#you will prove me wrong there probably....

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

🖋️ You Don’t Need to “Write Every Day” to Be a Real Writer (and Other Guilt-Crushing Truths)

Let’s make this one loud: 📣 You are not a failed writer because you didn’t open your Google Doc today.

We’ve all heard the advice, write every day, build the habit, protect the streak, treat it like brushing your teeth or doing crunches or whatever metaphor productivity Twitter is pushing this week.

But here’s the thing: You are not a factory. Your brain is not a faucet. And writing isn’t a moral behavior.

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🚫 Daily Writing is Not a Badge of Legitimacy

The "write every day" rule? It wasn’t invented for you. It came from a very specific kind of writer.... usually full-time, no kids, no chronic illness, no 60-hour day job, no executive dysfunction, that lives in a world made of schedules and uninterrupted mornings.

You? You’re probably doing your best between classes, during night shifts, after crying, before therapy, while microwaving pizza rolls.

If you’re writing at all, you’re already in the game. No daily streak required. No blood oath to the Scrivener gods. You don’t need to bleed ink to prove you’re real.

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🧠 Writing is Mental, Even When It’s Invisible

Plotting in the shower. Thinking about your character’s tragic backstory at red lights. Whispering fake arguments into your Notes app at 3am. Staring at the ceiling replaying one scene until it rots.

It all counts.

Writing is thinking, not just typing. That mental compost pile? That’s how the good stuff grows. You don’t owe your worth to a word count. Some days, the work looks like a blank page and a brain on fire.

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🔄 Rest Is Part of the Process, Not a Detour From It

Let me say this plainly: Burnout is not proof of effort.

You are allowed to pause. You are allowed to stop mid-project. You are allowed to write in bursts. You are allowed to write for a week and disappear for a month.

Writing is a relationship. It has seasons. It expands and contracts. You are not a robot with a daily quota, you’re a person carrying a whole fictional world inside you. Let yourself be human.

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📆 Consistency Helps--But Define It For Yourself

Do some writers thrive with routines? Sure. But routine =/= daily.

Try this: → “I write every weekend morning when I can.” → “I jot down notes during my commute.” → “I commit to one hour a week, guilt-free.” → “I take two weeks off after every chapter.” → “I only write during November and spiral gloriously.”

Build a rhythm that actually matches your energy, not one that shames you for not vibing like a full-time author in a lakeside cabin with nothing to do but word vomit and sip tea.

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💌 You’re Still a Real Writer (Even When You’re Not Producing)

You don’t need:

a finished draft

a daily goal

a growing WIP

a thriving project

a clever new idea

…to be a writer.

You only need:

the drive to tell a story

the will to try again

the love of the craft, even when it doesn’t love you back

You’re a real writer if you write sometimes. You’re a real writer if you write badly. You’re a real writer if you wrote once and it changed you.

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✨ Guilt Kills Stories Faster Than “Laziness” Ever Will

You’re not lazy. You’re probably: → Overwhelmed → Tired → Burnt out → Depressed → Distracted by survival → Caught in perfectionism’s death grip

And the guilt? It doesn’t make you more productive. It just sinks its teeth into your confidence until you start to believe you’ve “fallen behind” on something that’s supposed to be yours.

The best thing you can do for your writing life? Protect your joy. That spark. That curiosity. That itch to build something from nothing.

That matters more than any streak.

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📣 Final Truths (Pin These to Your Soul):

Missing writing days is not failure.

Your process is not wrong just because it’s not loud.

You are not in a race.

You are not a fraud.

You are allowed to come back whenever.

Writing is not a productivity metric. It’s a craft. It’s a calling. It’s a weird little ritual.

And it’ll still be there when you’re ready.

See you on the page, whether that’s tomorrow, or next week, or next season.

—rin t. // thewriteadviceforwriters // chaotic writing realist. anti-guilt gremlin. your local plot ghost.

📜 prompts for gothic girlies, literary lads, and cursed creatives

🕯️ download the pack & write something cursed:

[almostwisegalaxy]

You Stay, Therefore You Love Me

DARK Yeon Sieun x fem!reader

Not to be romanticized. To flee.Besides, take some note of it. This is how many of you foolishly manipulate. ಠ⁠,⁠_⁠｣⁠ಠ

..................................................................................

Yeon Si-eun knew from day one that she was there.

He didn't need a name. She was just a blurry outline in the periphery of his thoughts, a face glimpsed through the trembling reflection of a school bus, an indistinct voice in a memory Su-ho never knew how to tell, except with a laugh. "Y/N? She's nice. A good friend of mine" Nothing more. She was barely a note in too dense a score.

And yet, when the coma fell like a lid on Su-ho—thick silence, tubes, lights too white—Si-eun found that laugh again. He turned it over and over. And deep within that laugh, there was a crack. A confession.

She was there that day. She could have intervened. But she was afraid.

That's how obsession is born: not from hatred, not even from grief. But from an inexplicable absence, an anomaly in the equation.

Y/N.

Eunjang High School was a closed world, an open-air lock-up, filled with boys fighting to exist. Si-eun no longer spoke there. He didn't need to exist here other than as a silhouette. His reputation floated alone, detached from his body. They said he'd broken throats with ballpoint pens. That his gaze could freeze your marrow. That Su-ho had fallen protecting him. All true. And insufficient.

He spent his days locked in the study hall, his face bowed over textbooks he already knew by heart. He needed distance, not to calm down, but to plan.

And it was in that silence that he found her. Not Y/N herself—she was never at Eunjang—but her trajectory.

He traced it like a physics problem: coordinates of her school, probable travel times, days off, dead hours. She was at an all-girls school thirty-seven minutes away by train, Line 2 then 7. She walked alone, always on the left side of the street, with a blue bag she held like a shield.

The first time he followed her, he felt nothing.

The second time, he heard her laugh. He noted it in his memory.

The third time, she turned, as if she'd sensed him.

And he smiled.

Si-eun was a monster, but a patient monster. He knew that direct attention, too soon, would make her flee. So he crossed paths with her, accidentally. Twice. Three times. One day, he helped her pick up papers that had fallen from her bag, with that empty smile that didn't reach his eyes.

She thanked him. He didn't ask her name.

A week later, he was there again, at the same street corner, at the same time.

"Chance again?" she murmured.

"Or an identical routine." He replied, tucking an invisible strand of hair behind her ear, without touching her.

She knew nothing about him. And that was perfect.

Si-eun was no longer the boy who analyzed equations to escape pain. He had become one who read gestures, silences, averted glances. He studied Y/N with the precision of a biologist facing a cell he wanted to contaminate.

He wanted her to get attached to him. But not quickly. Not brutally.

No, he wanted her to choose him. Willingly. Blindly.

And for that, he offered her cracks.

Not his own, no. Invented cracks, placed like shards of glass on the ground. Doubts, half-smiles, silences held longer than necessary. He spoke little. Just enough for her to think she saw something deep within.

"You're always alone."

He replied, "That's not true. I'm often with you, now."

She smiled. She sometimes blushed, but didn't flee. It wasn't a gentle shyness; it was a feverish restraint, as if she knew something was wrong but couldn't prove what.

That was the sensation he wanted from her. A confused alert.

He noted everything. Every reaction. Every tremor. When he crossed his arms while talking, she did the same within seconds. He had read these methods in applied psychology manuals. He had tested their limits on Eunjang students. It worked.

Y/N was becoming receptive. Slowly. But clearly.

And with each progression, he returned home in the evening and looked at himself in the mirror.

He felt nothing.

No joy. No triumph.

Only a continuous tension, like a string about to snap. Because she smiled, sometimes, just like Su-ho had smiled. And that made him sick.

Si-eun didn't want her to love him for who he was. He wanted her to fall in love with the image he controlled. An image he could shatter later. He built his revenge like a chess game, piece by piece.

He had learned her tastes. He had read the books she borrowed from the library but returned without annotations. He had noted the rhythm of her steps, the days she lingered in the park near the subway, the moments when she finally relaxed her shoulders.

And one day, he offered her coffee.

She accepted. It was the first time they sat face to face.

He didn't look at her.

He stared at the table.

She said, "You don't want to know my name?"

He slowly raised his eyes.

"No. I want you to tell me when you're sure I deserve it."

She didn't answer. But that night, he received a message: Y/N.

And something, in his chest, tightened.

The days went on. And Y/N began to wait for him.

She didn't show it. But he knew. She walked more slowly toward the subway. She sat on that bench a little longer. She touched his sleeves when she laughed.

And Si-eun, more and more, found himself watching her even when he didn't need to. Even when his calculations were finished. Even when he should have cut it off, closed it down, backed away.

But he no longer wanted to.

He thought about her constantly. About her silences. About her contained fear. About that tension she carried like a scar.

He didn't yet realize that this obsession was changing him. That he was no longer in control of everything. That revenge, having taken on flesh, was merging with something else. Not love. No. But a sick possessiveness, a fierce need to have her all to himself.

Y/N was becoming his inner theater.

And he was setting the stage.

---

Y/N should never have stayed after the second glance.

And yet, there she was, a few steps from him, hesitant, straight as an arrow ready to snap. The kind of presence that floats, not because it wants to be seen, but because it doesn't know how to disappear.

Yeon Si-eun stared at her.

Not obviously. Not like a boy looks at a girl. Like a chess player observes the piece he's about to sacrifice to clear the way for his king.

He approached.

"Your shoelace."

She looked down. It was true.

And before she could protest, he crouched down and retied it, slowly. With almost affectionate precision. He didn't look up. He said nothing else.

That was the first time she froze. And that he felt the discreet echo of a crack.

He didn't rush her. He strove to be the opposite of what he was at Eunjang: "gentle, stable, almost clumsy." He opened doors, waited for her to sit before him, always stepping back in narrow corridors. He offered her his umbrella without ever waiting for her to accept.

He made real gestures. Tangible. Irreproachable.

She, shy, avoided his eyes. But she eventually reached out when he offered her a chocolate. She murmured "thank you," then said nothing more.

She thought it was kindness.

She didn't know he had been watching her for weeks, that he had studied her silences like others read musical scores.

He had never seen her cry. And that annoyed him.

Not because he was looking for tears, no. But because he wanted to see her falter, even a little. He wanted her face to crack. For something to give way. He wanted her human, vulnerable, open. Accessible to his pincers.

He wanted to see what he felt when he saw her crying. BECAUSE OF HIM.

Y/N never spoke for long. But she looked at him.

And Yeon Si-eun knew how to decode that gaze. She didn't yet understand what he wanted. She hesitated, she was wary. But she looked.

That was already a crack.

***

He learned her schedule, of course. He knew it better than she did. On days she had literature class, she left earlier. When she had sports, she complained about her back—he had heard her on the phone once. He started waiting for her just after those classes, with a hot drink in his hand.

He didn't hand it to her right away.

He simply said, "I think you had sports today, right? You're walking a bit hunched."

She raised an eyebrow. Wary.

Then he added, casually, "I grabbed two drinks, I don't know why. If you don't want it, I'll drink both."

And she took it. Every time.

***

One day, he intervened.

A boy bumped into her on the school bus. Not violently, not maliciously. But enough for her to lower her eyes, step back, grit her teeth.

Yeon Si-eun, standing a little further away, approached. With calm steps. Slow. He slipped his arm between her and the boy. Without a word.

He stood there, like a wall. She looked at him. He didn't turn his head towards her.

He said nothing. Not that day.

But he knew the poison had just entered her heart. Silent protection is a debt anxious minds never forget.

***

One evening, he approached her on the subway.

"You're trembling."

She started. It was true. It was cold.

He took off his coat and placed it on her shoulders. She protested. He looked at her with that disarming calm.

"Give it back to me tomorrow."

She couldn't say anything more.

The next day, she came at the same time, to the same place, the coat folded against her. He took it back with a slight nod.

"Thanks for holding onto it for me."

She smiled. Small. But sincere.

***

One evening, he followed her further. Not home—he had already done that. No, he followed her when she got lost.

She had stopped in an alley, to cry. Maybe a call, bad news. He didn't hear. But he saw her.

And instead of joining her immediately, he remained hidden. He wanted to see how she cried when she thought she was alone.

He only stepped forward when she tried to wipe her tears with her sleeve.

"Are you lost?" His voice was worried, soft. Too soft for what he was thinking.

She jumped. He offered her a tissue.

She backed away, like a frightened animal. He backed away too, mirroring her, giving her space.

"You can cry in front of me. It's not a weakness."

She said nothing. She just took the tissue.

He waited for her to calm down. Then he walked her back, without speaking. They walked side by side, not touching.

When she got on the bus, she left her hand on the window a little longer than usual.

***

He was attentive without invading, protective without suffocating. That was his method. He created a stable presence, a rare warmth, attention no one else offered her. Not even her friends. Not even the teachers. He asked her simple questions: "Did you sleep well?", "Do you have a headache today?", "Do you prefer silence or music?"

