#I use Excel for work and note taking but not for fiction writing. Maybe if i really needed a complex timeline i'd try Excel?

[eyepatchdate]

hey whisp hope you’re doing well! I’m trying to organize notes and things for a writing project and feel like I need a better system to group and visualize my material. is there a particular site, strategy, or program you use for your writing? a timelime with adjustable entry logs would be a gamechanger but I don’t like any of the ones I’ve seen on a superficial search

Hello hello! I am well, I hope you are as well!!

I don't do anything crazy myself, honestly I've tried other things, but I actually do most of my writing, including drafting and notes, just in a single document, even for some of my longer (100k+ stories).

I do have some stories that have multiple docs, but for those just having a file folder with multiple Word documents in it works for me. I use Word 2013 to write, and often will just open two documents side-by-side if I'm doing a rewrite or working off notes. I often put things in notepad as well to have an additional little window. But I, overall, work within a single document and just sorta...roll with it. Most of my organizing is in my head, and then it's in notes that I write in a scatter around the main document for the story.

Also a good old-fashioned bit of pen-and-paper suits me well too, I often write base timelines or draw diagrams physically when necessary. At the end of the day, a timeline is just a bulleted list, which basically any writing program can handle.

That being said, I have tried out a few different writing programs. The types that gamify the writing process never jive with me, and the one I felt was closest to what I want is Scrivner! Scrivner is paid, but there's a trial you can try out. It basically lets you have a bunch of documents related to each other, which makes it easy to write and add notes, and to open things on top of each other and such.

I've also heard decent things about Ellipsus, but haven't looked into it personally myself!

[thepodcasthoard]

How to Audio Drama- Discover Pods

Wil Williams of Discover pods did an excellent series on 'How to Audio Drama' that you can find the table of contents for here. I'll be summarizing each article separately, but I encourage you to read them in their entirety.

Part 1: Pre-planning

Do your homework

Williams likens audio drama to creative writing. Which, fair, because it needs to start there. But as anyone who's ever taken a creative writing course can tell you, you don't just write in that class. You read a TON. You don't learn just by doing, or at least you won't learn as fast as you would by looking at great works and analyzing them. 

Williams says to do this step before you even marry your podcasts concept. This helps the creative and business parts, which she explains. 

Williams points out that articles about audio dramas tend to discuss the plot of the show and maybe a thrown-in paragraph about sound design. But she says to take a step further. Or, as it really is, closer. Think about what the story makes you feel and why. Once you get that, you have to backtrack and figure out how that podcasts creator made you feel that way. 

How to start

Listen closely, taking notes. Not just on the plot, but on sound design, pacing, acting, structure, music, everything. If you love and episode, listen to it multiple times, trying to focus on something else every time. And do the same if you hate an episode. 

[As an aside, this first article also has a fantastic list of lists she had curated, filtered by genre of podcast]

Williams says to not stick exclusively to the genre you plan to write in. Listen to trailers and first episodes of interesting-sounding shows regardless if they're similar to the show you're thinking of. And not just n

fiction podcasts, either! She writes Valence, and writes that nonfiction ones on technological news and data security inspired her, too. Think about what your podcast is about and think of what the characters would be interested in. That's how you'll find the nonfiction ones that will help. 

Business side

Williams also points out that you should think hard about your podcast name, and research thoroughly to make sure it isn't taken. Not only will it make searching for your show a nightmare, you might even get into legal trouble down the line. 

After you find out that your name is free, make sure the social media handles are also free, regardless as to if you're planning on using that specific social media site. 

[lunarbard]

This week I started making some sample characters for my 2d6 heartbreaker ttrpg. Very much aiming for a classic heroic fantasy in vibe.

The thing you need to understand about me before I get into this is I love in-fiction inventory systems and despise abstractions like usage dice or, shivering even thinking about it, no inventory at all. Like, every description I write for a new D&D PC details every important piece of gear they have and where/how they are carrying it.

I've been whittling away at my current draft for over a month now, and while it's felt nice and clean I've been running out of steam recently trying to flesh out the last details I need to (and procrastinating on writing my procedures section, although that more so exists to make me codify my approaches since this is mainly a personal project).

So I decided to shift gears to making characters. I'm trying to make my system light and approachable, so I decided to design these as if I were to run this for my extended family this Christmas (which isn't entirely out of the question; I ran the 5e starter set for my cousin & uncles a few years ago, and my aunts joined in when we played the D&D dungeon board games the year after). That means these characters are designed to be used immediately at the table, rather than twiddling with numbers & formulas in an excel sheet (which has killed my previous efforts before). So I decided to draft up something notecard sized in google drawings:

(The whole "dwarf fighter, neutral good" thing is purely flavor meant to give a vibe, keeping in mind that my dad has an AD&D background. There is no mechanical impact from them)

Just the process of statting out some characters to fit archetypes people might be expecting (since there' are no classes or playbooks, and everyone uses magic) was incredible for helping me shape how these characters should work; it even got me to add an attribute (originally I just had Finesse, which got broken out into Dexterity for stealth, thievery, sleight of hand, etc. and Focus for perception and aim) and the memory stat, which is increased by Wisdom (though memory is just used because people will recognize it; it's more so about how much you can tune your spirit so it can properly channel the prepared spells).

And the memory stat is where this came together, really. Because it gave me a reason to make spellbooks important (as the place you consult to prepare new spells), and since max load is low (with -1 strength you have a max load of 10 bulk; adventuring gear takes up 6) those take up space. That got me thinking on how much space a spellbook should really has, and I figured a book worth 1 bulk can hold maybe 12 spells worth of notes.

The mage starts with 10 of those filled, with the expectation more spells can be discovered on adventure. And she can't carry anything else in her inventory without being encumbered. Plus, gaining more magical power largely requires carrying basically arcane batteries (magical staves, crystals, etc) or making pacts with spirits.

So if you're focusing on maximizing your magic, your inventory is going to matter a lot; you'll probably need to spend treasure just on new spellbooks, ink, and flux materials to consolidate spellbooks for certain purposes, so you can pick which spellbooks you want for which purposes.

But how is an aspiring mage going to carry that treasure? They'll probably need to make bargains with the other party members to carry their share, or make sacrifices of basic adventuring gear to make room.

It says a lot about me that this is what has gotten me the most excited about finishing up my design so I can finally start running it.

[supersoakerfullofblood]

My Tips for "Getting Good" at Writing

This can be a little tricky to define, because what "good" means could vary from person to person. I'll define it as "having a strong prose style."

You're not going to like this, but writing is the best way--and at the end of the day, the only way--to improve the craft of your writing. It takes years to recognize major improvements, but you should see minor improvements every now and then: a sentence construction you've never used, a word you didn't know existed popping up at the perfect moment, the general flow of the piece reading smoother, etc. You need to write.

But also, it sounds like you might be writing too much. If you write 24/7, your brain is going to get stuck in the rut of writing the same type and style of writing (it sounds like you write mostly short stories). This is horrible for the developing writer just as it is to the writer confident in their style. To develop strong writing, you need to explore everything that writing has to offer. Write some poetry and feel how it uses words differently from prose, write some creative nonfiction to understand the unique difficulties and blessings of biographical work, write a creative essay on a topic you've always wanted to research, try your hand at flash fiction and prose poetry, and keep writing short stories. Within those formal explorations, experiment! Write in genres you don't know much about. Write the longest sentence you can think of and the shortest. Write something bad on purpose. Write something where you're clearly trying too hard on purpose. Read a passage from your favorite author, and try to copy their style. Write widely. Writing widely, however, is difficult when you write every day, because you'll fall into whatever's easiest for you to write, and your writing will become same-y. When I started my writing self-improvement grind, I wrote one short piece every week/week and a half.

On that note, a popular writing exercise is to take a passage from your favorite author and write it verbatim in an empty doc or on paper. If you do it a few times, you start to feel how these authors use language and punctuation: how the words feel in the mouth, their lengths on the page, how each sentence builds to the next. Understand the style of the authors you think are masters so you can mimic them as best you can in your own writing. (And don't be discouraged when you can't write exactly like them. Of course you won't, but something of their styles will transfer to your own.)

Reread and edit what you've wrote. I like to do this the day after the piece is written, a week after, and a month after. Even if you never think about publishing it, revising a piece of writing is almost as important as writing it. You recognize the foibles in your style, and once you've recognized them enough, you actively work against them when you're drafting, and once you've actively worked against them enough, you passively work against them, at which point, your style has improved. Read over what you've written right after you've written it, and at a few points in the future, so you can clearly see what your prose is doing, where it excels, and where it fails.

If writing widely is important, reading widely is just as important. Always be reading something, preferably something in a genre you don't care to write in. The ideal literary diet for me is ~30% in-genre and 70% out-of-genre, and I wouldn't go too much higher than that for in-genre if I were you. Read bad books and good books, modernist poetry and Elizabethan dramas, 20th century fiction and ancient epics, crime thrillers and avant-garde short-form fiction and nonfiction. Your Goodreads page should be unpredictable. This sounds like a pain, and maybe it sounds useless, but think about it: if you read mostly or totally in one genre, just as if you write mostly or totally in one genre, you only get a feel for how language is popularly styled in that genre. If you want to develop your own personal prose style, you need to get as holistic a view as possible of what language can do. And I promise you're bound to find new favorites (authors, books, genres) in this reading exploration :)

This part's the hardest and the least important, because everything here can be learned just by doing, but learn what you can from writing education. My college education helped immensely, but if you can't do that, which is totally understandable, find other sources to fill this hole. Books and essays on writing are invaluable resources (I made a post about my favorites a few days ago), as are videos and interviews by established authors. I'd be incredibly discerning about writing advice Youtube channels. The vast majority of them are speculative fiction grifters who tell you how to "worldbuild" well without giving actual narrative/character advice. I personally do not touch this sphere of the writing world, and I wouldn't if I were you, but if you do, tread lightly. But education on writing (the easiest and most effective for the cost being books on writing imo) take your prose style up a whole letter grade.

There's probably more I'm forgetting, but all these were essential for my writing development when I started taking writing seriously, and if they don't work for you, I'm sure you'll parse some truths from them that do. Good luck and happy writing :)

I want to be an author which is funny cause I’m shit at writing. Like I know people say that practice makes you better but it doesn’t? What should I do to get good at writing? I write short stories practically 24/7 and I’m still not good. My work is barely even remotely readable.

[therhythmafterthesummer]

Herbie (M) ~Bang Chan

Pairing: Mechanic!Chan x F.Reader Themes: Smut | Some Fluff | Strangers to Friends to Lovers Word Count: ~10k | AO3 Synopsis: Chris was the best mechanic you’d ever met. He was good at his craft, capable of bringing your dingy car back to life time and time again. He was, also, excellent at riling you up just by existing, which wasn’t the best when you were absolutely convinced he just wanted to be friends with you. But maybe, just maybe, he’d prove you wrong. [You can find part two here]. Warnings: curvy/chubby reader · reader is clueless · personification of an inanimate object (the car is referred to by name and male pronouns sometimes) · improper use of car related vocabulary probably (author is clueless on the topic, they don’t even know how to drive) · discussions of weight and usage of the word fat (in a very neutral manner) · Christopher is Stronk · special guest appearance: Jisung.

Due to all the abovementioned warnings, this story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors please do not interact.

Author’s Note: mechanic!chan was suggested by an “anon” (👀), after they watched this performance, and i felt inspired by the suggestion, so i decided to write a little something for it. a little something that somehow managed to gather more words than i ever expected, as usual. anyway, hope it doesn’t disappoint :^)

fun fact: i dreamt once that i wrote a fic called herbie, so i guess the prophecy has been fulfilled now.

Smut Warnings: the reader has an oral fixation · the reader has sexually charged thoughts (i can’t blame her) · pet names (baby, babe, gorgeous, beautiful, pretty, etc) · lots of praising (it’s a staple in my chan fics at this point, oops) · praise kink · strength kink if you squint? · oral [M&F.Rec] · deepthroating/mouth fucking · protected penetration [piv].

Disclaimer: the story represented in this work does not represent Stray Kids in any way; anything described in this story and all actions performed by the characters are purely fictional, this was created just for good fun.

Christopher Bang. 

The man who’d saved your ass countless times in the past handful of months. The man who’d been plaguing your thoughts since the very first moment you entered his repair shop.

And to think it was your older brother’s fault. ‘Get a second-hand car’, he said. ‘It’s cheap and super reliable’, he said. ‘Yes, of course it’ll be fine’, he said. Your brother was, ultimately, full of bullshit. You’d never trust his opinion ever again.

Getting a second-hand car was quite possibly the worst financial decision you’d ever taken.

At first you’d been incredibly excited. You even named it Herbie, after the famous car that was… Well, called Herbie. 

With Herbie, you’d be able to get to work faster, you’d no longer have to stay in uncomfortable social situations just because you were waiting for your ride for the night to take you home, you’d no longer have to balance grocery bags on your tiny bicycle, you’d be independent. 

For two months, you were living your best life with Herbie. But then he started showing The Signs.

It started with the AC not turning on, then, the wipers wouldn’t wipe, until eventually, he shut down completely. Which wouldn’t have been so bad, had it not happened while you were driving on the fucking highway. To say you were pissed was an understatement. That day, when that happened, you were fortunate enough to be with your friend, Jisung. 

Not only did Jisung calm your fit of rage, but he also told you he had a friend who fixed cars for a living. ‘He’s very reliable. He won’t overcharge you, really. I vouch for him, trust him with my life at this point’, which, honestly, finding a mechanic these days that wasn’t trying to find problems that weren’t there to overcharge you was hard, so you took Jisung’s advice and took Herbie to Wolfgang: Repair Shop.

That was where you saw Chris the first time.

You could still remember the exact moment your eyes landed on him. Although, to be fair, the first thing you saw were his boots peeking out from below a car.

“Hello?” You heard a thud after you greeted the pair of legs, followed by a very graceful ‘Fuck!’.

“Just one second!” He slid from under the car, and when he stood from the creeper, you honestly weren’t prepared.

Broad shoulders, strong, defined arms, a mess of curls on his head, plush, pink lips, and that nose. Jisung had forgotten to give you the most important detail about his friend, the fact that he was drop-dead gorgeous. Even with the oil coating his exposed arms, hands, and the smudge on his cheek, he was probably one of the finest specimens you’d ever seen.

“Can I help you?” He smiled, and God, he had dimples, too. Of fucking course he had to have dimples…

“I’m–I–” You were embarrassing yourself, barely even capable of forming a coherent sentence, all as he looked at you with a glint of amusement in his eyes. So you got your bearings, taking a deep breath. “My car keeps dying on me. I’m a friend of Jisung’s, he told me to come to you”.

“Oh!” His eyes widened and he honestly looked beyond surprised. “You are Jisung’s friend?” There was a slight tone of disbelief in his voice, and the way he looked you up and down honestly confused you a bit. Was there a problem with your outfit? It was a bit warm out and this was a nice, comfortable dress… Maybe you were supposed to wear something different to a car repair shop? Maybe it was one of those social rules no one talked about but you were supposed to just know they existed. 

Regardless, you decided to ignore the thought altogether, because he started talking again. “I’m Chris. I’d offer my hand, but I don’t think you’d like to get yours covered in motor oil”, he chuckled, wiping his hands on a rag that hung from his belt, and it genuinely made you smile. “C’mon, let’s take a look at your car and see what we can do. Hm?”

That was how it all started. Chris was polite, he certainly knew his way around these things, and every time you had a problem with Herbie you went to his shop. At some point, you became well acquainted with him, it was impossible not to when Herbie kept dying practically every other week, and when Chris was just so friendly.

You enjoyed spending time at the shop with him, and sometimes you wondered if you were being weird or annoying by staying a bit longer than any customer probably would, but Chris seemed to be just as engaged in the conversation as you were every time, so that spark of doubt in you always died very quickly. 

After a couple of months, Chris simply handed you a piece of paper. ‘Here’s my number. Text me whenever you need’.

And you did. Although, you took a while to text him. You finally did it only because Herbie had started to leak water; after all, that was what he had given you his number for. But it seemed like after that Chris and you just… started to talk about other things, completely unrelated to Herbie.

“You slut, who you texting with that smile on your face? Did you finally get yourself a man?” Jisung teased you one day when you were hanging out with him, supposedly watching movies.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “As if. You know the only thing I attract are mosquitoes, and it’s only because they want to suck my blood. It’s just Chris. He sent me this funny video of Wolfgang, wanna see?”

Wolfgang was Chris’ dog, an overly excited husky that seemed to be a walking disaster. You told Chris once in passing that you liked dogs, that it cheered you up whenever you saw them do their Dog Things, and since then he started to send you pictures or videos of his dog regularly, which you highly appreciated, they did bring up your mood every time.

Jisung blinked at you. “Christopher Bang? My friend Chris?”

“Yeah? Which other Chris do we both know?” You returned your eyes to your phone, chuckling at a meme Chris had just sent you.

“What’s he sending you? Lemme see”, Jisung grabbed your phone out of your hands, ignoring your protests altogether. “Huh… Would you look at that…”

“Why are you scrolling? Stop that, it’s a private conversation”, you lunged at your friend, trying to get the phone out of his hands. After a bit of jostling he finally relented, and you huffed as you diverted your attention back to the chat with Chris.

Jisung called your name, and you looked up from your phone to your friend, seeing his confused face. “You… You do know he’s flirting with you, right?”

“What?” You laughed at that. “Don’t be ridiculous”.

“I’m being serious”, Jisung turned to face you fully on the sofa, looking at your face very intently. He was quiet for a moment, but then he was gasping–rather dramatically, if you might add. “Oh my God! You haven’t noticed!”

“There’s nothing to notice, Jisung. Chris isn’t flirting with me, don’t be silly”, you chuckled just at the thought. As if the Christopher Bang would be flirting with you.

“You seriously can’t be this dense”, Jisung scoffed, turning back to the movie. “You do you, then. I’m telling you, though. He’s one hundred percent flirting with you”.

How ludicrous. Chris had shown zero interest in you for as long as you’d known him. You were sure he only saw you as a friend at best, and that was only because you were on ‘sending memes’ basis now, before you were just his customer with the dingy car that kept needing repairs. 

You’d admit, though, that after a handful of months, Chris had become a really close friend. He’d text you every morning without fail. Most of the time, he’d send you a picture while he was walking his dog. It could be a picture of Wolfgang, or a picture of the sunrise, or a selfie–those were the hardest ones to look at, to be honest. 

At some point, you realised you had developed a crush on him, and looking at his face in those selfies, still a bit swollen with sleep, with his hair a bit tousled, or with a beanie over his head covering his eyebrows, looking incredibly cuddly, wasn’t helping you cope much.

Sometimes he’d text you while he was in the gym, too. Which would’ve been fine, had he not also started to send you selfies when he was there. They were never anything too revealing, he’d always be fully clothed, but the sight of his reddened hands, his bulging veins after lifting, his flushed face, and just overall sweaty form was just something you didn’t need. It always heated you up, made you suddenly feel like your mouth was just too empty, it’d made your mind wander into very dangerous, and very horny territory. 

It was already hard enough to watch Chris work on Herbie. Whenever he did and you were at the shop, you’d start to fixate on the way the muscles of his exposed arms moved, or how his ass looked when he was bending over the motor to do whichever magic he needed to do, it always made you wonder if he’d be able to perform that magic on you, if his hands would touch you as delicately but as precisely as they did with Herbie’s components, or how it’d be like if you were the one bending over the bonnet, preferably with him just right behind you… Regardless, seeing him also at the gym through his pictures was just too much. He’d sometimes ask you weird questions while he was there, too, which always left you a bit confused.

‘mind if i ask what’s your weight? you dont have to tell me if you dont want to, i’m just curious. i’m trying to bulk up, you see. mine’s…’ You didn’t particularly have a problem with the question itself, you just found it odd that he asked you that out of the blue, and for a brief moment you wondered if he’d been trying to say you were fat–which wouldn’t have been the first time that happened to you, having lived most of your life as person with extra fat on their body for what was considered ideal in this society’s standards had already numbed you to questions like these.

You hadn’t told him right away, you simply sent him a ‘why? are you gonna tell me to lose weight? lol’ to which he replied a string of messages in quick succession ‘oh god no. far from that, you’re perfect just as you are honestly. i’m just curious cuz i want to get to…’ He’d go on about his goals and what-not, and you decided to humour him, since it genuinely didn’t seem like he was trying to make fun of you, he actually never brought up the topic again after that.

Chris wasn’t just handsome, he was also cute, and a bit of a dork. A dork with extensive knowledge in cars and each of their components, but with even more extensive knowledge in pokemon and each and every single type.

