As for RRH, oh think about this: Being hunted down while getting marked. One by a hunter, and another by a wolf. Oh isn't it just reminds me of something...? Right

Funny enough, before I designed the school LIs properly, I reimagined them as The City's feathers. "If they're living in the City and has to work with one Wing, which one they'll work on?" I've talked about R. Corp Whitney earlier so I'll talk about the others! Robin, L Corp. - I can imagine him with the pressing needs to survive under the weight of Bailey's rent ends up either being sent or signed himself up as an agent for L Corp. The Wing doesn't ask that much requirement as per Hokmah's story while the agent supposed to have a great pay (being a wing and all). Hence, I think he might work for L Corp. Sydney, K Corp. - The idea was that after graduating, Sydney might follow Sirris path in science. Being the obedient child she is (as we sees on the game before they get corrupted), she probably choose to do what Sirris might do hence her as K Corp. researcher. Oh anyway, truly this is just a fyi that doesn't seems to be related to anything, I reimagined Harper as Dongrang in this scenario, with the whole Teary-Thing problem exist. Oh, lucky enough for Sydney to help producing K Ampule that definitely just as seen in the canon Limbus story. Just saying. Kylar, W Corp. - This one actually a rather fun idea. This is set with the idea that Kylar work as the Clean Up Member, with parents that's definitely unaware with how their child work but nevertheless proud with him. They'd even use WARP Train solely to be sent off by Kylar each time, much to Kylar silent dismay. If only they know what Kylar has to clean up among the 6 seconds they went into the train... Read one of the reblog tag and yeah. It has to do with Love Town. And pretty much how Kylar had to regularly assemble his parents again and again each trip they made.

LCB! SYDNEY LET'S GOOOO!!!! This idea came as I made my LCB-esque ID Card for Sydney. The idea of LCB Sydney's background was that it's pretty much what happened in the game, but make it The City-esque and seen from Sydney's eyes. It's fun imagining her as a Dieci Fixer who was caught in a complicated issue which she rather dip out from as she hasn't fully grow the backbone to face it yet. Oh right, in this AU I reimagined Ivory as Abnormality and both Sydney and Kylar got their EGO. Sydney got their Longing Phase EGO (HE, Gloom) while Kylar got the Haunting Phase EGO (WAW, Wrath). I actually had a draft of how the EGO works and its gimmick but let's talk it later on lol

When Yield My Flesh event is up on Limbus, my head doing the funny by thinking, "Damn... Jun Wren sounds cool..." then I remember Tingtang exist like jfgdjfgbjd HE FITS BETTER AS TINGTANG WHY DIDN'T I THINK ABOUT IT ON A SIDE NOTE, I also had the thought on how Bailey MIGHT kills it as either a Kurokumo or a Middle. After all, Middle never forget... Just like how Bailey never forget your rent LOL

And last but not least: Sydney and Robin as L Corp. Agent! Robin will be a high Temperance agent which work for Safety Team, while Sydney is the high Fortitude, high Prudence Disciplinary Team Captain. Oh, if you do notice: I made Sydney's cross looks like Penitence EGO Weapon. It's actually based of this idea of how One Sin and WhiteNight's dynamic thematically fits Sydney the Faithful and Sydney the Fallen. The name of both Abnos' EGO Set-- "Penitence" and "Paradise Lost" respectively, both fits the image of each Sydneys. Hence, I draw them in both EGO Sets!

[fairyniceyeah]

💎🐈‍⬛ I’ll always be with you

Title from MAESTRO (SEVENTEEN)

Summary: After everything went wrong on the flight to LA, Seungcheol just wants to sleep. But a call from a very sick Wonwoo shatters his plans.

CW: emeto

Sickie: Wonwoo Caretaker: Seungcheol

Seungcheol threw his phone on the hotel bed and let himself collapse face first onto it as well. With a groan he buried his face in his pillow and swore the next person that wanted something - anything - from him would get a few choice words about sleeping cycles. Even after all those years time zones confused him a bit but he was sure that three at night was a terrible time to be awake whatever place you were.