And most importantly, he listened to her.

He barely spoke about himself. He became a mirror, a refuge.

She had never known this kind of boy.

And that was exactly the goal.

***

One day, she cried again.

Not because of him. Not yet.

Someone had humiliated her at school. He had seen her run out.

He didn't follow her immediately. He gave her three minutes.

Then he arrived, gently. He sat near her, without looking at her.

And he simply said: "Do you want me to listen? Or should I stay silent?"

She didn't answer. But she didn't leave. She laid her head on his knees.

And he ran his hand through her hair, slowly. Like a brother. Like a lover. Like a monster.

That evening, Si-eun looked at his hands.

They had trembled.

Not from anger. Not from sorrow. From pure excitement.

She's getting attached, he thought. Her defenses are lowering. This is the right pace.

But deep inside him, something—a hoarse murmur, a child's voice buried under stone—said: And you? What are you becoming?

He brushed the thought aside.

***

The next day, he ignored her.

Completely.

She looked around, at their tacit meeting spot. He wasn't there.

This hot-and-cold game, he mastered it. It was a cognitive strategy: emotional disorientation, attention dependency, withdrawal effect.

The day after, she sent him a message:

Are you okay?

He replied three hours later:

I'm just a bit elsewhere. Are you okay?

She took a long time to reply.

Then:

Yes, I think so.

And he knew. She was waiting for him. She was thinking of him.

It wasn't love.

It was perfect control. It was retribution.

She could have prevented the nightmare.

She didn't.

So she was going to love her own tormentor. She was going to love him to death. Or almost.

---

Y/N would never have imagined that perfidy would present itself to her with such a calm, clear gaze. Yeon Si-eun's eyes screamed neither hatred nor violence. They were steady, almost gentle, a clear, unfathomable black. It was precisely this contrast that chilled the blood: this total absence of turmoil, this glacial peace in his gaze as he laid his destructive intentions upon her.

His pupils didn't tremble. They seemed to calculate, dissect, measure the effect of every word, every silence. He didn't look at Y/N as an enemy, nor even as a target—he looked at her as a truth he had already accepted, an inevitable consequence of a plan he had to accomplish to no longer be alone. Alone in his suffering.

And yet, that evening, as she timidly placed her hand on the bench where they had first met, she didn't yet know that she was already locked in. Locked into something that wasn't a relationship. More like a net. A trap. A descent.

Yeon Si-eun observed. Always.

And that day, he knew. She had fallen.

He saw it in the way she lowered her eyes when he arrived. In that tiny flutter of eyelids when he brushed her arm. In the silence, especially. The silence that weighed like a confession.

She was his.

Not because of an oath. But because he had become the oxygen in a world too narrow. The only fixed point in her chaos. He had replaced fear with another fear. A softer, more perverse fear: the fear of losing him.

And he found himself smiling. Not with relief. Not with pride.

But with a glacial pleasure. An inhuman pleasure.

It was no longer a strategy. It was an impulse.

Yeon Si-eun had always been a stranger to his own emotions. But at that moment, when he saw her flinch as he raised his voice a little for the first time, he felt something sharp. Something unhealthy.

He liked it.

He liked seeing her uncertain, broken into tiny fragments, trying to understand what she had done wrong. And most of all, he adored it: she always thought the problem came from her.

So he accused without accusing.

"It's crazy how you always manage to disappoint me when I finally expect something from you."

She looked up. Struck, without understanding.

He sighed, softly, as if he were tired of her.

"I thought you were listening to me. But oh well. Maybe I idealized."

He turned on his heels.

And she remained, alone. Full of that toxic doubt.

***

One day, she told him about her failed presentation. She was nervous. He listened, then simply said:

"Maybe you should have asked me for help. But oh well. I guess you're used to doing things alone. Even if it doesn't work."

No reproach. No anger. Just a blade, slid without pressure, but with a surgeon's precision.

She fell silent. She even nodded.

***

But after every cruel word came the sweetness.

The late message: "Sorry. I was at my wit's end. You calm me, you know. Don't change."

The next day, a chocolate. A book. A song he said reminded him of her.

She didn't understand. She thought she had to do better.

And Si-eun watched her sink. Slowly.

Yeon Si-eun no longer just felt control. He felt gratification.

She became malleable. And he tested her limits like an artisan tests the resistance of a rare metal. He pushed her just enough for her to bend. But never to the point of breaking her. Not yet.

He knew that if she left too soon, the game would be over. He wanted her to stay. For her to get lost.

She was becoming dependent.

And he, coldly, methodically, plotted her fall.

He chose his words methodically. Always on the edge.

"You always have this habit of messing everything up, don't you?"

"You're tiring, sometimes. You don't know when to shut up at the right time."

"You always want reassurance. It's exhausting."

But after: "I'm sorry. It's me. You're not responsible. I'm the one spiraling."

And she stayed. Every time. Because he knew when to cry, when to tremble, when to let her hold him so she would feel useful.

Si-eun wove around her a cocoon of guilt and attachment.

***

One day, he kissed her.

Brutally.

Not in violence. In precision. He leaned in, slowly, brushed her lips, then took them as if he were drowning. His hand against her nape, his fingers in her hair. A long, slow, deep kiss. Too tender for what he truly felt.

She responded. Barely. But enough for him to know.

When he pulled away, he looked at her with an almost amused expression. He said:

"You kiss like a girl who hopes to be loved. It's cute."

She blushed, hurt.

He added, looking away:

"I had a strange feeling. Like you were making up for being absent when someone was counting on you. But oh well. You can't always run away."

He didn't mention Su-ho. He didn't need to. She understood.

Her face crumbled. She turned, wanting to leave.

He let her.

That evening, he sent: "I regret it. I said whatever. Stay. I need you."

And that was the only truth. He needed her. He mustn't be the only one suffering.

She came back.

He asked her loaded questions:

"Do you trust me?"

"Do you think I'm a good person?"

She answered yes.

And he smiled.

"You say that because you want to believe it. Not because it's true."

She remained silent.

He knew that with each retort, he was digging a little deeper. Into the flesh. Into the heart.

And sometimes, when she cried too loudly, he would place his hands on her cheeks, and murmur:

"Stop it. You cry too much. It's suffocating."

But right after:

"I'm sorry. I'm broken, Y/N. I'm broken and I don't want to break you too. But you stay. Thank you. Thank you for being here."

And she cried harder.

And he closed his eyes. Because with every tear, he felt something more than human.

And then... He had an erection.

A pure, morbid pleasure. It was dirty and totally twisted.

Perhaps he was broken for good. But finally, he was no longer suffering alone.

Yeon Si-eun was becoming his own poison. He fed on her suffering but also plunged into a spiral where he no longer recognized his own pain.

He dreamed of Su-ho. Of his gaze. Of that fall. Of that moment frozen in blood. And Y/N, always there. Motionless. Too late.

He wasn't punishing her for what she had done.

He was punishing her for what she hadn't done.

And the more she loved him, the more he hated her.

And the more he hated her, the more he kept her.

Like a wild animal guards a still-living prey. To prolong the pleasure.

But in his alone moments, Yeon Si-eun watched his hands tremble, still.

He wondered if he was still human.

And he answered himself that yes.

Because he was suffering.

And only someone who suffers can inflict suffering with such care.

It wasn't love. It was possession.

And she was almost his.

---

Y/N took three days to reply to him.

Three days without a message, without a reaction, without even a "seen." Three days of unusual silence, but not hostile. A silence of self-preservation. She told herself that maybe... if she cut back a little, she could breathe. Think. She didn't want to hurt him—that was the irony. Even in distancing herself, she wanted to spare his pain.

But Yeon Si-eun was not one to be left gently.

So, he created a story.

Not a complete story—just a crack. Enough chaos for Y/N to return on her own.

It happened one Thursday afternoon in the Eunjang High School courtyard. The boy's name was Min-jae. A student with no history, known for his calm demeanor, decent grades, his lack of trouble-making.

When Si-eun hit him, Min-jae didn't even understand why.

Others tried to intervene, but Si-eun was screaming. Incoherent insults, mixed with pleas. At one point, he collapsed to the ground, holding his bruised face, murmuring a name.

Y/N.

It wasn't Si-eun who contacted Y/N first. It was a girl from her high school, a classmate who had received the video. A confused scene, filmed on the fly: shouts, a fight, a black eye. And at the center, Yeon Si-eun, almost unrecognizable. You could hear him gasping. Accompanied by the message: "I think he snapped because of you."

Then came the voice note.

He had never sent one before. And that's what made her open it, despite her fear.

[voice note - 1m43s]

First, a hoarse breath could be heard. Then sobs. Then his voice, almost childlike, delirious:

— "I... damn it... I'm sorry... Y/N... I... I failed..."

Distorted sobs. Nonsensical words. He mutters, almost moans:

— "It's my fault. I wanted to... I lost... I lost you, didn't I? Is that it? You don't want me anymore?..."

> "I'm sorry, Y/N... I'm sorry. It's not your fault, it's me. I'm the problem, it's me, it's me, it's me... You shouldn't have left. I'm... I can't breathe without you anymore. You were there. You were there, damn it. And now I'm nothing."

> (He coughs, he cries. She doesn't really know)

> "You wanted us to take some distance? I tried. I held on. But now I'm empty. I'm empty and I hurt all over. Tell me you still love me, Y/N. Say it. Goddamn it, say it."

The end blurs. Just panicked breathing. And a hiccup: "Stay."

Y/N didn't think twice.

She took a bus across town to Eunjang, without warning. He had sat in the shadow of a pillar in the gym, pressing an ice pack to his eye, deliberately positioned incorrectly. So she could see the extent of the bruise, so it would still bleed a little. Dramatic effect mattered.

Y/N, instinctively, knelt beside him. He looked at her like a lost child.

— "I was afraid you'd leave... I thought I'd lost you..."

He placed his hand against his chest, hard, as if to stop his heart from beating.

— "I hurt, Y/N. So much. And I don't know if you're still there for me..."

He felt it.

She wavered.

[Yeon Si-eun's POV]

One more word. One more tremor.

He feels her fragile. Damp. Malleable.

He feels her coming back to him for good.

He cries. Real tears, or almost.

And between two spasms that he deliberately accentuates, he murmurs:

> "Tell me I'm not alone in this relationship. Tell me. Reassure me. Prove it."

He holds her by the wrists. His fingers slide. She wants to comfort him. She no longer knows how.

He adds:

> "You left, Y/N. You left. And I stayed here wondering if you already had someone else. Someone from your school. Someone who looks at you better than me."

She shakes her head. She stammers: "No... no... never..."

> "Then say it. Tell me you're mine. Completely. That you think of me when you fall asleep."

He hugs her tightly. Too tightly.

Ohhh, sweetheart... it's almost too easy.

Then he kisses her.

Not tenderly. Not brutally either. It's a poisoned kiss. His mouth is bruised, split on the lower lip. Y/N tastes the metallic tang of blood, but doesn't pull back. Not immediately.

He clings to her. Embraces her with too much force. His hands close around her hips, her nape, her waist. He presses her against him like a castaway clinging to a wooden plank.

She tries to push him away. He resists.

> "Do you want me to calm down?"

His voice is hoarse, muffled, almost extinguished against her mouth.

> "Then tell me I'm your only one. Tell me you live for me. That you need me. That without me, you'll collapse."

[Si-eun's inner voice]

She's going to break.

One more word.

Look at her. She thinks she can leave. She hasn't even started trying.

His hand slid against her nape, forcing her to stay very close.

— "Say it, Y/N. I'm not asking you. I'm begging you. I don't want to become what I was before you. You don't want that? Huh?"

Inner voice (Si-eun):

Am I dreaming, or is she hesitating?

— "If you don't say anything, I'll know. I'll know I invented everything. That you were never there."

She's going to break. She HAS to break.

Y/N says something. She breathes out, with all the sincerity she can muster in the embrace:

> "I... love you, Si-eun. But... I'm scared. I'm scared of what you're doing. Of what you're becoming..."

He freezes. Just for a moment. Then he pulls back slightly. Looks at her.

His eyes gleam with a troubled light.

> "You love me?"

He laughs. Short, dry.

> "You love me but you run from me. You love me but you let me destroy myself."

He grips her face, gently. Too gently for it to be tender. A control, not a caress.

> "Love, Y/N, isn't an option. It's not a game of distance. If you love me, you stay. You get involved. You suffer with me. Otherwise, you're lying."

The sun sets. Eunjang's hallways are almost empty. He lay down on the concrete, pulled her against him. She didn't dare resist. Her head on his chest, he stroked her hair.

— You're not leaving me, are you?

She shook her head.

— You're not going to betray me, are you?

Silence.

— Because I couldn't survive if you did that.

Another silence.

