#who PLAGIARIZED HER WORK and honestly if she used some of that later on for the wasps I would not be shocked | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

xalygatorx · 3 months ago

Note

Aha it worked! Wooo gotta love tech sometimes (See Vox you do have uses!)

Any who, all joking aside here is the fic submission. As I said I’m okay with you using Ellie(the fic is your gift after all) and using her and seeing examples of her might help with the writing process? Brief backstory on Ellie and Al is that they’re childhood friends but she moved up north when she turned 12, so the two didn’t reunite till years later.

Honestly, not fussy on what setting you want to do 1920s life or Hell.

1920s path-Some people just don’t know how to take no for an answer. Ellie learns the secret she always knew when a fan of hers (she’s a singer and dancer at a speakeasy) breaks into her shared home with Alastor late one night having followed her after work. That night Alastor had been indulging in his hobby when he finds his dame running through the bayou looking a mess with unsavory company following her. (They’re married)

Hell path-Alastor is glad to have his darling dame back in his life and there’s so much of Hell he wants to show her. Date night in the Pride ring followed by Ellie running interference when Vox interrupts it by asking Ellie to work for him.

I like to give options so you have stuff to run with. Let me know if you have questions:)

A/N: I generally don’t write others’ fanon OCs (I appreciate your offer, it’s just a me-thing, idk why but it gives me a kind of plagiarism ick even if it’s a gift work) BUT I’ll work in some of these details from a F!Reader perspective and hopefully that’ll be just as fun. :) That said, I’m leaning toward the 1920s path, so let’s just see what happens!

Hope you like the outcome and thank you for the request!

Warnings: Paranoia and mentions of possible infidelity, stalking, home break-in, anxious thoughts around your marriage and you blame yourself, you and Alastor have history, period-typical sexism and victim-blaming, a chase scene during which you’re injured, murder, graphic violence, blood, Alastor is unhinged but he loves you and that’s what counts, right? (In fiction, yes. Yes, it is.)

I’ve killed for you. Who else can say that? | Human!Alastor x Cabaret!AFAB!Reader

Crossposted on AO3

The other girls had started to get into your head and, truthfully, you couldn’t blame them. Or yourself. Not for thinking it, at least.

It was another night of brief unwinding after a show. You were a little sore, but nothing you couldn’t manage. In fact, the little pep of adrenaline that followed a night of dancing was enjoyable.

Some days, it was the closest you came to happy.

Your husband wasn’t a fan of the occasional after-show smokes you partook in with your fellow dancers—not because he liked to order you around, but because he was worried about you hurting your voice.

Those social cigarettes had become a tiny way of getting back at him as his nightly disappearances had increased through your marriage without any attempt at an explanation.

The ratio of a singular smoke to hours of unexplained absence, however, felt a little off to you.

“C’mon, babydoll, I hate seein’ ya like this.”

You looked up from the thousand-yard stare you had aimed at your vanity, the bulbs lining the mirror burned into your retinas. Phantom beams dotted your vision every time you blinked.

Betty was likely your closest friend behind the curtain. The other girls were all pleasant enough—you’d only ever had one co-star you couldn’t stand and she’d left months ago—but Betty had your back. You knew that.

But it still bothered you when she spoke ill of Alastor.

“He’s runnin’ around on ya,” she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Watch your tone, Betty,” you muttered tersely, glancing around the dressing room as you took a drag from your cigarette and then proceeded to extinguish it in the tray nearby.

Alastor was somehow able to go off in the middle of the night and act his chipper self the very next day and yet you felt crippling guilt from having one cigarette and knowing he’d be disappointed to smell the smoke on your breath. He wouldn’t even say anything! Maybe that made it worse.

“I know ya love him,” Betty sighed, taking your hand and giving you a patient look that made your insides squirm. “I know it, honey. And whenever he’s been by, he’s been great! A regular charmer!”

“But?” you asked, waiting for the killing blow.

Betty gave you an apologetic quirk of her rouged lips before releasing your hand and going back to toning down her show makeup back to her usual amount of cosmetics.

“He’s hidin’ somethin’ from ya if what you’re telling me is true,” she said sagely as she packed up her little purse. She offered you another cigarette that you politely declined before she put her little tarnished case of those away too. “You’ve asked him about it?”

“Many times,” you sighed, feeling your heart splintering.

Never a full break—that, you might not recover from—but a splinter. Because you knew if he came clean with you about what he was up to, even if it was shacking up with another woman, you could find it in your fractured heart to forgive him.

It was Alastor, after all. As far as you were concerned, he was the center of your universe. Even when the sun had long gone down and he was nowhere in sight.

“Then he’s doin’ somethin’ he ain’t ought to be doin’,” Betty said, pity in her eyes when she looked at you next. You tried not to be offended by that look and failed, instead turning away from her to face your mirror again and finish getting ready to leave. “I’m sorry, honey. I’ve been there. But ya deserve better.”

“Society says I deserve whatever he gives me,” you sigh as you clip your clamshell purse shut. “He’s my husband.”

“Society’s changin’,” Betty countered as she stood up. She smiled down at you with a hopeful gleam in her eyes. “We gotta lead the charge! Keep on him about it. Maybe do some extra nice little things to remind him what he’s got back home. If he’s smart, he’ll see reason. If he ain’t, you can stay with me ‘til ya back on your feet.”

Fear clenched in your gut like icy water at the idea of you and Alastor divorcing. Not only because you’d be ruined—a divorced woman who overstepped in her husband’s affairs, what decent man would want you—but because a life without Alastor…

…well, it’d be properly miserable.

Maybe that was the perspective you needed tonight. It just wasn’t the one Betty had intended to give you. Having Alastor by your side some of the time was better than losing him completely. You just needed to remind him of how much you loved him.

That thought stuck with you as you finished getting changed and gathered up your things. Betty, bless her, waited around until you were ready to leave. The incident in the alley last week hadn’t left either of your minds.

Last week, a regular—whose name you didn’t even know—had been waiting outside the dressing room door that led out to the side alley adjacent to the club.

You’d been alone at the time and thankfully not the last to leave that night. You weren’t sure what would’ve happened to you had Betty not walked out just a moment or two after.

You still couldn’t shake the crazed look in his eyes. The way he so very nearly salivated while he spoke to you, talking as if he knew you though you’d never spoken before.

He got upset when you admitted you didn’t know him. When you suggested that he leave or at least let you leave so you could go home.

The man had taken a step forward just as the door swung open again and Betty had walked out, immediately taking in his demeanor and then the way you were curling into yourself as you looked for an escape route, and asked what was going on.

Outnumbered, he’d taken off before anyone else could be called. Not that much would’ve been done anyway. There was only so much the boys in blue were willing or able to do about creeps outside of clubs. Some of them stood by the idea that, if anything, it was the dancers’ fault for tempting them.

Betty had walked you home that night despite it being out of her way. You begged her to call you when she made it back and the trill of the rotary in your living room had never sounded so sweet when your dear friend had finally gotten home safely.

You hadn’t been worried about the phone waking Alastor. He wasn’t home.

You also hadn’t noticed that you’d been followed that night.

Needless to say, you were distracted on the walk home. How could you not be?

Tugging your coat around your form, you sniffled against the chill of the night air. Or against the tears beading in the corners of your eyes. It just didn’t make sense.

You knew Alastor. You’d known him for years. He’d never, ever struck you as the sort of man who would run around on his wife. But what else could it be that took up so much of his attention and time in the pitch hours between midnight and morning? What else was there to do in those hours than entangle?

Toss and turn and wonder where your husband was, you supposed bitterly.

Maybe he hadn’t been the type of man to run around on his wife before he married you, you thought. Maybe you’d brought it out in him. It was easier to think you’d done something wrong than it was to consider you weren’t enough for him. Either could be true. One of them had to be because otherwise, what was the point in getting married at all? Appearances? Housekeeping and meals?

That last bit was unlikely. Alastor was neat by default and an incredible cook. His mama had raised him well and he’d been receptive to her teachings. He’d never expected you to take on all the housework by yourself. He was appreciative when you did—especially on the nights that he came home from the station tired and with his lovely voice exhausted from broadcasting and recording—and was always willing to help you otherwise.

You sighed softly as you turned the corner and climbed the porch steps to your shared home. His family home that he’d inherited after his mother passed. Strong in structure and with little more than a long stretch of swampland behind it to pipe noise into the night. Your neighbors were miles off, which was how Alastor liked it. You, on the other hand, wouldn’t have minded having a few more folk around.

After retrieving the door key from beneath the stone beside the stairs—another sign that Alastor was, once again, out—you unlocked the door and stepped inside, habitually leaving it unlocked behind you in what was perhaps a silent, foolhardy wish for him to not be far behind you.

It took some time for something to feel wrong.

You’d made it in, set down your things, and had a couple sips from a little glass of brandy while checking what you had in the kitchen.

Maybe a nice breakfast would be good. Tomorrow was meant to be his morning off, if you could correctly recall. Coffee and some breakfast—eggs, toast from your last batch of bread, maybe some of the venison he’d frozen from a hunt—together sounded… Well, it sounded wonderful.

There was the crux of your frustration, your bitterness about his secretive disappearances. You missed him.

You also missed the squeak of the front door hinge while you were shuffling around the kitchen.

It didn’t take long after that.

You actually perked up a little when you noticed the cautious footfalls from the foyer. Was Alastor actually home? It’d be early for him if he was, but you were already trying to hem yourself in from being upset with him again.

Just be nice, you told yourself. Men like women who are nice. It’s no wonder he’s running off on you if you’re just a nag all the time.

Goodness gracious, your inner voice was starting to sound like your mother’s.

“Al?” you asked to the empty air, a faint smile on your lips as you set your brandy glass on the island and turned toward the doorway leading to the hall. You could see his shadow filtering to the floorboards by the light of the moon coming in through the front windows. Why wasn’t he answering? “You’re home, um…early.”

Be nice! you scolded yourself instantly when you heard the drip of mild accusation in your tone.

The man who rounded the corner wasn’t your husband.

You froze immediately, your hand constricting your glass so tightly that you distantly wondered if it’d break. “Can… Can I help you?” you asked, voice shaking. You were shocked you could speak at all.

“You can keep playin’ house, doll,” the man said. The second he spoke, you recognized him as the man from the alleyway last week. The shadows retreating from his features as he stepped into the kitchen confirmed that. “Name’s not ‘Al,’ but you can call me whatever you like. Just havin’ your eyes on me is a treat enough.”

You tried to sound as authoritative as possible as you said, “Get out,” but it came out as a squeak. You tried again, begging this time as you edged around the island to try and keep it between you and the stranger encroaching. “Please leave. My husband’s just upstairs, I’ll scream—”

“If he’s upstairs, why were ya surprised he’s home?” he countered and your gut dropped as you realized your mistake earlier. You’d just assumed it had to be Alastor. No one else came out this way. No one…

��No one else was out this way.

“Are you gonna kill me, sir?” you asked, voice shaking in full now when you could no longer help it. “Please don’t. Don’t hurt me, you can have whatever you want. There’s a safe in th—”

“I don’t want your money, sweetheart,” he cooed at you and you felt bile creep up the back of your throat. “Just want you all to myself is all. Why, I’ve been comin’ to your shows for years, even when you were just doin’ the dancin’ and not the singin’ bits.”

Your stomach turned at the thought of being watched by this man for years when you’d only known about him for the danger he presented for precisely one week. You wished you hadn’t downplayed your run-in with him last week to Alastor when it came up in conversation—then again, if the “Bayou Butcher” still being at large hadn’t convinced him not to leave his wife alone at night, you doubted the full breadth of last week’s incident would have.

Maybe it was better that you hadn’t. If this man did, in fact, kill you, if he was crazed enough to break into your home and say these things to you, then you were sure he would’ve tried to kill Alastor if he’d been here to stand in his way. And, oddly enough, despite everything, the thought that Alastor would be okay, even if you weren’t, soothed your shaken soul.

The man misunderstood your little microexpressions of relief for compliance. When he lurched forward, you scrambled back and went against every “submissive little lady” lecture you’d grown up with as you hurled your glass at his head.

Your aim had been fairly spot on, so in the time he took to duck away from your attack, you whirled and sprinted for the nearest exit—the door to the back porch.

Louisiana bayous were ecological wonders, but they weren’t safe to run in. Normally you steered entirely clear if you weren’t with Alastor, who’d grown up just off these swamplands, and even then it took some convincing from him for you to go even a meter or two past the line of cypress trees.

Not so tonight. The danger was in your home and soon to catch up with you.

Knowing that, you sprinted blindly into the swamp with only amber-hued hunter’s moonlight to see by and any fleeting memories of the paths Alastor had pointed out to you over the years that were more solid to walk on.

You ran out of those paths quicker than you would’ve liked, hesitant at first to keep going as opposed to hiding in case you hit water and the splashing drew attention to your location.

When the buckshot splintered the tree beside you with an ear-splitting bang, you chanced the swamp.

You didn’t know how to use a gun. You didn’t really even like Alastor’s guns that much, but he was a hunter and he was careful with them.

Even though you didn’t know how to use it—despite his multiple attempts to at least teach you the basics in case you ever needed to—you knew you should’ve grabbed the rifle from beside the back door on your way out. It might’ve slowed you down some, but it would’ve worked as a club if you couldn’t use it as it was meant to be used.

And at least then, the man pursuing you wouldn’t have had a chance to grab it.

Your kitten heel caught in a patch of mucky silt and suctioned the shoe right off your foot, something that at first startled you but then you decided was for the best. You slid off your other shoe and kept running, your bare feet molding better to the uneven terrain and making less noise whenever you hit something solid.

“GET BACK HERE, BITCH.”

That was your sole warning before another shot was fired, this one grazing and searing your right arm and wrenching a shriek from your throat.

You wanted to scream. To cry. To collapse. You were finished. You’d die out here at this maniac’s hands and, if you were lucky, it would be quick. You had a sinking feeling it wouldn’t be. Even if you did scream again, no one would come.

No one else is out this way, your racing mind repeated like a damning mantra.

Except someone was.

A double life had always been in the cards for Alastor and he’d known that even when he’d married you. He’d known that and maybe it was unfair that you hadn’t.

He’d decided long ago that it’d be more unfair to you if you were privy to his darkest deeds and nightly prowls. His hunts. He didn’t want to see that pretty sparkle leave your eyes. Your smile.

More than that, he didn’t want to be the cause of that sparkle growing dull.

It’d seemed, however, that he’d managed it though despite hoping for the opposite.

No matter how many dances you two had, how many mornings and afternoons you spent cooking together and humming along to the radio or your favorite records, how many times he’d told you how much he loved you (and you returned said sentiments), you’d still grown sad.

He couldn’t blame you. He couldn’t blame you for much of anything, but especially not for that. He knew what it looked like. And he could deny the scenarios you put forth, the questions you had, but he couldn’t give you a proper answer to those questions either.

Alastor had to wonder though how you could possibly think he’d ever want anyone else. How you could think he’d ever disrespect you in that way, even if that was something he wanted.

He simply wouldn’t have gotten married if he had.

In spite of all the additional secrecy your marriage had caused him to maintain and the heartache it had wrought when he could have just not married you in the first place and brought you into this macabre world of his…

…Well, Alastor was a selfish man. He’d wanted you. He still did. And until you finally couldn’t stand it anymore and gave him the boot, he’d endeavor to keep you.

These thoughts weren’t uncommon ones on nights like this when he was out hunting or disposing of a kill. Tonight was a night for disposal, however, and thinking of you while submerging the split corpse before him into the muck was taking the edge off.

A gunshot not too far off put the edge back on.

Alastor looked up at the sound when it split the air, his hands busied by tying ropes onto his latest game—a magnate from just outside of town who used his wealth and influence to blackmail the women he beat and raped into silence. Former employees, current employees, ladies of the night, his own daughter…

Never again. The man who’d once thought himself above the law, human decency, likely even God Himself, was a slowly bloating corpse soon to make a hefty snack for the gators or whatever found him first.

He stilled his hands momentarily—it wasn’t as if the swine was going anywhere—to listen. Distantly, he heard a bit of splashing, but little else. It was uncommon for someone to hunt out this way, especially at this hour, but he supposed it was possible. Maybe a couple of local drunks had meandered this way to play a bit of “fish in the barrel.” As long as it wasn’t disturbing his darling wife after her night of work, then—

Another crack of gunfire and a reactionary scream.

A familiar scream.

Alastor’s features darkened with horror and rage. With a violent tug, he finished the rigging on the body and let it go, leaving it to bubble and sink beneath the swamp as he took up his axe and stalked through the bayou he knew better than the mapping of his own blood-red hands.

And, quietly, a means of focus and, for tonight, self-soothing, he began to hum under his breath.

You could hear the fumbled clinking of the rifle being reloaded, trying to maintain distance between yourself and your stalker even as your legs grew numb with exhausted agony.

Strides became lurches as your body wore down and you knew that you needed to hide somewhere before you simply collapsed.

The thought occurred to you too late as one more well-aimed shot at the log in front of you caused you to recoil and your dress to catch in a bramble, dragging you down into the mud.

“No, no, no, no, no…,” you whispered hoarsely, pulling at your hem and trying to shred it when it didn’t come free. You pushed your hair out of your face, the tendrils sticking to your skin with a mix of bog water and sweat, and gave your skirt a harsh pull to no avail. Unless he misplaced your location—even if he did, it would only be for a moment or two—you were trapped.

“Seems a little unnecessary, eh, doll?” the man huffed, his heavy footsteps sloshing along the watery path. “Makin’ me work for ya like this when all I ever did was support ya. I wouldn’t leave ya alone night after night like yer big shot husband does, y’know.”