They had finally arrived in America after a five-hour delay in Incheon, a missed transfer in Tokyo and another two-hours of delay - only to find out that all their bags were somehow in Lagos instead of Los Angeles. Apparently LOS and LAS were too confusing for the people loading the airplanes. 

They had argued with the person at the info point at the airport until they found out the truth and at which point Seungcheol had known they needed to buy a lot of new clothes. All their stage outfits were … not there. Neither were their casual clothes. So he had sent Mingyu, Vernon and Seungkwan to go shopping for everybody. Jihoon had only stopped whining about his lost guitar when Joshua had timidly admitted that he may have put all his prescription migraine medications into his suitcase. Which was now on the opposite site of the world. So Joshua and a manager had tried to find a way to get his medication just in case, after finding out that all the medication he had left with his family, which would have been such an easy solution, was way expired.

So, truth be told, Seungcheol just wanted to sleep. Preferably until the managers had sorted all the problems out. At least they had the next day off to recuperate from the jetlag. Small mercies.

The leader was just contemplating the merits of just falling asleep without changing into sleep clothes or brushing his teeth over making himself get up one last time so he wouldn’t feel disgusting in the morning, when his phone rang.

He could just let it ring, right?

Members could figure their own shit out.

The managers even got paid for that.

But Seungcheol also wasn’t an asshole and he was the leader.

So he accepted the call and put it on speaker without looking at the caller ID.

“Yo?”, he greeted, hoping his voice told the other person that he was in no mood to deal with slightly inopportune problems. 

Of all the people calling the leader he hadn’t expected him.

“Hyung?”, Wonwoo asked, his voice confused but also with an undertone that Seungcheol couldn’t place.

At once all his annoyance slipped away. Wonwoo had that effect on people, especially his hyungs. Well, it wasn’t like them to deny their dongsaeng anything - Wonwoo only spoke up when he really really wanted something so to get a call out of nothing was a bit disconcerting.

“Wonwoo-yah, what’s up?”

“I’m really sorry to disturb you”, Wonwoo mumbled and hesitated.

When he didn’t continue speaking, Seungcheol started to get confused. What was up with the younger rapper?

“Won…”, Seungcheol started at the same time as Wonwoo continued.

“I threw up.”

Seungcheol froze with the rest of his question on his tongue. Great. This was great. There was nothing more Seungcheol wanted now than to look after a sick dongsaeng. Especially one who apparently had issues keeping his bodily fluids inside. 

But it was Wonwoo. 

His quiet, knowledgeable and strong dongsaeng, dependable till the end. And he was sick, in a strange country, in a strange city, in a strange hotel. Alone. 

It wasn’t like Seungcheol wouldn’t have dropped everything for the other members. Of course he would. 

But Wonwoo was the hyung line’s baby in a way. Seungcheol, Jeonghan and Joshua always made sure to pay attention to him so he would not get shoved to the back due to his quietness. He was frail in a way that didn’t fit his tall, broad body but inside there was deep hurt and the need for somebody to hold him every now and then. His past illnesses, his shyness, his grief - it was what made Wonwoo Wonwoo but it was also what made them his hyungs.

Seungcheol must have been a bit too quiet for a bit too long because he was torn out of his thoughts by Wonwoo sounding very apologetic and, despite trying to hide it, even more desperate.

“I’m sorry, I know you have a lot on your plate right now. I’ll be …”

“I’ll be there in a minute”, Seungcheol interrupted him, “don’t worry. What’s your room number again? 

“267”, Wonwoo mumbled, “I’m really sorry, hyung.”

Seungcheol was already up and moving when he said: “Don’t be sorry, Wonwoo-yah. You’re sick. It happens. Sure, it’s an inopportune time but when isn’t it, huh?”