‘Ice is strong against dragon and ground, you see? So I have to fight this Garchomp with a pokemon that can do ice attacks, but that can also withstand his attacks, like Gyarados, you know?’ The first time Chris pulled an explanation like that, while he was still covered in Herbie’s oil, you understood why he was friends with Jisung. They were both just dorks. Gym rats and dorks. The oddest combination you could possibly think of, but somehow it just added to their charm. To Chris’ charm specifically.

That balance of his technical knowledge, his hotness, and his dorkness, coupled with just how good of a person he genuinely was–always willing to help, always ready to stand his ground for things he believed in–only made you fall stupidly deeper for him. But you decided to keep these feelings to yourself, you liked having Chris by your side, not only because he was the only one who seemed to be able to bring Herbie back to life, but also because he was just a good friend, and you were sure that if you confessed your feelings things just wouldn’t be the same.

Taking Herbie out these days was always a gamble. You never knew when he was going to break down, but sometimes you really had to take a leap of faith. Most of the time it all went fine, but today, it seemed like he wasn’t in a mood to cooperate. Herbie had decided that breaking down in the middle of nowhere at twenty hours on a Friday was the best idea, which left you on the brink of frustrated, angry tears. 

So, obviously, you called the only person you knew could help you in this situation.

“You alright?” Chris asked as soon as he arrived and stood in front of where you were leaning on your car. “Oh, God. Are you crying? Why are you crying?”

“I’m just so fucking done with this car”, you brought your hands to your face, sobbing once the frustration that had built inside of you couldn’t be contained anymore.

“Hey…” You felt Chris’ body heat practically envelop you when he moved into your space, and, had you not been crying like a baby, you’d probably feel a bit flustered about it. “Are you�� Can I– Do you want a hug?”

You just nodded–still covering your face with your hands–because of course you wanted a hug. You were trembling with your quiet sobs, so a hug sounded like absolute heaven at this moment, and when Chris finally leaned in closer, wrapping his arms around your shoulders to pull you to him, the fact that Herbie had left you stranded in the middle of nowhere seemed so insignificant now.

Chris was so incredibly warm. The way he softly caressed your back helped ease your trembles, and, eventually, the tears stopped, too. So you finally moved your hands away from your face, bringing your arms around his waist to hug him as well, just as you buried your face on his shoulder–probably leaving small puddles of tears on the fabric of his boilersuit.

That was when you noticed his attire. Similar to how he dressed when he was at the shop, but clearly completely clean. His boilersuit even smelt like his fabric softener still, and… was he wearing perfume?

You pulled yourself a bit from him, and his calloused hands cradled your face immediately to wipe your tears with his thumbs. You could feel heat spread on your cheeks as he did.

Chris was so close to you still, the heat of his palm on your cheeks seeped into you, shooting straight to your fluttering heart. He truly was incredibly handsome, and as you looked him in the eyes the words left your mouth before you could even think twice about them.

“Wow. Your eyelashes are so pretty”.

A look of surprise crossed Chris’ features, and you saw his Adam’s apple bob, right before he pulled his hands away from your face and opened the driver’s door of your car, giggling. Giggling in that utterly Christopher way he always did.

“Well, yours are, too”, he said while he pulled the lever near the wheel to release the safety latch so he could open the bonnet of your car.

For a moment, you could’ve sworn his ears were red, and you wondered briefly if he might’ve been feeling warm with his boilersuit on, since it was warm tonight, which was why you had decided to wear a dress in the first place. “Were you at the shop when I called?”

“Was on my way”, Chris rounded your car, finally standing in front of it and opening the bonnet. “Ahh, Herbie. You’d certainly seen better days, haven’t you, buddy?” He took his phone from his pocket, switched on the torch, and handed it to you. “Could you hold this for me? Please?”

“Why were you going to the shop this late?” You asked as you pointed the light towards Herbie’s insides.

“Was gonna work on the bike. Angle this a bit, please”, Chris took your hand, angling it however he needed it so he could see whatever it was he needed to see–for you he might as well had been doing dark magic on your car. You saw him push cables around like he knew what each of them was for, which he surely did, this was his livelihood, after all, but it all just looked the same to you, so you were immensely relieved that he was able to help you out tonight.

“You fix cars all day and still have the drive to work on your bike in the evening?” You chuckled, just as Chris moved your hand to point the light somewhere else.

“You’d be surprised how much drive I can have when I’m doing something I like”, there was a smile on his face as he said it, and honestly you couldn’t help but believe him. Just like you couldn’t help but wonder what else he could like that’d fuel that drive of his… “Alright, we’re gonna have to jumpstart it. Gimme a sec”.

Chris left your side for a moment, and he returned almost immediately after with a jumper cable in his hands. Once he had attached it to his 4X4’s and Herbie’s battery, he instructed you to go back to the driver’s seat and to turn the ignition at his signal.

You did as asked, and as soon as you did Herbie came back to life, making you heave a sigh of relief. Chris appeared by your door a few seconds after. “Let’s go to the shop, yeah? I don’t think he’ll make it much further, to be honest”.

And honestly, you didn’t think your car would make it far, either. So you followed Chris’ 4X4 out of the area and through the familiar roads to his repair shop. You couldn’t help but feel immensely grateful, not only because he was helping you now, but because he always did it. Whenever you’d needed him, he’d always been there, which did nothing to appease the ever growing feelings you had for him.

When you made it to Chris’ shop, he simply opened the gate to the garage and signalled you to come in. You got off your car as soon as it was parked, just as Chris was unzipping his boilersuit, revealing his black vest top underneath and his admittedly mouthwatering arms as he tied the top part of the garment around his waist.

“Thank you, Chris. Really”, you told him as soon as he stood in front of you, handing him Herbie’s keys when he opened his palm.

“Oh, please”, he waved his hand as if to dismiss the thought, as if what he did was something not even worth thanking him for. “I’m glad you called, I would’ve felt really bad if I couldn’t have helped you with this”, he gave you a smile, one of his blinding smiles that made his dimples appear on his cheeks and his eyes disappear, and you suddenly felt your cheeks warm up and like your heart was going to burst out of your chest.

Chris made sure to place a wedge behind each of Herbie’s wheels just so the car was secure in place, and then turned to you. “Come with me”.

He guided you to the sink by the corner of the shop. Pumping some soap into his hands and opening the tap, he started to generously lather the suds all over his hands. 

“Come here, you need to wash your hands, too”, Chris took your hands in his, getting them all soapy, making sure to spread the soap between each of your fingers, going as far as to rub your hands between his, or lace his fingers with yours to fulfil the task.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “Chris, I didn’t touch anything”.

“You sure?” He chuckled, but his motions didn’t stop. “It’s better to be safe than sorry, no?”

“I guess”, you didn’t think your cheeks could’ve felt any hotter. You seriously hoped it wasn’t that noticeable.

After thoroughly rinsing your hands under the tap, he gave you a clean rag to dry them on just as he motioned for you to follow him again. So you did, walking past his half restored bike and into his office.

Chris placed Herbie’s keys on the designated case that corresponded to the number in which you had parked your car, and then turned to the minifridge. “You want a soda?”

“Sure”, you took the glass bottle from him as soon as he opened it and handed it to you. You always found it odd that he had glass bottles and not cans, considering how little space he had in that fridge. When you asked him about it once Chris simply went on about how ‘Cans just don’t taste the same! The soda tastes so much better when it’s drunk from a bottle’, and as soon as he said that you just couldn’t untaste it anymore. Glass bottles were, ultimately, superior.

“‘Suppose I’ll get an uber”, you sighed after you took a sip of your drink, walking a bit so you could lean against the wall.

“An uber? Nonsense, I’ll drive you home, don’t worry”, Chris took a sip of his drink, just as he leaned on his desk.

“Aw, c’mon. You already went out of your way to rescue me. I don’t wanna take more of your time”.

Chris scoffed. “Don’t make me beg”.

“I wouldn’t dare”, you chuckled, although you were suddenly curious of what would happen if you did make him beg… “But what about your bike?”

“The bike won’t be ready anytime soon. The only reason I was coming here was because I was restless at home. Now I’d much rather spend some time with you, to be honest”, Chris took a sip of his drink again, and suddenly holding his gaze felt like too much, but the way your eyes decided to focus on his Adam’s apple moving with every sip he took wasn’t that much easier.

“You know…” Chris said after a few moments of silence, pulling your eyes back up from where they had been glued to his neck. “I think it might be time for you to consider letting Herbie go. It’s been months, and I honestly don’t think I can save him”.

You sighed. “I know… But I fear I’ve grown attached to the damned thing. Besides, wouldn’t you lose your most regular customer?” You added the last part with a chuckle, taking a sip of your drink right after.

Chris chuckled. “So you’re saying you only talk to me ‘cause of Herbie?”

You almost choked on your drink. “N–no. Of course not. You’re a good friend, Chris. Truly”. 

He placed his drink on the desk, and a smirk made its way onto his face. “Just a good friend?”

“Uhh… A great friend?” You laughed softly, drinking some more of your soda.

Chris went silent for a moment. As you saw him worry at his bottom lip and looking anywhere but where you were standing, you wondered if you had said something wrong. That was, until he chuckled.

“I don’t think I’m a good friend, to be honest”, he crossed his arms over his chest, bouncing his leg a bit. “Good friends don’t secretly hope for their friend’s car to break down so they’d call them for help”. 

You were just bringing your bottle to your lips, but his words made you stop in your tracks. “What?”

Chris looked at you for a moment. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but then he was tipping his head to the side and laughing. “God, I seriously didn’t believe Jisung at first, but you really are dense for some things, aren’t you?” 

“I am… so confused right now”.

Chris shook his head a bit, and he walked closer to you. “Let me tell you a secret…” He got into your space, close enough that you could smell his perfume, and the proximity made you swallow the saliva that seemed to have suddenly pooled in your mouth. Leaning into you, he brought his mouth to your ear, whispering. “I really, really like you”.

You blinked, and you honestly felt like your brain had short-circuited. “You… What?”

No way was Christopher Bang telling you he liked you. There was just no way. You would’ve noticed… You would’ve, right? You definitely would’ve… Wouldn’t have you noticed?

Suddenly you remembered Jisung. How he’d tried to tell you multiple times throughout the past few months that Chris was flirting with you, that you should shoot your shot, but you honestly had never believed him, because it seemed just so ridiculous to you that Chris could even look at you in that light.

“I’ve, uh… liked you for a while. A long, long while”, Chris pulled himself away from your space completely, and he looked at your face for a moment. A moment that you stayed completely silent, still trying to process the fact that Chris liked you… And for a while now.

You saw his brows furrow as he chewed on his bottom lip. Then he was speaking again. “I just… couldn’t keep quiet about it anymore. When we hugged earlier I realised I wanted to do that more, and that I should probably grow a pair and tell you already. I’d like to take you on a date, if you want, but I can understand if you don’t want to…”

He was rambling. A lot. Saying a lot of things. This was the Nervous Chris you’d only seen a couple of times, the Nervous Chris whose coping mechanism was just to jump to conclusions and talk in a single breath. Suddenly, it all seemed to click into place. The good morning texts, the selfies, the late night talks at the shop after Herbie had died on you time and time again, it was so clear to you now.

“If you don’t like me back that’s fine, you can just say so, I won’t take it to hear–”

You kissed him.

It was barely anything. Just a peck on the lips, but it was enough to shut him up, enough to make his eyes go wide in surprise, and, to your own selfish delight, enough to bring a delicate blush to his cheeks.

“I like you, too”, you said simply, still a bit shocked by his confession, a bit shocked by your confession coming out of your own mouth. You honestly never thought you’d be able to say that to him out loud, but you did. Just like he had.

Chris looked stunned for a bit. But that stunned look didn’t last long, it quickly turned to something else, something raw and incredibly alluring. Stepping into your space again, he brought a hand to the back of your head, holding you in place just as his other hand took the bottle from your hands to place it on the tool cart next to you, right as his lips found yours.

This kiss was nothing like the peck you’d given him. It was loaded with need and want and lust. So much of all of it you couldn’t even believe how blind you’d been. Every press of his lips against yours kindled the fire that started to burn in the pit of your stomach. When his hand joined the other cradling your head, you just couldn’t help the small whimper that came out of your mouth, and that tiny noise seemed to have spurred Chris on, enough to press you flush against the wall as his tongue made its way inside your mouth, as your arms wrapped around his waist.

Heat was spreading quickly inside of you, and you were starting to feel lightheaded–whether it was due to the shock, or due to how Chris was pressing you against the wall, or due to the motions of his kiss and the lack of oxygen, you weren’t too sure. One of your hands laid palm flat on the small of his back, while the other pressed between his shoulder blades, and the hum that came out of his mouth seemed to have travelled all the way to your heart, making it beat even faster in your chest.

Chris detached his mouth from yours, only for a moment, enough to talk. “Does this mean…” He pressed another kiss on your lips. “That you’d like…” And another. “To go on a date?” This kiss lasted a bit longer than the others, it lasted until you nodded your head.

“Yes”, you pressed a kiss on his lips, just as your arms moved to loop around his neck and his wrapped around your waist, keeping you impossibly closer to him. “Would love to”.

He hummed again, and he immediately resumed the soft movement of his lips on yours. Keeping you tight against him for a while. Until it seemed like his brain had caught up with him. 

“We should probably stop”, but he didn’t stop kissing you, just like you didn’t, either. You just couldn’t get enough of his full lips on yours, of his tongue pushing against yours.

“Do you want to?” Your fingers made their way through the curls at the back of his head, holding the strands between them just how you’d dreamt to do so many times throughout the past handful of months.

“God, no”, and you believed him, not only because of how desperate he sounded when he said it, but also because he just kept kissing you, talking in between quick pecks of his lips. “But I don’t want… to make it seem… like this is all I want… You know?”

You knew. You knew because you were thinking exactly the same thing. You could feel him against your pubic bone, hard, warm, and it all made you incredibly wet, maybe embarrassingly so. But this was Chris, it was hard to feel embarrassed with him, which was part of the reason why you had developed feelings for him in the first place.

You hummed, just to let him know that you understood what he was trying to say without removing your lips from his. As you kissed him, as you felt him and his warmth, your mind started to cloud a bit. The mix of his motions, of the months and months of pining for him, and the even more months of self-inflicted celibacy clearly made it so logical thinking wasn’t your strongest attribute at this time.

“Would you still… take me on a date… if I sucked you off right now?” The words flew past your mouth between kisses, too fast for you to even think twice and stop them.

“Shit…” Chris pulled himself away from your lips completely, looking you in the eyes. As you took in the flush on his face, his plush, kiss-bitten lips, and his blown pupils, you couldn’t help but think just how incredibly beautiful he looked like this. “Are you being serious?”

“Dead serious”, your chest was heaving, and your fingers carded through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp with your nails, making Chris bite his lip and take a deep breath.

“Of course I would. I’d take you to the fucking moon even if I got it wet right now”.

You chuckled at that, and pressed a brief kiss on his lips. “A date is enough, babe”.

“Babe, huh?” Chris took a deep breath, just as you pushed him away from you a bit, enough to have space so you could drop to your knees, uncaring of your bare skin touching the floor. All you could care about was the outline of his length against his clothes when you pressed your hand on it.

“Sorry, you don’t like ‘babe’?” You looked up at him, right in the eyes, just as you untied the sleeves of his boilersuit from around his waist.

“I like it a lot, actually”, there was a bit of a smug smirk on his face, and it had you licking your lips.

Just as you were about to pull the bottom of his suit further down, he brought a hand to one of yours, diverting your eyes back up to his. His gaze had softened, and the smile on his face coupled with that look in his eyes made you flush further. “You don’t have to, seriously. Don’t feel obligated to do it”.

“I don’t”, you reassured him. “I want to do it. Badly. But only if you want it, too”.

“Fuck… I do. So bad”, he licked his lips, and he moved his hand away from yours to place it on your head instead. “You’ve got no idea how much, shit…”

So you resumed your motions, tugging his bottoms along with his underwear, enough for his length to spring free of its confinements. You weren’t surprised with the sight, honestly. A pretty face like his surely came with a pretty cock, too. So of fucking course it was pretty, especially so as precum pooled at its tip, especially when it looked just so delectably hard. It was a bit on the girthier side, but nothing too crazy, nothing you couldn’t handle. If anything, it just made your mouth water, and you licked your lips in anticipation.

“Shit…” You took him in your hand, spreading around the bead of precum that had collected on his tip to give him a couple of tentative pumps, making him swear under his breath and bite his bottom lip. “How do you like it?”

“Fuck… sloppy. Make it as wet as you can, the messier the better”, the words flew past his lips, completely shamelessly, almost as if he didn’t even need to think about them. Chris seemed to be transfixed on the sight of your hand working his length, and you took that opportunity to spit on it, making him groan while you started to coat him in your saliva.

So you delayed no further, dying for a taste, and a taste you got. As soon as your lips wrapped around his tip Chris swore. Loudly. He threw his head back and his fingers seemed to tighten a bit on your head, but he didn’t move you, he let you keep the pace as you saw fit. You started slow, holding him by the base and just bobbing your head for your lips to repeatedly catch on the ridge of his head and for your tongue to rub against the frenulum on the underside, taking him deeper into your mouth with every other stroke.

The moment you opened your eyes and your gaze found his, your inner walls involuntarily clenched around nothing, and suddenly you felt like you needed some relief. But you ultimately decided to keep your focus on Chris, on his lustful gaze, on his furrowed brows, on his gentle hold on your head, and the grunts and groans threatening to come out of his mouth, dampened by the way his teeth trapped his bottom lip.

He wanted it messy and sloppy, so you were ready to give it to him messy and sloppy. It’d been a while since you’d done this, but you’d be damned if you didn’t at least try. With a deep breath, you took him in deeper, breaching past the initial resistance for him to ease into your throat.

“Oh, fuck… You’re kidding… Shit…” Chris threw his head back, letting the most delicious noises out of his mouth, almost making you lightheaded with how aroused his heavy cock in your mouth coupled with his blissed out sounds got you.

You took your time slurping him up, uncaring if saliva dribbled out of your mouth as you worked against your gag reflex, feeling tears quickly collect in the corner of your eyes. When you felt confident enough with your motions, you brought your hand to his that held your head in place, while you placed the other on his hip, holding him tightly. 

“You want me to move, pretty? Fuck your perfect little mouth?” You nodded in response, humming around his length.

Slowly, he started to thrust into your mouth. Chris was being extremely careful, being mindful of every controlled push of his hips, but even with his slow pace, you couldn’t help but moan as soon as he started moving, making him groan in response. That was when you finally gave into your own desires, moving your hand away from his that lay on your head to bring it under your dress so you could press circles on your clit over your underwear, eliciting broken whimpers from your mouth.

“Shit, look at you…” Chris looked fucked out of his mind already, with his heaving chest and the increasing pace of his hips. You were sure you weren’t looking any more collected than he was, especially when you started to feel tears finally fall from the corner of your eyes every time you blinked.

With one particularly precise thrust of his hips, Chris’ length went in further than you were used to, essentially choking you on his cock, making you gag harshly. Chris pulled his length out of your mouth, and you gasped for air immediately.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, so fucking good with that mouth��� Come here, beautiful”, Chris helped you to your feet, wrapping his arms around your waist once you were standing on your feet and pressing kisses all over your cheeks. You were still panting a bit, flushed from exertion, but Chris kissed you anyway, and you kissed him back, holding onto his shoulders for dear life. “Need to taste you”, he mumbled between pecks of his lips. “Please, please, please let me eat you out”.

You just nodded, very eagerly if you might add. But you honestly couldn’t find it in you to be embarrassed about it, not when Chris begged so fervently for it. Just the thought of seeing him between your legs had you already clenching with need.

While you kissed, Chris removed his arms from your waist. You felt him fumble with his underwear and his boilersuit, hastily wrapping it around his waist, and before you could even register what he was doing, he was taking a hold of your ass and scooping you into his arms.

“Chris, fuck, wait. I’m heavy as hell”, you were slightly alarmed, but your legs wrapped around his waist for stability anyway just as you held onto his shoulders.

“Heavy?” Chris chuckled, moving towards his desk. “Baby, I can lift almost thrice your weight”.

“You, what?” You asked, a bit confused–and also aroused, because, fuck, how strong was this man…–Chris pushed away some of the items on his desk to sit you on it, close to the edge. After all the revelations that had come to light earlier, it finally dawned on you. “Is that… why you asked what my weight was all those months ago?”