“Leave me alone,” you ground out. “Or just kill me, I don’t care anymore!”

“I’m not gonna kill ya, dollface, that’d be a waste,” he murmured, looming over you. Even though the shadows cast across his face were nearly impenetrable, you could feel his eyes on you. All of you.

You curled in on yourself to try and muster up the courage to fight back to whatever extent you could, even if it was just in an effort to frustrate him to the point of killing you before he could do whatever he was really intending for you.

Just as you prepared yourself to go down kicking and screaming, an odd whistle caught your ear.

And an airborne hatchet caught his.

The man shouted, ducking down to the side and clutching his ear, where a chunk of the upper ridge and part of his scalp had been cleaved free of his skull.

The hatchet buried itself in the ground nearby, just out of your reach, but that didn’t stop you from scrambling to try and grab it while he was distracted. It might be your only chance to get out of this.

Your addled, panicked mind hadn’t even yet formed the question of where the projectile had come from. Or from who.

What did it matter if you died by this pig’s hands or by the Bayou Butcher’s after all?

A ghostly, ominous humming graced your ears just as your fingertips found purchase on the hatchet handle and your stalker wrenched you up by your hair, away from your prize.

Your dress tore up the seams until it detached from the brambles, your arms reflexively clutching around your body and the torn garment around it to preserve your modesty and protect yourself from his hungry gaze.

The next hatchet sank into his shoulder, blood spurting from the wound and coating you both before he dropped you.

You fell back into the water, your head striking against bedrock with a dull crack. Your world spun, but you desperately tried to stay focused and shake off the shock.

Vaguely above you, you saw your assailant grabbing at his shoulder and also trying to ready the gun, which was now next to impossible with his dominant shoulder joint shredded around a hatchet head.

The humming grew louder, more familiar, as the source drew nearer. Until your head stopped spinning, you’d started to wonder if you were hallucinating because the approaching tall, lean figure sure looked like…

“The fuck you think you are?” the stranger grated as he tried to free the hatchet from his shoulder. A poor choice, Alastor noted, considering he’d bleed even more heavily the second the weapon was freed.

On second thought…

“Let me give you a hand with that, pal,” Alastor murmured serenely as he reached forward, gripped the handle, and planted his foot against the other man’s gut. He wrenched the weapon free and red flooded down the man’s front as Alastor gave him a sharp kick that sent him onto his back.

The man was hardly conscious now, let alone mobile, so Alastor felt secure enough to turn to you. At least secure in ensuring your safety. He couldn’t think about what you might be thinking of him at this very moment.

“Darling, are you alright?” he murmured as gently as he could, a stark contrast to his severe, menacing tone of just seconds prior.

He bent down, careful not to approach too quickly lest he frighten you back or cause you to further injure yourself. No matter how much he wanted to just scoop you up and take you home.

You looked alright, more or less. Understandably shaken and horrified, but seemingly with superficial injuries. He noted the burnt graze on your arm from one of the earlier gunshots—likely the second based on the timing of your scream—and a slightly dazed look in your eyes that he couldn’t be sure was a head injury or shock. He assumed both until proven otherwise. Your poor knees were riddled with scrapes from the terrain, but he’d made it in time, it seemed.

The thought pulled a faint but deeply felt sigh of relief from his chest.

“Al?” you croaked and it snapped him back to the present.

“I’m here, dear,” he said softly back, holding out an arm for you in invitation. His heart simultaneously warmed and broke when you scrambled to crawl into it.

Alastor may have forgotten about the stalker for a little while if his pained grunt hadn’t “ruined the moment” between you two.

While he would’ve much preferred to draw out the death of the man who’d tried—and partially succeeded—to hurt his wife, Alastor choked up his grip on his axe as one would a baseball bat, turned your face into his chest with his free hand pressed against your other ear to deafen you to the noise, and split the man’s skull in a single swing.

The man went limp after a short pre-mortem spasm and Alastor sighed, returning his attention to you and determining that he would see to whatever you needed of him before he went about sinking his second corpse of the night to bury the evidence.

More than a few things made sense now, you numbly realized as you let your husband sweep you up into his arms and carry you back home.

It had never made sense that he’d cheat on you. But you supposed you’d never wanted to consider what sorts of secrets the lack of an affair would leave you. And you’d always thought it a bit strange how blasé he could be about the active serial killer loose and on the move right in your hometown.

You’d always seen some measure of darkness in Alastor. Just never directed at you. So it was easy to pretend it wasn’t there at all.

Your muddied fingers gripped his shirt before you pried them off, feeling a bit badly about getting his shirt dirty. Your thoughts lacked prioritization at the moment, shock addling the most pressing aspects of your current situation and your heart muddying the waters even more.

Alastor had killed that man. He’d done it for you.

He was a murderer—that was where he was all those nights. He’d never betrayed you.

Unless he was copying the Bayou Butcher’s methods, he was the Bayou Butcher. The very murderer he’d reported on for months in his news segments on the air.

He’d killed for you.

Who else could say that?

You sighed a little and buried your face against his neck, mumbling an apology for getting mud all over him. An apology he chuckled weakly in response to.

“You’ve dirtied a killer’s collar, sweetheart,” he said softly as he worked his muddy boots off on the porch and then carried you inside. “It’s not you who should be apologizing.”

Tension hung thickly in the air as he waited for you to respond, the truth nestled at long last in his words.

You measured those words as you leaned your head back to glance up at him. He met your eyes and you saw the quiet fear in his, something you’d never seen in those chocolate-brown eyes before. Fear that you’d reject him, knowing in full now what he was.

Maybe you should have.

Instead, you’d just love him harder.

You swallowed against the lump in your throat and smoothed away the little streak of dirt your hair had printed along his jawline. “I dirtied my husband’s collar,” you corrected him gently, offering him a tiny smile when his gaze looked a touch more watery. “But I’ll thank you instead for saving me.”

Alastor inhaled shakily, cradling you tightly against him as he pressed a kiss to your forehead and took you both into the upstairs bathroom where he kept his extra stash of first-aid supplies and could see to your wounds and wash the dirt off your skin in a better light.

The title is a quote from Gone Girl and Al’s hunting style contains references to the Huntress from Dead by Daylight (who is also my beloved killer main).

Thanks again, hope you enjoyed it! x

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #completed request #human alastor #1920s au #mind the warnings #hazbin hotel fanfiction #asexual alastor #hazbin hotel alastor

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tarjapearce · 5 months ago

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I am so sorry about what's going on. I found out that I was the victim of plagiarism (honestly outright theft) of an old oc of mine.

Like the design was an exact copy of my character right down to the scars on her body and the fandom she was created for! So I totally understand how you feel. (I did call them out for ripping the design of a character I've had for a decade, comment got deleted and I got blocked, no surprise 😅)

But honestly if you wanna talk about anything my inbox is always open! For some reason it won't let me open new DMs with people, it automatically sends new messages to one of my chats in particular and i have NO clue how to fix that; I feel so sorry for my friend who gets my out of context random messages .

And yeah the one night stand trope is used a lot, but the thing is.... You came up with OFAH. You named it. You gave the story breath and life. You are putting every tiny detail you could possibly put in, into it. You put all the angst and drama I honestly don't see in those "trope fics". Too many of them wind up with "he realizes his mistake and leaves his obviously unhappy relationship to marry his pregnant mistress and they live happily ever after" plotline.

You are putting in what would very likely happen in real life; including the PTSD of child abuse, the fear of carrying and giving birth to a child you didn't expect (possibly even don't want), the fear and uncertainty of giving the child up for adoption, of being a part of a big scandal. It's like reading/watching a good telenovela; the angst having me at times literally gasping out loud at some of the stuff going on in your fic.

And, oftentimes is something hard to come by when so much emotion and effort is put into it.

OFAH is YOURS, T. If somebody literally copy pasted it, and only changes a few things it is still theft.

They can spray paint your gold nugget silver and claim they "found" it, but at the core it is still a gold nugget they stole and covered with their own "work" to get attention.

I'm... What the actual fuck? I'm so sorry you also got stolen!

Oh my god.

Why I'm not surprised? Blocking when getting confronted? So damn mature and honest. Ugh.

And thanks fot the support dear. Means alot that people find out about this cause its not fair that people bust their asses creating for people to just take.

This has oddly motivated me to keep going.

STEALING IS NOT NICE. Don't try and be subtle about it. You'll be found out. Sooner or later. Besides, it's ridiculous and disrespectful af.

#talking with t✨#What the actual fuck with people stealing things? Work on that damned imagination dammit.

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therealslimshakespeare · 3 months ago

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I probably won’t be able to articulate this as well as I’d like so please don’t take any of it as criticism, but it’s interesting to me that you decided to pair up Gale with a woman but also later decide that he’s probably gay. I’m honestly not one for shipping characters into a gay relationship just because but there were definite and obvious homoerotic undertones in MOTA, in fact I’d say Bucky loves Buck in *that way* more so than Gale loves John (although maybe he’s just quieter and more reserved about it). I guess what I’m really trying to say, is that like many others, I don’t particularly like Maureen, she isn’t deserving of Gale but maybe her fate is to have a gay husband who’ll always be hankering after a guy he can’t have (in my head, anyhow) but also I’m upset that we’ll never get to read a Buck/Bucky fic written by one of Tumblr’s best writers :(

Hello, I’m assuming you’re referencing this ask/blurb?

No offense meant back, but I honestly don’t find a great deal to answer in this ask. And I often try to find things to agree with or appreciate even in asks with a varying viewpoint and opinion. But dear, I know I’m not supposed to take it as criticism, so I won’t, but what is it intended for?

You’re informing me you don’t like an OC. That’s fine, and that’s your right. I would ask you to consider how respectful you are being to her author when you weave an entire extra story (in you head is grand but now it’s in my inbox too) about her being condemned to a fate you’re also suggesting is negative, please?

You’re informing me you wouldn’t immediately assume gayness due to onscreen chemistry. Amen. Yeah. Agree with that. And also agree with Bucky being more obvious, of the pair in the tv series. This is a complete AU of a dramatized tv show of real events. We’ve got women in the stalag. We’ve got a gay Buck Cleven. We could have aliens and cat shape-shifters if we want. Because it’s my AU, and those are the definitions of AUs. They’re alternate happenings 😆

You say you find it interesting to ship a certain thing that happened very regularly in the 1940’s. A gay man marrying a woman. That’s fine, but I will. I’m not going to avoid writing other things of the time -the segregation of races, inequality of women, rape of female combatants- and then breeze through the issue this was made to be for every man oriented in this manner. I’m quite passionate about exploring marriages like this one, and it’s not a fate worse than death but it’s also unfair they were the only option. That’s what we have before us..

The same logic rather clearly assumes that being bi isn’t being gay? Or your wording suggests that, though i really don’t think you meant that. There are plenty of sexes who primarily like a certain sex but then are occasionally attracted to the other. Sometimes even a single person of the other, and due to wanting children/social scenes etc, may choose to marry that other person of the opposite gender. Doesn’t mean I’m shipping a “gay character” with someone who will make them somehow less gay.

Sometimes the love of your life is not the one your sex drive goes nuts for either, sometimes. And that’s doubly confusing in those times.

But, now that I’ve hammered on that, because I really feel strongly on this and need some respect for my creative choices here —lemme add, it’s very sweet that you apparently want me to write them. I’ve dabbled a little in the other universe and in this one -we will have a lot of Bucky x Buck.

And who says we might not get an entirely new full on Buck x Bucky story from me one day? 😈 goodness knows I love them, but I also know others are writing them so well and after having embibed so much of their work, it would be near to plagiarism for me to embark on that right now.🥰

#those who can

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annlillyjose · 2 years ago

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Dairy Whiskey – Update 02

[image description: a branch of clustered dark green leaves in the background. in the center, a white serif font reads, “dairy whiskey – update 02”. / end id]

hi hi hello! guess who’s back with another dairy whiskey update! it’s me.

so, there’s not much to share about what happened behind the scenes for this update, because it was a little while back and i really don’t remember what exactly happened. all i can say is, this update covers the longest chapter in the whole book, complete (as of now) at 11,293 words. crazy, i know. concerning, too, i know. but you gotta do what you gotta do to keep the story going.

the draft is at 30k rn and the goal is 50k. please send me some good vibes so the next 20k can somehow just happen to me.

enough with this blabber. moving on to the update.

excerpts and taglist under the cut.

disclaimer: this is an original work of fiction. plagiarism of any kind will not be tolerated.

TWs: this novel deals with themes of childhood and religious trauma, sexual, emotional, and substance abuse, mental health issues, self-harm, abortion, etc. so please be kind on yourself and read ahead only if you feel comfortable. This update in particular deals with a lot of graphic mentions of self-harm, knives, blood, and suicidal ideation, so please feel free to skip this update if it might upset you at all.

because i intend on publishing this book, i will not be elaborating on the scenes i'm sharing. i'd like to keep the plot private, but i'll mention what every excerpt is about. i hope it'll make some sense, but if it doesn't, i sincerely apologise.

chapter four – gold, frankincense, and myrrh

this chapter begins with dinah's father being gone, and her getting ready to go to church to meet austin.

this is the opening.

Rains had calmed by that day’s sunrise, unfurling a mute mustard morning, soaked in shattered birdsong. Old teakwood doors breathed again in their frames. Warm rays of golden sunlight cusped the living room’s corners. Through an open window, a chiffon breeze swung its way in, humming against cold concrete. Abstract shadows of guava branches rippled on one of the walls. Father had been gone for six days.

here's an excerpt of dinah being confused by the smell of food in their house because after the grandmother died, nobody had been cooking. guess who's the chef today?

The clank of steel vessels drew me to the kitchen. At first, I thought it was a mouse, but when the noise persisted, I got closer to the door. Ephron’s silhouette staggered on the beige wall. I should’ve walked away, but the smell of coriander and garam masala tingled my skin. With grandmother now gone, there had been no cooking in the house. Since coming back, I’d eaten a whole packet of milk bread that had expired half-way through.

The kitchen had begun to smell like fungi and neglect. But today, Ephron had reopened it. Wearing a blue t-shirt and a pair of black shorts, he sauteed onions in a non-stick frying pan. Beside an open pressure cooker on the counter, boiled potatoes were waiting to get mashed in a glass bowl. In a ceramic plate, chopped tomatoes and shallots crowded next to each other. Next to it, on a steel lid, was a spoonful of turmeric powder.

honestly, just reading this back is making me hungry. talking about hunger, here's a big excerpt, featuring all the foods mariam used to cook for her kids (when she was still around).

On all school days, mother would make chapatis for breakfast. She made the dough in boiling water and kneaded it soft on the grinding stone. Then she’d rest it for an hour under a piece of wet muslin cloth. When we sat at the table for breakfast, she’d first give us a glass of Horlicks. We had a race amongst us on who would finish their glass first, and it was always Ephron who won. By the time we were done, which wasn’t much later, there’d a hot chapati glazed in ghee on our plates. We’d each eat two and sprint out the front door in our navy uniforms and ScooBee Day backpacks. In the evenings, we ate aval – flattened rice cooked in shredded coconut and jaggery. Some days, she made pazhampori – ripe banana fritters – and on others, carrot halwa, grated beetroot slow-cooked in coconut milk and sugar, or fruit salad with vanilla custard. In the weeks following Christmas and Easter, we ate dry plum cake with lemonade. She bought us Good Day cashew biscuits and filled our snack bowls with salted almonds. Because she preferred a low-on-rice diet, gran disliked mother’s feeding choices. But, relentlessly, she sticked to serving us hot chapatis on school mornings. After she left, there was more variation in the breakfast menu, with idli, dosa, appam, idiyappam, tapioca, jackfruit, yam, and other tuber crops from the landholding. Still, after all those years, the grease of her ghee-coated chapatis remained unmatched, like many other things after she broke off. The cracks of this insufficiency widened, forming a ridge; a cliff from the end of which we dangled, like Christmas ornaments with their enamel coating chipped off.

now if that doesn't make your mouth watery, i don't know what will. but let's move on for now and read a scene where dinah is in her post-meltdown phase, relying on ephron a little bit and trusting him a little bit, mostly because she can't move her body and has no energy left in her to fight. honestly, feels girl! i see you!

Aftershave evaporated from his face, swinging heat waves against my cheek. I submitted to my body’s tiredness. The room began to heat up with the sun now hitting straight through the window. On the red refrigerator, the window’s rails formed shadows in grids. Ephron’s breath rumbled politely in my ears. Nauseous and dizzy, I made no attempts to leave. Instead, I closed my eyes to pitch black.

now, let's see what dinah does when the father comes home and orders her to make him a lemonade.

I hated father, so I put dishwashing liquid in his lemonade. I scooped out the froth and served it to him in a fancy glass with enamelled blue flowers on it. I hated father, so I wanted to make him feel something.

can we all take a moment to appreciate her anger issues? to be fair though, trust me, there's reason enough.

after this, dinah has a conversation with ephron where he reveals a secret he had been keeping for a long while, and like the chaotic humans they are, they end up in a fight. but gladly, this fight ends up in more resolution than the previous ones and they end up falling asleep on the floor in dinah's room.

quick note: yes, ephron is still an abuser and this is not a redemption arc. this is not a story that will justify an abuser or take sides with one. this is only a story that explore a more nuanced relationship in all its complex, messy, and concerning ways.

vignette four – forgive me, abba

this vignette details a secret that ephron had been keeping, but is written sort of in the form of a prose poem. for spoiler reasons again, sharing only the last part of it.