264

265

Wonwoo didn’t reply, the only sounds coming over the speakers were deep, controlled breathing and rapid swallowing. He really sounded sick.

266

267

“Can you open your door for me?”, Seungcheol asked, “I’m here.”

“Yeah”, Wonwoo mumbled, swallowing again after he spoke. He sounded so incredibly nauseated that Seungcheol was a bit worried he would never make it to the door without puking on the floor. 

How long exactly had Wonwoo been feeling like this?

The door was unlocked and opened to the inside. Seungcheol took in the scene for a moment, his concern rising with everything he saw. 

Wonwoo’s glasses were nowhere to be found and his face was so pale it nearly blended in with the white of the wall he was leaning against as if he couldn’t even hold himself up without it - which was likely true. He was wearing sweatpants but no shirt, shivering despite the LA heat. Worst of all, he was clutching the tiny bathroom trash can to his chest, aligned with his chin just in case.

“Hyung…”, he gasped out, the sound ringing double over the phones, breaking off his sentence to retch harshly, a bit of bile spilling from his mouth into the makeshift bucket. Absently Seungcheol ended the call and took a big step towards his dongsaeng. He gently grabbed Wonwoo’s shoulder and steered him further inside the room, kicking the door shut with his foot.

Luckily the bathroom was directly next to the entrance area and with Seungchol's hand on his back, Wonwoo stumbled inside, crashing to his knees in front of the toilet. The leader carefully took the trash can from his grasp, setting it aside. A curious and worried look revealed that Wonwoo had indeed thrown up a bit into it, a small amount of reddish vomit swirling on the bottom. There were some chunks of the pasta he had eaten earlier visible in it and with a sigh, Seungcheol pushed it far away to be dealt with later.

Wonwoo in the meantime had put both elbows on the toilet seat, holding his head over the water. His breathing was shallow as if he was trying not to throw up again. He probably was, considering how much he was trembling and swallowing on top of it all. 

Seungcheol gently rubbed circles on his back, not even caring about the sweat he felt stick to his hand. There was unusual heat radiating from his poor dongsaeng, leaving Seungcheol to worry about how high his fever was. A heave caused Wonwoo’s back to jerk forward with the force of it and another mouthful of vomit splashed into the water, closely followed by gags and a second and third wave. 

The younger was panting in between bouts, his breath hitching as if he was about to cry. Seungcheol couldn’t fault him for it - he’d probably do the same if he even felt close to how sick Wonwoo seemed. 

“Deep breaths”, he whispered into Wonwoo’s ear as another heave, this time at least dry, made Wonwoo whimper. “It’s okay. I got you.”

“‘m so nauseous, hyung”, Wonwoo whispered defeatedly, his voice raw from how badly his throat was probably torn from all the forceful, involuntary spasms. 

“I know, baby”, Seungcheol whispered, feeling more than a little helpless in the face of his dongsaeng’s misery. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”

Wonwoo nodded weakly and breathed in. With Seungcheol’s guidance he took a few more calming breaths before the leader asked: “Let’s lean back a bit now, okay?” 

The younger nodded again, though this time even more reluctantly than before. Seungcheol carefully helped him scoot backwards and propped him up against the bathtub, grabbing a towel from the rack to fold a little pillow for him. Wonwoo let him do as he pleased but he nervously eyed the toilet.

“If you need to be sick again, the bathtub will be cleaned easily enough”, Seungcheol assured but made it his most important task to get the fearful look out of his member’s eyes. After gently brushing Wonwoo’s hair behind his ear, giving him just a moment of adoration and comfort, Seungcheol stood up and grabbed the trash can from earlier. 

He winced as he now for the first time noticed Wonwoo’s abandoned hoodie laying underneath the sink, a splash of vomit on it. So that at least explained why the rapper was shirtless despite obviously freezing. Even if the circumstances were awkward, Seungcheol was glad that he was not cooking to death in it. His fever would only get higher with clothes like that. For now, however, cleaning the hoodie could wait. 