“Of course! Needed to make sure that if I ever got a chance I was able to do everything I wanted”, he dropped to his knees, starting to press tender kisses up your shins. “Must admit I had to stop whole hip thrust sets sometimes because I’d get so fucking hard halfway through, fuck”.

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, a hearty, and slightly incredulous laugh. “Holy shit. I genuinely thought you would tell me I had to lose weight at some point”.

“What? I’d never”, Chris chuckled, bringing his hands to your thighs, squeezing them. “I mean, it’s your body, you can do whatever you want, but know that I find you incredibly attractive however you look”, he moved his hands further up, right under the hem of your dress to finally hook his fingers on the waistband of your underwear. “Can I take these off, gorgeous?”

“Yes”, you giggled, feeling yourself heating up further just by his words and the feeling of his hands on your skin. With your hands on the desk you lifted your hips enough for him to slip the garment down your legs and off of you. He threw your underwear on the desk, and they landed somewhere behind you.

Bringing his hands back to your thighs, Chris rubbed circles with his thumbs for a second, only to finally move them further up, catching the hem of your dress and bringing it with him as he went. You chewed on your bottom lip, feeling a bit nervous all of a sudden. That was, until he finally pushed your legs apart. With the way he swore under his breath and the way his eyes seemed to get impossibly darker as soon as he took sight of your seeping core, any nervousness seemed to have been obliterated, and you couldn’t help but feel just so incredibly wanted.

“Fuck… Even here, huh?” He threw your legs over his shoulders, and you felt yourself heat up in anticipation. “Plump, pretty… Shit…”

Desire pooled in the pit of your stomach, it was honestly almost pathetic how affected you felt just by the things he was saying and the sight of him between your legs.

“You know…” Chris pressed his lips to your inner thigh, sucking harshly, leaving marks on your skin, making you inhale a shaky breath. “This is the exact same dress you were wearing the first time you came into my shop”.

Your eyes widened a bit in surprise. “You remember what I was wearing?”

“Hm, ‘course I do”, he moved his attention back to your eyes, just as he pressed a chaste kiss on your inner thigh. “I’ve been dreaming of you in this fucking dress for months, baby…”

“You have?”

“I have”, one of his hands came to grip your thigh, while the other moved to your hip, giving you a hefty squeeze. “How do you like it, pretty? Or how do you not like it, for that matter?”

You licked your lips, suddenly transfixed by the sight of his lips brushing your skin. “Gentle sucks go a long way. I’m a bit, uh… sensitive”.

“Sensitive, huh? ‘Course you are… Hold this for me, hm?” He took a hold of your hand and brought it to one of your thighs, just as he spread you open further, propping your foot on the desk. So you did as asked, keeping your legs open as he diverted his attention back to your heat. “Good girl… Just like that…”

As soon as he spread you with two of his fingers, and he dived, landing soft, tentative licks on your clit, you knew you were done for. Your whole body jolted a bit, and a soft whimper escaped your mouth. “Oh, fuck…”

Chris just hummed, moving to lick at your entrance, getting a taste of your essence with his brows pulled together, looking just so fucking delighted. Just the thought that he was genuinely enjoying himself got you moaning a bit louder under the quickening movements of his tongue, and as soon as his lips pressed on your clit, giving you those gentle sucks you had asked for, your mind just disconnected completely.

He took his time working you up, turning you to a whimpering mess just with his lips and his tongue, gradually increasing his tempo to build your upcoming release. Whenever he dipped lower to lick at your entrance, his nose would bump your clit with every movement of his head, he was essentially making out with your cunt and you would gladly let him do whatever and however he wanted. Your nerve endings were on fire, your toes curled with need, and your walls clenched with his unrelenting pace.

When he detached his mouth from your core you almost wanted to cry, but he only did it for a second, enough to ask a “Fingers, baby?” only to press his lips to your sensitive skin again, sucking your clit into his mouth and licking it with his tongue.

You weren’t sure if the ‘Yes’ actually came out of your mouth, you vaguely only registered your eager nodding and the soft moan that escaped your lips as soon as you felt one of his digits at your entrance. Chris groaned against your skin as soon as he inserted the first finger to the knuckle, the vibration of the sound further fueling that fire in the pit of your stomach. He pumped his finger in tandem with his tongue on your clit, touching and prodding and gauging your reactions to his every move.

One particularly sharp nudge of his finger on your walls had you moaning a bit louder than you were before, and Chris seemed to have picked it up immediately, because he plunged a second finger right after and started pumping his digits in and out, hitting that sweet spot over and over while his lips gently sucked on your clit. You needed to have a hand on the desk to keep yourself up, to maintain some stability, so you shuffled your foot a bit and simply let go of your thigh to bring the hand that was holding it to his head, burying your fingers in his hair and pushing him further against you with a whimper.

Chris groaned as soon as your fingers threaded through his hair, immediately picking up the pace of his fingers and his tongue, bringing you further and further towards the edge, and God if you needed to tip over that edge… With how well he was working you up you felt your lower belly tighten with exertion, and your walls spasm more frequently around his fingers.

“Chris… Fuck, fuck, I’m so fucking close, please–” You almost choked with the moan that came out of your mouth after you spoke, since Chris immediately started ramming his fingers into you harder, faster, just as his plush, now swollen lips kept sucking that sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs.

He was absolutely determined to give you your relief, and as soon as you were able to open your eyes and look at him, the look in his eyes, lustful, greedy, was enough to finally push you over the edge. Searing heat spread all over your body with your release, pure pleasure overflowed each and every one of your senses, making you perceive nothing but Chris, Chris, Chris, and his lips between your legs, and his hair between your fingers, and his fingers inside of you.

Chris’ motions didn’t relent until you were thoroughly satisfied, until you weakly pushed on his head with a ‘Shit, baby, enough, please’ when he had you on the brink of oversensitivity. As soon as his mouth detached from your heat, he pulled his fingers out and brought them to his lips, sucking them clean before he finally stood up and caught your mouth in a heated kiss. The fact that you could taste yourself on his lips only seemed to spur you on further, making you whimper while you brought a hand to the back of his head and took a handful of his curls to finally get completely lost in the motions of his kiss.

“So pretty, fuck…” He mumbled when his mouth disconnected from yours, cradling your head in his hands as he smothered your face with kisses. “So fucking gorgeous when you come for me, shit…”

His borderline adoring words had you feeling tingly all over, somehow both making your heart swell in your chest and your walls involuntarily flutter even when they were still sporadically spasming from the after effects of your orgasm. When Chris kissed you again, you looped your arms around his neck just as his hands found your hips, pulling him flush to you, heaving chest against heaving chest, getting lost in the feeling of his lips on yours and his hands kneading your flesh.

“Holy fuck”, you chuckled as soon as Chris’ lips parted from yours, and he followed suit, chuckling while he made his way to your neck, to press kisses all over your skin.

“Mmm, I know, right?”

Chris hugged you close, leisurely kissing and licking your neck and shoulders. His soft, lingering touches seemed to shoot straight to the deepest areas within your heart, and even though you’d just had a mind-numbing orgasm, you certainly wanted more. More of him.

“Chris?” You mumbled, hugging him a bit tighter.

“Mm?”

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, then moved to take his earlobe between your teeth, tugging gently before you whispered, “want you”.

Chris took in a shaky breath, and he pulled himself away from your neck to look at your face. God, you wanted to kiss him, his flushed face and his swollen lips would be a sight that’d haunt your wettest dreams from now on, you just knew. 

He licked his lips. “We don’t have to, pretty”.

“Mm… You’re right, we don’t have to”, dragging one of your hands from his shoulders, down his chest, his abdomen, all the way to his length, you pressed your palm firmly, feeling him still hard under your grasp. “But do you want to?”

“Fuck, yeah, I want to”, Chris held your hips tighter, and you wondered if you’d see bruises tomorrow just as he placed a kiss on your lips. “I want you so bad”.

“You have me. Right here, baby. You can have me right here”, you mumbled against his lips, pressing a kiss there right after, just as Chris swore under his breath.

“Shit… Gimme a sec”, he detached himself from you, rounding the desk and pulling one of the drawers open, muttering to himself. “There were some here, I’m sure…”

You turned to look at him, oddly amused by the way he carelessly moved things around in his drawers. “What are you looking for?”

“Aha! These”, he pulled a three piece box of condoms, and he turned it around a few times in his hand with a frown on his face. “I seriously hope these aren’t expired…”

You chuckled at the sight of his focused face, amused, but also incredibly curious. “Why do you even have a box of condoms in your desk’s drawers? How many girls have you had in here?”

“Believe it or not, you’re the first one”, he chuckled, opening the package and taking one of the foil packets out, examining it closely for a moment, only to finally heave a sigh of relief. “Thank God. Not expired”.

With a smile on your lips, you quirked a brow at him, just as you watched him round the desk again to stand in front of you. He shrugged to your silent question, taking the foil packet between his teeth so he could untie the top of his boilersuit from around his hips and tug the rest and his underwear down enough so his length was free again, and you’d admit you got a bit distracted by the sight.

With the corner of the condom packet still held in place by his teeth, he finally tore it open, and you took the bit of foil that was still in his mouth to drop it somewhere on the desk while Chris carefully slid the condom down his length.

“You’d be surprised how many things a condom can be used for when working with cars. They’re always useful when you need to get creative and use whatever you have at hand”, Chris stood between your parted legs, placing his hands on your hips and squeezing.

“What kind of MacGyver bullshit is that?” You chuckled, but the sound quickly turned into a surprised yelp when Chris held you tightly and pulled you closer to the edge of the desk.

“They’ve always been helpful when I’ve needed them”, leaning into you, Chris placed a hand on your cheek, pulling you into a kiss just as he rubbed the tip of his cock up and down your slit, spreading your juices around and teasing your clit in the process, making you whimper into his mouth. “But I’ll be honest, I’ve never been more happy to have them at hand than I do right now”.

You brought a hand to play with the hair at the back of his head, pulling him for a brief kiss. “Put them to good use, then”.

“Demanding, are we?” Chris chuckled, but he lined himself with your entrance anyway, slowly easing his length into your heat. “Oh, shit…”

It was a stretch, alright, but he was being just so incredibly careful, and you appreciated it, you really did. But you were also incredibly desperate to be filled, so you wrapped your legs around his torso and pushed on his ass with your heel, urging him on, making him jut his hips further forward.

“Shit… Have mercy on me, will you?” He mumbled against your cheek, pressing a soft kiss on your skin while his now free hand made its way to your hip again, holding you tightly.

“Want you”, you replied simply, probably whinier and less demanding that you were trying to sound, but Chris complied with your request anyway, finally thrusting all the way in, making you gasp with just how incredibly full you felt.

“Want you, too”, he pressed his lips to your neck, kissing and sucking on your skin. The thought of waking up tomorrow and seeing his marks on your neck or your hips made you flush impossibly further, even as he moved along to press kisses on the exposed skin of your shoulder. “Want you so bad I’m genuinely about to burst just by being inside you right now. Need a second”.

Bringing a hand to his cheek, you made him turn away from your shoulder to look at you, and the way he bit his lip before he leaned in for a kiss had you involuntarily clenching around him, eliciting a choked groan from his lips.

“Fuck, driving me nuts… Seriously, we’re gonna have… the best fucking date ever… You’ll see…” He mumbled his words between kisses, and it genuinely had you laughing, because of course he was still thinking about your future date. “C’mon, beautiful. Hold on to me”.

So you did, bringing your arms to rest on his shoulders, burying one of your hands in his hair, all while he placed one hand on the small of your back, and the other on the desk for stability. Finally, Chris moved, starting a rhythm with precise thrusts, making you gasp at the sensation of his length dragging against your walls, making him groan.

“Fuck, shit… That’s good. So good. Feel so fucking perfect around me, baby. Perfect”, with the increase of his tempo you could barely register the words coming out of his mouth, all you could do was whine while you nodded in agreement, hoping that he, too, would know how just incredibly good he felt inside of you.

The way Chris kissed you, almost desperate, the way he started to ram into you, stretching you so deliciously you were already starting to feel lightheaded, all combined had that little bit of sanity you had left in you leave your body entirely, finally letting you succumb to just your utmost primal need for pleasure. But more specifically, for pleasure you could share with Chris.

You honestly couldn’t tell how long you spent getting pounded to that desk, you could just feel Chris’ cock repeatedly splitting you open and his lips on yours and the words that he’d occasionally mumble against your skin, his words of praise and encouragement that had you once again feeling tingly all over, words that fed that pool of arousal inside of you, threatening to spill it all over. You vaguely registered words of your own leave your mouth, too. Words that seemed to spur him on, that seemed to pull blissed-out sounds from his lips and yours nonstop. 

“Lean back a bit for me, gorgeous”, and you couldn’t help but comply, removing one of your hands from his shoulders to place it behind you to lean on it, leaving just enough space between your bodies for Chris to sneak his hand between your bodies, finding your clit and drawing fervent circles on your already oversensitive bud, eliciting a moan from your lips as soon as he did. “Fuck, fuck, that’s it, baby. Just like that, milk my cock just like that, huh…”

“Chris–” You honestly weren’t sure what you were even going to tell him, you could just feel your next high approaching increasingly fast, and you needed it. You needed it badly.

“It’s fine, pretty. Whenever you’re ready, just let go”, he mumbled the words against your cheek, pressing a chaste kiss on it, a complete contrast to his sharp thrusts and the fast movement of his fingers between your legs. “Want to feel you so bad, fuck…”

“Shit–” With a few more flicks of his fingers on your clit, you finally got that sweet, sweet relief. The feeling spread all throughout your body, dragging sounds of pure, unadulterated pleasure out of your mouth, making your legs shake from exertion as you tried to keep your hold around Chris’ torso.

Bringing both of his hands to your hips for leverage, Chris chased his own release, his grunts and groans getting lost in your mouth while he kissed you again. One, two, three thrusts and he was flush against you, shooting his load into the condom while he was buried as deep as he could within your warmth, a mix of his groans and your name and a colourful string of swears flying past his lips as he rode the waves of his ecstasy with minute rolls of his hips.

“Holy fuck”, he cradled your face in his hands, pulling you in for one more heated kiss while he came down from his high, and you couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

“I agree”, you were panting a bit, breathless, leaning back on both of your hands as you tried to catch your breath.

Chris laughed, a hearty laugh that had a smile appearing on your face immediately. Taking a hold of the condom by the base of his length to make sure it was secure in place, he finally pulled out, carefully sliding it off of him, tying a knot and throwing it in the bin by his desk. You missed his warmth inside of you immediately.

Taking a roll of toilet paper from one of the tool carts nearby, he quickly cleaned any remnants of his release from his length before he was tucking it back into his briefs, finally wrapping the top of his boilersuit around his waist again. With more paper in hand Chris asked you to ‘please open up those pretty legs for me, hm?’ so he could clean you up, helping you back into your underwear right after.

As soon as you were standing back on your–admittedly unsteady–feet, Chris wrapped his arms around your waist, placing a quick kiss on your lips only to move up and press another on your forehead. “You okay?”

“I’m more than okay”, you chuckled, melting into his embrace. “Everything hurts, though. How’re you?”

“On cloud nine”, he replied simply, giving you one of his blinding smiles, making your heart race with the sight.

When Chris finally detached himself from you, he reached for the soda he’d taken out of your hands earlier, giving it back to you once you told him ‘I still want to drink it. Even if it’s not cold anymore, seriously’, and after a bit of back and forth he simply relented.

“Would you…” Chris started to ask, while he bent down to take the bag out of the bin. “Would you like to come to my place? I mean, I can take you to yours, too, that’s fine, but I figured, you know, you could stay over, and we could have dinner, and I can make you breakfast tomorrow, and I’m sure Wolfgang would love to see you, and we could cuddle to sleep, you know? But if you don’t want to, it’s fin–”

You took a hold of his hand, squeezing it in yours to stop his rambling. “I’d love to”.

Chris just giggled a bit, pressing a quick kiss on your lips and tugging you out of his office back to the garage once he’d switched off the light. When you were outside, you made your way to his 4X4, watching him chuck the small bin bag from his office into the bigger bin out in the garage and going through the motions of switching every light off in here, too.

As you watched him, your eyes drifted to Herbie, parked in his–by now–usual spot. Maybe Chris was right, maybe it was time you considered letting him go. He’d served you well for those two months at the beginning, and when you were in a pinch he was very forgiving, but his condition was unsustainable at this point.

As soon as Chris was by your side again he gave you a kiss for good measure, opening his 4X4’s passenger door for you. You just smiled at him, pressing one more kiss on his lips before you finally hopped in. Chris rounded the bonnet and started to very animatedly talk about a funny thing Wolfgang had done just this morning, gesturing with his hands while he recounted the event, making you laugh.

While Chris drove you two to his place, with soft music playing on the radio, with his hand occasionally shifting from the gear lever to squeeze your thigh, all while a light, easy conversation flowed between you two, you figured that Herbie might’ve been the worst financial decision you’d ever made, but at the very least, he’d brought you to Chris, so you really couldn’t hold a grudge against him, not when you felt so incredibly light and couldn’t wipe the smile off of your face.

You can find part two here

Tagging: @raspbinniecreme · @staaa96 · @oiminho · @starshine-moon · @biribarabiribbaem · @100layersofdaddyissues · @dearalice · @alexis-reads-fics · @xcookiemonsteer · @knowleeknow · @chanlovesme · @liminaldaydream · @sstarryreads · @svngiem · @notastraykid · @princelingperfect · @peepeepoopooharrie · @aestheticsluut · @skzhomiehopper · @cessixja · @mimzibee · @hipsdofangirl · @djeniryuu · @floatingcoffecup in purple can’t be tagged. If you want to be removed (or if i tagged you incorrectly) from the list just PM me. If you want to be added fill in this form~

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Constructive feedback (or even keysmashes, really) is always welcome :)

[kwanisms]

The Library of Illusion — Arachnophobia

Deep in the Horror Section, Y/N finds herself descending into a dark cave where she meets a man who is not what he seems. jorogumo!Wooyoung × fem!Reader

«« previous || series m.list || taglist || next »» ❑ WORDCOUNT — 8.1k ❑ WARNINGS — adult dialogue, female reader, CW: SPIDERS & SPIDER CREATURE!WOOYOUNG, graphic body horror, mentions of blood and viscera, sexual content (18+ mdni), smut tags under the cut! ‼️IF YOU ARE SEVERELY ARACHNOPHOBIC, DO NOT READ THIS‼️ ❑ CONTENT — angst, smut; fantasy, horror; non idol au, jorogumo!Wooyoung ❑ NOTES — this was interesting to write and I knew from the get-go I wanted to make Wooyoung a monster. I almost made him a werewolf but changed to a jorogumo. Traditionally, jorogumo are female spiders that change into beautiful women but male spiders do exist so I thought maybe that might be a cool idea and make a male jorogumo. I hope you enjoyed this part and as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

permanent taglist: @yoonguurt @wonderfulshinee @candidupped @dejavernon @violagoth @tigermoonbiss @katsukis1wife @luvsooby @thesolarplanetarysystem @salty-for-suga @devilsmatches @dmnspiit

ateez taglist: @2hodefender @cixrosie @pyeonghongrie-main @flowerboykun @sanjoongie @anyamaris @stardragongalaxy @kpop-stories-21 @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @mlysalt @cinnamoon-belle @briannabk22 @is4b3ll3s @hyukssunflower @vampiirose @0325tiny

special tags: @thelargefrye

smut warnings: unprotected sex (use protection, especially if you're gonna bone a huge man-spider creature lmao), rope (web) bondage, monster genitalia, dirty talk, slight brat!Reader (it lasts for like .2 seconds lol), marking (f receiving), creampie/slight breeding kink (you have to squint for the last one tho), use of pet names (only sweetheart and darling one time but it's not entirely endearing) and i think that's everything but of course let me know if I missed anything!

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“How was your trip?” Seonghwa asked, clearly amused as you reached the desk and glared at him. “Don’t even ask,” you growled to which he merely chuckled.

“I trust you were successful?”

You raised your hand, opening it and letting the key fall to the desk with a metallic thud. Seonghwa’s eyes shifted from your face to look down at the key before a polite smile crossed his features. “Excellent,” he simply said, looking back up to meet your gaze.

“Where would you like to visit next?” He asked, getting up so effortlessly from the desk. You watched as he started to pace, circling you almost like a predator would circle his prey. “Only you can choose your next destination.

You turned to look around the room, noticing how the sign over the Science Fiction section had faded and all life from beyond the door disappeared, leaving nothing but blackness.

You tore your gaze from the door and peered around the others until your eyes landed on one. ‘Might as well get this over with,’ you told yourself as you turned to Seonghwa. “That one.”