But you are a father, and even when his hands overflow with yours and the taste of you keeps dripping from his mouth, he keeps shut. He sets himself on fire because everything will be okay. The fire spreads, the town dies, the sky turns blood red.

But it will be okay. You are a father.

Your son is your son only until you feed him fear.

After these pass, he is a house, and his secrets – arson.

so, that's it for this update. hope you enjoyed reading my work. like i mentioned, please send me your best writer luck vibes because finishing this novel is not only a need, but a necessity right now. i need to be able to get this out of my system before i can work on anything else. and besides, i've been working on this for almost two years and i have to wind this up as soon as i can.

hope you have been keeping well and hope writing has been going good for you.

– love and light, ann!

general taglist (ask to be added or removed)

@shaonsim @heartfullkings @vnsmiles @dallonwrites @wannabeauthorclive @sienna-writes @violetpeso @flip-phones @rowansghost @ambidextrousarcher @duckiewrites @writing-with-l @magic-is-something-we-create @femmeniism @frozenstillicide @rose-bookblood @coffeeandcalligraphy @rodentwrites

#dairy whiskey update #dairy whiskey #wip update #wip tag #my novel #literary fiction #writeblr #writeblr update #writers on tumblr #creative writing community #writers and poets #tumblr writers #tumblr novelists #writing update

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monstersandmaw · 3 years ago

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Male alpha werewolf x female reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Here, as teased, is the next in my line of commissions, for a lovely person who wished to remain anonymous.

Content: the packs’ alpha werewolf unexpectedly going into rut, a potentially tense social gathering featuring two packs, what could be deemed slightly possessive behaviour (but it’s addressed and is not intentional or controlling), knotting, vaginal sex, and an alpha werewoofer who’s completely soppy for his human mate.

“I’ll catch up with you in a minute,” Conall smiled, touching you on the small of your back as you stepped together into the suburban garden, and the sounds and smells of Elodie’s birthday barbecue finally reached your senses long after they must have hit Conall’s.

Pausing in the arched gateway, Conall nodded respectfully at an unfamiliar and severe-looking older woman whose eyes flashed gold upon seeing him, and he added to you in an undertone, “That’s Maria.”

“The Mountain Rose pack’s alpha?”

“Mmm,” he said with a distinct growl to his tone. “Don’t go too far, alright? I don't know everyone here, and not all werewolves approve of an alpha taking a human mate. Maria certainly doesn’t.”

You smiled tightly, trusting your partner’s judgement when it came to the supernatural, and then glanced out across the cheerful patio, with its pots of pink and white geraniums. Pastel-coloured bunting fluttered from an apple tree in the middle of the small lawn to a point on the house, and, gathered around the blossoming tree, you recognised several members of Conall’s pack. “I’ll go join Sadie,” you said, kissing Conall on the cheek.

Conall’s answering smile didn’t go all the way to his eyes, and as your paths diverged, you noted the distinctly tense set to his shoulders. Wolves. Always so much politics and posturing, especially between alphas.

Standing in the dappled shade of the little apple tree some time later, you listened while Sadie nattered on beside you, enthusing over something she’d seen on Twitter. Her curly hair bounced and her eyes danced, and you found yourself laughing along as she regaled the small group of friends. Conall’s second-in-command bounded over just as Sadie was nearing the end of a particularly amusing anecdote, and he snaked his hands lovingly over her shoulders, pressing his nose against her hair and nuzzling her affectionately.

“Alfie, you big dope,” she snorted, reaching up to smack her mate fondly on the top of his head. “You ruined the punchline.”

“Sorry,” he said, not looking in the least bit chastened as he nipped briefly at the shell of her ear. The lanky, mousy-haired werewolf wore that cheeky look perpetually, and everyone just laughed.

With the pack’s alpha doing the formal rounds, Alfie had the chance to relax and goof around a bit with the rest of you, but while he cuddled casually up to Sadie, you found yourself missing Conall’s presence. Tall, taciturn, self-assured, broad shouldered, dark haired and dark eyed, and with a perpetual haze of stubble on his jaw, Conall cut quite the impressive, alpha-wolf figure, but he was more than just a big wolf to you.

Sadie leaned in close to you and pulled a commiserating grimace. “You look kinda miserable,” she hissed.

“I’m just used to being more involved at things like this, you know? Not shunted to the sidelines. I get why, but still…”

She nodded and Alfie shrugged. “I’m honestly still surprised at how chill Elodie is, given that she’s from one of the more ‘traditional’ packs… I mean,” he added shooting Maria a glance across the garden and lowering his voice so much that you had to lean in close to him, “Look at her. She’s terrifying! How can someone from her pack end up like El?”

“She looks like a bitter old hag on a power trip,” Sadie scoffed into her drink. “And who wears a fucking tweed suit to a birthday party anyway.”

“Keep your voice down, love,” Alfie growled, eyes flaring protectively. “We don't want an international incident…”

Sadie raised her lip in a frustrated snarl, but nodded. The older packs like the Roses didn’t like humans even knowing about wolves, and they certainly didn’t like them corrupting their bloodlines by mating with their alphas. No need to draw her attention. They’d had enough trouble trying to convince Maria to let Elodie marry Chloe, simply because she was part of Conall’s pack.

Conall, as if he’d sensed your gaze sliding over to him, turned away from his conversation with Chloe and one of the Mountain Rose wolves, but instead of offering you a smile and carrying on talking, he broke away immediately and strode over with a glower on his face. Seeing your partner with a serious expression was nothing new — no one had a ‘resting bitch face’ quite like Conall — but still, it sent a thrum of worry through you. He looked like a bull about to charge.

You took half a step towards him as he approached. “Everything alright?” you asked as he joined you and immediately slid his arms around your waist, pulling you tight to his body.

Without deigning to answer, he kissed you passionately in front of everyone and heat rose in your cheeks.

“Jeez, Con,” you snorted, flustered. “So much for subtle diplomacy.”

His full lips twitched into a slightly bashful smile but he didn't let go of you. It almost seemed like he couldn’t bring himself to break the contact. “Missed you, is all,” he growled, his already deep voice a few shades rougher than usual.

It went right through you and he scented you a moment later with a telling glitter in his dark eyes as his nostrils flared. His pupils soared wide and he moaned quietly, privately, rubbing his stubbly cheek against the side of your head in a few luxuriant strokes that only a pack’s alpha would be able to get away with in public without scorn, or some banterous ridicule at least.

Behind you, Alfie swallowed, his ebullience tarnishing a little into something a little awkward. “Hey boss,” he said, clearly trying to break the strange tension. “You, uh… seen the birthday girl yet? Any sign of cake?”

Conall nodded gruffly without drawing back from you. “Elodie’s inside,” he mumbled into your hair. “Chloe said she’s gonna cut the cake in a few minutes.”

“Great,” Alfie beamed and then looked at you with a twinkle in his eye. “Try not to drop yours all down your front this time, eh?” he snickered playfully and you barked a laugh.

“That was one time, Alfie,” you shot back, thwacking him in the shoulder. “And it wasn’t even my fault!” One time, and they’d never let you live down the shame of chocolate frosting smeared down your white top.

When Alfie went to swat you back though, and with a mere fraction of the force you’d shown him, Conall pulled back his lips in a feral snarl and shoved him in the chest with the flat of his palm. “Back off,” he growled, eyes flashing gold.

Alfie immediately bared his neck in shocked deference and looked away, while the rest of the small circle of friends stared in open surprise at the uncharacteristic display from their alpha. Conall was a fair leader, and heavy-handed discipline was not an issue in his pack.

“Hey, hey,” you crooned, pulling Conall away by the hand and casting a furtive look back at Alfie. “What the heck was that for, Con?”

“I don’t —” Conall snapped, pacing, face set like a thunderhead.

A slight bloom of sweat stippled his forehead and he seemed more twitchy and agitated than the presence of another pack — even under treaty — should have accounted for. He’d gone no more than three steps away from you before he marched back and took your face in his hands and fairly crushed a kiss to your lips.

“He got too close to you,” he breathed against your mouth. “It was just instinct.” His hands slid down your neck to your shoulders and down to your waist, and before you knew it he was groping you and marking you again with his rough jaw. He was going to make a real spectacle out of the both of you if he didn’t rein himself in.

“Conall!” you chirped, trying to wriggle free. He still wanted to nuzzle at your neck and he whined, his eyes now fully gold, and raked his teeth across your pulse. “You’re not normally like this,” you said with your hand on his solid chest.

Conall paused.

“Protective, yes, but never possessive.”

“I’m your wolf,” he snarled against your skin. “Me. I’m yours. No one else.”

“I know that,” you said evenly, baffled. “And you know that, and Alfie is mated, Conall. Where is this coming from? Why are you scent-marking me like you’re going into —”

You both froze as the only possible answer hit; you with your hands on his hips to anchor yourself against the rising tide of desire and confusion, and Conall with his mouth pressed to your throat, hunched over as if to shield you.

“Fuck,” he hissed, pulling sharply away from you, his eyes wide and suddenly a little frantic. “Fuck, I’m not supposed to be going into rut for another two weeks. Fuck. How did I miss the signs? I’m all over you like a rash,” he grimaced, obviously disgusted with himself. “I’m sorry,” he croaked, letting go of you and stepping back a pace. “I’m so sorry. God, this is everything I hate about alphas and I walked right into it.”

“It’s not really me you need to apologise to,” you muttered pointedly.

“You’re right. Wait here? And… uh…” An uncertain, vaguely imploring look crept into his supernaturally-amber eyes and you had to laugh.

“For the sake of peace between the packs, I’ll steer clear of other wolves until you get back,” you promised. “Now go.”

His shoulders dropped with a grateful little self-deprecating smile, and he nodded and strode back towards Alfie.

Coming to a halt in front of him, Conall openly bared his neck in apology to his second.

A few gasps went up from the Mountain Rose wolves as they watched an alpha willingly humble himself before his pack, and naturally, Alfie dropped instantly to one knee, accepting the apology and reaffirming his loyalty in a very traditional gesture that would probably mollify even the ultra-traditional Maria.

Conall helped him up afterwards and the two shook hands and exchanged words. Then Alfie predictably cracked a quiet joke at his alpha’s expense and Conall’s initial growl disintegrated into peals of good-natured laughter.

All was right again in the pack, and the tension melted from your chest. The wolf’s instinct to protect their mate ran deep, but Conall’s devotion to his pack was just as securely ingrained.

A moment or so later, he walked back over to you, a definite flush to his tanned cheeks now, and he took your hand in his. Conall immediately buried his nose at your neck again and inhaled deeply. The slow draw of breath anchored him this time. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I’m such an idiot.”

“You do have your moments,” you smiled, kissing the side of his head. He shivered tangibly. “Come on. We should get out of here before you start trying to fight everyone and everything, including the cake stand, for the right to be within a half-mile radius of me.”

Something complicated flickered across his gold eyes for a heartbeat and you tilted your head.

“What?”

Conall just stood there, heedless of the glances people were shooting him and staring at you like you were the centre of his whole world. In a way, you supposed you were. He’d mated you, putting the truces with neighbouring packs in jeopardy, and he was devoted to you; his very human mate.

The alpha shook his head, his short, dark hair shimmering in the late afternoon sunlight. “You’re incredible, that’s all,” he smiled with a distinctly soppy look to his amber eyes. His irises glinted like burnished bronze and your insides swooped at the sight of them. “You put up with so much bullshit with us wolves.”

“Oh hush,” you laughed, leaning in close and rising onto your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, hands pressed on his chest for balance. The gesture was more to avoid anyone overhearing than to help him pick up your soft words over the noise of the party. “Now, take me home. I want you to make me come at least twice before you knot me, got it?”

His growl was definitely detected by at least four people nearby, but they were pack and all had the good grace to ignore it as he practically dragged you by the hand from the secluded garden and onto the street outside.

“Sweetheart, you’ll be the death of me, saying things like that to me in public,” he laughed through gritted teeth.

“How bad is it?” you asked, shooting a cautious glance up at him.

“Now that I’ve worked out what’s going on, it’s… uh… well, let’s just say I haven’t got long before it hits me. It was probably the presence of another pack that kick-started it early. God,” he whined, the sound dissolving into another rough snarl. He stopped you and spun you around, backing you forcefully up against the bark of one of the trees that lined the leafy, suburban street. “I want you,” he whispered, teeth nipping at your earlobe as he rutted his hips against you. He was already half-hard, and he could undoubtedly smell your own growing arousal.

“You’re going to make a mess of us both,” you chided breathlessly, “And a scene. Take me home first, alpha,” you said. As his mate, you were probably the only person who could make demands of him like that, and you loved it. “You’re not having me until we’re at home. You want anyone else to get a glimpse of your mate? Anyone from the Mountain Roses?”

That worked because his eyes flared bright, and for a moment you thought he was going to wolf out then and there, maybe yank you up into a fireman's lift, but he set his jaw and marched away again a heartbeat later. “You always know just what to say to me,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Come on.”

Conall was panting openly by the time the pair of you made it into the hallway back home, and his muscles were quivering with the effort of staving off the shift. He took two steps towards you and grabbed you by the shoulders, pinning you to the wall with a snarl, eyes flaring like gold in sunlight. “You’re stunning,” he hissed before closing the gap between you and kissing you fiercely. “I can’t believe you chose me.”

Over and over, he kissed you, then down your neck, drawing the fabric at your neckline back to rake his teeth over your collarbone and then suck a tender bruise there that left you weak at the knees.

“I’m yours, Conall,” you gasped.

“Mine,” he snarled with a savage kind of joy. “My mate, mine,” he chanted, rutting his hips against you until you thought he might come right there in the hallway. Even if he did, it wouldn’t sate him. Not by a long shot.

“Can��t wait any longer,” he choked, pupils blown wide as his rut hit him with full force. “I need you. I —”

“I’m yours,” you said again, and spread your legs a little more, looking up at him invitingly. He had all the permission he needed.

He also clearly smelled how turned on you were because he growled and cursed. With one hand still tangled in your hair, he undid the belt of his jeans and shucked them down just enough to free his cock from his boxer-briefs. After a little shuffling and logistics, he thrust inside you a few seconds later, fucking up into you against the wall, filling you gloriously.

Your head lolled back and clunked inelegantly against the wall behind you as pleasure swept through you in a searing wave. He easily picked you up under the thighs and you latched your legs around his hips as he thrust upwards over and over. “I’m yours,” he growled in your ear, breathing in the scent of your skin as he worked you both closer and closer. “Your wolf. I’m yours. I’ll do anything for you. I’m yours…”

“Oh god, Conall,” you grunted as he hit the place inside you that set you alight. “Oh my god,” you added, curling your body towards his and changing the angle blissfully. “There!” Seeing stars, you came almost before you’d realised what was happening.

Conall roared as he felt your body clench around his cock, and he fucked you through your orgasm, chasing his first release. The pace he set was wild, punishing, and desperate, and his grip on your legs almost hurt, but before it could tip from rough pleasure to actual discomfort, he spilled inside you with a ragged snarl. His forehead landed on your collarbone and then he moved and sank his human teeth into the muscle between your shoulder and neck, growling he came.

He staggered a little as his first orgasm tore through him, but with a gentle kiss to the spot where he’d sucked a bruise into your skin, he nuzzled you and hissed, “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you rasped. “Upstairs…”

He nodded and set you back down. You winced as a little of his release slid down the inside of your thigh, and then laughed as he promised to clean you up afterwards.

When you halted in the bedroom and turned to him, you could see that he was visibly shaking all over and sweating, both from keeping the transformation at bay and from his efforts in the hallway downstairs.

“Conall…” you murmured and he looked at you, eyes aglow. “We’re home now. Shift.”

Breathing hard, he ripped his shirt off over his head to reveal his impressively tanned and muscled torso, and then stepped out of his jeans and boxer briefs. Driven by his rut, his cock was fully hard again, flushed red and glistening from being inside you, and pre-come immediately began to pearl at the tip. Sinking to all fours, he hunched forwards on the carpet with a snarl and began to shift, letting the change sweep over him in a ripple of muscle and dark fur, and when he raised his lupine head to stare at you, you felt your whole body flush hot. This was Conall as no one else got to see him.

Sure, the pack saw him when he wolfed out for their runs on the full moon through the woods, but this intense, adoring, reverent, lust-hazed look was reserved only for you; his mate. And you lived for it. Even when he wasn’t in rut, he worshipped you, but this was on a completely different level. White teeth flashed as he let his tongue loll a little, tasting the air - tasting your arousal.

A long, low, rumbling growl escaped him and he took a silent step towards you. Then he rose up onto his hind legs and loomed over you. Beneath rippling, smoky fur, his muscles stood solid; his whole stance exuded power and raw hunger, and you felt yourself clench and grow wetter just looking at him. Other than a subtle flaring of his nostrils, Conall didn't move; his entire, burning focus was fixed on you.

You glanced down between his legs to see that he was still hard, even after shifting, his flushed wolf’s cock leaking tantalisingly. Another bead of pre-come rolled down the length of it and into the soft fur around his sheath as it twitched under your scrutiny. Soon he’d form a knot. You ached at that thought, feeling very empty all of a sudden.

When you looked back up at his face, you heard him growl again. No one else got to meet the alpha’s eye like that; to challenge him directly. He couldn’t speak once he’d shifted, but by now you could read each other well enough that words weren’t necessary. Conall whined once, a short, demanding question, waiting as always for your permission to let his alpha side truly free.

With a playful little shrug, you smiled. “I’m yours, Conall.”