Seungcheol quickly emptied the contents of the trash can into the toilet, internally flinching at the disgusting sound, and flushed it away with whatever else Wonwoo had brought up. He stepped over to the other end of the bathtub and took the hose to wash off the remnants of sick in the can. Sufficiently cleaned for the time being, he knelt down next to Wonwoo and placed it by his side. Wonwoo immediately held onto it - not lifting it in his lap - but keeping a hold of it in case of emergency. 

“Let’s get you cleaned off, hm?”, Seungcheol muttered, not expecting an answer from the drained rapper and not receiving one either. He wetted one of the complimentary wash clothes with cold water and then went to sit cross-legged by Wonwoo’s side. 

Wonwoo had his other arm wrapped around his sour stomach and his head hung low, chin nearly on his chest. It seemed like he was even too exhausted to keep his head up.

“Hey, baby. Can you look at me?”

He didn’t wait for Wonwoo to respond, instead he cupped the younger’s face with one hand and lifted it up. Coming face to face with Wonwoo for the first time, Seungcheol noted the deep bags under his eyes and the way the dark obs looked far away. Tenderly Seungcheol wiped Wonwoo’s whole face, then took extra care to wipe away the dried bile in the corner of his mouth before moving down to clean and cool off Wonwoo’s chest. The moment the cold cloth touched his skin there, a violent shiver ran through Wonwoo’s body.

“Do you think you can try to drink something? Take some meds for that fever and the nausea?”

Wonwoo shook his head, a hiccough but luckily nothing more escaping him. “Feel too sick.”

“How long have you felt sick?”, Seungcheol asked. He was really starting to get worried about his dongsaeng’s health; the fever, the constant nausea and the forceful vomiting were all concerning.

Wonwoo swallowed before he answered quietly: “Didn’t feel well this morning but I hoped I could sleep it off during the flight. I was okay, most of the time, just not hungry. But when I laid down to sleep earlier, I nearly immediately threw up.”

Seungcheol nodded and abandoned the wash cloth to sit next to Wonwoo and wrap his arm around his shoulder, pulling the younger to lean against his shoulder. This morning - assuming this morning as in when he first woke up before the flight - was over twenty-four hours ago. He rubbed the younger’s upper arm a few times before continuing his questions.

“How do you feel now?”

“Nauseous. My stomach hurts. I thought I’d be empty and feeling better by now but I just feel worse.”

“You’re probably dehydrated, baby.”

“Hm. Been throwing up for nearly half an hour constantly before I managed to call you.”

Seungcheol felt his heart sink to his stomach hearing that his dongsaeng had been so sick alone for so long. There was nothing to be done about it now.

“Next time, tell somebody you feel sick before you throw up, okay?”, Seungcheol reminded him, “I know you wanna be strong but you have twelve people with you who care about you a lot. You didn’t have to be alone tonight.”

“We were all so stressed with the delays and then the bags…”, Wonwoo mumbled, “I didn’t want to make everything worse.”

“Your wellbeing matters more than some stress and bags, baby. We’re a team, a family. Most of the guys were just standing around waiting the whole day, it would have been no problem.”

Wonwoo didn’t respond, just turned his face so he was now completely buried in Seungcheol’s neck and twisted his body so that he was splayed over Seungcheol’s chest and lap. It was a cute sight, domestic in a way that Seungcheol had not expected. Like a sick child desperate to be closer to their parents. He held onto Wonwoo tightly, rubbing his spine up and down for a few minutes. 

Pressing a kiss against Wonwoo’s hair, the leader then asked: “Do you want to lie down? You seem done for now and sleep would do you good.”