Seonghwa followed your outstretched hand, pointing to the next entry in your story. As he read the sign he couldn’t help but feel a sense of amusement.

“The Horror Section,” he said softly as he turned to his desk, grabbing his key and leading you over to the door.

You watched as he unlocked the door and turned the old handle, ignoring the way it creaked and squeaked. He pushed the door open before turning to look at you. “Here you are,” he said, gesturing to the now open door.

Taking a deep breath, you took a cautious step into the hall. “Be wary of monsters,” Seonghwa warned as you stopped just past the door and turned to look at him. “Monsters?” You asked softly. He nodded.

“Yes, but sometimes they don’t look like monsters,” he added. You swallowed the lump in your throat. “What do they look like?” You whispered, eyes watching as he slowly closed the door until just his face peered in at you.

“Like you and me.”

And with that the door shut with a click, no doubt locked behind you.

“Is he always going to be so cryptic?”

You turned away and stared ahead. All you could see were the shelves on either side of you, even your flashlight did nothing to illuminate the black void that lay ahead of you.

Deciding it was much too late to turn back, you did the only thing you could and continued forward.

Each step on the creaky wooden floor echoed in the hall as your eyes darted around, searching for anything that would tell you where to look for the next key.

As you continued, the creaking of the wood was replaced with the tap of your boots against rock and you glanced down to see the wooden floor was now nothing but a rock and stone covered in dirt.

You glanced behind you where you could still see the door leading into the lobby and the wooden shelves full of books. ‘Just like the science fiction section,’ you noted internally before continuing down the tunnel and further into what appeared to be a cave system.

As you stepped down a small dip in the floor, the sound of rock scraping behind you caused you to freeze and turn slowly.

Behind you the tunnel had disappeared, a wall of rock now separating you from the only exit. “Great,” you murmured before turning back around and looking into the dark passage ahead.

You pulled out your flashlight and turned it on, the beam illuminating a small portion of the path in front of you.

Casting the light around gave you the chance to see the whole tunnel from side to side before you started walking forward, keeping your eyes open and ears straining to hear even the slightest shift.

You had only walked a few meters ahead when a rustling echoed through the passage. You froze in your steps, gripping the handle of your flashlight tighter as you braced yourself. The rustling faded just as quickly as it started but you saw nothing. ‘Maybe it’s just bats?’ You took a deep breath before continuing forward.

‘Yeah,’ you told yourself. ‘Just bats.’

Your feet carried you through the cave, footsteps echoing lightly as you moved. You kept your head and flashlight on a swivel, glancing around often to make sure nothing jumped out at you from the darkness.

You wondered just what could be down here, waiting for you.

This was the horror section after all.

Your mind wandered to all the horror movies you’d seen in your youth, especially the ones that took place in a cave. A shiver ran up your spine as you envisioned savage beasts that might be lying in wait to ambush you and eat your innards.

“Get a grip,” you whispered to yourself. “It can’t be that bad, can it?”

No sooner did the words leave your lips that another sound reached your ears. It was like the rustling from before but there was something else to it. Almost a like a hissing sound. You froze yet again and looked around, glancing towards the cave ceiling. You expected to see bats but what you saw was much worse.

Spiders.

Hundreds of thousands of spiders were crawling all over the ceiling. As soon as the light hit them, they scattered around, avoiding the beam. It was like a steady stream of spiders all crawling in one direction and away from the way you were heading.

Your heartbeat quickened, palms growing clammy as you watched the spectacle.

“That doesn’t seem good,” you whispered before turning your light away from the spiders and continued further into the cave.

As you went, webbing started to appear, growing thicker the deeper you went. Something in the air shifted and the temperature dropped, sending chills down your spine and bumps forming on your skin. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end but you persevered.

You tried not to imagine what the spiders would be moving away from as you reached a large open cavern. The ceiling extended upwards, reaching maybe twenty feet. Thick stalactite grew from the chamber ceiling, pointing down at you from above. Large rocky formations blocked your view of the room, forcing you to walk around them.

You continued to walk, ducking under thick white strands of webbing as you delved deeper and deeper into the cavern.

As you rounded one of the many tall rocks, your eyes landed on something in the darkness, lying on the ground. You shined your light in the direction and let out a gasp, eyes widening.

Lying about ten feet from where you stood was a man.

He was lying on his side, his back facing you. You cleared your throat before whispering out to him.

“H-hello?”

Your whisper echoed around the cave and you glanced around quickly.

Since entering the chamber, the rustling had stopped. The spiders were far behind you now.

You quickly made your way over to the man and leaned over, hoping to catch sight of his face. Small bits of web adorned his clothes and hair. You knelt down, reaching a hand out slowly until it made contact with his shoulder.

“Sir?” you whispered, giving him a gentle shake. When he didn’t stir, you carefully pulled his shoulder towards you, rolling him onto his back.

His head lolled as he landed, eyes still shut. You leaned over, listening for any breathing and felt relief wash over you as you heard steady deep breaths coming from him. He was alive, just unconscious.

Sitting back up straight, you reached forward, hesitating momentarily before you pushed his black hair from his forehead and felt his skin. He was warm to the touch but not feverish. You continued to look over him until he made a small noise.

You pulled back quickly, watching as his face screwed up as he came to. His brow furrowed as he started to open his eyes. You scooted back, keeping the light trained on him as he slowly woke up.

As soon as his eyes opened, he started to look around, turning his head before his eyes landed on you. He raised his hand to shield his eyes. “Yo,” he croaked. “Stop shining that shit on me. I can’t fuckin’ see.”

You lowered the light, pointing at the ground instead. “Thank you,” he said as he lowered his hand and looked around again as he sat up carefully.

“Who are you?” you asked before you could stop yourself. He turned to look at you, squinting as if he couldn’t see past the bright light of your flashlight.

“Wooyoung,” he answered simply before nodding in your direction. “Who’re you?”

You hesitated before answering him.

“Y/N. My name is Y/N.”

He nodded slowly before slowly shifting and getting to his feet, you following suit but keeping the flashlight trained on his chest.

“What are you doing here?” you asked as Wooyoung looked around the cavern. He turned, looking at his surroundings before facing you again.

“I—” he hesitated, clearing his throat. “I don’t remember.”

Silence fell over you as he looked around and you studied him.

‘Maybe he’s the guardian?’ You wondered to yourself.

“Where are we?” he whispered, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

‘There went that idea.’

“Are you hurt?” you asked, drawing his attention. You raised the light to his face to which he immediately shielded his eyes. “Will you stop blinding me?” he grumbled exasperatedly.

You lowered the light with a soft apology. “Are you hurt?” you asked again.

He looked down at himself, looking over his extremities. “I don’t think so,” he replied, looking at his hands. He went to take a step and let out a whimper.

His ankle seemed to give out on him and he crumpled. You rushed forward, catching him with a groan as you tried to keep him from hitting the rocky floor.

You helped him back up, trying to help him balance as he looked up at you and let out an unsteady chuckle. “I guess I was wrong,” he admitted. You rolled your eyes before telling him to hold still and knelt down to look at his ankle. Handing the flashlight to him, you instructed him to hold it steady so you could see what you were doing.

You carefully rolled his pant leg up to expose the ankle and saw how bruised it was. “Holy shit,” you breathed. “How bad is it?” Wooyoung asked. You glanced up at him and then back down.

“How long have you been unconscious?” You asked, carefully prodding at the spot, taking note of how he winced and whimpered in pain.

“No idea,” he answered. “I don’t even know what day or time it is.”

You looked back up at him. “It’s…” you started as you checked your watch but trailed off when you noticed the hands weren’t moving. Not even the second hand.

“What the hell?” you whispered, bringing the device up to listen for the ticking but heard nothing. Wooyoung watched as you did this, keeping the light fixed on his foot.

“What is it?” he asked as you tapped the face of your watch. “It’s stopped working,” you answered. “This is brand new!”

You were starting to sound annoyed and exasperated before sighing in defeat. “Last I checked, it was ten in the morning on June eighth. Thursday,” you said as you went back to inspecting his ankle.

Wooyoung looked lost in thought when you glanced back up at him.

“That means I’ve been out for… a whole day?”

Your eyes widened, brows raising at his admission. “How long have you been down here?” you asked as you removed your pack and started to sift through it, looking for a bandage. “A week? No, two weeks,” he answered.

“My friends and I came—” he suddenly gasped, making you jump as you looked up quickly. “My friends!” he all but shouted. You shushed him quickly, glancing around. “Not so loud,” you replied, reaching back into your pack and pulling out the bandage you were looking for.

“I’m going to wrap your foot,” you announced as you carefully undid his shoe and pulled it off along with his sock. His entire foot was bruised, dark inky splotches covering his tanned skin tone. “This looks really bad,” you admitted as you looked over it. “Keep your foot straight,” you instructed as you started to wrap it carefully.

Wooyoung grimaced, wincing only a couple times as you wrapped his foot with as much expertise as you could before pulling his sock back on and easing his foot back into his shoe. “I’m not gonna tie this super tight,” you explained as you redid the laces on his shoes. “We just want it secure and not falling off.”

Wooyoung let you work, keeping the light pointed so you could see.

You finished tying his shoe on and let him place his foot back on the ground. He kept one hand on your shoulder as he slowly put his weight on his foot and winced but thankfully kept his balance.

“It hurts still,” he admitted. “But it feels steadier.”

You smiled up at him before packing your bag back up and slinging the strap over your shoulder.

You stood up, taking the flashlight from him and shining it around.

“So,” you said as you looked around. “Any idea on how to get out of here?”

You turned to look at Wooyoung who shook his head.

“Not really,” he answered before glancing around himself. “Just pick a direction and go?”

You nodded, shifting your backpack and putting your arm through the other strap.

“Can you walk?” you asked, turning to look at Wooyoung who took a shaky step forward. “Kind of,” he admitted. You switched your flashlight to the other hand and stepped forward. “You can put your arm around my neck,” you said. “I’ll help you.”

It was awkward, being this close to a man you just met but you’d already been fucked by an alien in the previous section so this was comparatively tame.

You helped support Wooyoung as the two of you continued further into the cavern, hoping to find some kind of exit or something.

“You’re awfully nice,” Wooyoung noted as the two of you stopped to let him rest. You were looking around, shining the light around the rock walls, trying to find an opening somewhere.

“I don’t think I know anyone who would help a stranger they found in a cave.”

You looked over your shoulder at him leaning against the rock wall opposite you.

You offered a kind smile. “I guess I’m just a big softie,” you answered, turning back around to look at the wall before you, not noticing the way Wooyoung’s smile fell, a serious expression taking over.

“That’s not always a good thing,” he replied softly.

You noticed the shift in his tone.

Turning back, you were met by his kind smile. “Some people might take advantage of your kindness,” he added. You chuckled. “Yeah,” you answered. “They usually do.” You walked back over to him. “I don’t think we’re gonna find anything here,” you explained. “Let’s keep going then,” Wooyoung replied.

You nodded as he stood back up, slinging an arm over your shoulder as your arm went around his waist and the two of you continued further until you reached a slim opening between the walls of the passage.

“You go first,” you offered but Wooyoung shook his head. “No, you go first. That way if I fall on the other side, you can catch me.” You let out a soft laugh.

“We’ve only known each other for about twenty minutes and you’re already admitting to falling for me?” You joked. A smile spread across Wooyoung’s face. “What can I say?” he asked with a shrug as he leaned against the rocks for support while you approached the narrow gap.

“I’m a sucker for a pretty girl,” he added with a wink. You rolled your eyes and turned to the side, starting to shimmy your way through the opening. It was fairly easy, even with your pack and soon you were on the other side.

You turned back to the gap. “Alright,” you called. “I’m through!”

Wooyoung didn’t answer. You peered through the rocks and saw him looking back behind him. “Wooyoung?” you called.

He turned his head slowly to look at you.

“Did you hear that?” he asked softly.

You shook your head, confusion taking over your expression as he turned his head back to look behind him. His eyes were wide when he looked back at you.

“You need to get out of here,” he said quickly. Now you were not only confused but also concerned. “Wooyoung, what are—”

“Go!” he shouted. “Get out of here! It’s not safe!”

Over the echo of his voice you heard another sound. The rustling was back.

“The spiders,” you whispered. “Wooyoung,” you said, drawing his attention. “Hurry up, come through the gap and we’ll leave together!”

He shook his head. “It’s too late,” he answered. “If you don’t go now, they’ll catch up to you too!”

You shined the light through the gap and noticed a thick wall closing in behind Wooyoung. Your throat constricted, tongue feeling dry as your stomach churned. “Come on, Wooyoung!” You yelled, stepping forward.

“I told you to run!”

The fear in his voice was audible. The panic on his face sent shivers throughout your entire body, chills working up your spine. It felt as if the spiders were on you. “Go,” he said softly as the wave of arachnids swept rapidly towards him.

“We can make it,” you urged, your eyes burning with unshed tears that started to blur your vision. You didn’t want to be alone again. He shook his head.

“It’s too late for me.”

You took several steps back as the blackness reached Wooyoung, tripping over a large broken bit of stalagmite and falling back, the flashlight flying from your hand as Wooyoung let out a shrill scream and the blackness swept him away.

You scrambled up, grabbing the light and shining it through the opening to find it empty.

“Wooyoung!” you screamed. The rustling and chittering started back up and you saw no other option but to turn tail and run. You scrambled over the rocky floor hastily as you headed for the only opening you saw.

Feet pounded the cavern floor as you sprinted through another passage, trying to use your flashlight to light your path. You heard another scream in the distance, echoing against the walls. You didn’t stop until you reached another room, tripping over another broken stalagmite.

You fell, the flashlight flying from your hand once more and clattering across the rocky floor as you fell hard, scraping your knees.

“Fuck!” You cursed, dust billowing from your breath as you shakily pushed yourself up, rolling over to assess the damage to your knees. Without the flashlight you couldn’t see much. Glancing around, you spotted it lying a few feet from you, pointing to an opening in the rock.

“Shit,” you hissed as you carefully got up and walked over, hands shaking as you neared the flashlight and leaned over to pick it up while dusting yourself off.

You shined the beam at your knees, clicking your tongue when you noticed light scrapes with minimal blood. “It could have been worse, I guess,” you whispered as you stood up straight.

You heard a soft scraping on the rock in front of you and snapped your head up to look forward. The gap before you was black and narrow. You could hear a soft breeze whistling as it blew through the gap.

Slowly, you raised the flashlight to shine into the opening.

Straining your ears, you heard the sound of pebbles crunching and the rustling from before only this time, much faster. It was approaching you rapidly.

You turned to continue running but ran straight into something.

Or rather, someone.

You shined the light up and exclaimed in shock and relief at Wooyoung standing before you.

“Oh my god! You’re alive!” you sobbed pulling him into a hug.

His arms went around you instinctively.

“We’ve gotta get out of here,” you said, pulling back to look at him. He nodded, following your lead as you pulled him along. “I thought you were dead,” you said as you helped him over a rocky hurdle. He shook his head.

“I thought I was too,” he admitted.

You continued through the passage until it opened up into a large chamber.

You gasped, looking around. “We’ve gone in a circle,” you said softly as you looked around. Wooyoung leaned against one of the large rock formations as you looked around for another passage.

“Fuck!” You cursed angrily, kicking a small rock as Wooyoung’s hands went to his abdomen.

“I don’t feel so good, Y/N,” Wooyoung said, his voice sounding strained.

You turned around to shine the light on him. He looked like he was about to be sick. “Let’s keep moving,” you said, moving to help him up.

You’d only taken a couple steps when Wooyoung screamed out in pain, doubling over as he clutched his stomach. You tried to ask him what the matter was but he only continued to groan and scream as he dropped to his knees.

You knelt by his side, one hand on his back. “Wooyoung, what’s wrong?”

“Get back,” Wooyoung warned. You leaned over, trying to get a look at his face only for him to push you away with much force than you expected. The flashlight tumbled from your hand, rolling away as the beam danced across the rock.

Wooyoung’s groans of pain morphed into deep growling as his body jerked violently. You tried to scoot away, kicking up dust as you watched in abject horror as Wooyoung writhed before you.

His screams turned primal as you heard what sounded like his bones breaking.

“Wooyoung!” you cried out as his body jerked violently, a loud ripping sound echoed around the cavern.

There was a sharp snapping and you screamed as Wooyoung’s back burst open forcefully, blood splattering the wall, the ground, and you. His screaming stopped almost instantly, and your ears were left ringing as long appendages unfurled from Wooyoung’s back.

You watched in terror, covered in his blood as the appendages, all eight of them, moved. Sharp cracking like knuckles rang around the chamber as the tips of the limbs reached towards the ground.

Clicking and rustling, much louder than before, sounded as Wooyoung’s lifeless body slowly raised off the ground.

Your eyes widened in fear, stomach churning and heart racing as the lower half of Wooyoung’s body detached and slumped to the ground, viscera spilling over the rock and staining it. The creature before you paused, blood dripping from its body.

You leaned forward slightly as you saw Wooyoung’s head twitch.

‘How the hell is he still alive?’

Wooyoung’s head slowly raised up before looking around, settling on your form.

“Wooyoung?” You whispered, gasping as the eight limbs moved simultaneously, turning to face you. Your breathing grew ragged as you realized what you were looking at. Wooyoung wasn’t dead. He wasn’t killed by this creature.

He was the creature.

“Wooyoung,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you looked at him, taking in the ripped clothing still hanging from his frame. His blank expression shifted, a menacing smile spreading across his face as he advanced on you sitting helpessly backed against the cavern wall.

You tried to press back further against the wall, trying to escape him and his wicked smile. Staring up at the creature, you realized the man was gone, well at least the lower half was.

Before you was only half of Wooyoung. From the head down to the torso was human, the tanned skin blending into the blackish purple of his carapace.

Your eyes took in the strong eight legs as he raised far above you, towering over your meek frame. “Stupid, foolish, human,” he said, his voice taking on an echo-y sound, like it was more than one person speaking at once.

“You should have run while you had the chance.”

Your heart hammering in your chest, you darted forward, ducking under his purplish black spider-like body and between the four sets of legs as you scrambled past him and towards what you hoped was the exit. You could hear the head thud of his feet, all eight of them against the rocky cavern floor as he gave chase.

You ducked around and between the rock formations that appeared in your path, trying to lose him as you wound around turn after turn.

You could hear the chittering and rustling of his legs as he followed you the best he could.

Glancing over your shoulder, you could see you’d lost sight of him and quickly ducked behind a rocky outcrop, covering your mouth to mask your breathing as you listened.

The chittering grew closer and closer until it stopped not far from where you were hiding. Resisting the urge to peek, you kept still and as quiet as you could, listening to the clicking of Wooyoung’s feet against the cave floor.

“Hiding won’t do any good, Y/N,” you heard him say, his voice echoing around the cavern. “I can smell you.”

Your heart pounded against your rib cage as you tried to force yourself to calm down. ‘He’s bluffing. There’s no way.’

The clicking grew closer and closer until you managed to catch sight of Wooyoung strolling past your hiding place. “I can smell your fear,” he continued, glancing around slowly, scanning the cave for any sight of you. “And let me tell you,” he continued.

“It smells delicious.”

Leaning back as far as you could into the shadows, you hoped he wouldn’t be able to see or sense your presence. As you leaned back, you were hit with a gentle breeze from the darkness behind you and turned your head to look further into the opening in the wall. A distance and dim light flickered at you.

You glanced back at Wooyoung who was continuing down the cave tunnel, still searching for you. Knowing he’d heard any sound you made at that moment, you decided to hold out for just a bit longer until you could safely scramble up and shimmy your way through the narrow opening.

You were so focused on formulating the plan that you failed to notice Wooyoung was slowly making his way back down the corridor. Your stomach dropped as he came back into view and you got a full view of his imposing stature.

‘It’s now or never,’ you told yourself as you glanced back to the flickering light in the distance. You waited until Wooyoung was facing the other direction before scrambling up. You ignored the sound of his laughter as you started to squeeze between the rock only to feel a hand wrap around your ankle.

You let out a scream as you felt Wooyoung tug on your leg, trying to pull you out of your hiding place. “I like it when you fight,” he chuckled, his strength coming to his advantage as he started to pull you from the sliver.

Your fingers dug into the dirt, trying to claw and grab at something to stop your path but you found nothing. Your screams echoed around the cavern as Wooyoung pulled you out of the dark and rolled you onto your back. As quickly as you could, you kicked your free foot, making contact with his jaw and knocking him back.

With him being stunned momentarily, you were able to scramble back up and squeeze back into the gap, soon squeezing out of his reach and further into the wall. “There’s no way out, Y/N,” he called, in a singsong voice, the sound echoing after you.