Your clothes didn’t last long, ending in a semi-shredded heap beside the bed as he literally tore them from you and immediately began to worship your naked body. He licked at your breasts, caressing one peaked nipple with his hot tongue while his clawed hand gripped your other breast and thumbed across the nipple there. Your breath caught and you tipped your head back, exposing your throat to him.

When he saw that, he reared up and closed his whole jaw around loosely your neck and you went slack with the sheer eroticism of it. He would never hurt you, but as his teeth pricked against your pulse, you couldn’t deny that he was dangerous.

While he held you like that, standing limp and dazed in the jaws of your alpha werewolf, he rutted his slick cock against the junction of your thighs. The feel of it made you moan, made you ache to take him as deep as you possibly could.

A low-frequency, rumbling growl rose from Conall the more worked up he got, and the sound of it filled the room and vibrated through your chest.

You parted your legs a little more, baring yourself for him with a shiver. Conall’s control snapped and he drew back, practically flinging you down towards the bed.

You twisted and landed with your hands braced and your arse towards him. He let out a long, low, hungry moan and nosed you forwards, licking teasingly at you. The intimacy of the position made your muscles weak as water for a moment, but in no time you waited on hands and knees near the edge of the bed while he stood beside it and lined up his huge cock with your wet entrance.

In a single luxurious slide, he filled you. With his enormous, clawed hands on your hips to keep you steady, he pulled almost all the way out and then slammed back into you. Over and over, he claimed you as his mate, just like he had under that first full moon.

Behind the building haze of pleasure as the minutes melted by unmeasured, you felt his knot starting to form. Conall clearly felt it too because he nearly howled in frustration as he remembered your whispered desire to come twice before he knotted you.

Managing to be simultaneously rough and courteous, he pulled out and slung you down onto your back in the middle of the bed. Dazed and thrumming with desire, you looked up into his face and bit your lip. With a snarl he leapt up to join you on the bed like a feral shadow, eyes fever-bright, and his clawed, paw-like hands instantly landed on your thighs, parting them easily. He lowered his muzzle to your left thigh and raked his teeth over flesh and muscle before laving his tongue all the way up your inner thigh. Behind him, his tail arched upwards in a display of open, alpha-wolf dominance and he bit down a little harder on the muscle. You gasped and squirmed beneath him but he never hurt you.

With a decadent sigh, you simply fell back into the pillows and let him enjoy his mate.

Then, finally, he nosed at your clit. Pleasure sparked up your spine as his gloriously cold nose was swiftly followed by the searing heat of his tongue, and you bucked upwards into his touch with a broken yell. “Oh god, Conall… please…”

Conall was non too gentle as he continued to work you with his tongue, stroking your clit and groaning each time at the taste of you until you were shaking and gasping and so close to coming again. The prick of his claws on your skin, combined with the near-constant growling that sent vibrations right through you, was enough to drive you to the teetering, gasping edge in no time.

“Conall, please!” you begged, writhing, trying to get him to make you come. He knew exactly what he was doing, and made you wait just a little longer.

His cock leaked freely down onto the sheets between your legs, and it twitched with each mewling noise you made, but the alpha wolf was going to make you wait despite the knot that had started to swell. It had to be painful for him to ignore it, but he kept chasing your pleasure instead. ‘You asked for this’ the look in his golden eyes said as he licked a long, slow stripe up your wet folds and you practically sobbed. His cock was huge now, and at the base, his thick knot was tantalising. You wanted it. Your whole body ached for it and you spread your legs desperately, trying hard not to thrash, even as your hands clawed furrows in the sheets.

“Please… Conall… alpha…” you whispered and at that, he finally relented.

Focusing his touch right down again, carefully running the pad of his dangerous, clawed thumb once over your swollen, slick clit, Conall teased you with teeth, tongue, and nose until you shattered with a scream.

Even while you were still coming, he reared up and entered you with a wild snarl. When the swollen curve of his knot nudged against you, you raised one leg, even though you were still clenching through the aftershocks of your intense orgasm.

His massive hand closed around your ankle and he levered your leg up enough that his knot slid inside you and you both froze. The sensation of being so utterly full, so perfectly complete, was enough to make you shudder and cry out, and you could tell that Conall was trying not to come. Lips pulled back, teeth exposed in a rictus, he panted and licked at his teeth, scrabbling for control.

“Come for me,” you hissed. “God, Conall, please come for me. Fill me. Knot me… please.”

He couldn’t move much now that his knot was locked inside you, but he rocked his hips frantically once, twice, and then he released his hold on your leg and came with a long howl, head thrown back, eyes rolling in ecstasy. You felt his release fill you and he just kept coming, hips pressed against you, knot sealing the two of you together, sealing him inside you. He was beautiful like that and through the blissful haze of your own release, you stared up in wonder at him.

Breathing hard as the intensity faded a little, Conall slumped forwards and in the same motion, tugged you to lie across his chest as he rolled onto his back. The two of you would be tied together for a while, and he would probably be almost completely insensate for a good few minutes longer. It was a miracle he’d had the presence of mind not to crush you. His cock twitched inside you frequently while you simply lay there, tracing idle patterns in the smoky black fur of his chest, and let him slowly come back down. He kept one paw-like hand on your back, resting between your shoulders, and the other on your waist at the small of your back, his cheek pressed to the side of your head.

After nearly fifteen minutes, his fingers twitched and his claws left light, whispering trails across your skin. Pushing yourself up a little, you saw that he’d cracked one golden eye open, and you smiled as he half-focused on you.

“You alright?” you asked. “That was intense, even for you.”

He nodded and then nudged his nose in your direction, ears back.

“Oh I’m more than fine. Could use a shower though,” you added as his release started to slide out of you now that his knot was going down.

With a tenderness that never failed to take your breath away, he licked at your mouth and then down your jaw to your neck. “Yes, yes,” you chuckled. “You can clean me up, as promised. I might need you to carry me to the shower though. I’m not sure I can stand after that.”

The smile he offered you was entirely wolfish, but his eyes remained soft and kind. He was always delightfully soppy after he’d knotted his mate.

After changing the messy bedsheets, Conall came back to join you under the hot stream of the shower, and he held you softly from behind, washing your hair with his big, lupine hands and cleaning your body with immense care. You returned the favour and he let you rinse out his fur, gasping softly and rumbling a fond growl as you paid gentle attention to his over-sensitive sheath. He clacked his teeth at you in quiet reprimand a moment later as you teased the velvety fur just one more time and you laughed, drawing back.

With your legs feeling a little stronger, you stepped out of the shower and he followed suit, dripping everywhere. “Do not shake,” you said, pointing a finger at him when he paused.

Conall chuffed a laugh at you, which said he’d definitely entertained the idea of shaking out his thick coat, and then he knelt on the bathmat, allowing the change to twitch and rattle through him until he sat, breathing hard and naked, as a human at your feet.

Extending a hand to him, you helped him up, and once he was standing, he cupped your jaw in his human hands and kissed you. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he murmured as he nuzzled your cheek affectionately and ran his palms appreciatively down your body. “I love you.”

“Feel better?” you asked.

Cautiously, Conall nodded. “I’ll probably want to go again in the morning though,” he added with a mischievous, lopsided smile.

Wolves.

“Better get some sleep now then,” you shot back, heading back to the bedroom.

___

Stay tuned for future commissions, folks. I feel like this one really kicked my ass for some reason, so if you enjoyed it, please consider reblogging it, since that’s the best way to help out the creators you like on Tumblr!

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| Masterlist | Ko-fi

#werewolf #male werewolf #alpha male werewolf #alpha werewolf #male werewolf x female reader #female reader #werewolf boyfriend #exophilia #monster boyfriend

1K notes · View notes

chocominnie · 3 years ago

Text

One Last Time 01 — Pjm. (M)

⇢ pairing: Jimin X Reader

⇢ Genre: Idol!Jimin, Exbf!Jimin, model!reader, sad au, fluff, tons of smut, angst

⇢ Synopsis: Your idol ex boyfriend Jimin cheated on you. You two have been broken up for a while now and the media has been keeping track of you and him. You’re trying to get over him, but the things that happen inbetween makes you re-think the entire breakup, and so does Jimin…

⇢ Song : xxxxx

⇢ Word Count : 4.3k

⇢ Warnings: dominant jimin, makeout sessions, this is honestly a sad angsty au, cheating, pregnancy, unprotected and protected sex, a bunch of sex, no really a LOT of sexual themes too, I know I’m forgetting some but sorry in advance!

⇢ Copyright: please do NOT repost, translate, or modify my works in any way, shape or form, on any platform. If found doing so , it is considered as plagiarism and appropriate LEGAL action will be taken

⇢ Authors note: This is my mini series for the summer! Get your tissues, things to take your anger out on, and sit back and watch the drama unfold. Shall we begin?

The winter’s coldness is hardly enough for you to bear. Even though it’s just the beginning, Seoul is known to just go from season to season without a fucking warning. Not only that, but the first snowfall is going to come soon. The weatherman has been talking about it non-stop for the past few days. It’s going to be a brutal one he says but he says that every year so why believe?

Turning off your alarm, you take a few minutes to collect yourself and stretch. Barely any sleep once again but that’s an everyday thing now.. without Jimin. It’s been some rough months not having his body wrapped snugly onto yours. These days you long for his touch, but completely dread at the same time for very good reasons.

Your kitten greets you with small licks on your thigh in which in return you pet her head softly with a smile.

‘‘ At least I still have you babygirl. You keep me company. “ You coo softly while grabbing your phone off the charger. Texts from your best-friend just spamming you with love and apparently she’s coming over. Great. That’s normal. But one text catches your eye. Jeon Jungkook.

You furrow your eyebrows as your finger slides to open it after typing in your password. In relief, he’s just checking up on you as always. Rolling your eyes, you muster enough strength to actually pull yourself out of bed. The cold tiles hit your feet like icicles. You jump from from foot to foot cursing yourself for not turning on the floor heaters as you walk out the room. Clara, your kitten, follows you out purring nonchalantly with a few meows here and there.

‘’ Alright Clara I hear you. Im getting your food now.’’ You chuckle, grabbing her food from the bottom kitchen cabinet right under the sink and pour her half a cup of cat food and a whole bowl of water.

After snacking on your morning granola bar you prepare yourself for your morning routine. Shower, brush teeth, skin care, get dressed, clean. Your phone dings once more just before stripping yourself of your clothes. You don’t bother to look it’s probably just a social media notification.

Drying your hair with a towel as you get out the steaming hot shower, you head straight for the mirror. Dark circles remain under your eyes from months of barely any sleep. You sigh, and gently rub under them. Jimin is the cause of this. Why would he do this to you. Surely enough he would not like to see you like this at all. The worriedness he would have over you is huge. But he has moved on and you just have to accept it no matter how in-love you still are with him.

As you clean up around the living room, another ding from your phone occurs. A groan escapes your lips as you place the pillows back as they should be. In hopes of it just being your manager giving you some good news, you let out a sigh and plop yourself down on the grey suede couch. Three new messages. Jeon Jungkook, who has text you twice, and Ryan your bestfriend.

‘‘ Damn it Ryan why must you consistently text me twenty four sev- “

“ Beause I need to know if you’re okay.”

You jump and drop your phone onto the hardwood floor from the voice that comes from around you.

“ Holy fucking shit you scared me! “ You whine, turning around to face your best-friend. She smiles and holds out her arms for a hug. You roll your eyes and open yours waiting for her embrace.

“ Oh i’ve missed you so so so so so so so-”

“ You just seen me yesterday..” Your voice sarcastic and bland as you let go of her. You sit on the couch first followed by Ryan sitting right next to you.

She looks good today, the navy blue coat she has on suits her very well. Although, you cannot figure out why she decided to wear leggings today. It’s going to rain a bit later but you disregard that seeing as though she’s the fashion deisgner and not you.

You. The model and seemingly ex girlfriend of one of the biggest solo idol in the world right now. Thats what they call you in the news, headlines in magazines, and real life as if you don’t have a real name and just was his acessory. Your modeling career had taken off way before dating him. The world, or Seoul to say the most, didn’t acklowledge you to that point yet.

“ Okay but still. You know we should be roomates. It’ll be easier for me to watch over you. “

Your head turns towards her quickly shaking no, “ I don’t need to be looked over im 20 years old.”

Silence takes place for the next few seconds. You know what she’s going to say next but pray she doesn’t. Those words will just make you even more upset. It’s already enough you have that constant reminder in your head.

You watch her fiddle with the rings on her index and pinky fingers. “ But you know… you haven’t been the same since you and Jimi-”

“ Don’t fucking say it. I don’t want to hear it.”

She sighs harshly and stands up, “ Im just worried about you Yn”

“ Don’t be. Im fine. “ That lie escaped your tongue way too easily.

Truthfully you haven’t and won’t be fine. Everyday there is something new about that girl and Jimin on twitter. Gossip pages, twitter fanpages, and online entertainment pages just always talking about them. They did this, they did that today. Oh we caught them going to this and that restaurant. That used to be you and him.. but now everyone has forgotten about you and focused on them.

Ever since you’ve told reporters and paparazzi repeatedly that you will not be holding or going to any interview they just stopped. A few calls here and there to your manager about scheduling one but she knew you didn’t want to do them so every request is denied. Although its been a year and some change, they still seem to want your side and your opinion to weigh in on. I guess that’s what happens when you date an Idol.

“ The door.. Y/N the door somebody is at the door.” Ryan says, tapping you over and over. You shake your head interrupting your thoughts for the time being. A few more knocks come through.

Finally up onto your feet you harshly walk to the door with each step making noise. It’s to early in the morning for someone to actually be knocking at the door right now. Whoever it is better be dropping off some sort of package, or they’ll surely get a piece of your mind.

Your frail hands grab onto the doorknob and swing it open. Your eyes almost pop through your sockets. How? How did he know you were here? You certainly did not tell him your knew address.

There he stands, his tall frame looking down on you. Lips formed into a tiny pout along with his eyebrows scrunched slightly. His brown eyes forming an ungodly stare into yours with his specs on.

“ Yn! Do you know how worried I was about you? Why did you not answer my messa-”

“Jungkook how do you know where I live?” You pace your hands on your hips, raising an eyebrow at him. To your knowledge, you never gave Jungkook your new apartment address.

Jungkook swallows slowly and puts on his best innocent face on. Oh please like that would work in this moment right now. The only person who has this address is Ryan because she’s the one who helped you move. Even if you had the choice of not giving it out to Ryan you would of but you couldn’t do that to her. She would of been so upset.

Ryan’s voice blares in the background full of excitement. Here we fucking go. “Jungkook! Come in Come in.”

“ Ryan says I could come in.” He says quickly, brushing past you and removing his shoes.

You heavily sigh and slam the door shut. What is this a family reunion? On your way back to the couch you notice them laughing and giggling like two five year old children. They don’t even notice you when you sit right across from them.

You study their expressions. Their chemistry is something so strong. The way their eyes light up when they meet, the way that Jungkook smiles and scrunches his nose more often when she’s around. You miss that. You miss doing that.

“ So are you both coming along this afternoon?”

Your attention focuses back on them. Of course you weren’t paying attention once again.

Your eyes slowly meet with theirs, “ Huh? Where are we going?”

“ Kookie finally bought a house! He wants us to come tonight for chicken and beer. You’re coming right?”

A sharp pain goes through your heart. If the both you you guys go then theirs a possibility that Jimin was invited too. After all, that is his brother. If Jimin comes then he’s most likely going to bring Isabel. A recipe for disaster. Your poor heart, that most likely could not bare the sight of them infront of you, would shatter into a million pieces.

Jungkook’s expression is ready to burst into happiness or to turn into a pout awaiting for your answer. If you let him down he’ll surely be mad at you. But putting yourself before him this time would be the right thing to do right?

“ Listen Jungkook I.. don’t think I can go.” You start off, playing with your hair with your head down.

“ I’ll space you two apart.”

Your face automatically lifts itself up in shock. Somehow, that little confirmation of Jimin being there, gave you some hope. Hope for what though?

“ Wha-what do you mean?”

Jungkook sighs heavily with his hand going up to his brown hair running it through lightly. “ I’ll make sure you two are distanced apart. You don’t want to come because of Jimin but I’ll make sure I’ll invite more people to keep you company and away from him. Okay?”

“ Please Yn. I’ll be there too.” Ryan begs, laying her head on Jungkook’s shoulder. Jungkook smiles a little, caressing her cheek with his other hand upon waiting your response.

Weird. When did they get so close?

The first thing you want to say is that you really could not go. But they already know the excuse now. You might as well just give in.

‘‘ Fine. What time tonight? “

Skincare and makeup products are scattered everywhere on your vanity. You needed the perfect look for tonight that says ‘Yes im doing fine without you’, but in reality you’re doing worse. This is the night where you’ll actually see him. Damn it’s been a while.

After you apply your highlight you step back and take a look at yourself. Not bad at all. You smile to yourself and start cleaning up the mess of products you had distributed across the vanity. A new text appears on you phone as soon as you gather everything up and put it back in it’s place. Grabbing your phone, it’s Ryan giving you the address to Jungkook’s new house.

You sigh and mentally prepare yourself, ‘‘ Okay Yn. You can do this. It’s just one night of conversing among people. Who knows, maybe you’ll meet someone new.”

Before heading out you grab your coat and scarf. Clara follows you all the way to the door letting out her little meows once again. You bend down to pet her head lightly with a smile. “ Clara im coming back. I’ve put food in your bowl babygirl.”

She purrs under your touch then walks away to settle herself in her bed. You take one last final look at your decent sized apartment before heading out.