And this time, he cried for real. Not from pain. But from triumph.

Inner voice (Si-eun):

She's fallen.

I can breathe again.

But not for too long. She'll have to say it again. And again. Until she has nothing left but that.

Her love for me is all that holds her up now.

And that... that's almost eternity.

---

From that day on, Yeon Si-eun had changed.

No more raised voices. No more sharp silences. He spoke softly, always gently, as if every word risked hurting her. As if he was learning to touch her without damaging her.

In the morning, he waited for her in front of the high school gate, his cheeks flushed with cold or impatience, she never knew. He straightened up as soon as he saw her, slipped his hands into his pockets, nervous, and handed her a small object, always different: a star-shaped eraser, a dried flower stuck in a book page, a photo of them printed on glossy paper—"It's stupid, but I wanted to give it to you."

He never said "I love you" directly. He said it differently. He said it by opening his umbrella awkwardly so that she would be better covered. He said it by blowing on her fingers when she was cold, or by tying her shoelaces when they came undone. He said it by watching her out of the corner of his eye, unable to look away for too long.

When she laughed, he blushed. Really. A real red, that rose to his ears. He tried to act proud, to shrug as if it was nothing. But sometimes, she caught him staring at the ground, smiling to himself, clinging to the strap of his bag as if that simple burst of happiness could make him tremble.

He seemed so lost in his feelings.

Si-eun, with his false airs of a solid boy, melted at her slightest gentleness.

One day, she had sneezed while they were walking. He had stopped dead, had rummaged frantically in his bag to hand her a tissue. He had even tried to wrap her in a scarf that he had bought just for her, without saying so. And when she had thanked him, he had murmured, almost ashamed:

— "I don't want you to get sick. I couldn't bear not having you… even for just one day."

Another day, she had fallen asleep on his shoulder in an empty bus. He hadn't moved. Not once. Even when his arm had become completely numb.

When she had woken up, confused, he had simply breathed:

— "Did you have a dream?"

— "I think so."

— "I hope I was in it…"

She had laughed softly, and he had bitten his lip, unable to look her in the face for a few seconds. He had blushed, again.

He had this rare modesty, this way of showing himself without exposing himself. He sometimes trembled when she placed her hand on his. He clung to her as if she were the only certainty in his life. He said that she smelled "like summer even in winter," and that her silences frightened him less than all the words in the world.

When they made love, it was gentle. More tender than physical. He took his time, looked at her for a long time, stopped to ask her useless but urgent questions:

— "Do you want me to kiss you there?"

— "Do you love me a little, there, now? Just a little?"

He caressed her with open palms, as if he was afraid of pressing too hard. He buried his face in her neck afterward, stayed close to her like a child after a nightmare. Sometimes, he cried. Not loudly. Just discreet tears, which he wiped away quickly, almost ashamed. But she knew it. She felt his body tremble against hers.

— "I've never had this before you. Never had someone who stays." The one who remained you let die

He kissed her shoulders. Her neck. Her fingers. He laughed when she had hiccups, told her absurd stories to make her fall asleep. He pretended to know how to cook and failed everything, but served his charred dishes with a clumsy pride.

— "I'm trying. For you. I'm trying to be a good person."

She believed him. Every gesture, every look, seemed woven with a timid sincerity. He was too fragile to lie, wasn't he?

Once, he wrote on her hand, with a pen:

“stay.”

He said nothing while doing it. He simply took her palm and traced the letters, one by one, with care.

When she looked up at him, he murmured, tears in his eyes:

— "I'm so afraid you'll leave."

And he hugged her tightly. For a long time. Long enough for her to think he would always protect her. Long enough for her to forget the cold. The world. The rest.

That day, she told herself that she had never been loved so much. She thought she was rebuilding him. She thought he was laying down his weapons. She thought she was the bandage, the light, the outstretched hand.

She thought.

How stupid she is

***

— "I have to tell you something… but I'm afraid you'll hate me after."

He murmured it one evening, his eyes on the ceiling, his face half in shadow.

Y/N had turned her head abruptly, her heart clenching. She thought of a revelation of past love, a crime, a confession.

He said nothing else. Just that. He let the silence do its work. And she, she clung to that sentence as if it were a burning wire. All night, she woke up in fits and starts, her gaze wild towards her phone. Something serious. Something hidden.

He didn't reply. And the next day, he only told her:

— "Get ready. We're going out."

***

They walked under the trees, in an old neighborhood with peaceful alleys. He held her hand, intertwined his fingers with a touching clumsiness. At each red light, he placed his lips on her temple. He stopped in small shops, showed her unimportant objects—a broken figurine, a rusty pendant—as if he wanted to share everything with her.

He smiled too much. Apologized too much. Bumped into her on purpose to laugh. A thick, almost sticky tenderness.

Y/N was happy. Confused, but happy. He told her:

— "Did you change something about your voice? It's softer than usual…"

She blushed.

He seemed nervous, like a teenager on a first date. She thought of a declaration. A tearful request.

But as they approached the city center, she felt something change. A pressure in her hand. A tension in his jaws. He no longer needed to play: she was already following him.

And then she saw the hospital. He said nothing. He gently pulled her towards the entrance.

Doubt, first, then certainty.

***

Room 317

The corridors were cold. The floor shone. Footsteps echoed far away. A disinfectant smell, too strong.

Y/N, already, was no longer breathing normally. She trembled.

Si-eun hadn't released her hand. He held her like a handcuffed person.

They passed two doors, then a third. He stopped in front of a room. No name, just a number. He opened without knocking.

Inside, time had frozen.

Su-ho.

The boy she knew, the one she had laughed with, who had protected her one day in that same boxing club.

On a white bed, machines in a row, tubes, muffled alarms. His body kept alive by an impersonal science.

Y/N felt her throat close.

A clenching in her legs.

A pressure in her temples, unbearable.

She didn't dare breathe.

She knew.

She understood what Si-eun had just done.

She didn't cry. Not yet. Her body was defending itself. The shock was too immense. Everything was emptying within her.

And he… he was smiling.

He made her sit down, by force, on the chair near the bed.

He circled her like a quiet predator.

— "You recognize him, huh?"

She didn't answer.

— "It's crazy, he still has the same smile. Well… he had it. Until the day you decided not to pick up your fucking phone."

She wanted to get up. He pushed her back into the chair, violently.

— "No. You stay. You look. You take responsibility."

His voice was broken, sharp.

— "You were there. You saw him. You knew. And you were afraid? Poor darling… Y/N was afraid."

He spat that name like a poison.

— "He's been like this since that day. Since the day you decided your silence was worth more than his life."

He speaks softly, but each word lacerates her.

— "You watched him get destroyed. You hid behind your fragile little body and your fear of intervening."

— "He's here because you preferred to close your eyes."

She opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

— "You think I could love someone like you?"

She staggered, her lips trembling.

— "You want to know why I kissed you? Why I told you that you were everything to me? Because I wanted you to cling on. I wanted you to love yourself a little… before I broke you."

He laughs. Dry, nervous. Like a knife against glass.

— "It's crazy how people who lack love swallow anything… even shit if it's covered in pretty packaging."

And he laughed. Like the creep he is.

Y/N cowered. Her back against the backrest. Her breathing cut off.

— "You feel dirty? No? Not yet? Wait."

He took a bracelet out of his pocket. A worn, braided cord bracelet.

— "It was his. Keep it. You'll have to live with that."

He forced it onto her wrist. Y/N didn't have the strength to protest.

Her heart was beating too fast. She heard each beep of the monitor like a slap. Each artificial breath like proof.

Shame, finally, burst forth. But she didn't cry. She collapsed in silence. A blocked sob. A panic without screams.

Her skin seemed to want to flee her body. She was hot. She was cold. Her vision blurred.

— "Tell me again that you love me. Come on. Say it now."

She shook her head.

— "Too late, huh? Now you see. Now you KNOW."

— "Look at yourself. That's what you are. A coward. A selfish person. And you dare to love?"

He leans over the bracelet, then over her. Coldly:

— "Don't forget what I showed you today. You are not forgiven. You are not lovable. You are guilty. And it's me who holds you, Y/N. It's me you should fear. Because I can do this a thousand times. A thousand days. A thousand nights."

In Si-eun's mind

He watches her dissolve.

He feels an acidic satisfaction. A black victory.

He doesn't smile. He doesn't rejoice. He anchors his pain in hers.

That was the goal. For her to bear his grief. For her to breathe it, to swallow it. Until she suffocates.

She has fallen.

And he, finally, can breathe.

But not for too long.

Because she will have to come back to it. Again. Again.

Until her love is nothing more than a remnant of guilt. Until she offers herself to him no longer by choice… but by debt.

.................................................................................

Sieun New headcanon here

@mariii-0001 @mizxuqii @iiwsmr @emswirls

[dragonmasterhiccup]

Hiccup lowered his gaze. "My--my dad, he, he has the ability to make me human. The only problem is, well...he hates humans. I just need to get him to change his mind, is all..."

Phlegma asked him gently, "And what if you can't, Hiccup? What then?"

"Then I'll find another way. I don't know..."

She was quiet for a moment. If Astrid were to become a mermaid, she'd be heartbroken. It would feel as though she lost her daughter. It wouldn't be a stretch to assume Hiccup's father would feel the same, if his son became human. Especially since the man lost his wife.

"Hiccup," she stepped forward, "was it really dragons that took your mother? Or humans?"

"Dragons. No, he...he never said why he hates humans so much, just that he does. That... they're dangerous."

"But clearly you don't see us that way."

"No! No, of course not. Everything I came across just...made me more intrigued. Look, there are bad merfolk, but there's good, too. I knew all humans couldn't be bad, it just, it didn't make sense. And then...I met Astrid. She proved that I wasn't wrong about any of it. I just...have to get my dad to see the truth."

The hope in Hiccup's face fell as Axel pointed out that if he wasn't human, Astrid would be viewed unfavourably.

At Astrid's resolution, he shook his head sadly. "I don't know about Berk, but where I'm from, marriage to humans is forbidden."

"Hey, no, no, I--I wasn't roped into anything. I wanted to do this. I...I want to be with her."

Clasping her hand still, his eyes widened, his lips parting as she spoke. "Me too." Not fitting in was actually an understatement, but he couldn't believe Astrid felt the same!

Hiccup sat up higher, nodding. Allowing Axel to lift him, he hardly said a word as they made their way back to their home.

The stares they received actually didn't bother Hiccup for once. He did expect it, after all. A merman, in the flesh, was bound to get some attention.

By the time they got back, Hiccup was starting to feel tired. It was probably due to the insane events of the day, but he suspected that tea had a hand in his exhaustion.

He did give a sigh of content as he was lowered into the basin. The cool water bringing some comfort to the injured merman.

Astrid's groan of frustration got his attention. "Hey, it's okay. I should probably hit the kelp early anyways. It's been a...a crazy day, to say the least."

As she leaned close, he pressed his forehead to hers. "Yeah. We'll figure it out." Meeting her eyes, he nodded, glad he'd gifted her that shell.

Her kiss yet again took him by surprise, but he reciprocated. His face burned with heat when he heard Phlegma muttering her disapproval of the display. When Astrid pulled away, he asked, "I'll...I'll see you in the morning, yeah?"

🐟

In the night, Toothless had found him. Hiccup was glad to see his best friend, but Toothless regarded the bandage with concern.

"Yeah, it's...there's a bit of a story as to what happened, but...it's gone. My fin...I lost it."

The dragon grumbled mournfully, nuzzling the merman, who wrapped his arms around the dragon. "I know, bud. Thanks."

As the sun rose, Hiccup awoke with a stretch, sitting up out of the water to find Toothless curled around the wash basin. The dragon perked up, nuzzling Hiccup. "Good morning to you too, bud!"

The dragon turned towards the home, alert.

Someone was awake.

Hiccup looked around for a hiding space, but there wasn't anywhere for the dragon to go. If he flew now, anyone could see him.

"Toothless! Toothless, I need you to look as unassuming and not dangerous as much as possible. Astrid knows you, but her parents don't."

The dragon retracted his teeth. "Good! It's a start, at least..." Hiccup let out a hiss as his tail flicked to the side. It was a mannerism he'd have to be more careful about until he healed.

The door opened, and the two of them looked towards it. Hiccup was ready to defend the dragon, if he needed to.

After a long training session, all Astrid wanted to do was cool off on the beach. Maybe a tiny swim, even though the ocean was so cold at this time of year. She pushed through the brush and staggered down to the shore.

Only to find a boy lounging in the shallows.

“Oh!” She dropped her axe in the sand. From his bare torso, she assumed he was naked. “Sorry! I didn’t know someone else would be…here…” as the apologies flowed, she realized from the waist down, he had green scales and a pair of fins.

No wonder she hadn’t recognized him.