“I’ll find you eventually.”

You rushed yourself, squeezing between the gap in the rocks until you finally came out into a small room. There was a skeleton with remnants of clothing, an old tattered bag, a lantern, and a journal. You dropped to your knees and started sifting through the bag, hoping to find some sort of weapon.

You found a small knife and whispered a thanks to the dead traveler as you unsheathed it and looked it over. The handle was old and covered in dust but the blade was shiny and still very sharp. ‘This could come in handy.’

You replaced the sheath and stuck the knife in your pocket before searching through the rest of the bag. Most of it was old food rations, stale and molded. You threw the bag aside and picked up the journal, carefully opening the cover to read the contents.

The first entry spoke of an expedition into the cave system, hoping to find gold or some other rare mineral. The next entry of note was about a cave-in that left the miners trapped and forced them deeper into the caves to find a way out. The next entry spoke of a strange sound the miners heard and how one of the miners went missing.

With each passage, the entries became more sporadic, desperate, and unhinged until the last page was covered in splatters of blood and ink. You tossed the book aside, breathing heavily as you stared at the bloodstained pages.

As you tried to compose yourself, dust and small bits of rock fell from above you. Slowly, you glanced up to find a large round opening in the rocky ceiling. The blackness above you was haunting as more dust and pebbles fell onto your lap.

Before you had a chance to move, from the darkness a hand extended, fingers tangling into your hair and yanking you up to your feet, a yelp of pain escaping your lips.

You watched in horror as Wooyoung slowly descended from the black void, a terrifying smile etched on his face. “I told you I’d find you eventually,” he said with a dark amused tone. His grip on your hair tightened as he held you up, forcing you to stand on your tiptoes.

“What do you want?” You whispered, too afraid to speak any louder. “I told you before I’m hungry,” he answered, glancing briefly at the corpse on the ground by the lantern. “It’s been some time since a human wandered into my caves.”

Your eyes filled with unshed tears, breathing quickening. Wooyoung noticed and moved his free hand to wrap around your throat. “Oh, crying won’t get you anywhere, sweetheart,” he muttered, chuckling darkly. “But don’t worry,” he continued.

“I’m not going to kill you,” he said as leaned in, face inches from yours.

“I don’t kill everyone.”

You glanced at the skeleton before looking back up to meet his gaze. “Why him?” You asked, clearly referencing the dead man. Wooyoung’s eyes darted to the lifeless skeleton before looking back.

“Because he’s a man,” he answered.

You narrowed your eyes at the monstrous creature.

“And that’s why you killed him?” Wooyoung nodded slowly.

“I had no use for him,” he answered, leaning in, sniffing your skin.

“The fear coming from you is so potent,” he added. “It’s making me hungry.”

You whimpered, fingers wrapping around his wrist as he lifted you off the ground, your feet dangling. “Don’t eat me, please,” you squeaked. Wooyoung laughed in your ear. “Oh, I don’t want to eat you,” he answered.

“I don’t eat females,” he added. “I have a much better use for you.”

You opened your mouth to respond but were unable to do so as the hand in your hair pulled, tilting your head to the side and exposing part of your neck to him and just as quickly, you felt a sharp pain in your neck as he sank his teeth into your skin.

You struggled against him, trying to kick at him as your vision blurred.

“Keep fighting, darling,” he teased. “It’ll just speed up the process.”

“What p-process?” You slurred, feeling dizzy, your grip on his wrist slacking.

“The more you move and struggle, the faster my venom will spread through your tiny human body,” he answered, whispering in your ear.

“But don’t worry,” he added. “It won’t kill you. It’ll just knock you out for a while.”

“No,” you murmured feebly as your strength left you, your extremities starting to feel the effects, the tips of your fingers and toes going numb. “Stop.”

Wooyoung chuckled in your ear as your eyes started to slide shut and everything went black. “See you in a few hours, Y/N.”

When you came to, your eyes snapped open but failed to adjust to the darkness around you at first. You tried to move but found your limbs were locked in position. You tried to roll over but you couldn’t move.

Slowly, your eyes adjusted to the darkness around you and you could see you were suspended in the air at least ten feet off the cavern floor.

“What the fuck?” You whispered, struggling to move your hands. Your wrists were bound in some sort of white rope. The same rope was wrapped around your ankles, midsection and even some of it was around your neck, keeping you firmly immobilized.

“What the fuck is this?!”

Your voice echoed around the rock and you knew there was no way that Wooyoung hadn’t heard you. As if summoned, you heard the clicking as he started to approach. You watched as he rounded a large rock formation and came into view. He looked at you, a devilish smirk on his face.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he said teasingly as he slowly advanced. “Aren’t you a vision,” he added, walking around your form and eyeing you up.

“What a precarious position you’ve found yourself in,” he continued as he rounded to face you again. “You put me in this position,” you growled, glaring at him. He chuckled, reaching a hand up to cup his own cheek.

“You flatter me,” he said with feign embarrassment.

“Let me down!” You demanded but Wooyoung’s playful demeanor dropped. “And if I refuse?” he asked, taking a couple steps forward. Your eyes fell on a flash of something around his neck and you realized it was the key.

How had you not seen it before?

Wooyoung tilted his head, watching you before glancing down and seeing what had caught your attention. “Oh? This is what you came for, isn’t it?” He asked, looking back up to meet your gaze.

“You want this?” He asked.

You nodded, struggling against the bonds.

Wooyoung pulled the string off and held it out. “Go on then,” he smirked. “Take it.”

You struggled against the white ropes and growled in defeat when you couldn’t break it, nor make it budge.

You let out a defeated sigh, head hanging. “I can’t,” you whispered.

Wooyoung smirked as he watched your resolve crumble. “Of course not.”

You raised your head to glare at him. He laughed again as he replaced the string around his neck, the metal of the key resting against his chest.

“Tell you what,” he started, looking back up. “I’ll give you this key if you do something for me.”

You narrowed your eyes, wondering just what you could possibly do for him.

“And what is that?” you asked suspiciously. Wooyoung started to circle you again, ducking his head as he passed under the thick white ropes.

“I told you before, I don’t eat females that wander into my cave,” he started. “Only the men.” You nodded as he passed behind you, feeling a chill run up your spin as you felt the tips of his fingers graze the back of your calf muscle.

“There’s a reason for that,” he continued.

“I know,” you answered. “The men don’t have a purpose.”

Wooyoung chuckled, amused that you paid attention. “Precisely.”

“And the women do?” you asked as his fingertips continued to dance over your skin, moving up the back of your leg until he took a firm grip of the back of your thigh. “They do,” he answered, giving your thigh a firm squeeze before his hand continued up, running over the material of your khaki shorts.

“You know,” he said as his hand moved over your ass. “You should have hidden this better,” he continued, reaching into your pocket and removing the small knife you’d taken from the tattered bag earlier.

“Maybe then I wouldn’t have found it so easily,” he added, tossing it aside, the knife landing with a dull thud as it hit the rocky floor.

You struggled against your bonds as his hand continued up your backside, moving around to your hip. “What do you want with me?” You whispered as his other hand moved up your stomach, stopping just under your chest.

“I have a strange interest in human women,” Wooyoung answered. “My own kind have often ridiculed me for it and even going so far as to ostracize me for it.”

You swallowed the knot that had formed in your throat. “What kind of interest?”

Wooyoung chuckled unceremoniously as his hands made quick work of the bonds holding your ankle, cutting through the rope like it was nothing. Like it was made of—

“Wait,” you gasped as the realization dawned on you. “Is this spider web?!”

Wooyoung laughed. “Took you long enough but even then, most don’t ever figure it out,” he answered. “You’re a smart one, Y/N.”

You glanced back at him from behind you. “What kind of interest do you have in human women?” you asked, trying to gauge his reaction. He looked up from your backside, eyes meeting yours in a heated gaze.

“A sexual one.”

Your stomach dropped at the implications of his words at the same time a heat rushed to your core. ‘A sexual interest?’

“What does that mean? Like you want to study the human body?”

Wooyoung chuckled again, shaking his head. “I think you know exactly what it means, sweetheart,” he answered.

Your heart hammered in your chest.

“You want to…” you trailed off, unable to finish your sentence.

“I want to mate with them,” he finished the sentence for you.

Your cheeks burned, heat flooding your core and rushing between your thighs.

Wooyoung let out a soft laugh. “You’re a strange one,” he said softly, hands moving down to your thighs. “I mention sex one time and your scent changes.”

Your face flushed with heat, realizing he could smell your arousal.

“First you reeked of fear and now? Nothing but arousal,” he noted, leaning in to sniff again. “Seems I’m not the only one interested in cross species breeding,” he continued.

You felt his hands withdraw from your body and twisted to try and get a look at him but he was no longer behind you. You heard a scuttling and turned back around to find him in front of you, face inches from yours.

“So how about it?” he asked, tilting his head.

“I’ll even give you this key if you let me have my way with you.”

You gulped, staring back at him looking between his black eyes.

After a moment, you slowly nodded. “But,” you added. “Leave my ass alone.”

Wooyoung laughed loudly.

“Deal,” he answered, moving quickly behind you.

You felt his hands reach around to undo the button and zipper of your shorts before quickly discarding them along with your panties. “Wow, you waste no time,” you gasped as you felt his fingers spread your folds.

“There’s no need to,” he replied. “You seem to be properly lubricated,” he answered. “Could you possibly untie me, though?” you asked, sounding hopeful and trying to glance behind you.

“No,” he answered flatly. “I prefer this,” he added.

Silence fell between the two of you for a moment before he spoke up again.

“But I suppose I could make you more comfortable though.”

You sighed in relief as he cut through the bonds on your wrist and neck, moving your arms behind your back and quickly wrapping them in the same thick white ropes of webbing. “Is that too tight?” he asked, satisfied when you shook your head.

“Good,” he replied, reaching around to quickly unbutton your top, leaving it open and exposing your black lace bra. “This is pretty,” he noted, ducking his head to look under your body at the material.

“Are you going to fuck me or not?”

Wooyoung chuckled, rolling his eyes before grabbing your hips. “You sure you don’t want to see what you’re getting yourself into?” He asked.

You hesitated. Did you want to see it? Was it human or was it something else.

“Do you think I should?” you asked, not sure if you wanted to or not.

Part of you was curious while the rational part of you said no way.

Without answering you, Wooyoung’s hands left your hips and you heard him moving around your body, leaving your glistening cunt exposed to the cool air of the cave.

You waited in anticipation as he rounded in front of you and held your gaze with his black eyes.

Slowly, your eyes traveled down his chest and torso until you saw it.

Your eyes widened, lips parting in a soft gasp.

At the base of his torso was a slit, just past where the golden skin blended into the blackish purple. Protruding from the slit was what you would call his cock.

It was dark indigo at the base, close to the body, fading into a very pale lilac, the same color as his tongue. The head of the shaft was very bulbous, thinning as it neared the base.

The sides of the shaft were covered in rows of bumps. The entire thing curved back towards his body and allowed you to see the thick vein on the underside that ran the entire length. The pointed head was rounded at the tip with light ridges that rippled down to the glans.

Your eyes moved back up to meet his gaze. “Are you scared yet?” he asked.

You shook your head. If anything, you were more turned on by seeing exactly what he was about to put inside you. Wooyoung’s stoic expression morphed into amusement. “Is that so?”

You nodded. “Yes,” you answered him. “I’ve had bigger.”

You weren’t exactly certain where the sudden boldness came from but it seemed to do the trick. The smirk on Wooyoung’s face dropped and he quickly rounded back behind you. “We’ll see about that,” he retorted.

You felt his hands on your hips, tilting your body down as he positioned the tip of his cock at your entrance.

“Just to be certain,” he said, hesitating. “You are giving me permission to mate you?” You rolled your eyes with an annoyed groan. “Yes, just fuck me already!”

Without another word, Wooyoung pulled your hips back, pushing his cock past your folds and driving it deep into your wet pussy.

You let out an involuntary moan as he bottomed out, cock stretching your walls as they fluttered around him.

“Oh,” he murmured. “You’re much tighter than I expected.”

You let out a moan as he gave you a measured thrust, pushing and pulling your hips back, your ass meeting his own hips.

Another moan left your lips as you felt his cock throb inside your cunt.

“So warm and wet,” he noted with a shudder. “I’m going to enjoy this,” he added with a hint of amusement. “Just fuck me, damn it,” you hissed, regretting your words almost instantly as he set a merciless and unrestrained pace, ramming into you with a strength you’d never experienced.

“Oh holy shit,” you gasped, the sound of your skin hitting his reverberating off the walls and echoing around the cavern as he relentlessly drilled your pussy.

“I don’t think I’ll last long,” Wooyoung grunted, the tightness of your walls clearly affecting him more than he let on. “So quick?” You teased, the brat in you jumping out. “Keep teasing me,” he urged. “And I’ll make you regret it.”

You let out a whimper, your nails digging into your palms as you felt one of his hands make contact with your ass, your walls tightening around his cock. “You humans are so predictable,” he noted with a chuckle.

“Always like being spanked.”

You moaned loudly, ignoring the way the sound filled the cave along with the lewd wet sounds of his cock entering your soaked cunt repeatedly and the sound of your skin hitting his with each thrust.

“Was the last guardian this rough with you?” he asked, his grip on your hips tightening, fingers digging into your bare waist.

‘How did he know about that? Could he smell it?’

You shook your head, moan after moan leaving your lips as your head hung, unable to keep it up anymore.

“I can tell. He was too tame. Too soft on you.”

You raised your head to speak but let out a yelp as you felt a sharp pain in your back just above your hip. “What are you doing?” you yelled as you felt Wooyoung’s tongue run over the same spot.

“Marking you,” he answered. You whined, pulling against the restraints. “What about your venom? Isn’t that gonna make me pass out?”

Wooyoung let out another chuckle. “I didn’t inject any venom this time,” he answered. “Just teeth, sweetheart.”

You opened your mouth to respond but found yourself unable as one of his hands grabbed the bindings around your wrists, pulling back and pulling you into his thrusts. “Stop talking,” he growled. “You’re going to ruin this with your words.”

You obeyed his demand, simply moaning loudly, each thrust drawing whimpers and groans as you neared your peak. He wasn’t far behind, his thrust growing sloppier and more erratic told you he was about to blow any moment.

As your walls convulsed around him, you finally tumbled over the edge, coming with a loud, wanton moan, your cunt gripping him tightly.

Wooyoung wasn’t far behind, his grip on your hips tighter, his sharp nails digging into your flesh as he came with a growl, hips stilling as he flooded your abused hole with his sticky seed.

Each spurt inside you made his throbbing cock twitch until it subsided, thick strings of the viscous fluid leaking from you and spilling onto the cave floor.

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, your body shuddering as you came down from your high.

“That certainly was interesting,” Wooyoung said from behind you, slightly breathless. You winced as he pulled his cock free from your cunt, more of his seed spilling onto the floor. “And don’t worry about that,” he added as he moved to release your arms from their bonds.

“I’ve mated with enough human women to know we aren’t compatible.”

Your legs shook as Wooyoung lowered you to your feet, his strong hands holding you steady. “You alright?” he asked softly, watching you carefully. You nodded slowly. “Just a little wobbly,” you admitted. Wooyoung chuckled as he let go.

Your eyes landed on the knife he’d thrown away earlier, now laying at your feet.

“Well,” he said suddenly, drawing your attention. You looked up at him as he removed the key from around his neck. “A deal is a deal,” he added, holding out the string for you to take. You extended your hand and took the key from him.

“Here are your clothes,” he added, also holding out your shorts and panties.

You took them hesitantly and glanced up at him.

“You’re really going to let me go?” You asked softly.

He nodded. “Unless you’d prefer I eat you,” he answered with a devilish grin. “I’m being generous. Leave before I change my mind.”

With that, you hurried past him. “Take a left at the fork,” he called to you as he disappeared into the blackness behind you. You hurried down the tunnel, stopping briefly to pull your clothes back on, making sure to button your blouse and shorts back up before glancing at the key in your hand.

You heard a shift echo in the tunnel and quickly continued on, taking the left at the fork and noticed how the rock began to give way to wooden shelves, lined with books. The door came into view and you reached it, twisting the knob and throwing it open, slamming it shut behind you and leaning against it for support.

Glancing up you were met with the sight of Seonghwa looking at you from the desk.

“Welcome back,” he called, setting his quill down and bringing his hands together.

“I trust you were successful?”

©️ kwanisms 2018 - 2025 | all works on this blog are protected under copyright. Reppost, continuations, and translations of my works are not permitted. All graphics made by me.

[chaparral-crown]

Hi, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but I’m curious about your research process. Your stories are really rich in detail and it always amazes me because I feel like every paragraph is worth an entire month of research (idk if that makes sense). Do you just tend to know a lot about the environments/ people you’re writing? Or do you do extensive research beforehand and if so how do you know what to research?

Thanks for asking! You make me feel cooler than I actually am.

Honestly it's a mixture of memory and research, and I can't say that anything is necessarily extensively researched on the front end. I think most of the depth comes from little one-offs, and that's less research and more being weird about environment information.

For overall locations/bigger story concepts: I usually have an impression of something I'd like to see in the text become significant. This is the memory. I write it down, and then end up having to double check myself to see if I just made up something totally inaccurate and stupid, which is frequent, unforgiving, and an excellent time waster. This is the research.

For the little asides: I've been lucky to have opportunities to travel and work in multiple industries. I collect paper ephemera. I write down notes or take pictures of things I see during the day. I eavesdrop like a weirdo when alone, and mentally enshrine some random person's conversation with their mother in the aisles of a store, or the way they compliment a person serving them food instead of remembering the name of someone that I was introduced to five minutes ago. All of this eventually appears in a throwaway paragraph that no one will remember once it's passed in the text and will undoubtedly clog up the narrative, but I get to finally use, like a magpie that stole a pickle jar lid because it was shiny-red, the catchphrase on top rhymed, and the font was stupid.

Which is all to say: I'm just kind of an idiot hoping I don't remember things incorrectly, and hoarding things that a therapist or an editor would probably tell me I shouldn't be keeping, and to maybe work on making meaningful connections instead like a well-adjusted person, but I write fan fiction and refuse to be told what to do.

[random-mailbox]

Random-Mailbox's Favorite Sailor Moon Fics - Week 4 - Unfinished Stories

Continuing from last week’s theme of “Sex Positivity,” this week I thought I would cover some of the unfinished fics that I cannot wait to see more of. As a rule of thumb, I don’t read a lot of unfinished stories because I get so caught up in them, I can’t wait to see the next chapter go up. But the ones below have somehow slipped through the cracks and I am a happier person for it. I absolutely understand that there are different circumstances that may have led to these still not being complete, but as a reader, I would selfishly love to even see a picture of a sticky note with some bullet points of where the authors thought the story would be heading. 

As always, my apologies in advance for spoiling some of these for you (Fic Titles are linked to either FFN or AO3 entries).

Companion Preference: Blonde - @wishwars

I think I have had 4 different people tell me that this story needs to be read, even if it is not complete yet. I have loved their other works, so I had relented and checked out this one too. The setup is excellent, and the writing brings the story to life and shows the emotional depth of both main characters in the few chapters we have gotten so far. Hopefully we can see more of it one day.

Phantom - @irritablevowel

I accidentally started reading this story on FFN without realizing it was not complete. What I love about this story is that it takes a trope I have come across before in older fiction but does it infinitely better by showing the emotional impact of the decisions, while keeping all the side characters fully involved in the plot. Chapter 6 ends with a big cliffhanger, so hopefully more will get posted. Or pictures of sticky notes go up, I would be happy with that too 😁

Model for Me - @queenrisa14

FFN actually has more chapters of this story than AO3, probably due to engagement being higher there originally. The story starts with Usagi needing help on her school art project and Motoki roping Mamoru into it instead of doing it himself. As the story continues, we see Mamoru tackle his preconceived notions and insecurities. The last chapter leaves off with Mamoru actually making some progress in understanding and somewhat expressing his feelings.

The Speech Dilemma - @queenrisa14

I actually have two of Queen Risa's stories on my "please let me know how this ends one day!" list and this one is just as compelling. Minako is struggling with her memories and her perception of Mamoru vs his past self of Endymion, as time is quickly running out before his and Usagi's big day. The story feels super close to it's resolution (not just because we are at 4/5 chapters), so hopefully we get to see Minako come to terms with her past and her present in a non-self-destructive way.