The subway ride was agonizing pain for you due to it being 30 minutes long. Well, at-least you can ride the subway now. Your mind wouldn’t even of thought of that when you were with him. Everybody would have noticed you and bombard you with questions.

The outskirts of Seoul is peaceful and quite. Not many people live over here. Mostly famous actors and idols. The taxi takes a few minutes to get to the fairly clean subway station. Once you’re inside you take a good look at the driver who seems to be eyeing you in suspicion. You pull out your phone and read the words to the address exactly to him. The taxi man pulls of into the empty streets of god knows where.

All it took was a ten minute ride and then you’re there. The taxi man pulls up to a security guard booth. Just beyond the gates is more street but by squinting your eyes you can make out just a few newly built houses.

‘‘ Who are you here to see?” The taxi driver says.

“ Jeon Jungkook.?

The driver talks to the man for a few seconds before you see the security guard pick up a phone and start dialing. The security is extremely uptight, thats good. After a few moments of speaking the security guard finally opens the gates to be let through.

As you pull up to the house you’re automatically mesmerized on how big and beautiful it is. There’s fresh bushes and some white roses growing in the front of it complementing the white modern style home. The roundabout is full of luxurious cars, in which might be all the other guests.

‘‘ 10 dollars’‘ He says. You give him the ten, thank him, and grab your purse, closing the door behind you.

Your eyes meet face to face with the expensive house. Behind you is the tire wheels backing up and running off back down the roundabout. The time on your watch reads 8:15. Only fifteen minutes late, not bad right?

With each step you take fear quivers inside of you. What if he opens the door? What if that girl opens it instead? The wind blows harsh-fully hitting your cheeks making them turn slightly colored. You raise a small, shaky fist to knock on the door. Your blood turning cold, and face turning pale already. Your anxiety already taking its place inside of your body.

The door swings open revealing Ryan smiling from ear to ear. She pulls you inside without even a greeting. You kick your shoes off in a hurry as she pulls you more and more inside. Scanning the area around you, its a nice huge place. First the both of you pass the entrance, then the chef sized kitchen, which then leads you to the spacious living room where everybody seems to be sitting.

All eyes are on you now with some familiar faces and some not. They smile and greet you one by one and you slightly bow your head with a fake smile.

‘‘ Ah Yn, nice to see you again huh.’‘ Hoseok, the smiley one says, getting up from his seat to greet you once more.

‘‘ Nice to see you to Hoseok. Is Chae-Yeon here? I’ve baked the cookies she likes.’’ You say, holding up the big tuba-wear of freshly baked cookies. Nobody can resist those.

‘‘ No she had to work sadly, but I will enjoy them for her.’‘ He chuckles, bringing the tuba-wear out of your dainty, cold hands.

A very familiar voice booms from behind you causing you to turn around. “ Yn! You actually did come!’’ Jungkook, the owner of the voice exclaims. He wipes his hands with a napkin just before pulling you into a hug.You pat his back just before letting go.

Ryan smiles and shakes her head, “ I told you she would come.’’

Only one hour and 30 minutes into the festivities and half of the people here are drunk or nearly there. You on the other hand do not drink at all. Staying sober throughout this whole party is a must. Who knows what would happen if you start drinking and saying things.Ryan seems to be doing good with Jungkook who’s laying on the floor laughing and cracking jokes with her head laying on his stomach giggling along with him. The others have casually invited themselves into the guest game-room to play some pool.

You just sit there on the couch, munching on a cookie and smiling and laughing here and there at one of Seokjin and Jungkook’s back-to-back jokes that seem to never leave the air.

Only for a knock on the door to interrupt their flow of jokes.

‘‘ I got it I got it.” Seokjin stammers, placing a beer bottle down and stumbling towards the door. You freeze, face turning pale once more. It’s them. It could be them. Your teeth find their way to your lips and you begin to chew on it excessively.

Ryan notices it and automatically gets up from Jungkook, ‘‘ Come Yn, lets go see if the game of pool is interesting.’‘

You nod your head slightly as you get up from the couch. What are you worrying for? You look extravagant tonight. No need to worry yourself.

Just before taking your first few steps you stop, that voice. That oh so familiar voice begins to inch closer and closer. The famous laugh that he always tries to stifle by putting his hand over his mouth, that you’ve always thought was so fucking cute, fills the air.

You don’t know what got over you, but you sit back down dragging Ryan down with you. “ Yn? What are you doing I thought you wanted to avoid him.’’

‘’ No it’s okay. Im going to be fine.’‘ You say, awaiting upon his arrival into the room.

The footsteps are haunting you with each step they take.

one..two..three..four..five..si-

‘‘ Everyone, Isabel and Jimin are here.’‘ Seokjin stammers, smiling wide clearly drunk from all the beer consumed.

Your eyes go directly towards his. The pit of your stomach flutters with nervousness as you hold the long stare with him. His facial expression shocked but not showing it at all. His partner, who’s arm is linked with his, smiles brightly at everyone bowing her head slightly to them including you.

‘‘ Sorry we are late. Jimin didn’t want to come out of his home studio but I’ve made him come along with me.’‘ Her voice gentle and soft.

‘‘ Yn I forgot let me show you my new painting i have received.” Jungkook says quickly, trying to escape you from the awkwardness.You can bare it though its not as bad as you thought.

‘‘ Maybe later Kookie. I’m going to grab some juice.” You say, getting up from your spot. You brush past Jimin lightly with Ryan tailing along with you.

The spacious kitchen was perfect for you to escape for just a moment. Silence is golden. Ryan sighs, pouring you and her a glass of juice. Nothing is to be said yet. But you know she really wants to have her input.

Raising the glass to your lips, you take a sip letting the tanginess run across your tongue and down your throat. ‘’ Say it Ryan.’’

She puts her cup down and looks at you with your eyebrows furrowed, ‘’ You aren’t fine. Please just avoid them for the night.’’

You knew it was coming but you have to face the fact that they area couple anyways so why avoid it? Maybe your mind will finally accept it to see it in person.

‘‘ I have to face it one way or another so why not now?’‘

She shakes her head in disapproval, finishing the rest of her juice. “ No you don’t. You’re making yourself suffer and I don’t like it.’’

‘‘ Yn.. did you make these cookies?’‘ A voice says behind you. Ryan’s eyes go wide and then looks at you signaling for you to not turn around. But you do it anyways.

Isabel. How dare she call you by a pet name? You don’t even know her like that and she’s doing this. Anger wants to get the best of you but you remain humble and calm.

‘‘ Yes. Is there a problem though? Are they not good?’‘ You say, putting on your best innocent act.

She smiles as she moves a piece of hair of her perfectly framed face, ‘’ No they are great! I was wondering if i can have the recipe.. for Jimin’s purpose of course.’’

You breathe through your nostrils with your eyes closed. She knows what she’s doing. She likes seeing you suffer huh? ‘’ You can follow any recipe online. I just add almond extract and substitute white sugar for brown.’’

Ryan shakes her head slightly while sticking her cup into the sink. ‘’ I’m going to be back I have to use the restroom.’’

Once she leaves Isabel’s smile drops.’’ Almond? Im- Im allergic!” She says, semi yelling at you. You’re shocked more or so at the sudden outburst that you can’t speak. You had zero knowledge of her being allergic, it’s an accident for sure.

“You did this on purpose!’’ She says, tears filling her eyes as she goes into a coughing fit.

Shit. You didn’t know if anyone was allergic to nuts here but you had put it in anyways because that was the secret ingredient

‘’ I- I didn’t know im sorry is there anything I can do?’’ You say, guilt taking over you while you rush to her side patting her back.

‘‘ Get off of me! You did this on purpose! You never liked me anyways. Jimin! Jimin!‘ She scream’s, coughing and wheezing making her face red.

Multiple footsteps rush into the kitchen. You don’t know what to do at this point so you just back away and let whoever take over. All the commotion going on and yelling is starting to give you a slight headache. All of the boys surround her, bombarding with questions and asking each other what to do.

‘‘ What’s all the yelling about? What happened! “ Jungkook exclaims rushing towards her hunched over body.

‘‘ What’s going on? “ That voice that haunts you everynight finally comes inside the kitchen. When he see’s Isabel he automatically rushes towards her side. It pains you to see him rush to another woman’s body. But that figure is no longer yours so he has every right to do that.

‘‘ She-She put almond in the cookies on purpose! She’s trying to–to-’‘ She manages to wheeze out before another coughing fit.

Jimin’s eyes meet yours full of rage but then taken over by concern. He knows your hurt. Still hurt from the past and from this very situation now. You don’t manage to keep eye contact, so the floor is your eyes’ bestfriend right now.

‘‘ Yn. is this true? Why would you do that?” He says, eyes never leaving yours and voice soft.

You shake your head quickly, “ I didn’t know she was allergic. I always put almond extract an-’’

“ You knew better than to put any type or form of nut in a dish when bringing it to ones house. You never know if someone has an allergy to it.’‘ Jungkook scolds you, eyes furrowed in shame.

‘‘ Don’t blame her. She didn’t fucking know.” Ryan’s voice enters the room in madness. She comes to your side with her arms crossed. Your own personal savior. Without her, you’d still be feeling guilty and taking the blame.

‘‘ Besides, you knew better than to invite him if you knew he was going to bring the girl he cheated on her with.. right?’‘ She says, cocking her head to the side as her attitude takes over.

The room is silent again. Good girl Ryan.

Isabel lifts her head in disbelief along with Jimin. “ Listen that’s beside the point. Just don’t do it again.” Jimin says, focusing his attention back on Isabel. He reaches into her purse to grab her Epi-pen.

His scolding is enough to send your eyes into tears. You shouldn’t of agreed to come. This is a disaster. You take the tuba-wear of cookies from the counter on your way out of the kitchen and dispose of them. Your vision is blurry and you don’t know where your going but you just need some air. You make lefts and rights down long and short hallways till you reach a room that has a balcony.

You slip on who-ever’s house slippers and open the sliding door revealing the winter’s cold harsh air. You lean on the railing and close your eyes breathe in and out heavily.

Wiping the tears away, You open our eyes and look straight ahead. The whole city is lit up such a beautiful view for a sad moment. The sad moment is cut short by the sliding door opening and closing. You don’t bother to turn around it’s probably just Ryan checking on you again. When are people going to stop doing that?

“ Yn.”

Thats the last voice you wanted to hear.

‘‘ Are you happy? Happy for scolding me infront of everybody.” You sniffle, wiping away your leaking nose.

You hear some rustling before something is placed on your shoulders. You look down at the material and shrug it off of you.

‘‘ Give it to your girlfriend.”

‘‘ I can’t let you be cold. Put it back on.’‘ He sighs, picking it back up and coming closer to you. You both stand side by side. Jimin puts his jacket around you once more and before you could re-do your action just before, he speaks.

‘‘ Shrug it off again and I’ll scold you. Do you understand?’‘ He says firmly.

You don’t bother to speak. Silence is golden.

‘‘ Listen.. i know you still aren’t over the fact that we are through but-”

‘‘ Shut up. I don’t want to hear it. Please go tend to your dying girlfriend.’‘ You say, sarcastically.

He huffs, “ She’s resting right now. She wouldn’t have to be if you wouldn’t of put-’’

You turn towards him slowly and meet his eyes daring for him to finish the rest of his sentence. ‘’ Don’t you fucking dare Park Jimin.’’

‘‘ Honorifics.’‘ He says, slightly looking down at you due to the height difference.

‘‘ You’re right Jimin-ssi.’‘

Jimin’s expression is taken a-back. You knew that one honorific word would hurt him.

‘‘ If we are done speaking I will take my leave now.” You say, eyes never leaving his as you take off his jacket and toss it to him, leaving him outside in the cold

This night was one of your worst mistakes. You thought you could handle it, but couldn’t. So maybe Ryan and Jungkook were right. Maybe you can’t handle it at all..

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aloeboba · 3 years ago

Text

SO, brain said todoroki working the night shift at a cvs during the summer or something and I think this has already been done, actually (but i don’t remember it so i’m not plagiarizing).

But the absolute chaos that could string from this whole thing. He’s probably a cashier.

First off, he would be so done with this thing.

Like the weirdos who come into gas stations at 3 am are the people he has to deal with

So we have one sleep deprived todo and like 30 sketchy customers with issues

“no ma’am, the coupon isn’t valid. in fact it’s been expired since 2008″

“no sir, i can only scan one coupon per purchase, per customer”

He probably has so many of those interactions that he does, in fact, take multiple coupons at once and expired extra bucks.

Although, when its much to late for our icyhot boy, he probably messes with people on purpose just because he’s bored and too delusional to act like a sane person.

*scans card* “it won’t go through” “oh well try again” “*scans card and it goes through* it won’t go through”

*scanning a pill bottle* “you know, I heard the yakuza was using this as a front for their quirk enhancers, didn’t end well though. Turned people into giant mosquitoes. You should have seen it. Couldn’t eave my house for a month.”

Someone: *grabbing a container of ice cream*

Todo: i heard there was a lawsuit against them. something about smuggling drugs through that exact flavor. Hid it in the caramel chunks.”

If he has to suffer so do they

He also gossips with the older women.

Todoroki is the kind of guy to probably actively flirt with the manager or boss or something to get on their good side or just to get a 50 cent raise

Upgrade: he cannot flirt that well. it’s probably confusing with mixed in Spanish words (?) but the manager finds his efforts cute and somehow flattering.

He definetly bumps into a poorly disguised dabi at some point at 4 am buying cheap hair dye

Todoroki: *eye contact*

Dabi: *nervous eye contact*

Todoroki: ...

Dabi: ...

Todoroki: that’ll be 10 dollars

Dabi: but it says 6

Todoroki: its 10 dollars

*staring continues*

Dabi, who doesn’t want to make a scene: FiNe *digging around in his pocket*

The manager doesn’t tell him that they hired a new night shift shelve stalker so when he hears rustling and footsteps, he just assumes its a big rat or smth

No not a big rat

A human??

Oh uraraka

At first its kind of awkward (especially because todo got so tired of the noise he came at her with a broom and lysol; it did not end well) so they just kind of acknowledge the fact that they know each by staring at each other for minutes at a time, even when he’s checking someone out

They finally decide to talk to each other and its only chaos from there.

They race each other in baskets through the isles and replace labels on shampoo bottles

They probably sniff the perfume behind the counter and rate the smells (once todoroki stole a sample), doing bad french accents and huffing them like they were wine (that didn’t end well though because they both needed sinus medicine afterwards)

Todoroki, doing a bad french accent: ah yes, stronk, woodsy, cheap...

Uraraka: mm-hm, airy and floral, just like the fabreeze I keep in my room

Todo: this one is, yes, yes... balsomic... vinegar that is. what is this?

Uraraka: mm, bubbly and familiar. ah right, like non-toxic scented glue.

Todo: this one is-- *coughing* the worst. I do not recommend this scent, Uraraka.

They were once caught by a someone and todo gave him a dollar to keep his mouth shut

Uraraka and todoroki end up bonding or whatever in the form of pranks and chaos and end up growing closer than they thought they would

They look forward to seeing each other

What i’m trying to say here is this is romance

Todochako fam

Like right now they’re in between dating and best friends (whatever you wanna call that. Will and Grace, maybe?)

Mitsuki goes on a late night run one night and probably recognizes him as katsuki’s classmate and surprised to see him working as cashier like “dont your daddy got money??”

“yes ma’am but i despise him”

She probably goes on a rant abt katsuki and work and he just nods along and throws in a few comments about his job or whatever

“you know, you seem like a nice boy, todoroki-kun. I wouldn’t mind if you dated my son”.

“no offense, mrs. bakugou, but i would punch him.”

They become fast friends

She invites him over sometimes, at some point meets uraraka and loves her also

unfortunatly i have no more to write because i can’t think of anything else but this was fun actually :D I think this is a really fun idea so i might (or if someone else wants to) write a fic about this but idk bc i’m what the kids call “unmotivated most days” so use what you want with these.