“Too nauseous”, Wonwoo whispered, lifting his head and looking at Seungcheol with teary eyes. Briefly the older wondered how much Wonwoo actually could see of his face, considering Wonwoo’s terrible eyesight and the haze the tears would paint. But there was also so much trust in Wonwoo’s gaze, knowing he could depend on Seungcheol. Proudness welled up in Seungcheol’s chest.

“We can bring the bucket and put it by your side”, Seungcheol soothed. He would have done so anyways but it wasn’t what seemed to concern Wonwoo.

“No, I mean…” Wonwoo swallowed heavily. “... I get so nauseous when I lie down. That’s, uh, how the hoodie happened.”

That explained a lot. There was no way Seungcheol would make him lie down if it would make Wonwoo’s situation even worse. Right now his stomach seemed to be ready for a truce which they would not tempt.

Nevertheless, Wonwoo desperately needed sleep.

“Okay, let’s try something”, Seungcheol suggested and when he received the affirmation from his dongsaeng he helped Wonwoo move forward a bit, then slipped behind him so that Wonwoo was sitting between his legs. 

“Lean back”, he whispered and grabbed the abandoned towel to use as a makeshift pillow against his shoulder. Wonwoo, drained to the core, didn’t need to be told twice. He slumped back and his head nearly immediately lolled towards Seungcheol’s, Wonwoo deeply asleep. Seungcheol wrapped his arms around his shivering body and sighed.

He probably should have checked for a fever before Wonwoo fell asleep but he was not about to wake him up again.

It promised to be a long night.

💎

Seungcheol woke achy and sore to the sound of his phone ringing. He was a bit disorientated, his back and head hurting from the bad position he had slept in. He yawned and winced, then became very aware of the heavy weight leaning against him. Wonwoo. The younger had slipped down a bit in sleep, his head now more on Seungcheol’s chest than on his shoulder. 

He was still snoring slightly, totally undisturbed by the sound. 

Wanting it to stay that way, Seungcheol patted his pockets and accepted the call before even fully having moved it to his ear.

“... fucking door”, Jeonghan’s voice came through.

“Good morning, Hannie”, Seungcheol greeted, smiling a bit at his best friend’s antics. Jeonghan couldn’t see him, so doing it now wouldn’t bite him in the ass. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve been knocking on your door the past ten minutes like an idiot. Open up”, Jeonghan demanded. 

“Why?”, Seungcheol asked, happy to tease him a bit. Deserved him right for the rude wake-up call.

“The manager wants to speak with you. There is an issue with the luggage and …”

“I’m not available to deal with the luggage. Tell the managers they have to figure it out themselves.”

“What do you mean ‘not available’? Open your door, mister. You know they will make me deal with it if you don’t.” Jeonghan sounded like he was whining. “Manager-hyung said I have about two minutes left to come back with you.”

Seungcheol laughed a bit, but the movement of his chest seemed to disturb Wonwoo, who shuffled a bit and sighed in sleep. Carefully, Seungcheol stroked his hair, hoping it would soothe him back to sleep. It did the trick.

“I would. However, I am not in my room”, Seungcheol replied.

That stopped Jeonghan’s tirade. 

“Well, now I feel even more like an idiot”, Jeonghan said after a moment, stunned. “Shua, stop laughing at me.”

“Shua, keep going”, Seungcheol edged the third 95-liner on, sure that Joshua could hear the whole exchange. He should have expected that Joshua would be trailing Jeonghan even that early in the morning. 

“Where are you?”, Joshua asked, coming closer to the speaker. He sounded curious and a bit tired. Seungcheol wondered if Jeonghan had woken him up too.

Seungcheol sighed. As much as he had enjoyed the banter, he could not ignore the situation. Wonwoo had not thrown up in the past - he checked the time on his phone, guesstimating when it had actually been that they had fallen asleep the last time - hour and a half and seemed to have been able to sleep well enough. He had been sick again a few times throughout the night and his fever had been seemingly steady. Still, he would probably need some time to recuperate - if he wasn’t still sick to his stomach and this was just a lull. 