“No way…” she inched closer. “A real mermaid! In the flesh! Are the stories true?” She stamped down her overwhelming curiosity for a moment to give him a stern point. “Don’t try anything fishy, mermaid. I’m very capable of protecting myself, got it?”

((I saw the prompt and went feral, hope you don’t mind))

[X]

Hiccup started, the water around him splashing as he sat up straight in surprise, before he moved a little further back, his cheeks flushed.

"No, sorry, I, I shouldn't--" Ducking his head, the merman awkwardly held up a hand, "Usually no one comes here..."

But his movements only caused his tail to briefly break the surface, emerald scales glittering in the sun for a moment before dipping below the water again.

Firmly, he responded, "Merman. I am a merman. And no, don't worry, I, I wasn't going to try anything...I know you'd probably kill me if I did..."

Clearing his throat, he ran a hand through his hair, which had partially dried in his time sitting in the shallow water. "What, what stories are you referring to?"

He knew, or at least had a gut feeling about what she was asking, but he wanted to hear it from her. She appeared wary, but not fearful. Maybe these humans didn't have the same fears of his kind like the others?

[prettydaisygirl]

HUGEEE HUGE CONGRATS, LOVE !!🫶

for your bouquet celebration, i'd like to request a 🌼

“i have so much love for you i almost don’t know what to do with it.” roommate!james

if it's possible, i'd love the inclusion of a personal hc: he gives massive vibes of going crazy with text kisses. he could ask if she needs anything while at the shops, and a simple text like that will end with 9 x's :,)

thank you, thank you for your work! always makes my day <3

Hello nonnie! Thank you so much for requesting and celebrating with me! I hope you enjoy <3

🌼 daisy (innocence, loyalty, pure love): pick a character and an AU from the lists above & a prompt from this list and I will write a <500 word drabble

daisy's 500 follower celebration masterlist

James Potter, roommate, and "I have so much love for you, I almost don't know what to do with it."

cw: tipsy!James, no boundaries roommates

°˖✧✿✧˖°

Your phone buzzes. It’s probably the thirtieth time that it has buzzed tonight and that isn’t an exaggeration. It goes off again as you’re reaching for it.

James: heyyyy m gon b home soon xxxxxx James: r u awake? xxxxxxxxxxxxx

You can tell that James is tipsy by the increasing number of kisses that he sends at the end of his messages. When sober, he only puts one or two. You snort, scrolling through all of the drunk messages you’ve received throughout the night. You didn’t mean to stay up and wait for him, but the time got away from you and now it’s late enough that you decide you’re better off not sleeping so as not to get woken up when James gets back.

It’s not even twenty minutes later when you can hear James stumbling up to the apartment. You hear him fumble with his keys long enough that you consider getting up to help him, but then the door is unlocking. 

You sit up, your lazy figure wrapped in a blanket contrasting with James’ bright, colorful outfit. He’s covered in glitter, but his eyes shine brighter than anything he’s wearing when he spots you.

“Angel,” He draws the pet name out as he runs over to you, throwing himself on top of you clumsily. You grunt from the surprise weight of him, the air stripped from your lungs. James doesn’t seem to notice, too busy burrowing himself into you. He gives you a big, dopey smile. “I missed you.”

You manage to catch your breath, a hand lightly patting his hair. “Did you have fun?”

“I did!” He tells you just as his face finds the curve of your neck. You’re used to James’ affections, but they never fail to give you butterflies. The tip of his nose brushes your skin and you shiver. The movement has James wrapping even further around you.

There’s a long moment of silence. It stretches out to the point where you think James has fallen asleep. He proves you wrong when he mumbles against your neck, the skin warmed by his breath with each word. "I love you." He says, “I have so much love for you, I almost don’t know what to do with it.”

Your breath catches. At first, you think maybe you heard him wrong, that he didn’t just confess his love for you. Your heart pounds, and you realize you heard him correctly when he shifts and opens an eye to look at you.

“Did you hear me?” His voice is raspy and just the slightest bit slurred. His eyes have sobered significantly, which you hadn’t expected.

“I did.” You say softly, and then, “You… You’re drunk.”

“I’m tipsy.” He corrects, a hand sliding up your side before settling over your ribs. “I… I lost a drinking game with Sirius and he told me I had to come home and confess tonight.”

“Oh, he did?” You ask with a bit of a scoff. “So, you’re only doing it because Sirius asked you to?”

“No,” James counters, his hand curling in the fabric of your shirt, “I’m doing it because I love you. Sirius just… forced me to do it tonight.”

“Hmm…” You respond with a soft hum, running a hand over his hair. He shivers this time, then smiles. “So, you love me?”

“I’ve been trying to be obvious about it.” He admits sheepishly. “You just haven’t noticed. 

“Is that why I came home the other day to find my bed covered in chocolates?”

“You like chocolates!”

“Yes, but not a thousand of them. And not in my bed.” You finally giggle, and it turns into true laughter at James’ pout. You decide to put him out of his misery with a chaste kiss to his lips. He practically melts.

“Oh, and James,” You speak up again to catch his attention, “For future reference, I like flowers too.”

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[muchanmocha]

What if Mizi and Sua's fight was about this guy?

(Yes this is a conspiracy board)

Mizi and Sua got into a fight before she left and we don't get any further details or elaboration on what happened.

But what if it was over him?

Sua had warned Mizi about him. If this really was what their fight was about, Sua was probably especially insistent Mizi stayed away from him considering she won't be around during this period of time to keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn't do anything.

But Mizi doesn't see what she's worried about. He's her friend after all. She waves off Sua's concerns the same way she always has when it came to Sua wanting her to stay away from people.

We've seen this happen before with Ivan and Till, both of whom Mizi continues to hang out with despite Sua's dissatisfaction. At the end of the day, they're her friends and she loves being with them.

And as someone she also considers a friend, of course she would extend the same to this guy.

Nothing's going to happen, Mizi probably insisted. Unfortunately neither of them were able to convince the other by the time Sua had to leave so they parted unreconciled.

But this guy didn't live up to Mizi's expectations.

He proves Sua right.

"What a shame, really."

What a shame they couldn't stay friends. What a shame she was wrong. What a shame they can still "see each other later" but they'll never truly be comfortable with each other again.

Sua's eyes are wide here in comparison to a later frame. She's shocked to hear Mizi still defending this guy, making excuses for him even after what he'd done.

'Oh,' Sua thinks. The light has vanished from her eyes by the next frame.

She'd just dragged herself back from hell, clinging to the thought of Mizi, only to find out she'd been attacked by the very person Sua had warned her about.

'She's brushing this off. Even after everything, she's brushing it off like it doesn't even matter.'

Like Sua's words don't matter. At this point, she feels dead inside.

Acridly, she thinks, 'Yeah maybe it really doesn't mean much to her. Something like this isn't even worth lingering over for Mizi.'

'Even when something like this happens you can brush it off because it's easy. Unlike me.'

'Must be nice, right?'

[kcandyliciouss]

Soft spot

Synopsis:

You wake up in the library with Tsukishima's jacket draped over you. You realize maybe he doesn't hate you as much as you thought he did.

Cw: gn!reader, college au, academic rivals to more(?), tsukishima is kind of a tsundere, silly banter

Wc: 0.8k

Not beta read!

Tsukushima Kei was a jerk, you knew that. You knew that from the moment you had met him.

At first he didn’t pay any mind to you. Hell, he probably didn’t even know you existed. That was until he saw your name above his on the results board.

Two points. You had passed him by two points— and that’s when he started noticing you.

As you hurriedly shuffled through your bag for your notebook, your phone slipped from your grasp and clattered loudly onto the floor.

A few heads turned, and you quickly bent down to retrieve it. Just as you did, a sharp voice sneered behind you.

“Did you drop your brain along with that?”

He leaned slightly over his desk, eyes glinting with amusement as he pointed at the red 87/100 inked on the corner of your paper on your desk. “Here I thought I had competition.”

At first, you genuinely thought he hated you—his snarky comments and dismissive attitude made that pretty clear. But after a few similar encounters, you started to realize that he saw this as a game in which he wanted to prove he was better than you. Once you figured that out you started treating it like a game. And soon you learnt that irritating him was incredibly fun.

Now, you and Tsukishima weren’t friends��far from it—but you weren’t enemies either. You could even have a decent chat once in a while (though not without some banter). Still, being in the same course meant constant competition. As exhausting as it was sometimes, it also kept you motivated to study harder. If it weren’t for this rivalry you would be slacking off a lot more. But you didn’t. Not when he made sure to drop a snarky comment whenever you got a question wrong; in return, whenever you scored higher than him on an exam or assignment, you'd make sure to rub it in his face just as much.

So yes, Tsukishima was a jerk. He was dry, sarcastic, and lacked any redeeming qualities. He’d slam the door right in front of your face if you were walking behind him, he would purposefully bump his shoulder into yours in the hallway just to annoy you. Which is why it was a complete surprise when you woke up in the library with a jacket draped over your shoulders. A jacket that definitely wasn’t yours.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Turning your head slightly, you saw Tsukishima sitting on your left, focused on some assignment.

Huh. That was odd. He only sat next to you if the library was full.

Feeling your confused gaze on him, his usual cold eyes met yours, his indifference unchanged.

“You’re awake,” he stated flatly before turning back to his work. “If you keep dozing off instead of actually studying, you won’t even have a chance of passing me on this assignment.” His eyes never left his notebook, but a smirk crept onto his face as he added, “Not that you ever had one to begin with. But keep dozing like that, and you'll definitely fail.”

You blinked a few times. Still feeling a bit drowsy but amused, you chuckled softly and shot him a smirk of your own, tilting your head slightly.

“Is the great Tsukishima worried about me falling behind? How sweet of you.”

He always liked teasing you. You always reacted to his taunts and that only fed his already humongous ego. But honestly? You liked teasing Tsukishima just as much.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” you said with a playful grin. “I’m perfectly capable of beating you on this assignment. Actually, that’s why I was napping—I don’t even need to do the assignment to pass you. I’m just that good, y’know.” You stretched your arms lazily and grinned wider.

Tsukishima just snorted, “Right.”

It was when the jack slipped from your shoulders as you stretched you remembered about it.

“Even made sure I wasn’t cold. Truly a gentleman, Tsuki!” You picked it up with a giggle and handed it back to him.

He took it back with a scoff “Oh please,” he dismissed, "you were shaking like a leaf on a tree. It was impossible to concentrate with the sound of your teeth chattering. And don’t call me that.”

"Aww. Don’t tell me your cold heart was warmed up by little ol’ me. "

Tsukishima simply raised an eyebrow at your cheeky smile, clearly annoyed.

"Don’t flatter yourself," he drawled in his usual condescending tone, "you were simply an inconvenience, nothing more."

You quietly smile to yourself, knowing he didn’t really mean it. Because if he did, he’d be sitting anywhere else in the empty library, not right next to you.

Maybe Tsukishima Kei wasn’t such a jerk after all.

Please do not repost or translate my work. Reblogs and comments are appreciated though!

Deviders are by @/thecutestgrotto !!

[barnesonly]

„every touch that used to bring you happiness is nothing but a dagger through your heart nowadays.” oh. okay. i gotta fasten my seatbelt cause it’s gonna hurt

„you can't fathom the idea of never seeing the Winter Soldier again. of never being his again.” i get ya 😔 can’t blame her honestly

„in that case, he can still love you from afar without hating himself for it.” NO MY SHEYLAAAAA

READER FLINCHING WHEN HE TRIES TO TOUCH HER I’M GONNA SOB I FEEL SO SO BAD FOR HIM. „”are we okay?" he asks you. the pure terror in his eyes is evident now” MY BABYYYYYYYyyyyyysgsbshd

„you've never felt so alone in the arms of the love of your life.” excuse me did you just twist the knife?

„and, by god, the Winter Soldier listens to you.” Oh my god I was rooting for Bucky but THIS?? i’m bipolar.

„Fuck, Bucky.”

„No.” OH GODSGSTXYSB and the choking ?? i’m gonna rip my hair out.

“he’s so deep, you might even start cramping, it’s that good.” genuinely need that it’s not even a joke anymore.