(also, i’ve never worked at a cvs before so idk if this is accurate)

edit: i was lowkey brain dead from working on a computer all day when i wrote most of this so honestly i have no clue whats going rereading it so i apologize for the literal weirdness and parts that make no sense so i make edit it later :\

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corpsentry · 4 years ago

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january: an art retrospective

i did some stuff last month (but it’s a lot of stuff and there’s a photodump + some Serious Fucking Reflection, so it’s all below the cut)

so ok, let’s start with this. here are some heads. each head has a red arrow. that red arrow is what i call the red line of the devil. it’s the slope of the face from the side of the eye to the cheekbone and then down towards the chin. up until like 2 weeks ago, i couldn’t draw it. i couldn’t fucking draw it. i would edit over that part of the face over and over again until i was frustrated and tired and i had a raging homosexual headache and it still never looked right. notice that each head is different. notice that each head looks wrong.

at the start of 2021 i finally admitted to myself, as per the image above, that i was deeply, deeply unhappy with my art. what was the problem? i dunno. but i decided i was going to fix it and i was going to do so via another one scribble a day event wherein for every day of january i would find a photo of a human head, and i would draw it.

january 1st, 2021. i was embarrassed to tweet this even on my private account where like 5 friends and a rock would see it. in retrospect, you can also see all of my bad habits emerging like dicks from a hole in the ground. it’s disproportionate. the brows look flat. the eyes are slanting upwards. the entire drawing looks flat, like this isn’t a 3d person but a caricature of one.

january 2nd, 3rd, 4th:

on the 2nd i decided to start a separate thread for doodles and applied learning. here’s the first set of tests

the rest of the week is kind of uneventful so we’re going to skip those. fast forward to january 11th

this one is especially bad. i am acutely aware, suddenly, that i am not changing anything at all. i’m stressed and miserable about it because i’m still trying to see people as people and trying to draw people that look attractive and proportionate and hot. my friend, leny, reminds me that i need to think about faces in terms of planes. i have a moment. my other friend masha sends me some links to anatomy tutorials. i have another moment.

january 11th. applied sketch

january 13th is when i start the troubleshooting process. the link above drives me mad because i’m pretty happy with the face but then i realize that there’s something very fucking wrong with the shape of the head LOL and then i realize that i’ve never had any idea what the proportion of the face to the rest of the skull is so i grit my teeth and i open a new canvas and i

bald studies. it seemed like the right thing to do. can’t draw heads? ok draw some heads. look at some photographs. i traced each photo but tried to stick to straight lines so that i could replicate the shapes more easily. i broke each face down into shapes. i thought about airplanes

i got really excited. i started doing studies, then applied studies, then stylized studies.

sketches. i’m not sure what’s going on (as always) and it’s very rough, but they look different from the sketches i did on january 2nd. that’s a start

january 16th’s daily study. looks more like a person now. juuuuuust a bit

more applied studies

on the 18th i take a break and go stare at some lips because i don’t understand how the fuck they work. again, i focus on shapes, on volume, on the fact that these things exist in 3d. holy fuck lips exist in 3d. holy fuck we are real

january 19th. i’m working on it.

january 22nd. some sketches + a daily study. it has finally occurred to me that heads can tilt up and down and that things look different accordingly. yes i was not aware of this before. yes i have been drawing for over a decade.

january 23rd. by this point after doing my daily sketch i almost always go back and do an applied study which is basically to say i drew a lot of fucking links. this one looks kind of okay. i’m kind of proud

january 25th. links. trying to make sense of everything i’ve learned

26th, 27th, 28th. daily studies

january 1st. january 31st

The End Of The Photo Dump (dab)

ok NOW i get to talk about what i discovered while studying the shit out of human beings

FIRST OF ALL, there is something precious and magical about drawing shit without the explicit knowledge that you’re going to tweet that shit out to 45 people later. it takes the burden of perception off your shoulders and that does something to you, or at least that’s my theory. i told myself i wouldn’t post any of this stuff until the end of the month (if i wanted to post it at all) and kept everything off my public social media accounts and that meant i could draw ugly as hell without worrying about who would point and laugh, which i absolutely fucking did. a lot of these are fucking trainwrecks. most of these are fucking trainwrecks. why do they look like that?? why??? this doesn’t look like the work of someone who’s allegedly been drawing since they were in kindergarten, does it?????

here’s why: because that person took a huge motherfucking swing at everything they’d ever known about art and spent a month building something new in its place. the abstract explanation is that i grew up on shoujo and weird old anime and my understanding of anatomy was unironically kamichama karin and while i love kamichama karin, when kamichama karin is your rule even if you try to break it, you’re going to end up going nowhere. “you have to know the rules to break them”, yeah? well i didn’t know shit. the abstract explanation is i’ve been miserable about my art for a few years now because i saw other people doing things effortlessly which i couldn’t and instead of going back to the basics, i tried to do what they did (not plagiarism, mind you, i mean i literally tried to copy the red line of the devil i mentioned above because i couldn’t even make that happen) and then i fucking failed.

the simple explanation is this. i had to unlearn everything, and relearn it again (like some kind of new renaissance clown, what the fuck is this?)

take this for example. all my life i’ve drawn faces in the order: eyes, nose, mouth, face shape, head. this works for some people, im aware, but it was something central to how i had always drawn, so i decentralized it. i said fuck you to the old me and changed the order up. now i start with the nose, then the eyes, mouth, the chin line, and the sides of the face. now i force myself to think about the human head as a series of parts interacting with each other instead of a bunch of disparate features which i want to look pretty.

or let’s use this zelda from last year. something about this looked wrong last october, the way something about all of my drawings looked wrong, but i couldn’t pinpoint it for hell the way i couldn’t articulate Any of my feelings about the visual arts. now, looking back, here’s what i see. that nose is sticking out far too much given how she’s not really facing very far away from the camera. that ear at the back shouldn’t be there. her forehead is too big. she doesn’t have a forehead. what the fuck is up with the shape of her head?

so apparently reject modernity embrace tradition has its roots in alt-right terminology and i’m not very horny for the alt-right (you understand), but the spirit survives here. you know sometimes you have to admit that you have no idea what the fuck you’re doing and draw people for 31 days. i’ve spent my whole life drawing stylized people and while again there are artists who have no issue with this, i veered off the track of the Good and the Holy and couldn’t get back on. i had no point of reference because i’d never thought about what an actual human being looks like, so i had no way to fix what i knew in my gut looked wrong but wouldn’t come out better.

this was hard. this was like oikawa tooru swallowing his worthless pride and admitting that ushijima wakatoshi had gotten the best of him for the last time in his high school career, but in haikyuu!! by furudate haruichi oikawa tooru fucks off to argentina and then joins the argentinean national team, and you know what, i think i’ve made it to argentina (not the team just the country). as per the golden rule of dont fucking move until you’re at least two thirds of the way through the month, i only started trying to draw Shit shit on like the 22nd or something, but i was happy with that i created. i am happy with what i’ve done. i’ve posted like 2 things this month that involve people with what i now call ~applied Knowledge~~ and they’re, like, not perfect obviously (perfection is an unattainable ideal), but i’m fucking proud of them. i didn’t spend 5 hours hunched over my laptop adjusting the red line of the devil because it’s not a devil’s line anymore. because i finally sorta get how people work. because i sat down and i said ‘we are not going to fuck with this misery shit anymore’ and then i did that. it’s just a line now.

here are 2 collages tracking my painstakingly carved out progress from january 2nd to february 2nd because i’m a slut for collages

and here’s what i’ve done to my art! the same person drew these but also Not Really! you know! for the first time in a year i don’t immediately hate what i’ve drawn. you know what guys? art is fucking fun. zelda’s forehead doesn’t scare me anymore because i know how foreheads fucking work now, and i don’t know everything, and i’m going to keep troubleshooting stuff as i go (i want to draw a skeleton. like a. i want to draw a goddamn skeleton guys) but i’m honestly and genuinely proud of what i’ve done in the span of a month, and i’m also in disbelief. i started this month-long challenge out as a last ditch effort to make peace with my art because i’ve been tired for a long time and i was ready to kick the bucket on drawing people altogether. i didn’t think anything would happen. nothing’s happened for years. i’ve been miserable for years.

this was the caption for january 1st, 2021. i was super, super fucking embarrassed and it looks like super fucking shit, but you know what, i think i did in fact triumph over the bullshit. surprisingly enough, when you put in consistent effort into something, You Will See Results. didn’t see that coming, did you? i know i didn’t.

this isn’t a success story. it’s a happiness story. i never gave a shit damn about the institute of art or whatever, i was just mad at myself because what i saw in my head didn’t match up with what was on the canvas. and now it’s getting better. now i’m calibrating the compass. now drawing not just backgrounds but also people is exciting to me, and i can stick my links in your face and tell you ‘they hot’. i’m going to keep doing that. i’m going to keep going until i drop off the side of the earth and then spiral towards mars like some kind of fairy, and then i’m going to create something beautiful.

thanks for reading. here’s a pr department link for sticking around until the end

#my stuff

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shotorozu · 4 years ago

Note

Can I get some timeskip kenma who has a wife and toddler daughter spending Christmas with each other please 🥺

sure thing anon! (though i wasn’t sure if you wanted a headcanon format, or a fic format— so i did both)

—

timeskip! kenma spending time with his wife and toddler daughter

fic type : headcanons + small scenario (domestic, fluff)

legend : [Y/N = your name] f! reader.

　　　　　　　˚✧₊⁎❝᷀ົཽ≀❝᷀ົཽ⁎⁺˳✧༚

kozume kenma

okay, i don’t really see kenma as someone that would want children, or marriage (it kinda scares him)

that is, until you came along into his life

and that’s how you guys are married, years later.

then suddenly, you become pregnant— and you give birth to the prettiest baby he has seen

kenma lowkey thought babies were ugly, im not gonna cap

he was worried at first, since the fathering thing was so odd to him.

but she has his eyes, but over all— she looks like you (and acts like you)

(lowkey a doting father.)

at first it was kind of chaotic, since he tried teaching her how to play games

which you told him not to, she’s literally a year old

if you ever get tired, he’ll have your daughter on his lap while you take a nice nap

kenma is a hard worker (time skip) so you don’t really see him as often as you should these days

but this is him working hard for the sake for you and the precious daughter you guys created.

the day before christmas— he’s finishing work up early, so he can spend the rest of the day with you and your daughter.

he also planned his gift weeks before

also shocks all of his coworkers

they forget he has a wife and child tbh

on christmas day, he dressed up his daughter in the FINEST fit

and he even learned how to style her hair 👁👁

you guys go to kfc, get take out (since kenma prefers eating at home)

and your daughter is like ‘can we get cake pls 🥺’

and you’re like— no, you’ll get an upset stomach (though you secretly want cake)

but kenma is like,, already holding the box of cake. “i already bought the cake though..”

anything for your happy daughter, am i right? and if she’s happy— you and kenma are happy.

note : it’s tradition to eat kfc and cake on christmas

scenario

you guys are finishing up the chores, as you clean up the leftover food. kenma is nowhere to be seen, as he disappeared somewhere into the house

leaving your daughter with you. you honestly don’t know where kenma is, and if he’s doing work.

so now you’re putting your daughter in bed, not because it’s time to sleep (it’s literally christmas) but it’s so that she could get some presents from ‘santa’

but when you open the door to leave, you’re surprised to see kenma holding a big box— wrapped in christmas wrapping, presumably your daughter’s gift.

“ken—”

“shh.. i know you bought a present already, but she really wanted this y’know?” he shushes you, the gift shuffling slightly when he moves.

your daughter sits on your bed, unaware of the current conversation— but you can practically see her cat like eyes glittering from where you’re standing.

you sigh happily, “thanks ken. for spending christmas with us.”

kenma furrows his eyebrows, looking away— his cheeks are still red, similar to the old highschool days. “i mean.. why wouldn’t i? i love the both of you, even if i’m always busy.”

“i know that, kenma.” you smile, kissing him briefly on the lips, “c’mon santa, let’s go.” you say— tugging him with you, as you go to find the gifts placed under the glowing christmas tree.

kenma lowkey wonders when your daughter will realize santa doesn’t exist, but he won’t break it to her

≿————-　❈　————-≾

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading!

i do not own haikyuu and it’s characters. haikyuu belongs to furudate haruichi, i only own the writing

do not plagiarize my work :)

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu imagines #kozume kenma x reader #kenma x reader #kozume x reader #kenma imagines #kozume imagines #timeskip! kenma #haikyuu fluff #hq fluff #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu fanfiction

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nyx-aira · 3 years ago

Text

Howling Halloween

Requested by anon

Summary: You and Wanda reminisce on last year's Halloween party

A/N: honestly not a big fan of parties myself, small ones are okay though

PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of these works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me first and b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

PSA c/@ynscrazylife

You were standing in a somewhat less crowded corner when you felt someone tipping you on your shoulder.

You turned around to see Wanda smiling at you. The witch was dressed as a vampire and was holding two cups in her hand.

Her cloak was floating around her and you were pretty sure she was using some magic for her costume but you still loved it nonetheless.

Magic costumes were the best anyway. While Loki was dressed as Jessica Rabbit in their female form, Agatha was dress up as a zombie and had given you a giant scare when you saw her for the first time.

Taking the offered cup you made some space for her and looked over the crowded room that was the Avengers Halloween party. Every year there was a giant party with lots of people, music and alcohol. Tony loved to go overboard and it showed.

"How's the party so far?" She yelled over the loud music, even then you could barely hear her.

She had arrived later than the other guests because she had promised Peter to go trick or treating with him, a tradition they had ever since they met each other a couple years back.

"It's Tony's party, what do you think?" You yelled back and laughed at the expression that appeared on her face. You all had a very distinct memory of last years party.

It had been Tony's oh so great idea to built the buffet out of real meat. REAL MEAT. How he thought this was gonna end well, no one knew. What none of you had expected for sure though, was for a pack of mutated werewolves to show up and join the feast.

Luckily all guests were fighters in one way or another so the situation was dealt with swiftly but most of you still ended up in the ER that night, nothing serious but also not the way you had wanted to spent Halloween.

Speaking of the great party planner, who was currently having a chugging contest with Thor and Clint. You didn't know, and frankly didn't want to know, what they were drinking but it was neon green so when someone asked you to join, you made a fast exit.

The hallway was less crowded and so you joined Yelena and Nat who were playing cards on the floor, dressed as skeletons and already tired of the party they made room for you to join them.

You all loved a good party but you weren't keen on getting mauled by werewolves again so you spent the night playing cards and eating candy.

Definitely more enjoyable than last year.

-----

Taglist: @escapetodreamworld @midnight-lestrange @ynscrazylife @sokovianheadtilt @procrastinatingsapphictrash @ineffablebean @official-clint-barton @wlwlovesreading @sapphic-stress @lostandsearching

#mcu #marvel #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff & reader #halloween #trick or treat

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inkofamethyst · 2 years ago

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September 22, 2022

Please somebody stop me I’m watching day-in-the-life videos from PhD students. I ain’t even contacted nobody yet; I ain’t even graduated.

I actually have contacted a person!!! I’m incredibly nervous about this conversation we’re going to have because I don’t know what to expect from it!!! I mean the good thing is I know her already but this interaction is far more loaded than any previous ones, she’s basically looking to see if I’m hirable. After this first one, I expect that I’ll be able to start rattling off emails left and right, I just need to push myself through this anxious block.

Pros of having four-class-days:

your one-class-days are full rest/work days

Cons of having four-class-days:

it is legitimately difficult to maintain focus by the time 3p rolls around

too tired to do anything after classes

somewhat difficult to schedule meetings

high chance of having 2+ exams on one day (ahem, next thursday)

Pros of making a full box of pasta:

don’t have to make dinner for six days straight

super filling

toppings can be anything

Cons of making a full box of pasta:

minimal variety in one week

difficult to cook on student housing stove with small burners

takes up a ton of room in a fridge shared by four people

Today I’m thankful that my ecoanth class is forcing me to write a grant proposal for a grant that I plan to apply for and that I don’t have to write the grant on ecoanth but can do ~anything I want~ and that my prof for the class actually won the grant and is willing to coach us through it if we want :D That class bores me out of my mind sometimes (these theory classes are interesting to some extent but honestly I would almost feel comfortable skipping and that’s saying something coming from me, I have never missed a class (perfect attendance is, for better or worse, bound into my personality)) but this is definitely an unexpected plus. Unfortunately the grant is the final project for the class. Fortunately the actual one is due in a month(!!!!) so as long as I save copies of my drafts as I go along, I won’t need to put too much effort into the versions I have to turn in for class. Work smarter, not harder. And don’t even mention self-plagiarism to me, I think it applies practically in very few cases (academia is one of them but like, I’m an undergrad and who cares). [edit, 1 month later: yeahhh I did not submit the application to that grant lol]

I’m also thankful for the little in-class participatory exercise my dev bio prof did today!!! I made me feel like I was in elementary school, everyone (who showed up) was given a card with a role on it related to what we’ve been learning and we had to act out our role in the cell and it was just really cute (and also clarified some stuff tbh).

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blazinbeautywrites · 4 years ago

Text

Quiet

Note: Due to the rampant uprising of plagiarism on this site and others I am stating once and once only that this is my ORIGINAL work. If I find out that you have stolen/taken any part of my work I will handle you and the situation the way I see fit.

None of the pics or gifs I use belong to me so full credit goes to the originators of said gifs and pics.

Length: 1,528 words

Genre: Smut

A/N: I missed my mans Christian and he been looking delicious in his recent releases and appearances and now I feel some type of way.

Luxe wanted to be anywhere but at this dumbass party her parents decided to throw in her honor. They were celebrating the fact that she finished medical school and was now a doctor. She thought it was all unnecessary. While everyone was mingling she snuck off and was enjoying herself in her parents back garden when she heard someone clear their throat. She smiled as she immediately knew who it was.

“Christian.” She said as she went to hug him.

“Luxe Morgan Johnson. My my have you grown.” Christian replied.

“Oh my god. I see you’re still a huge flirt.” She said.

“Only for you baby girl.” He retorted.

“Ew gross. How did you even find me out here?” She asked.

“I know you too well. Plus you’ve always said this was your favorite place to relax, especially when your parents annoyed you.” Christian said as he took a seat next to her on freshly mowed grass.

“I missed you, you know. I don’t know if your mom told you, but I came looking for you that summer after I graduated from college. She said you were long gone. What happened?” Luxe asked.

“Honestly? Nothing bad I just…...I had to get out of this town. My dad was on me to take over the firm, my mom wanted me to apply myself more in school. I had enough so I just left.” Christian replied.

“You should have called me. I would have been there for you.” Luxe said. She was a little hurt that her best friend had kept this from her but she figured he had his reasons so she dropped the issue.

“I know I know but that’s in the past. But anyways your dad sent me out here to get you because dinner is being served in a few minutes.” Christian said. He stood up and held out his hand to pull her up. Luxe dusted off her clothes and headed inside with Christian. She walked in just as the servers started to bring out appetizers. As she took her seat she looked at all of the relatives and family friends and wanted to throw up. She vaguely remembered most of these people looking down upon her and her parents as they struggled to succeed. Now look at them, all gathered around her parent’s luxurious dining table ready to eat thousands of dollars worth of food. She shook those thoughts out of her head as Christian took a seat next to her. Once everyone was settled her dad lightly tapped his fork against his champagne glass and Luxe was not looking forward to whatever speech he was about to give.