“I’m with Wonwoo-yah”, Seungcheole explained, “he started vomiting earlier and called me. He’s asleep currently and I don’t know how his stomach feels but he is still feverish.”

“Shit”, Jeonghan exclaimed in surprise. “You could have started with that.”

“I could have”, Seungcheol agreed easily, “but I was rudely cursed at by somebody. Shua-yah, could you go and find some fever reducers and some tummy medication? Maybe some crackers and sport drinks? Hannie, I’m sure you’ll find a solution with the luggage.”

He hung up before he could hear Jeonghan’s reply.

💎

When Joshua knocked on the door about fifteen minutes later, Seungcheol had managed to extract himself from the sleeping Wonwoo. The younger had barely stirred when Seungcheol had moved him to lean against the bathtub again, placing the towel back under his head. The hoodie had been deemed a loss, especially since he hadn’t dealt with the stain immediately, so it was bagged in a plastic bag and set to the side. In hopes that Wonwoo would soon be able to go back to bed, Seungcheol placed the clean trash can by the bedside.

“Hey Shua”, Seungcheol greeted tiredly, wincing as he moved his head. His neck hurt from the night on the floor but he was not about to complain. 

Joshua waved at him with one hand,  carrying a medkit - likely borrowed from a medic - and a small bag full of what seemed to be groceries in his other hand. He handed the two items to Seungcheol without a word and tried to step inside. 

Seungcheol blocked his path. “We don’t need anybody else to get infected if he is contagious. It will be bad enough if I am sick in a few days.”

Joshua frowned and protested: “You must be tired, Cheollie. Let me help.”

“No, Shua. I know you want to but consider how bad it will be if this spreads. Let me take care of Wonwoo-yah while you and Hannie wrangle the other kids”, Seungcheol reasoned. He wouldn’t budge on this. There was no way he would let the illness spread in the group if he could help it. Considering how awful Wonwoo felt it would be a disaster. If there was one thing they had learned from Covid it was that isolation was key. “Besides, you already brought me the supplies.”

“... fine”, Joshua finally agreed. “Please take care of yourselves and, Choi Seungcheol, if you get sick before Wonwoo is recovered fully, you call for help or make Wonwoo call for help.”

“I promise”, Seungcheol said, a bit scared of Joshua daring to call him by his full name, “thank you so much.”

After closing the door behind Joshua, Seungcheol turned around to put the groceries away but stopped midway when he realized that Wonwoo was looking up at him through the partially open bathroom door with teary eyes. Setting the bags down, the leader rushed to him and knelt down by his side again.

“Hi”, he greeted with a small smile, “how are you feeling?”

But instead of replying verbally, Wonwoo just shook his head and buried his face in his knees, making himself as small as possible for a man his stature. “I’m sorry I’m causing so many issues. I shouldn’t have called, I’m perfectly able to take care of myself. You don’t have to take care of me.”

He clearly had overheard the conversation but had taken it very wrong.

Seungcheol placed his hand on the back of the younger’s head, ruffling his hair. “You certainly can take care of yourself”, he said cautiously, “that doesn’t mean you have to and we want you too. It’s alright to ask for help especially when you are throwing up and running a fever but even if not, we will always be ready to help you. As I said before, we are a family and we take care of each other. You wouldn’t have left, let’s say, Dino alone if he had called in the same situation, would you?”

Wonwoo lifted his head so quickly he seemed to have made himself a bit dizzy and shook his head. “What? Of course not!”

“See? Why would I act any differently towards you, baby?”

“I don’t want you to get sick, hyung.”

“If I get sick, I get sick”, Seungcheol replied with a shrug, “it’s part of life. I won’t like it but I won’t blame you. It can happen at the most inopportune times and I wouldn’t want to be healthy if I knew that I could have helped you and didn’t. Don’t feel guilty, Wonwoo. That’s not how family works.”