„you called him Bucky, so he marked you to make sure you knew who it was that did this to you.” OF COURSE HE DIDDDDDD oh my god I’m such a slut for him i’m so curious about Bucky’s reaction though oh gods im nervous — I kinda have a theory where she says to bucky she liked it and all I have in front of my eyes is that one scene from nosferatu „you could never please me like he can” and then he throws her on the bed and proves her wrong and my delusional mind hopes it comes to that and not angst but i probably should have known better.

oh he leaves… well yeah…

CAN’T WAIT FOR P3 LIKE FRRR i need it right nowwww

bad luck part 2 - nsfw winter soldier/bucky barnes

find part 1 here! not related to my pre-existing winter soldier series.

disclaimer: dark themes. Bucky turns into the winter soldier obviously. fully consensual smut by both parties although not explicitly stated. you have been warned, read at your own discretion.

~~~

every touch that used to bring you happiness is nothing but a dagger through your heart nowadays.

a gentle hand on your lower back sends you reeling. flashbacks of not him coming up behind you, reaching into your pants...

"are you alright, doll?" Bucky asks of you when you don't quite catch what he's said to you.

"yes, sorry," you say, coming back to yourself.

you feel the headache coming on as you lie to him.

his lips on the skin of your neck, his teeth digging in a bit rougher, reminding you of what it feels like to be his...

"sorry, baby, I'll be gentler," he murmurs to you when he sees your less than enthusiastic reaction.

"no, that's not-" you try to protest, but you can't. now isn't the time for that discussion. "it's okay, baby."

you appreciate his concern, you do. but the stinging feeling in your eyes only gets worse as he gets softer, gentler, a further reminder of what it is that you're not telling him.

~~~

not even a moment after you fell apart for not him in the kitchen, he'd dragged you out of the compound and back to your apartment.

he'd put you on your hands and knees on the bed, sharply smacking the back of your thighs and your ass as he fucked you rougher than you'd ever taken it before.

the noises that filled the room were nothing short of obscene, grotesque, disgusting.

your voice was no longer your own, high-pitched moans falling from your lips left and right. you ignored the sound of his skin slapping against yours harshly, his motions making you jolt forward every time.

he leaned against you, laying his chest to your back, his thrusts never faltering once. the smacking sound was thus replaced with squelching noises from between your legs that made you want to hide with how loud it was, a reminder to the both of you of how badly you wanted this.

"mine," he grit into your ear, metal fingers tracing down your stomach to the junction where you met. he laved his fingers up and down from your clit to where he stretched you open, the feeling nothing short of torture. it seemed a sign of his possessiveness, proof that he owned you wholly by touching you at his pleasure, not yours.

the second he decided to give into you, to touch you properly, your knees buckled, and his arm around your pelvis was all that managed to hold you up. he's so strong, holding your entire body weight up while pounding you from behind...

inhuman.

he's inhuman.

and as your orgasm ripped through your whole body, your mind conjured up thoughts of what everyone has told you about the man behind you.

dangerous. terrifying. ruthless.

psycho killer.

but how can he be any of those things when he treats you like you're the only thing in the world that matters?

~~~

the next morning, Bucky woke before you, so you didn't have the time to consider how to approach this conversation.

he bombarded you the second you awoke, and although you would've liked a few minutes to actually get your head on straight, you couldn't blame him for wanting to know. for being scared.

of himself. of the Winter Soldier. of what he might possibly do to you.

"baby, what happened yesterday?" he asked you. "I don't remember coming to bed last night. I... I lost time. the last thing I remember was being grabbed on the street."

you had no clue what to say. you had no choice but to come up with it as you went.

"you went for a run, baby, and didn't come back. I was worried," you told him, still half-asleep, praying that your lie made sense by time you'd both fully woken and cleared your heads. "I didn't tell anyone yet."

"what? why not?" he questioned. protocol, especially when it came to Bucky, was to report anyone missing the very second you believed it to be an issue.

"I know it was stupid, and I should have," you told him. "I was scared. but if I thought it had been anything serious, you know I would have."

"it was serious. they grabbed me. those goddamn words are the last thing I remember," he said angrily.

you watched as he paced around the room. yes, he was pissed, but you tried to tell yourself it wasn't directed at you. you might have royally fucked up, but he was pissed that it happened again.

not because of you.

"clearly, he knows to come back here. it's happened twice now, and I didn't know either time," you offered, lying through your teeth.

"but what if I hurt you?" he hissed. "we're both naked, for god's sake-"

"don't read into it," you blurt out, trying to distract him from that line of thinking. "clearly you didn't hurt me either time. I'm fine."

you tried your best to brush it off, to not let him think out loud for too long lest he begin piecing it together.

you knew he didn't believe you.

~~~

of course, later that day, you'd been forced to go to the compound and report the situation.

and yet again, you lied.

you sat there and just took the lecture as you were reprimanded for not immediately reporting him missing.

"you know better. you know not to take things like this lightly, especially not when it comes to him!" Steve had told you.

you flinched when he said 'him.' it made it sound like Bucky was lesser than, like he was more fragile, just because of his vulnerability to his alter ego.

"I know. I'm sorry," you told Steve. "but like I told Bucky, he didn't hurt me! he came back to me both times, and he didn't hurt me!"

Steve gave you a look, and for just a fraction of a second, you wondered if he knew. if he could look into your mind and if he just knew that you were lying.

"and you're sure you didn't see him?" he asked.

you did the worst possible thing you could have.

you hesitated.

"I'm positive."

~~~

every day, you feel worse and worse.

you owe it to your team to tell them the truth. a professional obligation.

but more than that, you owe it to Bucky to tell him the truth. a personal obligation, an obligation you've willingly taken on by way of choosing to be his significant other.

and what are you doing?

hurting him.

just to keep your dirty little secret safe.

because maybe deep down, deep in a part of your soul you don't want to examine, you can't fathom the idea of never seeing the Winter Soldier again.

of never being his again.

~~~

ever since that mission when he turned, you've been different.

he doesn't want to attribute it to that. he wants to believe that maybe it's just something he's done, or said, that maybe it's something he can fix. that there's something he can do to bridge the widening gap between the two of you.

even if he can't fix it, he still hopes it's him. he hopes that you're just bored of him, that you're falling out of love with him, because in that case?

in that case, he can still love you from afar without hating himself for it. he can live knowing that it wasn't his fault, that your relationship just wasn't meant to be, even if it absolutely destroyed him.

but the timing makes this particularly confusing.

none of this happened until after he was reported to have been turned. your relationship had been perfect, even up to the point where he forced you to promise you would shoot him if you had to. even that hadn't put a dent in the happiness and love you two shared.

it was after. after he'd lost time. after his alter ego had been brought to surface once more.

it can't be a coincidence that you start flinching every time he reaches for you after the Winter Soldier saw the light of day again.

worse even, there's not a bruise on you. not a scratch that might indicate that he'd done something to hurt you.

and that only makes him trust himself even less and less, because what else could possibly be happening here?

~~~

the ball of anxiety that's been sitting in your stomach for weeks never seems to lessen.

you think Bucky has noticed that something is wrong with you, that you're not entirely your normal self, but he hasn't brought it up with you just yet.

well, he hadn't.

"I want talk to you," he told you one morning as you both sat lazily on the couch. normally, you'd have your legs draped across his lap as you read a book and he watched the morning news.

you sit on the other side of the couch now, far away from him.

"yeah, baby?" you ask, sticking your bookmark in between the two open pages and looking to him.

"are we okay?" he asks you. the pure terror in his eyes is evident now, on full display for you to see the way he's afraid of what your answer might be. that he's concerned you don't love him anymore, or any other insane explanation he's come up with in his head.

"we're fine," you smile at him. it's definitely not convincing.

you're the reason he's doubting your relationship. you're the reason he's doubting himself, the reason he's doubting the fact that he has control over his own mind. this is entirely on you.

it's all your fault.

that fact eats away at your nerves like an amoeba.

"yeah, but you don't... like right now, you're sitting so far away. I miss you sitting on top of me. I told you, you could never annoy me by doing that," he pleads, voice so soft you think you might break. "you don't seem to want to have sex anymore. you're constantly in your head, and never in the real world, with me. so please, just tell me, are you sure we're okay? are you okay?"

you want nothing more than to tell him, yes. I love you more than life itself, but if I admit the truth to you, you'll leave me because you'll think I'm not safe with you.

hopefully not because I lied.

what you actually do is scoot closer to him, wrap your arms around his neck, and press his forehead to yours.

"we're okay. I love you, and I will love you until the day that I die, okay? even then, even in death, I'll still love you."

he nods against you, your reassurances calming his nerves slightly. "yeah. yeah, baby. I love you too."

in that very moment, a countdown started in your head.

a countdown until the moment your relationship inevitably falls apart, because at this point, that's the only way it's headed.

if you don't tell him, your relationship ends because you continue to lie, continue to pull away, and one or both of you won't be able to put up with it anymore.

if you do tell him, your relationship ends because you tell him the truth, he's the one to pull away, and he refuses to come anywhere near you ever again for the sake of keeping you safe from him.

hopefully not because you lied.

you've never felt so alone in the arms of the love of your life.

~~~

when another mission is proposed, you say no. you downright refuse to let the entire thing happen, refuse to let Bucky go.

more than just refusing, you throw a tantrum.

"this cannot happen, don't you understand? this is what they want! they want to hurt him, to take him back!" you yelled at Steve.

"this can be it. the end of all endings. to put hydra down, for good," he reasoned with you. "and, I'm sorry, but we need him."

"NO!" you screamed. "I won't sign off. I won't go with him. just, no. I won't let this happen."

you weren't even saying anything of significance at this point and you knew it. you were throwing around words because you were upset and didn't want to risk facing your reality again.

because you're not ready to lose Bucky.

Steve politely said your name, trying to get you to calm down.

your mind was in conundrum, trying to rationalize this, trying to escape from what you've done.

how you've hurt him, how you've hurt everyone.

they'd all be better off without you.

"you're not going at all," Steve told you, and immediately, you knew that the decision was final. they never planned to bring you along in the first place.

you began shouting again, trying to take back what you'd said earlier, that this would only happen if you agreed to be there-

Steve finally put his foot down.

"I brought you in here to tell you this is going to happen one way or another. I had hoped I would have your support on this."

another punch to the gut.

your whole world is falling apart. your career, your relationship, your sense of self. you're watching it all go down the drain like a diamond earring, and you're trying to grasp for it, and you've almost got it.

"this is happening this weekend. you are not to report to the compound on Friday, are we clear?"

it's over.

the countdown finally has an official expiration date.

you turn around, slam the door as you leave, and you don't look back.

it's all over.

~~~

you tried. you really tried to get Bucky to understand, to listen to reason, that this whole mission plan was utter bullshit.

you immediately ran home, knowing he's already there, knowing Steve had likely told him before he told you. you still had a chance to change his mind, to get him to refuse.

"baby, please, do not do this. they're going to hurt you again. they'll get into your head," you told him, running your hands through his hair as you looked at him with wild eyes, ready to cry.

"but, if this works... then that's it. no more hydra," he tells you. his voice is shaky, and you hate it. you despise the fact that he's going to have to relive his traumas, that he has to confront it head on, again.

"I don't want to see them hurt you again," you repeat. god, this whole thing has made you lose every critical thinking bone in your body.

"if this works, and we finally get rid of them, then they'll never be able to hurt me ever again. don't you understand?"

you pause. your heart feels like a hollow void in your chest. you're asking him to bow out, to do this for you, when in reality?

he needs this.

he needs the closure. he needs to put this to bed once and for all.

"I need to do this for me," he tells you, and then his own tears start.

if you weren't already the worst person in the world, you would most certainly feel like you were now.

~~~

you do as you're told and you stay home on Friday.

you don't bother even getting out of bed. you force yourself to get up and shower, but anything else is beyond your mental capacity right now.

you can't stop thinking about it: his worst trauma has been nothing but a highly gratifying sexual experience for you.

and you fucking hate yourself for it.

the thought leaves you hunched over the toilet, dry heaving the destitute contents of your stomach into the bowl a number of times throughout the day.

you have no choice but to break up with him. even if all goes according to plan, and the mission is successful in taking down hydra, you can't keep doing this. to him, or to yourself.

he deserves to know. you can't keep living off of the excuse that you want to protect him and salvage your relationship.

because you're not protecting him. you're stabbing him in the back.

so you'll break up with him, and you'll hand in your letter of resignation.

it doesn't hurt so bad, you think, to accept that you've completely tarnished your career by lying, by withholding crucial information about key missions and about one of your team members.

it won't hurt as bad as it will to have to tell Bucky the truth.

~~~

you'd be lying if you said it didn't cross your mind that this mission might lead to the resurfacing of the man causing all your problems right now.

but you've been doing a lot of lying recently anyways.

especially when you call the Winter Soldier the one causing all your problems. that's bullshit. this is all on you.

so you wish you were surprised when you get a phone call from Steve on Saturday evening.

"I'm so sorry to have to be the one to tell you this-"

you don't let him get through his sentence.

"spit it out," you say.

you forced yourself to get up, to get out of the house today. you're in the middle of the grocery store when you answer the phone.

"he turned. and he's gone. so we're assuming he's coming to yours," he tells you.

the last time this happened, it took him a few days to get back to New York. to get to you.

"we need you to stay at the compound until he resurfaces. we'll send a team to your apartment to subdue him."

a million different angles run through your head in an instant, wondering if this is really the best course of action. even if you try to argue with Steve, you realize, he's not going to listen to you.

"okay. will do," you concede.

you know what will happen. the soldier has proved by now that he's coming for you, no matter where you are. he's gotten past compound security before without spilling even a single drop of blood.

something in his programming has changed.

you try to tamp down your beating heart and your overwhelming nerves as you abandon your groceries and head straight for the compound.