“I just want to say that I’m so glad you all could make it. I am so proud of my baby girl and all that she’s achieved. TO LUXE!” Her dad cheered, the guests following his lead. One by one the guests gave speeches but Luxe and Christian were in their own little world.

“I’m sorry but this shit is boring. I need some entertainment.” Christian whispered to Luxe. Feeling his hot breath on her neck made her tingle. She shifted in her seat and Christian noticed. He smirked to himself and placed his left arm on his lap. He made sure no one was looking and slowly slipped his hand to the inside of her thighs. Luxe inhaled a sharp breath and tried her best to relax but how could she when her best friend’s hand was under her skirt. She composed herself and continued to listen to the speeches as Christian’s fingers ghosted over her lacy underwear. Thankfully the last person had just finished giving their speech and everyone was now free to eat. Luxe could still feel his hand between her legs as he lightly rubbed her through her underwear, making it extremely hard for her to eat her food.

“Ummm, I have to freshen up. Those speeches really moved me. Be right back.” Luxe quickly got up and made a beeline for their guest bathroom that was right off the dining area. She leaned over the sink and tried to calm her nerves. After about a couple minutes, she heard the door open and when she looked in the mirror she saw Christian standing behind her.

“You good?” Christian asked.

“You know damn well I’m not. What the hell was that?” Luxe asked.

“You seemed a little tense, I was just trying to help you. Plus like I said, I was bored and needed some entertainment.

“So your form of entertainment is fingering girls underneath the table in a room full of people? She asked.

“I mean I couldn’t bend you over the table so under the table was the next best thing.” He replied. He bit his lip and stared her down. Luxe kept up the eye contact, almost challenging him.

“So why are you in here? Did my dad send you to find me again?” Luxe asked.

“Does is matter why I’m here? Plus, I’ve been wanting to kiss you since I saw you sitting in the garden.” Christian said. Wasting no time Luxe pulled him in for a deep, passionate kiss when he suddenly pulled away. She was taken aback and got worried.

“What’s wrong? You okay?” She asked.

“Nah I’m good, it’s just…….that’s not where I wanted to kiss you.” He said as he slid to his knees. Once at eye level with her heat he pulled her skirt down and watched as it fell to her feet. He ran a finger up her soaked underwear and she let out a moan that was music to Christian’s ears. He stared at her as he moved her underwear to the side. He licked a long stripe up her slick folds and she visibly shuddered.

“I-I need more. Fuck I need more.” Luxe moaned out. Christian was more than happy to oblige. He immediately dug in. He began eating her like she was his last meal. Luxe lost her balance and he swung her leg over his shoulder. She grabbed a hold of his raven locks and tried to steady herself some more. Her other hand held onto the wall and she was losing her grip.

“Mmmm you taste so damn good. Bend over for me.” Christin demanded. Luxe obeyed and turned around and when she looked in the mirror she became even more aroused. Especially the way he was looking at her. He pushed her forwards, bending her over the counter in the bathroom. He gave a sharp slap on the ass and inserted 2 fingers inside of her.

“Fuckfuckfuuuuuck.” Luxe moaned.

“Like I said before, I need you to be quiet.” He spoke the last part in her ear, making her shiver. He moved his fingers, massaging her insides. This drove her insane.

“Oh shit. Just like that baby oh my god.” She breathed out as he fingered her at a vigorous pace.

“You take my fingers so well baby girl. God I can’t wait to be inside that tight little pussy.” Christian said. He pulled her up by her throat and kissed her as his fingers continued their assault on her already sensitive pussy. She could taste herself on his lips and it took all her self control not to drop to her knees and suck his dick dry.

“I’m about to come, shit I’m about to come.” Luxe cried out. Her legs gave out and she came hard. Christian didn’t stop and continued fingering her.

“Come on you can take one more, can’t you?” He teased. Luxe clung onto his jacket as he guided her through another orgasm. She was spent and had no idea how she was going to go sit at a table full of family and friends and pretend she wasn’t a soaking wet mess. Once she’d calmed down a bit she turned back around and took his fingers and licked them clean.

“Mmmmmm. Tasty.” She said as she made eye contact when she was done. Christian’s pants felt tighter as he was rock hard. Oh he was gonna fuck the shit out of her as soon as he gets the chance. He washed his hands and helped her pull herself back together and they made their way back to the dining room.

“Ah there she is. Honey are you okay? You look a little flustered.” Luxe’s mom said.

“Yeah she’s okay. Just a little emotional that’s all. But everything is fine now.” He said. Luxe and Christian exchanged knowing looks as he pulled her chair out for her.

“Wow. Lying to my parents? Good move.” Luxe teased.

“Well I damn sure can’t tell them that I made their daughter cum twice in the span of 10 minutes.” He replied.

“You're in for a ride of your life sweetie. I plan on getting you back later on.” Luxe said as she took a sip from her wine glass.

“Oh is that a threat?” He asked.

“It’s a promise.” She replied. They clinked their glasses together and shared a look of anticipation. Both knew that their night was far from over and they were excited to explore this new side of their relationship.

#christian yu #dpr ian #khh #kr&b #christian yu scenarios #dpr ian scenarios #khh scenarios #kr&b scenarios

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 4 years ago

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Something Held | Feeding Habits Update #8

Hi all!

Not me not realizing it’s been 3 months since I posted a Feeding Habits update hahahahahaha. Today let’s chat chapter nine, SOMETHING HELD. This also marks the last chapter in Harrison’s POV so prepare to say goodbye to this icon! TW: body horror, mental illness, trauma

Just a reminder: This is my original work and plagiarism of any form will not be tolerated.

Scene outline, excerpts & a little reflection on making difficult decisions that my not particularly benefit the book but benefit you as the writer under the cut because this update is GIGANTIC.

General taglist (please ask to be added or removed):

@if-one-of-us-falls, @qatarcookie, @chloeswords, @alicewestwater, @laughtracksonata, @shylawrites, @ev–writes, @jaydewritesfiction, @jennawritesstories @eowynandfaramir, @august-iswriting, @aetherwrites

Scene Breakdown

Scene A:

It has been two weeks since Lonan found Harrison at his shared apartment with Suzanna and things are getting strange. Lonan and Suz are getting closer, Harrison is getting more distant and slowly losing it. One morning, Harrison wakes hearing Lonan and Suz’s laughter, and crawls to the kitchen to investigate. When he reaches them, Suz is evening out Lonan’s hacked haircut and they’re both sobbing.

Scene B:

Shortly after this bizarre encounter, Suzanna steps out of the apartment for a breather because her son is sort of terrifying her! So Lonan and Harrison double-team to clean up Lonan’s hair shavings. Harrison begins eating the hair while Lonan stares and they have a conversation about the state of their friendship.

Scene Ba:

This scene is gross and confusing! More hair is ingested. My god.

Scene Bb:

After the above ordeal, both boys rinse off because they’ve been rolling?? around?? in??? hair?? but also?? things don’t stop being a little gross

Scene C:

An air of calm finally settles over the apartment. Lonan brews earl grey tea for him and Harrison to share and Harrison asks if he abandoned Lonan in the final chapter of Moth Work. Lonan doesn’t really answer this question so Harrison continues on his confused, but finally lucid (one-sided) conversation, admitting he understands he burdens his mother, who still has not returned. They circle back to the question of abandonment and Lonan answers Harrison the way he wants to be answered (yes), and this is a moment of freeing, where he feels some sort of responsibility in this irresponsible new life he’s led in NYC. They sort of agree to be friends again.

Scene D:

The boys head into the city to find Suzanna, heading to a bakery near the Hudson River. Lonan drives in his used car, a strange experience since Harrison has not seen him drive in years. Taking the opportunity, he searches through the car and finds a map in the glove compartment. The map is erratically scribbled over and it takes him to moment to realize this is Lonan’s map and the first indication that Lonan, who he has assumed is this stable, perfect person, is not as unscathed as he seems.

The boys pass the waterfront and Lonan nearly crashes the car into an oncoming truck. Harrison regains control of the vehicle tucking them into a side street. Shaken, Lonan apologizes for the mess he’s created both physically from his nosebleed and between Harrison and his mother, which gets Harrison a little antsy because he doesn’t like the suggestion that he’s going to leave. Lonan clarifies, stating he won’t if that’s what Harrison wants.

Scene E:

Later, everyone is back at home and Harrison wakes up to a Lonan-less bed. He gets up to investigate the strange dripping coming from the bathroom and opens the door to find Lonan precariously teetering over a sink filled with water. Harrison, concerned, moves him away and tries to ask why Lonan is presumably going underwater, but doesn’t push. They both stand on opposite sides of the bathroom until the sun rises.

My process:

Honestly, writing this chapter was a huge up and down. The first half of it came much easier to me, but the rest was a literal hellfire to get through. I think I was incredibly fatigued with writing in Harrison’s POV as I’d been writing it since June (I finished this chapter in either December or January). This book has been a pain in the ass to write despite me liking what it is, and I really think it being the only place I’ve physically “gone” since the pandemic makes it even harder to write. I felt claustrophobic in Harrison’s POV since I’ve been writing it for half a year, and in a lil ~breakdown~ my beautiful sister reminded me of something she’d previously told me, “it's not about what works, it's about what you want”.

Let’s chat about this for a sec! I think I was watching a Harmony Nice video on her “hard-to-swallow” self-care, and she basically outline (I’m paraphrasing here) that it’s critical we care for ourselves in ways that might not necessarily be easy to do. Honestly, leaving Harrison’s POV is one of those hard-to-swallow self-care things I literally had to do because my mental health was not happy with me! Y’all know my boys are very close to me, and I’m not picking favourites but Lonan is 2500 times easier for me to write with at the moment. I think Harrison’s situation and how he deals with it is much too similar to mine but in a way that is difficult to place (Lonan and I are unfortunately similar but in a way that is easier for me to understand about myself!). From the beginning of writing his POV I’ve been in Struggleville, but kept pushing through hoping the next chapter would be “the one”. Not to burst my own bubble but there is no such thing in the state of mind I was in! I was pushing myself to find something that doesn’t exist because my brain was really not equipped to do what I needed it to do. I really, really did not want to quit on Harrison’s POV, but I had to, not because I don’t like him (he’s my baby) but because I needed a moment to myself. I felt way too seen in ways I don’t really know how to address in myself, so writing him was horribly frustrating at all times (my fault, not his).

My characters really do live in my head rent-free lol. They live in there! They take up space! They take up energy! They take up concentration, and resources I need for myself! Empathy is so integral to my process, that I give a little part of myself in everything I write. This is a blessing because I really get to dig my heels into the mind of another person, but a curse because I’m not a machine (and sometimes I forget that). It is a lot of emotional energy and labour to give everything you have to fictional people. I don’t think an artist needs to be tortured to create good art (this is not it!) but I never truly practiced this well? In my attempt to be empathetic, I was torturing myself a little bit, not going to lie!

So to combat this, I decided I needed a change. Hence, this chapter is imperfect and probably needs some stuff added to it, and while I’ve only written little of Lonan’s second POV, I’m feeling a lot better! It’s nice to get “outside” in a different place lmao this is so sad (pandemic writing things).

Excerpts:

I wrote the beginning of this in a livestream I hosted on my YouTube channel! There’s also a shoutout here to my dragon tree Lisa <3 miss u boo

Two weeks go by. Lonan sleeps on the couch. Harrison wakes up at dawn—no earlier, no later. Suzanna buys a plant: a Madagascar dragon tree she names Lisa. June grows into the collar. Lonan plays sudoku in the newspaper. Harrison learns to bake focaccia, gluten-free, whole wheat. Suzanna learns to palm read, tells Lonan he’s experienced great betrayal (they stop the reading immediately; Lonan goes back to the newspapers). Harrison begins burning incense at sunrise—frankincense. The dragon tree nearly dies (Lonan saves it). It rains every weekday that contains the letter T. Lonan shifts stacks of soggy newspapers onto the breakfast table, answers crosswords with the help of Suzanna (four across, nine letters, Something held). Harrison burns a baguette. Suzanna buys a hanging basket of pothos. The power goes out for two days and the icebox floods the kitchen tile (Lonan mops it with old newspapers, the ink running like jellyfish). June barks for the first time. Harrison eats a bundle of dried bay leaves. Suzanna waters the plants with rainwater, icewater, wrung into a coffee tin. Harrison leaves the stove on while sautéing shallots (he eats them whole). Lonan wakes up feverish and fills out four newspaper crosswords, then falls asleep on the coffee table. Suzanna moulds panna cotta in coffee mugs and shares the batch with Lonan when they won’t tip out. Lonan teaches her how to propagate the pothos and soon they have twenty empty cans of cuttings poking from the windowsills. They rearrange the furniture, the couch facing the kitchen instead of the TV, the dining table right outside the bathroom, then put it all back the next day. They birdwatch from the tiny window with binoculars and a magnifying glass. They sort coupons. Whittle soaps. Watch Norwegian films without the subtitles. Discuss cliff diving. Make matching anklets (blue beads, elastic string, the plastic clacking how Harrison knows they’re coming). All of this they do as Harrison lies on his bed for two weeks, counting the corners of his ceiling and trying to determine a way to multiply them telepathically.

This is the very next paragraph!

At first he assumes they’re laughing. The sun nearly rising between other high rises, blotting his room with dawn. This is not a surprise. They are probably making pancakes out of buckwheat and discussing the hilarity of whole grains. They are probably laughing at store-bought cherry preserves. Too sour. Their cheeks puckered. But then the laughs get louder, and the sun rises higher and it’s not laughing at all, but gasping.

Here’s Harrison crawling!! is this straight out of the exorcist probably!

Harrison’s instinct is to crawl. As if his smallness against the ground will stop anyone from hearing him, even before he unlocks his door. On hands and knees he shuffles from his bed to his doorframe, edges the door open with his shoulder. On hands and knees he hikes through the hallway, the gasping getting louder, shuffling until he sees them. Lonan sitting on one of the kitchen stools, a grocery bag wound around his throat. Suzanna clacking scissors in two hands so their blades ping in the sun. Her fingers loped around his hair, knuckle-deep, the blades snipping, the gasps growing, them both sobbing, the hair falling, the sun stalking, their bodies rocking. Harrison takes it in from his crawl. Experiences it all on his knees.

So this excerpt seems really you know, normal:

They clean up the hair. Harrison with the dustpan, Lonan with the broom. Harrison still kneels. Lonan still cries. The only thing that has changed since crawling into the kitchen is that Suzanna is taking a walk around the apartment complex. She needs air. Room. If she cries long enough, a cigarette. So Lonan sweeps. Harrison collects. This repeats.

The kitchen smells of nutmeg. Freshly grated from a whole club over espresso, Harrison imagines. He smells this as he tracks Lonan with the dustpan, hovering its open belly for clippings of hair. And Lonan is so compliant, brushes cuttings of himself onto the plastic surface so Harrison can trash it. As Harrison looks on from his knees, Lonan diffuses in sunlight, the window illuminating only his edges. A body so familiar Harrison knows exactly where it flares with light or absorbs it. A body with skin like mulberry silk. A body he could recreate in charcoal with his eyes closed. His archangel translucent and luminescing.

Skip this excerpt if you don’t want to read about Harrison eating hair!! i’m sorry!

Harrison picks a bundle of fallen hair from the dustpan. It’s airy from being recently shampooed, smells faintly of pear, maybe even ginger. This hair, touched by a woman, or a few women, and cut by one, or a few, in different contexts. Eliza’s hands deveining the roots, and then Suzanna’s, trying to fix them. So Harrison eats it. That bundle like a toothpicked cube of cheese. He puts it in his mouth and swallows.

Lonan watches like he’s unconcerned. He watches this feral animal—Harrison must be something feral, starved of something and ravaged by that hunger. Chewing mouthfuls of hair like that will quell of him of what is missing, if there even is anything missing, something unidentifiable in this bland circuit of New York City, this time-loop of sonhood, this fresh start a dousing of flatness. As Harrison eats, he understands he consumes that something like it’s holy communion, reuniting with that something by absorbing it. And still, that hunger moves him, from finishing the dustpan of hair, and closer to Lonan.

“Do you think I’m a bad friend?” Harrison asks, wringing the corner of his lips clean from loose hairs. From this perspective, Harrison on his knees collecting hair, Lonan’s eyes look bluer. Maybe their saturation has nothing to do with the angle, but Harrison feels this is true; his eyes are so crystalline, they are temptingly edible. Like two plump blueberries. Or a matching set of clear glass marbles. Harrison swallows. He repeats, “Do you think I’m a bad friend?”

Lonan swallows, adjusts his grip on the broom. “We’d have to be friends for me to answer that.”

“Aren’t we?”

And here’s the rest of this scene!

“You’re my mother’s friend,” Harrison says. “She trusts you.” He crawls closer to Lonan. “You’ve got secrets. Rituals. Tell me her favourite finger-food and who she wants to marry.”

“I don’t know your mother that well.”

Harrison wraps a handle around Lonan’s ankle. A muscle there jumps like a dolphin breaching the water. He’s memorized this plane of skin, could rebuild it from single grains of sand while blindfolded. He furls his hands across its surface, unfurls.

“You garden with her,” Harrison says. “You share a plate for dessert.”

“She’s kind to me.”