When two Worlds Collide - @beej88

This sequel to “A Twist in Time” is only up on FFN. The original story has us following Mamoru as he tries to re-do the events from the first arc with some help from Pluto, while saving his Shitennou. This instalment takes inspiration from the second arc of the original manga, while keeping us in this AU with all the consequences to the character development. Hopefully one day I can convince @beej88 to migrate it to AO3 and maybe have Pluto help fix the events that lead to the crazy cliffhanger we got left on that she technically set in motion to begin with? ❤️

Something Old, Something New - @allyunabridged

This is the fluffiest story on this list and I really hope we get to see the development of Usagi and Mamoru’s relationship in this non-senshi AU with an amazing set-up. The way our main couple is written is softer and similar to their other works (which you should be definitely checking out if you haven't already!)

Anomaly - @angelmoongirl

This was another one of those “I accidentally read this thinking it’s complete, but now I NEED to know how this ends” stories. The story gets pretty far into the plot with its 17 chapters, that it has fully captivated my attention. But I have no idea what is going to happen next and I am very intrigued by it. Hopefully one day we get to learn what’s going on with Usagi, who is this “Anomaly” and when is Mamoru going to come back and help?!

There a lot of other works that have been created or had chapters added in the last 12 months that I am constantly checking for updates on, but I think I might do a post about those at another time.

Here is what you will see for tropes for upcoming weeks that work with the Darker / Halloween-ish themes:

October 10 - Darker Stories or "The Road of Suffering"

October 17 - Wrong Impressions

October 24 - Reveals

October 31 - Halloween

Prior posts: Sex Positivity, Established Relationships, Groundhog Day

[ghostbustermelanieking]

7 or 11 jmart for the kiss prompts??

thank you so much for the prompt!! asdfgghjkll i swear i didn't mean to post a post 200 separation fic on the same day as you (i was actually working on this last night).

this is a version of the scenario i wrote in love letters where martin and jon are separated after 200. but there is absolutely no need to read love letters to understand this.

warning for discussion of the panopticon scene in 200, and for a moment of jon wishing for the Eye to return (limited to the first section).

7. “I’ve missed you” kiss & 11. “I almost lost you” kiss

Waking up without Martin almost feels like dying all over again. That horrible moment where Jon opens his eyes in the hospital, on the other side, and doesn't see Martin… he'd take being stabbed a dozen times over this. 

When he wakes up and finds Martin gone, he thinks he's lost him. That Martin's died, that he's trapped on the other side buried in rubble, dead because of Jon, and Jon's survived somehow when he really doesn't deserve to… or that Martin's alive, maybe, just maybe, but he's somewhere else entirely. One of the other worlds Annabelle spoke of, or their original world—which maybe Jon should hope for; Martin would have the others, assuming they survived, and he'd be safe from the fears, safe from whatever horrible things they've unleashed on this world with one quick motion of a knife.

Jon should hope for this, that Martin is safe and that he has the others. But he's selfish, and they promised together, and he misses Martin with everything in him. 

He's at a hospital in London, he figures out eventually. The hospital closest to where the Magnus Institute was, in another world. The nurse reports that they found him on the site where Millbank Prison used to be, and isn't that weird? And that they found him there alone. (Jon's throat closes up at that, his eyes stinging, and he pretends he's tired so the nurse will leave, so he can cry in peace.) Martin wasn't with him. Martin didn't come through.  

But after a few days lying in the hospital with nothing but his thoughts, nothing else to do, Jon starts to question this. They have no idea how this all works, the tapes and the Web and the crack between the worlds… Surely he wasn't the only one to come through. Annabelle Cane thought she'd come through or die, and if Jon came through… and they didn't find her where they found Jon, either. (Of course, maybe Annabelle ran off before Jon was ever found, but somehow Jon suspects she wouldn’t. She strikes him as someone who likes to be at the center of things.) 

If there's a possibility that Annabelle came through, and landed somewhere differently than Jon, then there is a possibility that Martin came through, too. That he is somewhere, here, and maybe he is alive. 

It's a small possibility. But Jon clings to it with everything in him. 

He can't Look for Martin ( or for Annabelle, really). The Eye is gone. If it is here in this world, it has left him. Jon tries to be grateful for this, and a part of him is—he's been reaching for humanity for so long, all while sinking further and further into something he never wanted, he should be beyond grateful that it's gone, that he is alive and can live, without fading, somewhere else. (Although a part of him insists it doesn't matter if Jon hasn't made it.) But after so long with the Eye as a captor, a safety net, a part of him he thought he couldn't cut away… trying to live without it is strange. It hovers like a phantom limb, something severed by the gaping scar in his chest. He keeps reaching for it, for the horrible comfort of Knowing, and he hates it, but he wants it back deeply. Wants it because he knows he could find Martin with it, just maybe. He keeps thinking, Give it back, just for a moment. Thinks, I'll use it to find Martin and then I'll let go, I won't ever again, I hate it but I need it, I NEED to find him…

It doesn't come back. If Jon is ever going to find Martin, he'll need to do it on his own. 

He asks all the nurses and staff, anyone he comes in contact with, if they've ever met a Martin Blackwood. Asks if there's anyone in his files with that name, or a name like it, begs the nurses to please look around for anyone like that. No luck there. Jon asks for a phone book and gets an odd look; he guesses phone books are out of fashion in this 2018, too. He can't do much while he's in the hospital, and he's about to give up hope on making any progress until he's been discharged. 

But then he manages to get a hold of a laptop. After days of asking, a nurse offers to lend him one, if he promises to keep it quiet, and not to exert himself.  

Jon searches the Internet for hours. There are dozens of Martin Blackwoods, actually, more than he ever could've guessed, and none of them seem to be Martin. He has to consider the fact that Martin may not have existed here—just like Jon didn't exist here, or doesn't seem to have, before they woke up. Which will make it nearly impossible to find him using the Internet—using anything, until Martin has been here long enough to establish a paper trail—if Martin was ever even here in the first place… 

Desperation. Panic. Jon's last resort is to write a letter. To write down every single thing he's wanted to say to Martin, the things in his head when he woke up, the things in his head when he realized Martin wasn't here. He writes it all, says the things he knows only Martin would know, so Martin will know it's him if he ever reads it. And then he spreads it across the Internet. Posts it every single place he can think of. Every social media site. A lot of forums that are frequently visited. Comments on blogs he thinks Martin might read. Anywhere he can think of. He even prints off copies and mails them to every address he can think of that Martin might be at: his Prentiss flat, his post-Prentiss flat, his mum's care home, Upton House, the safehouse. He puts his real name on it, at the very top, and Martin's, hoping that if Martin is searching on the Internet, it might come up…

Jon's desperate. He'll try anything,  any desperate, silly scheme like spreading a love note all over the Internet. Anything to get Martin back.

-

By the time Jon leaves the hospital, his letter has gone viral. Plastered all over the place. There's people picking it apart, speculating about whether it's real, calling it an excellent work of fiction, speculating it's all a joke. There's even some commentary from other Jonathan Simses and Martin Blackwoods, swearing it's of no relation to them. 

None of it is what Jon needs. He checks every iteration obsessively: every comment, repost, retweet. None of it is Martin. None of them are Martin. 

He's still looking. Every single day, he looks, in places beside his letter and its hundred iterations. He searches as far as he can, in every record he can think of. He tries to find places in London that he and Martin frequented—the ones he can find. He even goes back to the Institute, or where it should be. It isn't there, of course. Probably never was. Jon can't decide whether to be relieved or disappointed. 

It's all he can do, to look and to keep hoping. It's all he can do. 

It's hard, being alone again, after so long always being at Martin's side… They'd craved space sometimes, and they'd had it, he supposes, but now… Weeks without Martin, one, two, three weeks, and it's excruciating. Jon had said together at the end, he'd promised , and he'd tried so hard to believe it, and now he's here, impossibly, alone. 

He has nightmares almost every night. Nightmares of the Panopticon and the end of the world, the ritual, words forced up through his throat—being at the center of the Eye, at the center of the world with Jonah Magnus at his feet and Martin dying in his arms. Martin forcing the knife into his chest. Jon hasn't dreamed of anything but the statements of others for so long, and he'd thought he missed it, but now… He wakes up almost every night shaking and crying, reaching for Martin. Like clockwork. He thinks he'd do anything for a dream that isn't his, a dream that's not an endless reminder of what he's done. 

He checks the forums. He searches in familiar places. He lies in bed and thinks of Martin, tries to look for Martin, silently begs for help from anyone who might be listening (the Web, the Eye, anyone). Nothing works. Nothing.

The reminders come like clockwork: Jon might be looking for no one, might be shouting out to someone who isn't there. Martin might be dead. It might be too late to get him back. 

-

Three weeks in, Jon finds a comment on the original forum, the original place he posted the letter on that first day. A comment from an m.blackwood . 

Jon reads it with his heart in his throat. Trembling with hope. Unable to hope completely. There's a dozen different things it could be besides him. 

The comment says I thought you were dead. It says, I'm sorry. It says, I love you, says, I'm coming. 

Jon's chin trembles, his eyes stinging. He fumbles at the keyboard with shaking fingers to instant-message m.blackwood, types out his address immediately, without thinking. (He has to type it out three times before he gets it right, his hands are shaking so hard.) And after that, I miss you. Even though he said it in the letter, even though it might not be Martin—it could be someone else fucking with him, a troll or whatever it's called; it could be the Web or the Stranger, luring him into a trap. But Jon doesn't care. He doesn't care. If there's any chance, any chance it's Martin… 

The reply comes a few minutes later: I'm coming. I'm so sorry. I miss you too. I'm coming right now. And Jon wipes his eyes, presses his face into his hands, and allows himself to hope. 

-

An hour and a half later, someone is buzzing for his flat. Jon runs so fast to the door that he almost slips and falls in the hall, hits the button with entirely too much force and breathes, " Martin? " into the intercom. 

Silence for a moment, long enough that Jon starts to wonder if this is just some random person he's practically sobbing down the line at. And then a voice answers, tear-choked: "Jon?" 

Jon nearly collapses with the weight of this voice, Martin's voice. He leans hard against the wall, his eyes burning, and says, "Martin, I-I'm buzzing you in," wiping his eyes frantically. 

He doesn't move from the door, stays leaning against the wall like it is the only thing keeping him up, until he hears a tentative knock on the other end. And then he's yanking it open, as hard as he can, and on the other side is Martin. Not something pretending to be Martin, not another Martin Blackwood, but his Martin. His Martin, standing there with the faded marks of bruising, his left arm in a cast and a new scar across his forehead, tears pooling in his eyes. Martin. Jon can't breathe for a moment, can't move, can't go to Martin because it doesn't feel real, none of it. 

And then Martin's saying, "Jon?" and bursting into harsh, frantic sobs. And Jon's rushing forward. He's rushing forward and letting Martin collapse in his arms, gripping Martin tightly, his fingernails digging into Martin's shoulders, his face pressed into Martin's neck. He's trying to hold on without squeezing or holding too tight, in case Martin's hurt worse than he knows—he's saying Martin's name over and over again, a senseless litany into Martin's skin: Martin, Martin. He's crying, too, hot tears dotting the fabric of Martin's shirt. He's burrowing as close as he can, pulling Martin into him, desperate to feel every part of him—it's him, he's here, it's Martin, they haven't lost each other. 

Martin's holding on just as tightly, trembling in Jon's arms where they've sunk to the ground, right in Jon's doorway. He's crying so hard, it's difficult to understand what he's saying, but eventually Jon begins to make it out. He's saying I'm so sorry. Again and again, muffled into Jon's hair: I'm so sorry.  

"No," Jon says, suddenly desperate. " Martin. No." He pulls back to look Martin in the eye, to try and wipe the tears off of Martin's face (even though he is crying, too). Leans up to press a kiss against Martin's forehead. "Martin, please, please… p-please don't apologize, please…"

"I killed you," Martin chokes out, his eyes shut, his dark lashes wet against his cheeks. "I killed you, Jon, I hurt you, a-and I… I thought you were dead, wh-when I woke up here, w-without you, I thought I'd never see you again, because of me… "

"I thought I'd lost you, " Jon says, quietly, through his own tears. He wipes the tears from Martin's face again and again. "A-and it really would've been my fault, because I lied to you, I-I was the reason you were up there… Martin, please. " 

" Jon. " Martin tugs him a little closer, burrows closer still, his face pressed into the juncture between Jon's shoulder and his neck. 

"It's okay." Jon kisses Martin's forehead again, his temple, his cheek, the top of his head. "Martin. Martin, it's—you're here, it can all be okay now…" 

Martin leans up abruptly to catch Jon's mouth with his. It's salty and lingering and desperate, every single thing Jon has felt in these long horrible days without Martin, every single kiss he wanted to give Martin while he was gone. Jon sinks into it, gripping Martin as tightly as he can, gripping onto his shirt, kissing Martin fiercely, with the panicked relief of being alive, of finding each other again. 

Even when the kiss finishes, they don't let go. They stay there, clinging to each other in the doorway, leaning against Jon's open door. Martin's still crying, still trembling in Jon's arms; he says, I missed you too, I missed you so much; Jon says, Martin, I missed you every single day. Every single moment. 

Martin whispers I love you against Jon's hair. Saying it back is as easy as breathing.

[twst-campos13]

ah hello!! i'm literally so excited to see a blog for enby and male readers sodjfoijf,,could i maybe request a scenario where male reader is a staff member (idk?? like a librarian?? a nurse??? do they need nurses over there???) and is crushing on crewel but is too scared to confess because he's both Too Dense to pick up any signs of potential reciprocation and also just isn't sure if crewel likes men??? maybe. maybe with a happy ending though because i am a fool,, thank you very much!!

One hopelessly cheesy scenario coming up!! Thank you for requesting! I hope you don’t mind I made reader a librarian who may or may not be a bit of a romantic because i listened to a particular playlist while writing this- (commentary in notes!)

Warnings: none! Tags: male!reader, fluff!

A simple man such as you live a simple life. As simple as life can be in Night Raven College, that is. A prestigious school that holds a student body that can barely tolerate each other. It would be typical for a librarian to be the observer than the observed, but hey, if it means getting out of trivial matters of the school and enjoying the show in your personal bubble, then you have no complaints.

This attitude of yours did come to have its own consequences. You were seen as timid by most students as you were quite closed-off, taking it as a reason to poke fun at you sometimes. You proved them wrong when they step out of line with their fun. Most of the time you choose to ignore them. However, you lived up to your introverted nature, especially when it comes to him.

Tall, dark, and handsome. Approachable but also not at the same time. Sharply dressed and sharp attitude. This man that visits the library ever so often had become your daily motivation to keep on working at this school despite the wage that Crowley gives you.

Divus Crewel, feared and admired by staff and students—also known as the man who stole your heart.

You feel so small compared to him. That would not be so farfetched. He is a remarkable man, and what about you? You are just a librarian at this school. You are like mere dust to him.

Yet, despite this, you continued yearning for him no matter how ridiculous it seems. Perhaps you have fallen too deep in romantic fiction that you make hopeless wishes. You are known to be excellent in reading people but for some reason, you find it hard to read Divus. His perfect posture whenever he would scan the Applied Sciences aisle showed that he is focused on his reading. However, it is his expression you find hard to decipher. He looks dashing as ever, of course, but his thin lips and neutral gaze makes it hard for you to know what he is thinking.

If your life is a novel it would be so easy to know what runs in his mind. What he feels for you. Maybe he could even know what you feel for him. In a story, what makes characters likable is knowing what their emotions, their feelings, their ambitions, and their dreams are, for they are already laid out in ink on pages. Implicit or explicit information, simple or complex structure of personality, it does not matter. You would easily know about them for they are just sentences away from understanding.

And in romance novels…oh, how dreamy they are. How easy they make it seem to fall in love, to confess, and to achieve a happy ending. However, as a librarian, you know the reality of your situation. Your relationship with Crewel is a professional. Strictly, if you were to add an adjective. Is it really strictly professional? Your right brain points out the moments in your life where you interacted with him. At faculty meetings, reunions, at the library…moments like those just feel surreal you almost believed that you made those up on your own. Probably because you initiated each of those interactions yourself.

The only time, where Crewel would come to you himself, are rare. One time he came to the library and checked out a book to read in his spare time. His voice distracted you. It was like cherry wine. Sweet, smooth, enough to make your throat dry and your cheeks flushed. Oh, you could listen to him talk for hours in that tone of his, and he could even make you do anything he pleases.

You greet each other good morning or good afternoon when you pass by each other, and he would smile a teasing one at you as if you two shared a secret with each other. Well, technically you did, for one time you bought him coffee under the pouring rain, and he repaid you for your kindness. Soon enough your coffee exchange became a routine for both of you. It was sweeter than the cream in his coffee. It was more refreshing than the rainy day you shared with each other.

His gaze. His posture. His voice. His smile. Despite those small interactions with each other you are still troubled by what he thinks of you. A friend? A colleague? A special someone? Why is this so hard? Why was it so easy to fall in love? And when things could not get worse for you, your left brain argued that he might not be interested to mingle with a man.

Well, you could find out for yourself, but that would be creepy. Your workspace is in the library! You could not just leave when you please just so you can observe him. You could not use the staff files to your advantage—that is being a borderline stalker. Whatever Crewel’s orientation is, is his to keep and his to disclose to you. Oh, but still. If this were a novel, you could easily analyze the situations that give off evidence of him liking men. Or liking someone like you.

If that were the case you would not have a hard time trying to decipher his words, his gaze, his tone, and his actions towards you. If that were the case…if that were the case…then…well, there’s no then. Divus Crewel is not a fictional character to analyze. He is your coworker, your colleague.

It is hard to know what he thinks of you, at all. You really wished that you could…but the thought of knowing what he thinks to scare you, as well.

Rejection is not that far from reality. Who are you compared to him again? A nobody. A simple, ‘timid’, librarian that enjoys reading romantic and fiction novels and inserts himself in scenarios he makes up for himself just so he can…find the happiness he wishes to have.

But Divus is your happiness. Became your source of happiness. Ironic how he colors the muted floor of the library with his monochromatic appearance. Maybe it is better that you keep your feelings to yourself. You avoid the risk of rejection and humiliation as well as ruining whatever it is your current relationship with Crewel is.

You barely registered the visitor in front of your desk until a familiar red leathery gloved hand rested atop of yours. The contact of the leather sent a spark of electricity through you that you snapped your head up to meet alluring silvery blue eyes. There is only one person in this college that owns those distinct, beautiful, silvery blue eyes.

Divus.

“Have I interrupted your moment of peace, sir?” He asked in that cherry wine voice of his. It made your throat dry up and your face warm. “N-No—no!” You squeaked, shaking your head to brush off the embarrassment. Quickly, you fixed your composure and appeared presentable. As presentable as you could be under his stare that is. You just hope that he found some amusement in your haste. “D-Div—Mr. Crewel, what can I do for you?” You smiled as you speak in a professional tone. The edge of his lips curled into a familiar smirk and still you could not determine what was running through his mind at the moment.  

“I came to return the book I borrowed last week,” he said, placing down the novel on your desk. Sense and Sensibility. Jane Austen. Right, he borrowed that last week. It is not your place to judge whatever it is he desires to read. “Of course,” you nodded, “did you enjoy reading it?” You started on a small talk as you take out your logbook for the check-ins and outs of books. “Somewhat,” Crewel shrugged, “I had my eyes set on another book I would like to borrow.”

“Oh? What is it? I’ll go get it for you.” You stood up after sliding the logbook back to its drawer. Crewel did not leave from where he was standing. His eyes were simply on you. You had to hide your nervousness under his gaze. “I had my eyes on it ever since that rainy day, when you offered me shelter in the library until the rain passes,” he mused. “General fiction, I believe, was the genre.”

“If that’s the case then you better tell me the title,” you joked, taking a stool to the genre’s aisle. “Are you certain you can find it?” Crewel coolly challenged. You almost laughed but did not fight the smile on your lips. “Mr. Crewel, I spend most of my time in this library. I know every book and I still have the Dewey Decimal system memorized…” You kept your eyes distracted by scanning the spines of the books on the shelves. You are aware that he is still looking at you that is why you refused to look back at him. You are not sure what will happen if you look back at him while conversing.  

“If that is the case—” why does he suddenly sound a bit close? “—may you find ‘How to Ask your Dense Colleague Out to Dinner?’”