~~~

you're asleep when it happens.

in a random bedroom on a random floor that you're not even sure the number of, he comes in late in the dead of night.

he strips all the clothes from his body as he walks up to the bed, gazing at your form covered by blankets and sheets, hiding you from him.

he slips into the bed behind you, burying himself under the covers warmed by your body heat, and begins to strip your sleeping clothes away from your skin.

you're awoken to a harsh bite on the side of your neck, accompanied by two hands wrapped around your torso, pinching and plucking at your nipples now exposed to the cold air of the night.

"fuck, it's you," you whisper, trying to wake up, trying to experience this moment to the fullest.

being anxious won't help you now, and you don't know if this will ever happen again.

the thoughts don't cure your anxiety, but they help enough to let you enjoy the feeling of him curled around you.

he doesn't bother responding, which is enough confirmation for you. you turn your head behind you to face him, and slot your mouth with his, adjusting the rest of your body to follow.

you let yourself get caught up in the way his hands hold your head so tightly, gripping your hair into a ponytail to force you into compliance. he kisses you like he owns you, and fuck, you know does.

all the emotional distress, all the physical desire, the withdrawal from every aspect of your life, is all because of him. it's all because he's your secret that you're too afraid to let go, that you're so desperately clinging to.

every decision, both big and small, and every thought and feeling you've had over the last couple of weeks. it's all because of him.

you knew it was time to fess up a long time ago. but somewhere along the way, you got too caught up in it, in the thought that:

he does own you.

he uses his body weight to push you onto your back and he crawls on top of you, trapping you underneath him. you hear him groan into your mouth as he grinds harshly down against you, the feeling of his rock-hard dick pressing up against your stomach, seeking a release that he's so rarely granted.

you don't want this to be the last time you see him.

you're going to pretend that it is.

"let me use my mouth," you breathe when he pulls away from the kiss, only for a second. "I want to, please," you plead.

he all but growls at the sound of that, and then you're moving, again, watching him move to lay on his back. you watch his flesh hand stroking himself as though he can't go a single second without the stimulation.

positioned between his legs, you watch him hiss and groan as his metal hand tangles itself in your hair, holding your head right above where he needs it.

"let me," you urge, tapping his wrist.

and, by god, the Winter Soldier listens to you.

he yanks his hand away from himself, and in a second, your mouth is on him, sucking on the tip like it's your holy grail. his hips jut up, forcing himself further into your mouth and past your gag reflex.

"mine," he hisses as your throat works around him, adjusting to the sudden intrusion. he glares down at you, looking at the way your lips spread over his cock.

you get lost in it, making it your life's goal to bring him to climax on your tongue, to force him to have the best orgasm he's ever had. you take your time, relishing in the sensation of his hands tightly gripping your hair, taking care to taste every inch of him. the whines he lets out are surreal, adding to the pleasure you feel just by pleasing him as such.

you stay there a while, eventually resting your cheek on his thigh, your fingertips dipping into his skin everywhere you can reach.

you want to bring him to climax, you want to feel the weight of his release on your tongue-

he doesn't grant you that luxury.

he yanks you off of him, replacing your mouth with his hand once again as he throws you back onto the bed next to him for the last time. you're again taken by surprise at how quickly and efficiently he can move.

his gaze follows his hands as they come to the front of your thighs, pushing them apart, watching carefully as he puts your cunt on display.

"mine," he repeats, and then he proceeds to dip his tongue into your dripping hole, making you scream out.

he doesn't stay there long before he's crawling over you once more. he's fucking impatient as hell, you've learned, so it shouldn't be a shock when he doesn't waste a single minute before thrusting his cock into you.

“fuck, Bucky,” you moan out instinctively at the feeling.

he doesn’t like that, you find. he really doesn't like that.

“no,” he hisses in your ear, sounding absolutely enraged. he looks back and forth between your eyes for just a moment before looking down to the column of your neck.

next thing you know, he's wrapping his metal hand around your throat and squeezing.

Bucky’s never dared choke you before.

you instinctively bring your hands to his, as would be typical in the field, trying to defend yourself and fight for your life.

but you’re still breathing. and you're not trying to fight for your life right now.

fuck, you think. when the other person isn’t actually trying to kill you, this feels…

you whine at the sensation of his hand pressing so perfectly on the sides of your neck, just enough to make you lightheaded.

“no,” he repeats.

what?

then it comes to you: you accidentally called him Bucky.

“I’m… fuck, I’m sorry,” you sob. the feeling of his hand on your neck makes every sensation so much more heightened. your voice comes out strained, completely wrecked from the pressure around your throat.

he keeps his hand firmly in place as he moves faster, fucking into you with a passion. you’re sure he’s pent up, he’s been asleep for so long.

asleep? gone? where does he go when Bucky’s around?

where's Bucky right now?

you don’t think he’d tell you if you asked.

“mine,” he whispers, repeating it over and over in time with every rough thrust he gives to you. “not his.”

fuck.

you can’t deal with this right now.

“harder,” you urge him. you don’t want to think about this, about the stress of having to explain this to your poor boyfriend. about having to leave your entire life behind because of the trail of lies you've left in your wake.

Bucky doesn’t deserve any of this.

the soldier doesn’t hesitate, giving it to you with a force like you’ve never felt before. he’s so deep, you might even start cramping, it’s that good.

suddenly he’s bringing his flesh hand to hoist one of your legs over his shoulder, forcing you to take the new position, to take the way he’s making you fall apart so easily for him like it's a mission he refuses to fail.

"say it," he hisses between grunts, looking down at your face as it contorts with each one of his movements.

"I'm yours," you affirm. "all yours."

his hand on your neck and the other on your hip both tighten their grip on you, hard enough to feel the pinch on your skin. he brings his mouth to your chest and begins biting up and down your collarbone, your chest...

you can't help but wonder if he might know what you know. if he, too, treats every time like the last time.

he leaves his marks all over you, hickeys splayed across your breasts and all the way up to where his hand meets the skin of your neck. you're covered in the reminder that it was him who fucked you, him who owned you.

there will be bruises on your hip and your neck in the morning, you're sure of it.

as he doubles down on fucking you within an inch of your life, your head grows fuzzier, and your orgasm draws nearer.

"yours, all yours," you tell him, whining louder as you get closer.

and, as if it's the only word he knows how to say,

"mine," he repeats, both of you losing yourselves in each other and coming harder than you possibly ever have.

~~~

if you said your whole world came crashing down the next morning, that would be an understatement.

you wake up to find him laying next to you, out cold. your pajamas are tangled in the mess of the sheets on the bed, his clothes in a trail from the door to the side of the bed.

it's late in the morning, you can tell, by the way the light passes through the cracks of the blinds on the window.

you force yourself to stand from the bed and head to the bathroom, plopping yourself down on the toilet, purposefully avoiding looking in the mirror.

you already know what you're going to see.

you bury your head in your hands because you know: the countdown is over. it's just a matter of when he wakes up and the explosion happens.

you stand, flush the toilet, and step up to the sink.

there's no escaping your reflection now.

bruises in the shape of fingertips around your neck, same as on your hip and your thighs. hickeys all over your skin, so many that you didn't even know was possible for one man to inflict.

you called him Bucky, so he marked you to make sure you knew who it was that did this to you.

and then...

it happens.

Bucky appears in the reflection behind you, and everything blows up.

you see the look of delirium on his face, freshly awoken from slumber after he lost the last few days. he takes in the sight of you in the mirror, and flinches back as though you've just put a gun to his head.

"Bucky, I can explain," you begin, turning to face him, putting your hands on his shoulders, your voice shaky. "let me explain."

his eyes roam over the marks all over your body, never meeting your eyeline. he takes them in over and over again, particularly the ones on your neck, and there's only one explanation.

"did he- did I do this to you?" he whispers. he sounds petrified, like he's just found out that his worst nightmares have come true.

because to him, they have.

"yes, but Bucky, wait," you plead with him as he steps back from you.

"no, you're not safe with me," he tells you, avoiding your gaze, his heart breaking in his chest. "this is what I was worried about."

"Bucky, stop, just look at me-"

"you have bruises around your fucking neck! from my fucking hand!" he yells back, his voice cracking. his eyes dart to yours, the look in them wild and terrified like you've never seen before.

he looks at your neck once more, and then down to his metal hand.

"he could've killed you. I could have killed you."

"but he didn't, it was just-"

"did he force you? did he make you, did I make you-"

"-goddamnit, Bucky, I wanted it!" you yell back at him. you've been holding this in for so long, and your whole life has already blown up because of it. what's the point in holding it in any longer?

the room goes quiet.

"yes, he fucked me, every time. and I lied to you about it, every time."

the look on his face is as though he's just seen a ghost.

"and I let him choke me, because I wanted him to, but you didn't hurt me," you admit, the tone of your voice turning to pleading.

~~~

he's at a loss for words.

you're the most precious thing in his life, and he put his hands on you. he did god only knows what to you, all while he wasn't conscious. while he couldn't stop himself, couldn't protect you from himself.

and now you're telling him that you wanted it?

he turns around and begins shrugging clothes on, and you follow his lead, pulling on your own clothes to hide the evidence written all over your skin. all the while, he continues to speak, trying to wrap his head around this.

"no, you're lying to me," he tells you. "you're lying because you don't want to upset me."

you begin raise your voice again. you have no choice; it's all open, it's all on the table now, and you're done lying to him.

you're done.

"I'm not fucking lying to you, Bucky!" you yell at him. "I've spent the last month and a half lying to you so that this moment, this one, right now, wouldn't happen! because I can't stand to see you look so scared of yourself!

"I wanted this! every goddamn time, I wanted him to, and I lied to you about it. and I lied to myself, telling myself I was protecting you, when in reality? I was only making it so much worse. I was so fucking selfish, and I'm sorry."

your eyes sting worse than ever before. you feel so helpless, the ache in your chest seated so deep that you think you're about to have a heart attack.

he looks like he's about to speak, like he's about to scream, or cry, or curse you out. he doesn't.

his entire temperament suddenly changes, and you can tell: it's over. there's no emotion on his face, and he just stares at you blankly.

your jaw stutters, trying to tell him something, anything.

no words come out.

he grabs his shirt off the floor and storms out. you run after him, yelling out to him, "wait-"

you freeze.

everyone's standing in the hallway, freshly returned from the mission, listening in on your conversation. Bucky's already ran past them down the hall.

"we heard yelling. we came to make sure... that everything was okay," Steve offers.

no, everything is not okay, you want to say.

"I didn't mean for any of this to happen," you offer weakly.

but it's too late.