“You cook her breakfast.” Harrison tugs on Lonan’s ankle, knowing it won’t raze him, knowing he’ll come down anyway. “You know the exact temperature she drinks her coffee down to the last digit.”

“I’m trying to be hospitable.”

“You’re trying to be a son.”

Lonan kneels. Crouching so they’re huddled over each other, so it’s nearly impossible to distinguish one body from the other, which one sinks, which one rises.

“My mother’s only got one son to live with,” Harrison says, his voice thin from a clogged throat. He reaches for Lonan’s scalp, scrapes a line down the centre, now an even plane of cropped hair. “And it isn’t me.”

“You’re unstable,” Lonan says, burrowing his face either into a cabinet or Harrison’s shoulder—neither can tell. “You won’t let yourself have friends.”

Farther, toward the tile they go, a pile of hair scattering. “My mother wants me to forgive you by replacing me with you.”

“She’s grieving,” Lonan says.

Harrison loses his hands. He doesn’t know where they disappear to, if he touches skin or tile. “I haven’t died,” he says. Skin or tile. Skin or tile.

Here’s an excerpt from scene C ft. this memoir bit from the time I was shocked that this university I visited had real FANCY teabags:

Lonan brews tea. Earl grey, from a tin. Harrison doesn’t know why he expects it to come from a bag. An individual paper sachet, or if he’s lucky, one of those fancy ones woven from nylon. But it’s from a tin. Two teaspoons into the bottom of a single mug they pass back and forth, wordless at the kitchen table. Strung in the bathroom, Harrison’s t-shirt hang-dries, nearly figure-like, an unfilled phantom. He tugs a throw around his shoulders and stares at his hands. Each crest of cuticle. Each bulb of knuckle. Each maze of fingerprints.

He is material. This is fact. Not just outlines. He’s got skin that goes pinkish when pinched, a pulse that juts from his wrist, two eyes that burn at the scent of lavender, ten fingers. But as he holds his hands up, studying them in the faint moonlight, it is difficult to believe his tangibility. In the city, he has lived as a haze. Fogging over grocery stores, eateries, nondescript. Fresh start has always implied an air of zest, a zing that should have fueled him to plant roots in this restart. But Harrison is rotten, aphid infected, overwatered, underwatered, then not watered at all. He flexes his fingers. He pops the joints. He tries to press his pinkie to the back of his hand. But none of this brings him back to himself. His hands continue feeling like someone else’s. His body invisibly marred in some way he can’t reverse, disconnected in retaliation.

Harrison reflecting on his relationship with his mother:

Suzanna has never left him alone this long, and to her detriment. He imagines her now, living the life she always should’ve lived, the life she lived before he crosscut his way to her most important thing. She’s probably at a salon, having her hair twirled with a round brush, making dinner reservations at some place always too expensive for two (extra points if it has a French name, more if she has to wait a half hour before getting a table). When she talks to her stylist, she doesn’t mention a son, but plans to travel up the west coast, all the way into Canada if she’s feeling adventurous. She’ll buy crime novels she’ll never read at duty-free, reapply a lipstick that cost her a paycheck in the reflection of a hand-dryer. After the salon, she’ll meet a woman at a wine bar, converse about children, and still not mention a son. Suzanna’s singleness will be a celebration.

The boys finally trucing it out <3

When Harrison finally opens his eyes, Lonan is staring at him. His eyes two reels of the Pacific. They cycle in blue. So much of him has changed, and yet he is still the same. Beyond the haircut, Lonan isn’t that much different. He can’t be much different. But as Harrison searches, splaying his palm on the wet table, he knows this is untrue. Lonan is hollower than he was last summer. A little more haunted. They have this in common, then.

“Can we be friends?” Harrison asks. With his pinkie, he finds himself writing against the damp table just as he did Lonan’s scalp not too long ago. Lonan’s gaze follows each loop of each letter, Harrison’s steady left hand.

Lonan is consumed studying what Harrison has written, where each letter connects in near-cursive scrawl. After a moment, he nods, once, twice, and then reverts to staring at the table’s new inscription. On its surface are two words: something held.

The boys in the car like old times <3

Lonan drives. This is strange because Harrison has not seen Lonan drive a car in over a year. Usually, Harrison takes the wheel, but tonight he guides them through the city, in search of Suzanna. His car is clean. This isn’t unexpected. A cherry-coloured hatchback that rattles whenever he makes a left turn. It smells vaguely of cotton air-freshener and the undercurrent of cigarettes.

“You still smoke?” Harrison pokes at the plastic nob for the radio, and it crackles to life. Synth and electric guitar pulse in 4/4 time.

“I bought it used.”

They’ve agreed to get to know one another while they search for Suzanna. Another restart, some attempt at an honest hour. As Lonan changes lanes, Harrison pokes open the car’s glove compartment. A tin of nicotine gum falls on the mat. A hot pink feather pokes from underneath the driver’s manual. Harrison hauls out both, runs the feather along the gum tin, then the back of his hand, and then Lonan’s cheek. When that rouses nothing, he unlocks the tin and removes a slit of gum. Right as he’s about to pop it in his mouth, Lonan says, “I wouldn’t eat that.”

“Why?” Harrison asks. “Did you lace it?”

“Like I said, I bought the car used.”

Harrison puts the gum back, and then the feather. He sticks his hand farther into the glove compartment, feels around until he drags out a map of the state, bilgy and half torn. He unfolds it, careful to avoid the rips, and flattens it against the dashboard. Almost immediately, it wilts against the cold, faded from time in the sun. It’s been marked up. Half with pencil, half with a red ballpoint pen. After a few minutes, Harrison understands the previous owner’s route. Or at least he does at first. Following the red pen arrows, they started at Long Island, then reached Manhattan. Then a much longer arrow takes him from Manhattan to Geneva, and then Buffalo. And then the red pen circles, once, twice, three times, four times, and what is in the centre doesn’t even have a city name. What it does say is HELP, in all-caps, each letter then melting into an illegible scrawl. Harrison sees bits of words: Luke, woe, hands, clay, guard, stray, each wobbly and disappearing into the other, becoming cities of their own, destroying others. He tries to understand the route, but the farther he pours over the map, recircling each line with his finger, the more lost he gets in the ink.

“Is this your map?” Harrison asks. There is no proof that it is. Even the handwriting is all wrong. Ragged. Confused. Desperate. Not like Lonan’s careful, hesitant print.

“Like I said, I bought the car used.”

“But is it your map?” Harrison asks again. Gently, he creases the paper and then slots it back into the glove compartment. Outside, they pass three convenience stores in a row, a flock of couples emerging from a bowling alley, tipsy and cradling leftover deep dish pizzas and mozzarella sticks. They pass two more convenience stores before Lonan finally answers.

“I was confused,” he says.

“This is more than confused,” Harrison says. “It’s disturbed.”

“I’m not disturbed.”

“But something is wrong with you.”

Lonan slows at a crosswalk. A group of teenaged girls whisk by in glitter and lip gloss.

“Yes,” he says.

This is Harrison trying to stop Lonan’s nosebleed after their bizarre swerve which I think is kind of <3 tendy <3

Harrison reaches for him. One hand on the back of his neck, and the other reared toward the red stream. His touch is tactful, so faint his fingerprints wouldn’t even be left behind, but still, the dabbing with his jacket’s hem is enough to redirect the blood’s flow from Lonan’s upper lip to the cuff of leather. The radio is still on, garbled like an unmassing of crepe paper lanterns.

This is the final excerpt for this update that takes us to the very end of the chapter! Harrison has just found Lonan supposedly head-first in the sink and though he asks at first why he is doing that, takes an alternate approach as the chapter closes:

Harrison gets up, his knees popping like gnawed bubble gum. He decides he will handle Lonan at a distance, if he chooses to handle him at all. Like a timid pet owner trying to tame their suddenly-rabid yorkie. Like a friend not trying to tip the full glass. To let its contents film at its surface, but never spill.

Somewhere in the apartment, Suzanna probably listens to them. If Harrison didn’t know her better, he’d imagine her pressed neatly against the door, waiting to hear the shuffle of their bodies or the tang of an argument. Instead, he imagines her at the kitchen table, gripping a glass of water for so long, half of it evaporates.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Harrison says, stepping back until his spine hits the counter’s lip. He curls his fingers under the granite. Looks toward the window, now a faint periwinkle. Lonan heaves. His fingers caging his face, an animal restrained. They stand there until the sun rises.

So that’s it for this gigantic update! I have like four short stories to update you on so I hope to be back soon!

—Rachel

#writing #writerblr #amwriting #writeblr #fostered #mothwork #writingupdates #feedinghabits

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cathyparrlyn · 4 years ago

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The truth behind the politics-notmything drama

TLDR: Charley’s explanation has been proven to be false through clear evidence, her contracting statements with what was found from original authors, and too many coincidental or suspicious points.

There are too many screenshots to all fit in this one post, so we ended up putting only a few on here. For the full post, here is a link to the google doc, you can also read this instead:

As many of you may already know, I have recently made a callout post against Charley (@politics-notmything) for being a plagiarist. She, however, has made an explanation of her side of the story. After lots of careful investigating, I can honestly confirm that Charley is in fact a plagiarist and lied about certain points of the situation.

To start off, I waited to make this post until I was basically 100% sure on whether her explanation was the truth or not. There was much evidence against her. However, a friend of mine decided to check the IP addresses of each of the tumblr blogs she had mentioned (I did not ask them to by the way, they just sent them to me thinking it would help.) They sent me them and it showed that Charley's main account politics-notmything had the same IP address as both the fake wolf1ez account that she claimed to trick her and the fake Nikole account she blamed. I will not, however, be posting her IP address as proof as I personally consider posting that publicly without her consent as doxxing, and I do not wish to harm Charley like that. I never even considered looking at her IP address as I am not comfortable with that nor technologically competent to even remember IP addresses are a thing you can look at. However, I can’t ignore that what my friend showed me is very blatant proof that confirms that Charley has been lying, so I shall mention it, but I refuse to send it to anyone and I have told them to do the same. Please respect that decision.

Some of you may just take my word for it on that. However, for those of you who don’t, here is all the other evidence stacking up against Charley’s story.

First things first, let’s say I didn’t know Charley’s explanation was false. Her explanation was that she plagiarized a friend instead who had plagiarized fics. Charley, in the end, had deceived people and accepted praise from those who were misled to believe that writing was true. Because of that and if her story was true, then she gave a platform to terf (later knowing they were one and continuing to post their work) and her followers had unintentionally supported a terf and plagiarist because of her deception. Now, she may have received credit, but she could've easily said at any point that the fics weren’t actually written by her but by someone else who was anonymous. AO3 even has some features to properly credit others.

The definition of plagiarism is the practice of taking someone else's work or ideas and passing them off as one's own. With this in mind, Charley had plagiarized no matter what, and the fact that she never once told anyone about this co owner and has held conversations with me about how she came up with, wrote, and edited She Used to Be Mine, a plagiarized fic, all by herself is very suspicious.

The proof Charley has been sending is also on invalid sites where you can easily create your own evidence. Everyone already knows and understands the unreliability of google docs with handling fake emails and stuff I presume. As for Snapchat, you can very well change the date. It’s the exact same thing as time traveling in animal crossing, and it’s actually decently known among people. Here is a link to an example of someone altering time on snap chat, followed by the results.

(Results are on the google doc.)

Now some might wonder why would she go through all the trouble of doing that? Well, to create evidence to clear herself. The fact that it was posted quite a bit later, and that she had told people prior to this that she deleted all the messages and proof of information that could blatantly defend herself is very sketchy. Not to mention, the account she @ed as “Nikole” was fake and confirmed to be nonexistent by a friend of mine.

Moreover, the tumblr account that she claimed was Nikoles was recently changed between the two days. When Charley first mentioned the account, me and my friends all investigated it and found a post saying she had another account. However, since then it was altered to say the account Charley @ed and the account had a new bio saying her snap chat is the one Charley @ed. But the account was nonexistent the day before?

Is this simply just a coincidence? Well, let’s see what else is a coincidence.

Charley has recently been writing smut and this blamed blog is an NSFW blog. Coincidence? Maybe. But she also claimed to have cut the person out of her life last year. The blog however is more recently made in late 2020. Why would Charley still be in contact with her accounts? Is this another coincidence? Also, if they did cut things off, why continue to still post her work? And why would two of the fics be things that were made this year if she ended their friendship in 2019? How would she have gotten that from “Nikole” if they were cut off? We even asked the original author of one of the fics about the situation and they confirmed that they gave no permission for someone to copy their fic.

Are these all coincidences too? Not to mention, Charley didn’t say just one person she never mentioned before had tricked her into plagiarism, but two. Charley claimed to be good friends with the author of the original Luck be a Lady and have received permission from them, however, they never spoke to Charley before nor gave permission to anyone to use their fic.

When it was found that the original author of the fic that Luck Be a Lady plagiarized was not friends with Charley nor gave her permission like she had said they did, Charley claimed another account that was fake had tricked her.

Again? How likely is that to even happen once, let alone twice? Or for someone with no post on an account that could have easily been made had even interacted with Charley? Or that the texting style in the evidence she posted is similar to her own and could be edited? And also the conversation itself is way too sketchy and convenient?

(Check google doc or Charley’s post for the conversation.)

Charley also just happened to request help with the title in a group chat l was in with her, but she requested help 3 weeks after the conversation she claims to have happened above.

( @all-my-love-cathy by the way was the one who named it, her name was censored because its her personal account with her name real)

Maybe it's just me, but 3 weeks seems like a bit of a long time to wait to name a fic that already had a storyline and pre-written chapters.

Moreover, the fake Wolf1ez also just so coincidentally happened to recently have copied the Twitter pfp of the account that Charley had seen but not their actual tumblr account? And that this blog that doesn’t make posts decided to tell Charley to use a fic they didn’t write?

How did they even find her blog? And why wouldn’t Charley at least double check the situation here since the person is very suspicious in the conversation they had, had no posts and she doesn’t know them? This is the "close friend" they claimed to have co authored with?

Also, Charley claimed to have commented on the AO3 fic and then deleted it. However, the original author never got an email for this. Whether it’s anonymous or not, they would have seen that a comment was deleted, yet they didn’t have one and all the other comments were fine.

The author even had a note written at latest in January 2020 telling their readers to talk to them on Twitter instead of Tumblr.

Their A/N^

(more screenshots are on the google docs)

Why would she discuss it with them on tumblr then if the author didn’t like tumblr, and Charley does in fact have a Twitter, so why not talk to them there? That’s pretty sketchy.

Also speaking of coincidences, how about the fact that the most recent fic she updated that was confirmed to be plagiarized happened to be the very last fic on the supposed list she claimed to have been given by “Nikole”? Or how she later contradicts herself by saying she won’t upload anymore of her fics? What left did she have to upload if they were all used?

Furthermore, the fic just so happened to also be a Rent fic. Wow, right after Hope Mill Theater released Rent with Millie and Maiya both starring in roles, something Charley had seen and recently expressed great interest in. What a coincidence that it was the one she posted that day. Or how about the other fics that were all copied also being her interests? So many coincidences.

Now I hope it is understood that all of these together just don’t add up. Those are way too many “coincidences” for her explanation to be true. The original authors contacted had never spoken to Charley or given her permission to use their fics, and the accounts she used made no sense with how they were presented. Her explanation feels somewhat of an excuse, and the fact that there is definite proof that she has lied in her explanation and is connected to the accounts is unsettling. Blaming a makeup blog is already messed up, but calling them a terf?

I’m sorry if this post is upsetting to anyone? I know a lot of people have been openly angry or devastated at the news of what has been done. Plagiarism is not okay, neither is deception. To see such a big blog that you might have once admired lie to you and steal from others isn’t easy, especially since she has such a big following that others are dreaming to have. Not to mention, this definitely looks bad for fic writers, especially shippers as she was one of the major faces of Parrlyn. I think it’s important to recognize that we can’t encourage or simply overlook issues like these, nor is it fair to many fans. Please make sure to recognize this issue and become aware about it.

What Charley has done isn’t right, however, that doesn’t deny the fact that she is a human being just like every single one of us. She is very young and did something dumb, but she does not deserve to be sent any hate so please refrain from doing that if you so desired to. I know my blog is known for having issues with her in the past, but I genuinely mean it when I say I hope she learns from this and I don’t want her to be attacked. Nobody deserves to be sent hate, and as a fandom we should strive to be bigger and better people each day and only share positivity and kindness with each other.

Please, once again, give the original fic writers credit if you liked fics that were plagiarized. If you could spare a second to give them a kudos/like and possibly comment something simple like “I love this”, I’m sure it would mean a bunch to them. Hearing your fics were stolen is not easy, speaking from experience here as someone who was also plagiarized this year. They could use a bit of love, so please do consider it if you are comfortable with that.

Once again, I spent the past two days since I read Charley's explanation investigating the situation with a group of people. I just wanted to share the truth, maybe it’s the inner journalist in me. This is what I found with them and what I stand by. Believe what you want, I can’t force ideas onto anyone and I know some are bound to disagree with this, but it’s what I found.

For anyone upset over the incident and needs a place to rant or vent, my dms are open and so is my inbox. If you follow me on insta or are a friend on discord I would recommend those as I am a bit more active there. I’ll try to be on as much as I can the next few days in case anyone needs someone to talk to.

#six the musical #parrlyn #parrleyn #tw discourse #tw politics notmything #tw Charley #tw plagiarism #please be aware of this #callout post #what has been uncovered #a response to Charley’s explanation #thank you to everyone who assisted in the investigation #please remember to be nice everyone #and send the actual authors some love!

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