Wonwoo finally seemed to understand and nodded hesitantly. “Thank you, hyung.”

“Of course. Besides, you are saving me from having to deal with the luggage”, Seungcheol added with a wink.

Wonwoo giggled a bit at that, leaving Seungcheol feeling a bit lighter.

“Now, how do you feel?”, he questioned, continuing to play with Wonwoo’s hair.

“Still really queasy”, Wonwoo admitted, “my stomach feels really sore too. Everything does, to be honest. I just wanna sleep.”

“Do you think you could try to drink something and take some meds? Maybe see whatever Joshua brought you to eat?”

Wonwoo seemed to contemplate the answer to this question for a few moments, then nodded. “I am kind of thirsty. I don’t really want to eat but I will decide if I can try something when I know what we have?”, he suggested. “Can I brush my teeth first?”

“That sounds like a plan. Come on, up you get.”

Seungcheol stood up and reached down for Wonwoo to take his hands, pulling him up. Upon standing, Wonwoo swayed a bit, dizzy most likely, and nearly fell against his leader. Before anything could happen, Seungcheol stepped close and hugged him to his chest until the younger was a bit more steady. Once Wonwoo had brushed his teeth a bit faster than he normally would but enough to get the taste out of his mouth, Seungcheol took Wonwoo’s hand in his and tugged him along towards the bedroom, taking the groceries and the medkit with his other hand. 

Wonwoo sat down at the edge of the bed where the blankets were a bit disheveled, likely from his earlier attempt to get to the bathroom in time, careful not to stumble over the trash can.

As he unpacked the plastic bag the leader discovered that Joshua must have gotten ice chips from somewhere. It would have been nice to know, considering that they were already starting to melt and the bag outside had a lot of condensation but they were saved easily enough by putting them in the room’s freezer. Then Seungcheol pulled out a few bottles of water and different sports drinks, ignoring the snacks at the bottom for the moment.

“Which one do you want?”, he asked, gesturing at the multiple bottles shining in different colors against the white table.

“I don’t care. What taste is the orange one?”, Wonwoo asked. “Orange?”

“I’m guessing you mean the fruit not the color”, Seungcheol joked, struggling to make sense of the English word on the bottle, “it’s, uh, what’s tangerine?”

“Isn’t that what the international fans call Kwannie?”, Wonwoo asked, “it’s fine.”

Seungcheol opened the bottle for him and handed it over, sitting beside the younger for the moment. “Take a few sips”, he advised, “see how that stays down, okay?”

Wonwoo nodded and drank a few mouthfuls before putting it to the side, wincing as he swallowed. 

“Okay?”, Seungcheol asked, ready to grab the trash can if needed.

“Hm”, Wonwoo replied, “I don’t know if it tastes weird because I’ve been throwing up or because I just brushed my teeth or because it just tastes weird.” Relieved Wonwoo didn’t seem to be about to be sick, Seungcheol laughed. 

“Do you wanna change into some fresh clothes before we try some food and meds?”

Wonwoo nodded and quickly Seungcheol grabbed the stack of clothes that the other members had bought. It was a matching pajama set of short pants and a t-shirt, with small black cats printed on it. “Mingyu-yah”, Wonwoo groaned when he saw it. Seungcheol just giggled. His own sleep shirt he had received had a cherry printed on it, so he kind of saw where the members' minds had went. 

“It’s cute”, he said casually, “come on, you’ll feel better in clean clothes.”

Wonwoo pouted but did as bid, clearly wanting to be in fresh clothes more than protest their design. “It’s cold”, he commented, pulling up the blanket to his shoulders.

“That’s the fever”, Seungcheol said from where he was standing at the table and sorting through the food they had available. Joshua had been very thorough in his buying - there were plain crackers shaped like animals but plain nevertheless, applesauce and even some instant rice. “Why don’t you think about what you might like to try to eat while I get the thermometer and the medicine?”