What a lengthy title. It sounds very basic and almost like a rule book than a novel. Well, that is General Fiction for you. Though you are quite unsure if such a book exists in the library. “Hm…” you hummed, a finger on your chin, as your eyes scanned the shelves. “I don’t think I have that here…Crowley pays me enough to support my rent and meals, but not enough to buy new books. Plus, the students…”

You heard him chuckle beside you and fought the urge to turn to him. “I believe I was not frank enough. Ah, well, I will put all subtleties aside, then…”

His warm breath tickling your skin was what made you finally turn to him. The proximity of your noses startled you that you nearly stumbled out of your stool if it were not for Divus’ hand grabbing yours to pull you to him. You gasped, shocked, as you landed close to his chest. His other hand supported your waist, and your eyes widened his silvery blues. You can feel your heart hammering against his. Your legs feel like putty when he gave you that teasing smirk. Your name—your first name—sounds surreal from his lips. Your entire world was a confusing mix of vertigo and bright lights.

“Will you go to dinner with me?”

You stared. You stammered. You are flabbergasted and flustered. You were unsure how to react to such a forward question that your brain completely shut down. But you cannot embarrass yourself—you must not. Not when…not when…not when…!

Oh, he will he stop saying your name with such sentiment?

“Is your silence a rejection or a consideration?” He rose a brow and your face flushed even more. “No! I mean yes—I mean—no, it isn’t a rejection—”

“Then you have been anticipating this?”

“Divus!”

He laughed. He laughed at your state. He laughed at your awkwardness. But most importantly his laugh sounds so pleasant. Like he was teasing you and you liked him teasing. You grew shy, averting your gaze from his and fidgeting with your fingers. “I mean…I mean…why?”

Crewel stopped laughing and looked at you. “Why what?”

“Why…me? Out of all people?” You asked as fear and denial keep you from grasping the fact that this is all real and not another scenario you made up during rainy days. Crewel’s face remained passive. Neutral. It was eating at your heart and you just wish what is going through his mind.

“Is it not obvious, puppy?” He raised a brow at you. The hand holding your wrist now tilted your chin in his direction. “It is not by fate or destiny, but a mere law that dictates the gravitational pull of similar atoms that is programmed by the need to chemically bind together.”

You suddenly felt stumped. “W—What?”

“I like you, puppy,” Crewel clarified, adoring the way your confusion turned to pure surprise, “and I would like to have dinner with you. Perhaps another, if the first went well.”

You need some time to process this. Your head felt so light you might pass out in his arms. Actually, you would not mind that in the slightest. His coat is just so soft it feels like heaven. A proper response of agreement failed to come to your mind so instead, you asked him again, “And what if the first does not end well?”

Crewel smiled at you. “Then we shall try again with the next dinner. Mind you, puppy, as a man of science, I am not afraid of failure if trying means more chances of perfecting my goal.”

“And what’s that goal?” You asked and physically stopped yourself from combusting when he leaned closer to you that your noses touch and you smell his cologne, and his bold scent.

“The goal to become yours.”

[hamphobicbasil]

Could u elaborate about the dsmp story being bad? Not a rabid/brain dead fan, just genuinely curious and I enjoy reading people's rants lolol

oh you dont know the floodgates you just opened

a few things:

1. despite not liking the creators of the dsmp anymore, I don't actually hate most of them. [the ones that are particularly unsavory fall outside of this of course] so all that I'm saying i truly mean in a critical sense towards the story, its also just all purely my opinion as someone who enjoys fictional and fantasy stories and who like criticizing works to see what it does well and what it doesn't do well

2. for clarification I'm going to use the c![name] to indicate when I'm talking about the characters. Don't get me wrong, I think its annoying too but its the only way I'm gonna be able to write this thing without getting something across the wrong way yknow?

3. I stopped watching the streams after November 16th, [save for one Techno one but I closed out after a particularly bad story beat lol] and so all information coming afterward is all second hand from either me seeing people on twt talk abt it or people dming me. All i really know is up to dream's imprisonment and some stuff past that.

4. This is mostly aimed towards the "main" story, so stuff abt the badlands, eggpire, and whatnot are briefly mentioned.

anyways uh, i'll try to be brief but also include enough information to get why i feel the way i do on some stuff across

A. Performances Alright obviously these people are all streamers, so obviously they might not be the best actors, and hell no one is even asking that of them. However, when you're telling a story that's based on the audio with the visuals kinda coming to a second, it's gotta be pretty strong. I will say, some of the best actors in my opinion are Wilbur, Tommy, and Tubbo. I would include Ranboo but I never watched any of his story bits or story streams so I can't say much. Wilbur and Tommy are excellent in selling their character's emotions and feelings, when I watch the stream I don't feel like I'm watching an rp but an actual thought-out story yknow? And one of my favorite Tubbo examples was in the Hog Hunt video whenever Techno attacked him, he sounded genuinely afraid and I believed everything his character was feeling.

However, unfortunately, not everyone is gonna be that good. And I'm gonna say it; Dream and Techno have to be the worst out of the entire cast. I understand Techno's whole character is this monotoned badass, however, when really emotional moments hit I feel like he never lets that fall, and a lot of intense moments just ring hollow. And I'm sorry but Dream's attempts at being intimidating leave me laughing whenever I watch them. It feels like he watched that one scene from The Marriage with Adam Driver and Scarlett Johannson and said "Oh this is what good acting looks like! Just yelling." His whole "I don't give a FUCK about Spirit!" speech isn't as great as people keep making it out to be. And whenever he tries to act coy when being a villain it feels like a guy reading the script for the first time, a bit like he's trying too hard. I have more problems with his character but his portrayal certainly doesn't help.

Everyone else is fine, and I don't feel strongly either way about a lot of them.

B. The "Lore" Okay first off, I can't be the only one who thinks it's silly that people are calling the dsmp's story "lore" when it's not, it's the fucking story. Lore indicates backstory to either the world or the characters, which a lot of the streams don't really pertain to. This is a really petty section but god it's a weird pet peeve of mine.

Other than the misusage of "lore" vs "story", the actual lore and world-building of the world are so lackluster that new elements can be introduced whenever and it often feels cluttered or not well thought out at all. And here's the thing, I feel like if the writers sat down just for a few minutes to establish world rules and general history, a lot of this could be solved! but so much is made up on the spot that it starts to feel like they're grabbing at straws to keep people invested, trying to reach that next high and intense story beat without actually earning it.

C. The Egg / Eggpire This is a pretty minor note since I was only invested in the Egg storyline for a little bit, but god it's so underused that it's almost embarrassing. Bad has provided this super interesting antagonistic force that's infecting the SMP, can control people, and who one of our main character is immune to, and it's just never used or even talked about again? Now I understand if he wanted to keep it to a side storyline only, however, to introduce this borderline eldritch creature and force within the world and then never have it dealt with is so weird.

D. The Writing Oh boy this is. kinda a big one. Now I'm not gonna lie, it's pretty obvious I have a bias for the Wilbur writing over the current team [that consisting of Dream, Quackity, and Tommy mostly]. I don't this his writing is perfect by any means, the characters constantly bringing up traitors got obnoxious after a while, and writing Hamilton but in Minecraft really isn't the modern Shakespeare or anything. However, I think his exploration of characters and plot progression was a lot more thought out and well planned, like he actually had two brain cells behind the story yknow? The current team I think fails to be as emotional or even impactful, things happened too fast and my god was everything drowned in angst for so long.

Don't get me wrong, you gotta have your characters face hardships to make them reach their goal believable, but some of the shit they put the characters through just felt like too much. From c!Tubbo's constant comparison to c!Schlatt [who btw, fucking ordered his death and kept him from his friends in a nation he felt trapped in] and on a side note, i kinda really fucking dislike the "c!Schlatt dad!!" au's or the au's where c!Tubbo inherits some of Schlatt's features, it would be like c!Tommy getting a c!Dream mask after his exile, it's feels so weird yet people eat that shit up for some reason.

But god, did c!Tommy get the brunt of it all and in retrospect after his final death, it kinda feels really fucking gross. Now obviously, I'm not trusting any of these people to write decent mental health representation, but c!Tommy's PTSD and how it was explored was just degrading. [Specifically the scene in that one Techno stream where he saw the final control room from the first war, and had a flashback / panic attack where he started calling out for c!Dream. I understand this is an actual thing people with PTSD will experience, but it felt so fucking stereotypical it got on my nerves. I actually had to close out of the stream because it made me feel sick, fiction shouldn't leave you feeling that way.] And don't get me started on how they basically reused the formula from the previous arc. [Problem introduced -> Tensions rise as things start to fall apart -> Big confrontation -> Exile -> Return from Exile -> Blowing up L'Manberg, again.]

And speaking of characters-

E. Character Arcs, or the lack of them In my genuine opinion, some of these characters' arcs are so disappointing. Especially c!Tommy's. I'm not one to believe that he was a "selfish" character or anything, however, his goals were simply set on his discs and maybe c!Tubbo, he didn't have much outside that. However, L'Manberg gave him something to care about, he gave up his discs for it and he fought for it tooth and nail, I think it taught him to open up to others and trust more. It was a great character arc for him to have, seeing him still fight even after his first exile alongside c!Wilbur, to return safely to the nation that he and his found family had built.

But then his second exile happened, and I feel like all of that was undone.

c!Tommy's exile genuinely pisses me off for so many reasons. It's not that characters can't have their low points after reaching a major change or feeling like they've "completed" their arcs or anything, but it's more of the fact that it seems like he's never going to heal that feels like a spit in the face, especially to people who might have had setbacks like that before. Progress isn't linear, sometimes things happen and you get knocked back down, it can take a while to get back up, but I don't think c!Tommy's character is ever going to be allowed to get back up. From c!Dream, who pretty much was a constant abuser in his life, killing him then reviving him, and his still fractured relationship with c!Tubbo, which by the way I have a had time believing they would still be friends after all that happened, it feels like he can never get a win and it's generally kinda a shit way to treat your characters who have been abused. Of course, not all abused characters are going to get happy endings, I'm not trying to dictate that they all should, but c!Tommy deserves one and the fact that it's so obscure feels shitty.

Side note: we still don't have a canon reason to give a shit abt the discs. Like I'm sorry but without some sorta connection to the MacGuffin why should we give a shit about him getting them other than "he wants them lol". Like hell, I would even accept the classic "they were the last gifts from his parents" or something, but we still don't have a reason.

c!Tubbo also lacks a fulfilling arc as well, from someone who started out as a yes man, he has progressed a bit into having his own interests first, but besides that sometimes his character makes me so. depressed. He's easily one of the most pushed around and hated characters within the story, all for being a kid who didn't know what to do and he's in the same vein as c!Tommy; these kids can't get a break. Also, his anti-violence beliefs morphing into the "lets kill c!Techno lol!" bit was so out of place and without proper build-up it was like. what. And now he's building nukes?? god c!Tubbo makes me so sad because he's kicked around constantly and never given a chance to grow.

Another small note, I also don't really enjoy c!Techno at all. Besides the previously stated reasons of lack of emotions when they're really needed, I find his character to be weirdly pretentious. He talks as if he's constantly been betrayed and hurt but I personally, don't see it? Like, I think one of the main examples was the Pogtopia vs. Manberg war, yknow he wanted to end the government but they just reinstated it after they won = c!Techno upset. But this doesn't make sense to me because why did he think otherwise? The entire time c!Tommy had talked about taking back their nation and starting again, so the fact that c!Techno suddenly thought there would be a sudden change is, to put it bluntly, kinda fucking stupid. I don't want to say that he "plays the victim" or anything because that feels a bit harsh, but his character feels so far up his own ass that I can't enjoy him.

I have a major grip with c!Dream as well, but that's getting it's own fucking section.

F. L'Manberg This is a quick note before we get into the, forgive me for this, endgame, of this entire rant, since the next two sections are tied together. But god, L'Manberg makes me upset because it feels like they gave up on it.

Don't get me wrong, I understand that it is supposed to be c!Wilbur's "unfinished symphony", the thing that destroyed a once charismatic and widely loved man, his attempt at power that utterly ruined him. But the fact that it just got blown up in the end after everything and left to rot felt like such a waste of time. From the first war, to Pogtopia, to even c!Tommy's exile, it all felt fucking worthless in the end, and the story is actively closer to how it was when it started now more than ever. I wished it was actually allowed to exist and continue to be a peaceful place in what is a chaotic world, but no it was just snuffed out because why dedicate to this concept of finding others you can band together with and feel safe. fuck that noise apparently?

G. The Villains Now villain-wise, I'm only talking about c!Dream [during the first war], c!Schlatt, and c!Wilbur. And believe it or not, this is actually mostly positive.

Now I'm not gonna lie, c!Dream as a staring antagonist wasn't bad actually, he posed a genuine and threatening opposition to L'Manberg, even if we didn't know his real intentions or motivations as to why he was against it. He's lucky in this sense because he didn't have to be good, he had to be passable. If anything, he felt more like an anti-hero than a tyrant or traditional villain, and my god do I wish he kept this theme going forward.

Now quick disclaimer, I don't like JSchlatt as much as the next guy, he's an adult man who should know better than to joke about some sensitive topics and act the way that he does. But the one thing I'll ever give him is that damn, was he a good actor for his character.

Now here's the thing, c!Schlatt wasn't particularly deep at all. He had no real motivations behind his exile of c!Wilbur and c!Tommy other than getting competition out of the way, had no reason to act the way that he did and yknow? that's fine. The reason why he worked was from his performance alone, he was actually intimidating. When he came onto the stream and was doing his typical bad guy stuff, it was actually intense to see what he would do. Whenever he would almost catch c!Tommy back in Manberg, whenever he would begin to pressure c!Tubbo, it put you on the edge of your seat and it felt like everything would change at the drop of a pen. He's a villain to be a villain, and this works out because he's just charismatic and well put together enough to make it interesting, even without the backstory or motives.

c!Wilbur however, is much more tragic, and the best villain of the story. He essentially was the "mentor turned evil" trope and it felt terrible watching him descend into madness, unable to trust barely anyone except for c!Techno and c!Tommy. Hell, in the end I think he still cared about them both, despite losing everything. Sure, he blew up L'Manberg, but there was still a smidge of the old c!Wilbur in there made everything he did feel melancholic. His death at the hands of his father after achieving his final wish was chilling, and something I still think about.

Until yknow, Ghostbur came back way too soon to let people feel his loss as a character within that world. And then he got revived, pretty much-undoing everything that moment meant for his character lol.

And then there's the worst one:

H. Dream. I'm going to be completely honest, c!Dream is one of the main reasons why I dislike the current dsmp stuff so much. Outside of his actions as a person, the way Dream decided to write his character as this overpowered madman of the dsmp really just. destroyed any intrigue that he could've had. Perhaps this is from my growing dislike towards him, manifesting into a bias towards his character, but god I cannot fathom why people try to insist he's interesting when he has as much depth as a fucking puddle.

And here's the thing, I'm not even entirely against c!Dream being a villain, hell I think he would've been great as an anti-hero if anything. Make him sympathetic but not through c!George to get your precious "DNF" points or anything, but show him actually caring about the people within the dsmp, including c!Tommy and c!Tubbo. This would make his rival status with them just a bit more complicated, sure they're enemies, however, he doesn't want to hurt or kill them, and there's still a level of friendship there that keeps them bonded when things get super bad. This could've been super interesting to see, the first villain of the story receiving a sorta redemption arc then descending into madness as he started to fixate on being a god. This is all how I feel personally, but god do I feel like it would've been better than his current character, and hell would've worked with how he was during the Pogtopia arc, before the war that is. I'm not trying to tell Dream how to write his own character, but there are so many other ways he could've done the madman seeking to become god rather then. whatever the hell we got.

Because instead, we got this power-mad asshole who does things... because he can? And that's one of my major issues: he tries to surround his character in mystery to make him "intriguing" but it's kinda like c!Techno, it comes off as pretentious. Not only that, but you cannot keep waving around this mystery of a backstory without ever actually revealing it. I know the story isn't over, but c!Dream is effectively at his lowest point, now would be the time to reveal his backstory. But no just keep it in the dark and keep everyone guessing, that's totally fun and not at all tiring and annoying. (sarcasm, if anyone needs it)

And back to his performance, he doesn't sell this aloof, cynical and strategic warrior that has perfected the blade or some shit, he comes off as some angry guy yelling on reddit. which i don't need to tell you, isn't intimidating. It feels like he's trying to have c!Schlatt's intimidation combined with c!Wilbur's depth, but instead he's like a little brother who's trying to hard to mimic his older brother and is kinda embarrassing himself.

but other then that i dont feel too strongly abt the dsmp lol

but seriously, these are the main complaints I have abt the story tbh, I could probably talk about more but I wont because man. this is probably gonna get me in trouble if any of the hyper-dsmp fans actually read it.

[bailey-reaper]

Okay hear me out, what if childhood friends to lovers but it's TABOO 👀 like s/o is a commoner(?) that Barok maybe befriended accompanying Klint around in London once and Klint was honestly just happy that his little brother made a friend so he was supportive. S/o eventually makes a name for themself by excelling in their chosen career (maybe detective?) But otherwise don't have any status or such?

The feelings are mutual but s/o is nervous to say anything because they're aware that they lack the status to be a "worthy"/acceptable partner, so eventually Barok caves and confesses instead? Perhaps with some encouragement from Klint? (I'm feeling like.... 18-20 year old Barok here?) Maybe Klint is cool with it because-at least at this point- he's the head of the family and has a wife so he's not too worried about Barok marrying someone with status as long as they make him happy?

Idk I'm a big sucker for "forbidden romance but it works out anyway" lol thanks!

Headcanons (Forbidden Fruit)

Notes: You're very valid for enjoying forbidden romance, friend! There's something so compelling about it (and it's especially good when things work out!).

S/O is gender neutral (they/them pronouns). Barok refers to them using petnames.

Content Warnings: societal expectations; questioning self-value / worth; class politics

Barok met them, on Ludgate Hill, on his way home from watching Klint in court. He was fascinated by the chalk patterns they were drawing on the pavement and trotted ahead of Klint to ask them what they were doing.

"Going to play hopscotch!" they replied with a big smile, "Want to play too?" upon Barok nodding, they taught him how to play and the two set about hopping from square to square as the game proscribed. Klint hung back to watch as his brother immersed himself in a moment of play that was sweet to observe.

Eventually Barok realised he'd been keeping his brother waiting, "O-Oh! I'm sorry brother... I ... got a bit carried away."

"Nonsense, Barok! It's nice to see you with a friend, are you going to introduce me?"

"Oh!" It dawned on Barok that he hadn't even introduced himself to his new friend, but thanks to Klint introductions were made.

"Everyone calls me 'Trouble'," they said, almost proudly, "Nice to meet you, Barok, Mister Klint."

"M-Mister Klint?" suddenly he felt very old, despite only being in his twenties... Still, it was lovely to see Barok interacting with someone his own age: usually his little brother didn't have much opportunity for being a child, so this was a nice opportunity for him, "... Anyway... perhaps you'd like to come to our house for dinner one day, 'Trouble'?"

"Yea that sounds good! I'm usually here, playing hopscotch or marbles or somethin'! So just come find me, ok Barok?" the younger brother nodded, and promised he would come back to visit his new friend.

Gradually Barok and Trouble would become thick as thieves, playing games together and going on adventures. They were easily his best friend, and Klint was more than happy to let the friendship blossom.

As the two grow older, Barok started to notice just how fond he was of his friend while they became increasingly aware of the class divide between them –– Barok was of noble blood, even they'd heard of the van Zieks family. There were a few people telling them that their friendship with the younger son was unusual indeed, but why was that? Barok was just a kid, like anyone else...

The years leaf by and despite the odds their friendship remained strong, even when Barok left to attend university –– he would regularly write to his friend, Trouble, who had joined Scotland Yard as an apprentice.

When they meet again, as young adults, there's definitely an attraction between them but Trouble is unwilling to acknowledge it or act upon it. Their time in the Yard has taught them even more about the class divide, and they're pretty sure that eventually Barok is going to tell them that he cannot be seen associating with them because they're a lowly commoner.

It stings to think about that conversation, but surely one day it has to come? One day he'll have to put his status before his friendship, and they're dreading it...

From Barok's perspective, he's struggling with his ever-growing feelings toward his friend and the feeling that things are strained between them. Is that his fault? Is he making it awkward for them? Of course, Barok's also concerned about harbouring such fondness for them because he doubts he'd be allowed to pursue such a relationship –– though he would very much like to

Thus, for a while, the two quietly agonise over their respective feelings / positions, and it becomes clear to Klint that something is weighing heavily on his brother's mind and so, in true Klint fashion, he takes his brother out (probably to a pub) to ask him directly what's troubling him so.

After quite a bit of cajoling (and a few drinks), Barok fesses up about what's going on in his head and his heart: he's had fond feelings toward his childhood friend for a while now, and those feelings have only grown stronger, and not only does his friend seem to be growing distant (he fears because he makes them awkward) but he also feels despondent because it's not something he can act upon, being of 'noble' blood.