you've already ruined everything.

~~~

part 3 coming soon.

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[thefritzfandomhour]

praying for josh washington headcanons 🙏

joshua washington sfw & 18+ headcanons || until dawn

hi there!!! ^o^ thank you so much for your request. im gonna be honest i had no idea if you wanted general headcanons or the 18+ ones ive been whipping up, so i threw in both! holy hell i actually wrote something that isn't porn for once? yay me. lol, but anyways, josh rocks. please get this man some help.

ill post the NSFW material under the cut, but for now, enjoy these SFW headcanons:D

★ he likes having you under wraps, as his paranoia really gets to him pretty easily. josh would mention having you download a location tracker app (e.g., life360). if you did, he'd have a massive weight lifted off his shoulders. it comforts him a ton and he'd check it pretty often when you aren't around

★ on the outside, he's a pretty cheerful guy who just wants the others around him to have fun. josh clearly struggles with mental health issues, he's unstable and easy to upset if you keep prodding him. but he doesn't want a therapist when it comes to you, he just wants a friend.

★ its pretty rare he drops his act in front of you, but when he does, he starts to sob. just let him stutter out his words as you rub his back and listen to him, he'll eventually start to pass out in your arms. he knows he can trust you. you try and tell him that everyone around him loves and trusts him, but josh just shake his head and mutter something along the lines of "...only you."

★ josh has a really rough time sleeping. he'll wake up around every two hours, stare at the ceiling for about 30 minutes, and then fall back asleep. repeat that a few times until dawn morning hits and you have his average sleep experience. he likes watching you when you sleep, though. you're peaceful, quiet. he can't help but brush his fingers against your cheek and kiss your forehead.

★ physical touch helps him sleep easier. he fell asleep with you in his arms one night and only woke up once. after that, he pretty much insisted you sleep in his bed anytime you and him hung out, it was a borderline miracle cure to his sleep issues.

★ reassurance is big for him too, wanting you to praise him / vocally prove your love for him. he'll usually be the one who prompts it though, complimenting himself in hopes you build onto it and his ego.

"aww, now am i just the best boyfriend, or what?”

this writing is intended for ADULT CONSUMPTION and contains NSFW material

author is male but writes the reader as ambiguous as possible

a/n; cw for somnophilia and light dubcon

★ im pretty sure everyone in his close friend group knows his cock size. josh probably ended up telling them during a party after getting really fucking drunk. most of the boys, particularly mike, kept calling him small and he wanted to prove them wrong. queue josh dragging them to a side room, popping it out, and proving them all wrong. he's not the biggest in the group but he definitely isn't small

★ josh can get up to a fine 5 ½ inches (uncut). where he gets prideful is with his girth, he has a really fat cock. he has these really cute freckles littering his dick that would make him melt if you kissed them. he doesn't make much effort to shave but he is a clean man! josh sports an intense happy trail, it's hard not to stare (he loves knowing he has that effect on you)

★ he's a bit eccentric when you two start getting into things. he acts almost like a starving animal, touching and tasting every part of your body in an attempt to keep your shapes burnt into his brain. he'll never forget the taste of you, being in between your legs. he'll always offer to clean you up with his tongue, licking your inner thighs or stomach, sucking your cum from your fingers. he's borderline obsessed with the taste

★ ok josh is kind of fucking weird. he'll take you off guard by running his tongue up your neck or coming up behind you and groping you infront of his friends. you're his and they all know that. he might struggle a bit with consent at first, feeling you without asking and even looking through your stuff, particularly your clothing and phone

★ speaking of which, he's kind of a somnophiliac. josh wouldn't go as far as undressing you and taking advantage of the situation (unless you consented beforehand), but he would probably jack off right next to you, holding your hand as he finished. if he gets away with it enough, he'd probably end up giving you a facial/straight up cumming on any accessible skin as you slept. of course he'd clean you up afterwards, wondering if you'd be weirded out or turned on by the idea of him being so attracted to you while you were unconscious 

★ definitely a switch, he has no personal preference in what position he's taking up. if you feel comfortable enough to pin him down and feel him up, josh would honestly find it both hot and reassuring. letting himself go and allowing you to take the lead is therapeutic, everything you do to him is because you wanted it. you actually wanted him, and he's oh so grateful. 

so i hope you guys enjoyed:D writing for josh is fun because he's the one i relate to the most, so getting his personality and preferences down was a lot easier than i thought it would be. once again, tysm for the request <3 it's an honor to serve

[dark themed borders were designed by savant-vooz0 on deviantart]

[vintagerpg]

Did you know that Julian Cope (of Teardrop Explodes and countless solo albums) has an abiding interest in archeology and spent eight years writing a book cataloging major neolithic sites in Britain? It’s called The Modern Antiquarian (1998) and as is so often the case with these sorts of things, it’s impressively massive. He spent an additional six years on a follow-up that catalogs similar sites on the European continent called The Megalithic European (2004). Together, you’re looking at 900+ pages of essays, photos, maps and on-site observations.

I’m not sure what to make of Cope’s big picture musings in the essays. I don’t know nearly enough about research into neolithic practices to be able comment, honestly, but two things kept popping into my head while I was reading them. First, I’m always a little wary of arguments that remind me of Margaret Murray’s thesis in The Witch-Cult in Western Europe (basically, that there was a unified fertility cult suppressed by Christianity as witchcraft) because there is really no proof of such a thing, even though it makes for damn good fiction. Cope kinda reminds me of Murray. Second, there’s this bit in one of Alan Garner’s essays in The Voice that Thunders where he points out that while we can say things like “Stonehenge works as an astronomical tool” with great certainty, we can’t actually say that the ancients used it as such; without a written record, its impossible to prove, and that creates an incredible tension between lack of certainty and self-evident plausibility. A lot of stuff can go wrong in the gap there. (I should probably note that I adore Garner, but also often find him worthy of skeptical bafflement periodically as well).

Anyway, setting aside Cope’s theories, you still have a massive gazetteer of neolithic sites, complete with all the information you need to visit them, whether in person, or, like me thus far, from your armchair. I can’t stress how wonderful this is, to have all this information in one place and to have its incredible variety photographed so thoroughly. I doubt there is anything quite like The Modern Antiquarian out there and, if there is, let me know, because I want a copy.

[bebx]

Hmm I agree with what you said — except for the part about him enjoying Gi-hun's suffering. In-ho didn’t want to see Gi-hun suffer. In those scenes where he’s staring at him, it was out of curiosity, out of confusion over why Gi-hun cares so much about others.

If he really enjoyed Gi-hun’s suffering, then he should’ve also enjoyed killing Jung-bae. Or that final scene — why did he turn away then?

In-ho acts like a child stepping into an unknown world when it comes to Gi-hun. He’s lived in isolation for years and has forgotten what real human interaction feels like. And now he sees someone just like him — a former winner — and he's developing this childlike curiosity toward him. You can even see it in the way he watches him. And yet people saw sadism in that?? :))))

That look on his face under the mask when Gi-hun’s picture came up on screen — it gave me the exact vibe of a confused cat, just waiting to see what Gi-hun would do, trying to understand him. Especially since Gi-hun came in with that serious, determined expression to take the photo — In-ho looked like one big question mark. :))

Even in season 1, In-ho kept staring at Gi-hun during his fight with Sang-woo because what he was seeing was something new to him.

And now in season 2, he’s more and more inclined to learn who Gi-hun really is.

In-ho, like Gi-hun, also has that competitive spirit. He wants to prove that his beliefs are right, and that’s why he gave that devilish smile during the vote when he turned back to look at Gi-hun.

It didn’t mean he enjoyed Gi-hun’s pain 😭

It meant: "Look, Gi-hun. I’m here to compete with you on your terms. Now let’s see if you can beat me — because I’m going to try my hardest to beat you."

In-ho is hardworking and stubborn — he’ll do anything to prove that he’s right and others are wrong. But that’s all he’s after! He’s not out to torture Gi-hun.

In the mingling scene, when Gi-hun was watching the deaths behind the door in distress, In-ho's gaze didn’t show a trace of pleasure. It only showed that he was curiously observing this man who, after all the horrors, is still a good person. And In-ho was probably thinking: How? How is he still like this? What kind of person is he?

He was completely stunned.

Oh yes. When I said “I believe he was enjoying seeing Gi-hun suffer in season 2 but then he started feeling things, doesn’t necessarily have to be romantic, just that he started feeling human again because of Gi-hun,” I did not necessarily talk about the scene where In-ho was staring at Gi-hun during Mingle (that scene is so complicated and fascinating, and I see a lot of people each have their own interpretation about what In-ho was feeling, but personally, I think In-ho was more curious than he was enjoying seeing that look on Gi-hun’s face when Gi-hun watched Players get gunned down, actually, I don’t even think In-ho was enjoying anything there, he was just only curious, so that part I agree with you).

❝ In-ho wants to prove that his beliefs are right, and that’s why he gave that devilish smile during the vote when he turned back to look at Gi-hun. It didn’t mean he enjoyed Gi-hun’s pain 😭❞

— Well, personally, I do think MAYBE he was enjoying it. Just a little. He may be enjoying the thoughts that his beliefs are right more, but maybe, just a tiny, tiny bit, he may also be enjoying Gi-hun’s misery. Doesn’t mean he’s a sadist. Just a little shit. And it’s fine for him to be a little shit (or even a sadist, but I just don’t think he is), because — while I still see In-ho as a victim of the game the way Gi-hun is — he doesn’t have to be a “perfect angel” either. (However, I also would not mind being proven wrong about this, if a specific someone *cough* Byung-hun *cough* were to say something like “In-ho wasn’t enjoying seeing Gi-hun’s pain in this scene”. Unless he already did and there’s something I missed lol)

I also believe he was being a little shit when he told Gi-hun he “pressed the O button because of Gi-hun” and the time he mentioned the umbrella Gi-hun got in his honeycomb round. That, to me, is In-ho enjoying messing with Gi-hun’s head and making him miserable in a petty, childlike way.

❝If he really enjoyed Gi-hun’s suffering, then he should’ve also enjoyed killing Jung-bae.❞

— That’s precisely why I said, in the original post, “but then he started feeling things, doesn’t necessarily have to be romantic, just that he started feeling human again because of Gi-hun (and Jung-bae too, as confirmed by Byung-hun and the director himself)”. It means In-ho, in my belief, no longer enjoyed it, that means Gi-hun (and Jung-bae) unknowingly helped bring out the humanity within him.

By “enjoying seeing Gi-hun suffer” I also meant something like “besides wanting to observe and study Gi-hun, In-ho wanted to break him, and he was probably having fun infiltrating the game as Young-il and psychologically torturing Gi-hun at first”.

But beyond that shallow enjoyment, I believe is curiosity, the way a child is intrigued by something new and foreign (Gi-hun’s goodness and Gi-hun’s faith in people, a concept that becomes unfamiliar to In-ho, whether or not In-ho himself used to hold this belief a decade ago before he lost his wife and child).

TL;DR In-ho was more curious than he was enjoying Gi-hun’s suffer. He wanted to break Gi-hun and destroy Gi-hun’s belief. His plan as Young-il didn’t go as well as he hoped because even though it was a success, he ended up feeling things he did not want to feel regardless (again, doesn’t necessarily have to be romantic).

In-ho is so fascinating to me because of how complex he is, there’s just so much depth in his character. Yes, he’s a victim too. Yes, he’s also orchestrating the death game. Yes, he’s intelligent. Yes, he can also be an idiot. Yes, he’s curious like a cat. Yes, he can also be enjoying messing with Gi-hun’s head at first. Yes, he had to betray and kill Jung-bae in the end. Yes, he has remorse and is capable of guilt, deep down. Yes, he’s a little shit. Yes, he used to be a good person. And yes, I believe that person is still somewhere inside him. And yes, I fucking love him.

[honghwalvr]

m.list nct.list

Prologue > 1

synopsis: As a psychology major in your junior year, you share a dorm with Jeong Jaehyun, a charming broadcasting arts student. Awkward cohabitation turns into a casual hookup arrangement, but lingering glances and quiet moments spark deeper feelings. By spring, you navigate sorority life, his NCT frat’s haze, and a love you didn’t see coming.

warnings: smut, drug use (weed, vaping, alcohol), swearing, emotional conflict, college party culture, mental health themes

Prologue

The dorm apartment smells like burnt toast and a faint, earthy whiff of weed, barely masked by a cheap sandalwood candle flickering on the counter. Your sneakers squeak on the linoleum as you set down another cardboard box, your mom’s sharpie scrawl staring up at you—Psych Textbooks, Bedding, Call Me Weekly. Your arms burn from hauling them across campus, and your lungs are still mad about the broken elevator that forced you up three flights. Outside, the quad buzzes with move-in day: shouts, a skateboard rattling, someone’s playlist bleeding through an open window. Junior year, your first time living on campus after two years commuting from home, and it feels like diving into a river mid-current.

You’re a psychology major, always picking apart what makes people tick—your sorority sisters, your overbearing mom, even yourself. She’s the one who pushed you to move out, claiming you needed to “spread your wings” after clinging to the familiarity of home. Now, in this shoebox of an apartment with a lumpy couch and a fridge that groans like it’s dying, you’re wondering if wings come with a user manual. Your sorority’s known on campus—mixers, charity events, the works—but you’re not like your sisters who glide through parties, leaving admirers in their wake. You’re the one watching, analyzing, holding coats while they shine.

 The door swings open, and your pulse stumbles. Jeong Jaehyun steps in, all sharp cheekbones and quiet confidence, a faded black hoodie with NCT’s Greek letters slung over one shoulder. You’ve seen him around—impossible not to, with that face and the way people lean toward him like he’s got his own gravity. Broadcasting arts major, junior, part of the frat that throws parties where the air’s thick with music and a haze of weed no one names outright. He’s carrying a reusable coffee cup, the kind that screams I’m trying to be responsible, and his dark hair’s messy in a way that looks annoyingly deliberate. His eyes catch yours, warm but guarded, like he’s reading you as much as you’re reading him.