Five minutes later they had established that Wonwoo was still running a low fever of 38.0°C and he had eaten a bit of the applesauce with the meds. 

“How do you feel? Ready to sleep some more?”, Seungcheol asked, slightly getting tired of the question. He just wanted Wonwoo to feel better now. The younger was slumped against his shoulder again, not far from nodding off in exhaustion again.

Wonwoo yawned. “Yeah. Stomach feels a bit weird but not too bad. Maybe I’ll be fine when I wake up.”

“Lie down”, Seungcheol requested and helped his dongsaeng climb fully onto the bed. He spread the blanket over him, making sure it covered him fully, before brushing Wonwoo’s hair from his face and planting a kiss on his forehead. “Sleep well. Love you.”

“Love you too”, Wonwoo slurred, mostly asleep, “lay with me?”

Before Seungcheol could answer Wonwoo was already completely down for the count but there was nothing else Seungcheol had to do and he wasn’t about to deny his dongsaeng’s request. So he slipped under the covers with Wonwoo and pulled the younger close before falling asleep himself.

💎

“I’m never eating again”, Wonwoo groaned, finally lifting his head out of the trash can. Seungcheol had been woken by him frantically scrambling for the bucket about ten minutes ago and he had been throwing up ever since. 

“At some point you’ll feel better”, Seungcheol mumbled as he took the bucket from Wonwoo’s hands but it seemed to be the wrong thing to say.

“Well, I want to feel better now”, Wonwoo hissed, clearly annoyed and overwhelmed. His eyes were ablaze with anger and frustration which quickly switched to tears again. “I feel awful. I’ve been feeling awful for I don’t know how long. My stomach hurts. My head hurts. I’m nauseous and exhausted. Don’t tell me stupid platitudes.” 

“Wonwoo-yah”, Seungcheol stuttered, not having expected such a violent reaction from his normally so calm dongsaeng. Granted, maybe his words hadn’t been the most helpful but what else was he supposed to say?

As quickly as the anger had come, it seemed to vanish. 

“I’m so sorry, hyung”, Wonwoo apologized, nearly falling from the bed in his attempt to bow in apology. Only Seungcheol’s outstretched arm was able to stop the fall. He quickly put the bucket down and took Wonwoo’s hands in his.

“Don’t apologize”, he soothed, “you’re sick. I won’t fault you for being in a bad mood due to that. I’m really sorry, I really hoped the meds would help more.”

“Still, I shouldn't have yelled”, Wonwoo whispered, staring down at his lap and blinking tears away. Seungcheol squeezed his hand before wrapping his arm around Wonwoo’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, baby. I don’t think I would have been any nicer in your situation. I just wish I could help you somehow.”

“I think I just want to wash out my mouth and sleep again”, Wonwoo whispered, “maybe my stomach will feel better after being empty for a while.”

“We can do that”, Seungcheol agreed and handed him a water bottle. Wonwoo swished the water around his mouth and spat it into the trash can Seungcheol held for him. He even swallowed a tiny sip of water which the leader took as a win. 

When he returned from washing out the receptacle, Wonwoo was dead asleep again.

💎

By evening Wonwoo hadn’t thrown up again and even admitted to feeling a bit hungry. He had eaten only half of the cup of instant rice but it was better than nothing. He managed to sleep through the night and by the evening of the next day he was deemed healthy again and ready to join the interviews that were scheduled on the day after.

Seungcheol had returned to his own room, happy to sleep through the night without waking up every half an hour to check if everything was okay. He had changed into sleep clothes and buried himself under his blankets when his phone rang.

“Nonie, I was about to go to sleep”, he complained in greeting.

“Sorry, hyung. Seungkwan isn’t feeling …”, Vernon started and then stopped suddenly before rushing footsteps and a sigh sounded through the speakers, “Seungkwan just puked all over himself.”

Masterlist links: Fairy's Full Masterlist Fairy's Masterlist - SEVENTEEN