“Hey,” he says, voice low, smooth enough to belong on the radio shows he’s always tinkering with. “You’re the new roommate?”

You nod, brushing sweaty palms on your jeans. “Yeah. Just got here.”

“Jaehyun.” He flashes a half-smile, quick and disarming, and sets his cup on the counter. “Hope you don’t mind a little background noise. I’ve got a broadcast to edit tonight.”

You glance at his open bedroom door, spotting a laptop glowing on a desk and a faint curl of sweet, herbal smoke lingering in the air—weed, not the cigarette stink you’d half-expected. It’s subtle, but your psych-trained brain files it away: not a habit he’s hiding, just part of his orbit. “As long as it’s not screamo,” you say, aiming for dry but landing a touch too sharp.

He chuckles, a soft sound that makes your stomach twist against your will. “I’ll keep it chill,” he says, grabbing a water from the fridge. “Need a hand with those boxes?”

“I’m fine,” you say, maybe too quickly. You’re not here to owe anyone, especially not a guy whose smile could probably get him out of a speeding ticket. Your mom’s warning hums in your head: Stay focused. Boys like him are trouble. She wasn’t thrilled about the co-ed dorm, and Jaehyun’s whole vibe isn’t exactly proving her wrong.

He shrugs, unbothered, and heads toward his room. “Don’t clog the hallway, psych girl. I need my space to create.” His door clicks shut, and you’re left with the fridge’s hum and a prickle of something—irritation, sure, but also a spark you’d rather ignore. You’re here to survive dorm life, ace your classes, keep up with your sorority. But as you drag a box to your empty room, the faint trace of weed and Jaehyun’s laugh stick with you, and you can’t shake the feeling that this year’s going to be messier than you planned.

[juliettejwnewinesa]

i’ve noticed some ppl hating on you recently but take no notice fr bruh haters are gonna hate

Tysm for this message❤️ yea like for maybe the past 2 days ive had a lot of hate, unfortunitly i do want to make a point so i will probably film myself writing a ff maybe to prove a point idk there has been AI rumours there has been SA rumors(no joke this made me throw up) a bunch of hate aparently the way i respond in emoji's is wrong apparently and AI and for one i have never denied the Ai rumours because its true i do use AI for my headings wich is why they are mostly wrong but never for the story itself, idk why rumors got so out of hand (you guys are sending death threats like chill why would you do that?) it honestly disgusts me i see why so many writters stop writting after they blow up cuz why this much amount of hate i will show you the amount of time i spend on ff and if people still hate they should just block and leave me my friends and family alone (i have gotten dm by some of the people that are defending me that some people are now verbally attacking them and i am truley sorry) idk why you would do that like litteraly just block and leave, thank you for everyone who is defending me and thanks for all your kind words truely, and for everyone who make fun of my ff there is a little botton called block, any hate i will be recieving i will block, if you guys genuinely want to have a discussion i am more then happy to defend myself and hear you out but if it becomes a point of harassment again i will block...

Thanks for listening? reading my rant, thanks again, byeeee

[writeastormsblog]

Hey so I gotta ask! What got you back into tales? If you ever left lol. It’s just I LOVED tales back then but for some reason my saves keep corrupting and I got tired of dealing with it so I deleted it 💀 but I recently got back into it and I’ve been reading your fanfic and I’m loving it! It’s so true to their characters! For some reason I always felt Fiona was a better match for Rhys and that last scene with them in the vault was the nail in the coffin. What got you into it again? Because truly I have no idea why I did 😭

Firstly, it is so incredibly lovely to know that something I’ve written has brought someone else joy. Thank you so, so much! Life has been very rough for me lately, having me constantly busy and I probably will be for a while, so I don’t know when I’ll update and write anymore chapters after Chapter 15, but know I do plan on getting back into it whenever life slows down. Suddenly, I’m given this brief moment to check Tumblr as a break from reality, and upon doing so I saw this comment of yours! To receive a comment is truly so delightful. Seriously, thank you times a million<3 So, to answer what you’ve asked, well…

As years have flown by and life became more complex for me, I craved comfort in nostalgia, and how I’d typically get my fix of comforting nostalgia was from old narrative-driven video games. When I first got into Tales From The Borderlands, I believe it was when Jacksepticeye posted his gameplay footage for it. The year the game came out, I was twelve years old, so it feels really random how memories of the game’s existence hit me about a decade later. Now that you’ve asked, I’ve reflected, and I think it was stepping into being an English major that made me remember the game.

From indulging in narrative-driven video games at such a young age, I fell in love with the idea of storytelling and specifically that of creative writing. So, during my most recent semester at college, I finally decided to take an intro to fiction writing course that covered so many aspects of storytelling. The instructor would invite classmates and I to share examples of stories that applied certain narrative techniques, and that’s what really jogged to mind Tales From The Borderlands. I couldn’t stop bringing up the game numerous times. “Does anyone have an example of a piece of media that uses a type of plot structure we can discuss?” (Oh, well Tales From the Borderlands utilizes frame narrative structure.) “Let’s talk unreliable narrators” (Oh! Well, there are these two protagonists, Rhys and Fiona…) “Does anyone have an example of Chekhov’s gun?” (Felix’s gift to Sasha) “Given the twelve character archetypes we went over, pick one and give an example of it” (Gortys falls under The Child archetype, as she is hopeful yet naive…) In short, I believe this is how I got back into watching gameplay of Tales From The Borderlands. Analyzing and studying any beloved media of storytelling can teach a writer a lot about how to improve in the craft.

If I’m honest, I’ve never written fanfiction before, and I never thought I’d get into it. Fourteen year old me thought fanfiction was absolutely cringe and not worth getting into, either writing it or reading it. Twenty-two year old me, being very frustrated that romancing Rhys and Fiona was not an option, decided to indulge in reading a lot of Rhyiona fanfic to scratch the itch the game did not provide, and I quickly learned that there are so many incredibly talented writers that write incredible fanfic. Writers like @andaxay @admiralsweko @rin-bellatrix absolutely proved the pretentious mindset I had at fourteen was so very wrong, and such a joy it is to be proven wrong for something as silly as that.

Naturally, as to how I decided to start writing my own fanfic, reading the works of those fanfic writers and many more from ao3 have inspired me to give it a shot. Additionally, as someone who has stressed over original content she wants to put out someday, I wanted a break from getting so hung up on my original work’s rough patches of the writing process, while still practicing the craft of creative writing somehow. Thus, fanfiction just made sense to start exercising and honing in on narrative techniques while removing the pressure I have from time to time regarding my original stories. While writing fanfic, I could practice character voice vs narrator voice, flashbacks, narrative pacing, varying sentence structure in developing a writing style, etc. etc. I’m still learning as a writer, and always will be, so writing fanfic is such a fun way to go about my journey. And upon further research, I’ve found that many amazing writers have actually started practicing their craft by writing fanfiction. For example, Marissa Meyer (New York Times Bestselling author of The Lunar Chronicles) started off writing Sailor Moon fanfic! It’s so cool to see other people’s writing journey, and now in my own writing journey, it’s so cool to have support like yours with me!

Thanks again for enjoying my content and for reaching out to me. I wish I could convey to you how much it means to me to have such a response. Again, my life has been really rough lately, so I am not exaggerating when I say this; seeing someone genuinely interested in anything I chose to write is so uplifting, and it truly made my night. You’re seriously so awesome! May your days be filled with traffic-free drives and the best breakfast foods ever served (Translation: May you have amazing blessings come your way!!! God bless you!!!)

[imdueforachange]

@burnofsacrifice

Well, I guess the saying holds true about being our own worst critic, because I can't really see myself that way, much less know that someone else would see me in that light. {My way of reasoning as to why I never caught on to why Antonio was really making all those visits to the firehouse. It made sense to me that he'd be there to see Gabby. It was the only explanation I could allow myself to believe. Him and I broke up... We were both hurting, and didn't end on the best of notes to say the least, so honestly, I expected to be the last person he'd want to see. All that to say, although I don't really like when I'm wrong, this was one of those exceptional moments where I was relieved to be wrong} We both know I hate when people prove me wrong, but this is one of those rare exceptions that I'm glad I was wrong because I had convinced myself that you were completely over me... I'm glad that wasn't the case. {I smiled before amusement creased my lips when I heard Antonio's teasing remark about his ego} Well, just to be safe, maybe I should find ways to stroke your ego in small increments just to be sure. {I gently teased in response before a nod followed} Oh yeah, I was definitely thinking of a couples cooking class. I think that would be so much fun. Bowling could also be fun. {I agreed. Antonio knew me so well} Then there's always Navy Pier. That never fails to show a good time. {Okay, so my dates were pretty boring in comparison to what Antonio would probably come up with}

Continued

@imdueforachange

Relationships were complicated when you spent your days running after criminals. When you were tracking down each move, or risked the chance of being fired at. But Antonio watched the job ruin one relationship of his; obviously his ex wife now. But at the time he never questioned how he fell short because yeah it was the lies, the danger he had accidentally put his kids in, but the love he and his wife once had for each other were no longer there. It was one of those relationships we tried to stay together for the kids; not because we were in love with each other. 

Sylvie and I we had flirted; I told myself it was harmless, for one the blonde was a close friend of Gabby’s and if this blooming relationship went south it might be awkward for all of us. But I had to admit the way Sylvie might me smile, the flutter in my chest each time our eyes met. I knew what we had was something special; I felt torn inside when the blonde decided we needed to break up. Not because we wanted space or time to apart but because of my crazy ex; who couldn’t handle the fact I wanted Sylvie involved in the kids lives, she was a big part of mine. If I had the strength to keep arguing back and forth I would’ve but it felt like a lost cause. A battle I couldn’t possibly win here. 

Sylvie was smart, she wanted to minimax the drama; she didn’t want to be the reason why I couldn’t have rights to the kids. This job was hard; the fight to protect the city. The fight to protect those we loved; it drained you. And my family was one of the rare lights in my days; and Sylvie for now I had to accept our relationship wasn’t meant to work. But we made a vow to stay friends; so I tried to make the best of the situation this morning. I offered coffee and I meant it; I wanted any lame excuse to spend time with the blonde. One I would’ve stupidly followed through on up until I got the call. Seeing as Antonio was in good range, He decided to take on the call; he had ran off in a rush; giving the female one last glance. 

That glance stood with him when he got shot. He knew his luck was running thin, He knew his luck might not work in his favor. Because he had no back up, He ran in with his gun in position; a deal gone wrong. He felt the ache in his chest when his body fall to the ground, except he wasn’t alone. The guy who aimed fire on him landed in a pool of blood not that far from him. Exhale in and out he told himself; as his hand had reached to the ripped wound on his chest, hopefully he was okay. Knowing his team was in fighting distance. Antonio had kept his eyes opened he envisioned Sylvie, and himself; holding hands; one of those last nights on our dinner dates. She laughed over one of the stupid antics her patient did attempting to refuse the care she offered. She was smiling as if she only cared about where we ended up tonight; hers or mine. My heart was hers; but sometimes life doesn’t always work out in our favors. Now being a prime example because I was fighting for my life. I felt the loss of blood; My hand that was laid on the pavement I felt the sticky stains of blood shed on my skin. I heard Kim and Voight; instantly my weaken hand moved to the ground as Kim kept telling me to hang on. Ambo was on the way. Shit I said to myself because more likely to not the ambo on the way was 61. If I had the strength I’d let out a sign instead; I had braced myself as eyes drifted shut. How long? Honestly who knows your guess was better than my own.. I had only flickered darken specs open when I heard her voice. 

Sylvie, I opened my specs to see her; her worried expression spoke volumes to me. A promise I obviously broke. Using any strength I had; he parted lips to speak. “ I think the other guy beat you to it.” A side joke; not funny he knew it but he was trying, Forcing his gaze to end on his sister. “ We’re fighters.” Alert was key; a smile his best efforts as they then moved him onto a gurney; the pain that hit his chest each time he was moved. A loud groan escaped parted lips as he felt the blood dripping still. “ I need surgery don’t I?” Eyes moved between his sister and the woman he loved; and he just hoped after this call he could live the day to tell her.

[bluerasbunny]

alright, since the last one went swimmingly,

as always, i'll draw the result once the poll is over!

[the-kinning-hour]

I like to think about the impact that being isolated as a teen had on Shigaraki as a person.

I don’t mean angst, not understanding his own feelings or awkward social life. I mean that he definitely has gotten most of his non-hero related facts about society and people from the internet.

imagine; Shigaraki genuinely not understanding the concept of gender or sexuality because he’s only ever seen it discussed in reddit debates. He is baffled when he meets Magne but accepting. That night he searches “how to support trans employee professional easy”

Shigaraki asking Quora, “Why is my father so insistent on me making friends? It makes me uncomfortable. I don’t like people.” And having 20 moms in his replies telling him to get out of his room and join clubs

Shigaraki not knowing basic things about women (seeing as he was not raised around any) and awkwardly googling the phrase “PMS-ing” when Toga complains about cramping, expecting it to be teenage slang and instead going down the rabbit hole of the horrific experience of periods

Shigaraki not knowing why Sako is bowing his head toward Kurogiri and saying “itadakimasu” every time he eats with the League and wondering if the magician is trying to usurp his spot as Kurogiri’s favorite via boot licking

Shigaraki taking a “Do you have autism” quiz on Quotev and expressing his concerns to Kurogiri at 2 am when he scores 100% (he doesn’t know what autism even is)

Overall, I think people don’t take advantage of how funny it could be to interact with the ultimate antisocial dweeb Shigaraki who has a total of zero normal experiences