Klint pats Barok's shoulder and says, "Well, all you need is the blessing of the master of the family, don't you?" to which his younger brother nods, "Well, you have it, Barok. Your happiness means far much more to me than the standing of your beloved. I don't care if they're a commoner or a member of royalty, so long as they make you happy. I can handle the politics, alright?"

That gives Barok the confidence to, in his own awkward yet adorable way, confess to his beloved friend that he has feelings for them and he'd like to be with them –– if they'll have him.

Barok's confession startles them, because when he said 'I need to talk to you' they'd wholly expected the conversation they've long been dreading: the 'you're a commoner, so I cannot be seen to associate with you anymore' talk. To hear that he had feelings for them and wanted to be with them was unbelievable. "This... isn't a joke, right?" they ask, tentatively.

"It's not a joke," he assures them, "I... have been in love with you for quite some time but I had no idea how to broach the subject. I fear that made me more distant of late and I'd like to apologise for my lack of communication."

"....." all this time they'd thought Barok was plagued with concern for his noble standing, when in reality his feelings toward them had only seemed to grow deeper –– as had their own toward him, but they'd told themself that such thoughts only belonged in fairy stories and dreams, "... Barok I... I... but..." yet doubts still lingered in their mind, "What about your standing? You're a noble, I'm just a commoner..."

"Don't worry about that, my brother has given his blessing to me... we can make this work, if you'll have me... that is."

"Oh..." and now it really does feel like a fairy story, but it's not fiction: it's reality, Barok loves them and wants to be with them and Klint has given his blessing to him being with someone like them. They throw themself into his arms and cuddle him, "Of course I'll have you! I wouldn't want anyone else!"

[darkpurpledawn]

ladling out a bowlful of hubris as I do the fanfic asks game even though I’ve been taking a writing hiatus this whole spring and summer

thank you for the tag @heavens-bookshop!

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

14. I tend to leave shorter stuff (<2500 words) on tumblr, but I have several works on Ao3 shorter than my longest tumblr ficlets

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

143,641. someday I’d like to write a fic that’s longer than that. baby steps

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

...it’s pretty much all Good Omens. back in early 2019 I wrote a few bits and pieces of (MCU) Thor fanfic, but GO is the only thing I’ve published!

4) What are your top five fics by kudos?

Anthony J. Crowley, Retired Demon and Airbnb Superhost (3k, G)

Exactly what it says on the tin, in fake review format

A Visit to the Pet Shop (2k, T)

Outside POV of the herp supply store owner who encounters Crowley and Aziraphale

In Mixed Company, Or the Corporate Retreat of Heaven and Hell (52k, M)

Continuing the trend of spelling the whole fic premise in the title. it delights and amuses me to no end that this one is included in the collection “Fics in which Gabriel doesn’t suck”

Come Adore on Bended Knee (and Other Ways to Make an Angel Rejoice) (5k, M)

Friends to mutual blowjobs speedrun, Christmas edition

There Were Angels Dining at the Ice Cream Parlour (2k, T)

My first fic from back in the heady summer days of 2019

All of these are from the time the fandom was just straight up bigger, but looking at patterns among my own fics it seems like weird formats, smut, and very long and specific titles tend to do well, all of which Checks Out

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I try! I feel like a goof writing replies, but I am super grateful for them and I do attempt to respond, albeit erratically. I don’t usually reply to comments that are just a few words or emojis, not because I don’t appreciate them, but because I feel a little obnoxious writing a thank you that’s longer than the comment??? idk I’m probably overthinking it

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

SO when I first started writing fanfic, I thought I was going to write all unresolved pining historical fics all the time, and accordingly, my first chaptered fic, A House in the Country, is a melancholy 1920-set slice of life in which Aziraphale and Crowley take a trip to the Lake District and pine for each other. I don’t think it’s super angsty but it ends on a somber note

7) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I was going to say no, but then I remembered one of my absolute favorite things I’ve written is technically a Good Omens/Macbeth crossover

8) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Nope!

9) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Yes, inclined towards “lots of foreplay and then a weird but hopefully suggestive sequence of metaphors, all in some kind of Uncertain and Forbidden Situation”

10) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No I keep my fics locked in my fic safe and u can’t have em

11) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes!!

12) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope, not yet

13) What’s your all time favourite ship?

Aziraphale/Crowley, definitely. Also shoutout to Hermione/Ron and Harley Quinn/Poison Ivy...apparently my type is Person Who Excelled At Formal Education/Redhead, And They Argue A Lot

14) What’s a WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

hey hey hey I am going to finish both of my Good Omens WIPs! I do have an unpublished horror comedy WIP that I’d like to post around Halloween but am completely stuck on because I can’t decide what it should be rated, so I may use parts of that for other things if I can't pick a tone

15) What are your writing strengths?

*Mike Wazowski voice* These are the jokes, kid

I’d also say I can write sexual stuff that is not repetitive and dialogue that sounds in character. Oh, and I genuinely enjoy writing titles and summaries!

16) What are your writing weaknesses?

besides…not writing…

On a structural level, I have a tendency to take too long getting to first plot beats and then rush endings. On a sentence level I think I have a terminal case of Dependent Clause Disease that genuinely interferes with clarity

17) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

No real thoughts other than whenever I am reading an old book and someone says something in gratuitous French or one of the 12 expressions I know in Latin I feel very Smart bc the fifth grade snob lives within me

18) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

It’s been so interesting seeing responses to this question from people who have been writing fic since their early teens or childhood! I didn’t write any fanfic before 2019 or any fiction at all except for school projects. I wrote maybe 1k words of Thor fanfic that summer and then went straight on to Good Omens

19) What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

In Mixed Company, for sure. I’m hopeful that when I finish current WIPs it’ll be Lest They Be Flatmates though!

tagging @lenore-is-lost and @mllekurtz if you'd like, and anybody else who sees this post!

[justthehiddleswrites]

Tables Turned | Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Summary:  You are nervous for Tom’s interview with Graham Norton. But when Graham decides to have Tom read some fan fiction, you know the tables have turned.

Warnings: none

-

You had been fidgeting since Tom had left the green room to take the stage for his interview. This interview was different.  Graham Norton had put Tom in uncomfortable situations more than once and even though Tom was a consummate professional. It didn’t make you any less protective of him.

“So… welcome back, Tom,” Graham greeted in his usual tone.

“It’s good to be back,” Tom responded, smiling.

“You’ve been busy since the last time. More movies, a great run in Jamie Lloyd’s Betrayal, and now Round 2 of The Night Manager.”

Tom blushed and laughed.

“It has been a busy several years. I have been very lucky to work in projects I love.”

Graham’s eye sparkled. Tom realized he had walked into something he did not expect.

“Speaking of love…”

Tom looked down and shuffled his feet as he unbuttoned his jacket, preparing himself for the inevitable question.

“… you have been dating for someone for quite a while.”

“Three years in April, Graham. I couldn’t be happier.”

“And how does she feel about your… how would say… enthusiastic fanbase?”

You were in the back, cringing. You jumped off the couch and paced again, spinning your ring, a habit you never broke. Tom prepared for this question and the two of you had discussed the answer. It didn’t make you any less nervous.

Tom cleared his throat before answering.

“She is a fan herself. She is completely supportive.”

Tom smiled and you could hear the “awws” and screams rippling through the audience. Graham would let it go, so he went in for the kill.

“Even the fan fiction?” Graham raised an eye.

Tom blushed.

“I’m not sure I understand what you are getting,” Tom lied, knowing what Graham was insinuating.

“There are some interesting stories out there. Particularly these stories where you are in a relationship with the reader? How about we read some of this summaries out loud?”

And there it was. Graham handed Tom some cards. Tom was laughing.

“This one is by lokisgirl1798. You are visiting London for the first time when your purse is stolen with all your money and credit cards. Now wandering in a foreign city with no money, you bump into a handsome stranger. It turns out to be actor Tom Hiddleston. In an act of chivalry, Tom takes you to his place to call the police and collect your wits. But what will happen behind closed doors?” Tom read the description out loud.

As you stared through your fingers during Tom’s recitation, you grinned. Tom had this.

“So what do you think, Tom?” Graham looked at Tom.

“Actually, Graham, I read this one the other day. The writing was superb and considering the writer’s first language is not English, they did an amazing job Brit-picking. I mean they used the words ‘mobile’ and ‘telly’ and ‘loo,’ so it impressed me.”

Graham’s mouth fell open.

“Shall I continue?” Tom asked, blinking at the host.

Graham motioned to carry on.

“This one is from hiddlesforprez. Oh this one was sounds fun. You meet up with your old childhood friend, Tom Hiddleston, as he is filming the latest Avengers movie. You harbored a secret crush on Tom and unbeknownst to you, so has Tom. When Tom arrives to his trailer in full Loki costume, you cannot keep your feelings or hands to yourself.”

You giggled out loud backstage. This could not be going any better.

“Would you like my thoughts, Graham?” Tom deadpanned.

“Of course.” Graham sputtered out, not sure what’s happening.

“This one I have read as well. I love the interplay between RPF, that is real person fiction, and the MCU fandom in this one, but that is just my taste. The metaphors are on point. And while it takes getting used to, I found the smut portion to be well researched and the language… well… eloquent.”

Now you were blushing as much as Tom.

“That is an excellent point… why don’t we…” Graham stuttered, reaching for the card. Tom snatches it away.

“Ooooh, there is one more.” Tom read the card and his face lit up. He looks up at the camera and winks. “I know of someone in particular who will love this one!”

“This one is written by Y/user name and it is an angst fic. Tom and the reader have been dating for a few months and they have their first big fight. They exchange angry words and slammed doors. After several weeks with no apologies or phone calls, you go out with a friend to drown your sorrows. Who should you run into but Tom, and it appears he is on a date? Can this relationship be repaired or is too far gone?”

Tom laughed at the end of reading this, just like he always does when he reads the summaries.

“So may I critique?” Tom asked Graham.

“By all means.” Graham has been sinking lower into his chair.

“Well, this fic is interesting because my fiancé wrote it.” The audience gasps and so do you. That was not part of the plan. “She always has me beta read for her. And while she wrote this not long after our first fight, she changed the facts to protect the guilty.”

Graham about fell off his chair at Tom’s response. Tom and you had only gotten engaged a month ago. Both of you agreed to make not an official announcement until after the press junket.

“Well, that’s all the time we have today. Thanks, Tom.”

Once the cameras turned off, Tom headed to the green room. He swept you up into an embrace and kissed you.

“You were wonderful, honey,” you told Tom when the two of you broke from the embrace.

“Thank you. You are aware none of it will ever make it to air.”

“I know, but maybe he will think twice before using fan fiction as the punch line to a joke.”

“I hope so too. Now why don’t I take you home and you can write about what happened today.”

You gave Tom a playful punch to the chest, and he laughed as he pulled you in close to his side, arm around your waist. Just as the two of you reached the door, it opened and Graham walked in.

“Tom.”

“Graham, have you met my fiancé?”

You smiled and offered your hand. Graham gave a firm handshake, but you noted he avoided eye contact.

“Great writing.”

“Thanks,” you responded with a smirk, “but it is average. You should read things on Tumblr. That is where the great stuff is.”

“I agree, darling,” Tom piped up, placing a kiss on your temple, “next time you want to read fics on the air, Graham, call us and we can give you some recommendations.”

Graham mumbled something unintelligible, but you were certain it was not an apology. Tom and you left the room and headed to the car to take you home. When the episode aired, they cut the entire fan fiction segment. You were disappointed but knew it was likely to happen. But Tom was amazing just the same. You also noticed since Tom’s appearance, fan art and fan fiction and other fan interactions almost never came up again.

[ihearthes]

Quarantine Christmas Part  2

Author: @ihearthes Pairing: Harry x y/n Rating: Smut Word Count: 2768 (Part 1) Fiction Chalenge via @caitlin‘s fiction party via @sweetcreatureinthedark

Part 1

December 24, 2020

“Smith!” he bellows way too early and cheerfully as he pounds on my bedroom door. “Happy Christmas Eve! Come on! Let’s go for a jog.”

“Arrrrggggghhhhh,” I growl. “No.”

“If you hike the Hastain Trail with me, I’ll spring for coffee afterwards.”

“Go away, Styles.” Drawing the pillow over my head, I try to block out the sound of his voice. 

“Fresh air will be good for you.”

“You’re not going to give up, are you?” 

“Not on your life. I hate hiking alone.”

“Fine!” Throwing the covers off, I don my newly cleaned leggings, sports bra, and a t-shirt before opening the door and marching past him in my tennis shoes. “Bully,” I accuse. 

“You’re mad that I’m forcing you to take care of yourself?” Although he sounds offended, that smirk is back. 

“Whatevs, Styles. Let’s go.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

He sets off at a brisk pace, and I trail behind him slightly. After all, I’m still waking up. 

“Keep up, Smith!”

Just to be ornery, I slow my stride, taking my time examining the plants next to the path. When I next glance up, Harry is a solid quarter mile ahead of me, and I contemplate turning back, finding a picnic table and taking a nap on it until he’s done. 

But no. That’s not to be, as he turns and jogs back to me, keeping his legs pumping as he moves backwards. 

“You’re going to trip on something,” I caution. 

He grins. “You care about me!”

My eyes roll so far back into my head that I swear I can see my own brain. “No. But I care about Glenne, and she would be mighty upset if I had a part in damaging you.”

“Mhm.” The smirk is back, and as hard as I try to keep a sour look on my face, it’s challenging. “Where was Christmas supposed to be?” His question is casual, but it causes me to flinch.

“Indiana,” I snap off the word like one would a twig on a dying tree. Immediately, I feel guilty. “Sorry.” My mumble is quiet, but loud enough for him to hear and nod in silent acceptance. “You don’t deserve rudeness. What about you? London?”

“Holmes Chapel. With my mum, my sister, and her boyfriend.”

“Ah. Is it cold there this year?”

“Fairly mild. And Indiana?”

“Cold, cold, cold. Maybe even snow still on the ground.”

“Yeah. Christmas in Los Angeles is quite different.” Harry gestures around the trail, and I smile. 

“Definitely.”

“What are your favorite traditions?” 

By the time we loop back around to the start of the trail, we’ve exhausted the topic, and I realize my mood has improved tremendously. 

“Thank you, Harry.” The words are soft, and I try to insert as much authenticity as I can into them. 

I have the pleasure of watching his eyes soften as he observes me over the top of the car. “Coffee next! And a trip to the grocery!”

“Grocery? You’re cooking?”

“WE are baking and then cooking.”

“Really?”

“Yep. We’re going to create a mashup of our traditions.”

“No fucking way!” I exclaim, excited at the prospect. Sitting up, I search for a piece of paper and a pen. “I didn’t bring my purse, Styles. Give me your phone.”

“My phone?” Confused, he gazes at me while at a stoplight. 

“I need to write down the ingredients we need to buy. Let’s see. We can’t make some of the cookies we each like because I don’t know if Glenne has cookie cutters in the right shapes. So how about some ginger biscuits?” 

When he nods, I gesture for his phone. “Come on, Styles. I need to look up recipes and make sure we get the right ingredients.”

Reluctantly, he unlocks his phone, handing it to me. “No snooping,” he warns, shaking his finger in my direction. 

“Puuuuuuullllllleeeeeasssse. As if.” Using his browser, I search for a recipe for the ginger biscuits for him as well as one for thumbprint jam cookies, copying the ingredients into his Notes app. 

“Now, for dinner,” he begins, and my fingers pause as I wait for his next words. “Mum used to do a roast, but I don’t eat meat anymore. Just fish. And your family always does turkey. How do we compromise on a protein?”

“Scallops? Salmon? Both delicious and something I would consider fancy enough for a holiday meal.”

“Excellent!” Harry declares. “And can we agree on brussel sprouts and yams?”

My whole being is excited at the prospect of this meal with Harry. Suddenly there’s a silver lining to spending my favorite holiday away from my family. 

As he turns off the engine, I rest my hand on his wrist until he twists to look at me. “Thank you, Harry.”

“You already said that.” He rolls his eyes, but the crinkles send a different message. 

Less than 30 minutes later, we’re back in the car with the trunk full of groceries, including prosecco. After stopping for the promised coffee, we return to Glenne and Jeffrey’s house, unloading the food. 

“Mind if I take a shower before we start?” I ask, looking down at my clothing. “I feel dusty still from the trail.”

“Let’s both shower --” He stalls at my shocked expression “-- in separate bathrooms, Smith. Then let’s see who can put together the worst Christmas outfit from whatever we can find in the guest bedroom where we’re each sleeping.”

A grin crosses my face. “Oh, you’re going down, Styles!” Rushing out of the room, I’m confident that my ears are playing tricks on me because I think he responds with “I would love to go down on you.” He must have said something completely different, and I shake my head to clear the thought. 

When I emerge later, I’m wearing my grey sweatpants which I’ve pinned garland to along with one of my green hoodies and a giant wreath draped around my neck like a necklace by a red ribbon. Arriving in the kitchen, I’m stopped in my tracks by the sight of Harry wearing a skirt of wrapping paper over his also-grey sweatpants, along with a variety of bows stuck to his Green Bay Packers hoodie. 

He shrugs, “Apparently they use that guest bedroom for storing wrapping paper.” 

I laugh as I pluck one of the bows off his hoodie and place it on my chest after removing the wreath. 

“You win,” I concede. “I’m surprised there’s so much Christmas stuff in their house.”

“Eh. The Azoff family celebrates everything.”

“Lucky us, then.”

Side by side, we create the dough first for the ginger biscuits and then for the thumbprint cookies. After he slides the first pans into the oven, Harry crosses his arms. “Scrabble while we wait for them to bake?”

“Oh, it’s on!” I agree, and we settle at the dining room table to play the game. 

“Fine. You win,” Harry pouts over an hour later as I play my final letter which manages to be on a triple word score tile. 

“Woo hoo!” Stuffing one of the ginger biscuits in my mouth, I chew thoughtfully. “These are pretty good. I might make them again next year.”

“Same for these,” Harry grins as he chews on one of the thumbprint cookies. Crossing his arms on the table in front of him, he leans toward me. “Now how about you tell me exactly why you turned down my account when Glenne offered it to you?”

Shock courses through my body, and I freeze, knowing my face is likely turning into a candy cane red. 

“She told you?”

“Of course she told me! I had specifically asked for you, so I was a bit heartbroken when she told me that you refused.”

His word choice makes me raise an eyebrow. “Heartbroken?”

“Devastated? Wrecked? Disappointed? Take your pick, Smith.”

Swallowing, I make eye contact with him. “I’ll tell you why I turned down our account if you’ll tell me why you call me Smith.”

His tongue darts out and wets his lips as his green eyes bore into me. “Because you remind me of a Granny Smith apple.” Confusion must sweep across my face, as he continues talking. “You’re tart at first, but you can be sweetened. I’ve witnessed it in the past as well as just the last two days.” His face colors, but he continues speaking anyway. “Plus I suspect you’re incredibly juicy, and I would love a sample.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Had Harry Styles just made a very obvious overture? Yes. Yes, he had. My eyes float over his face, searching for any indication that he’s lying, but the sincerity is striking. 

First I look at my entwined hands, and then I decide to show the same courage he has exhibited. “I turned down your account because I couldn’t possibly work for you when I’m this attracted to you. It’s bad form to want to --” I can’t decide on the appropriate word, so I settle for “-- jump your client.”

The smirk is back, and it’s followed by an uproarious laugh. “This is too rich! To think that we could have been having some sort of relationship all this time is mind-numbing.” Rising, he holds out his hand. “How about we consummate our mutual attraction?”

“In the middle of the afternoon on Christmas Eve?”

“You got a better idea of how to spend our time?” 

“Swimming?” I tease. 

“Smith?”

“Yeah?”

“Take my hand.”

His words and tone make it clear that he’s interested in moving forward with this. My own body’s response is in sync with his. Gently, I place my hand in his as I rise from the table. Twisting his body, he also shifts his hand, leading me in the direction of…where? A bedroom seems too rushed. Not that my hormones would agree. 

But no. We walk down the two steps into the living room where he turns on the Christmas tree lights before settling on the couch and tugging my arm so that I join him. “Oh, wait.” Rising, he approaches the sound system, and soon the strains of Christmas music fill the space. Returning to my side, he settles with his arm around me. 

“Smith…” His words are a whisper, and I rotate my head in his direction as he brushes his finger over my cheek. When our lips meet, I swear I can hear the angels sing. His mouth is soft and tender, and I twine my fingers through the hand draped over my shoulder as I open wide to allow him to enter. Our tongues tangle in heat and dampness that also seems to pool between my legs. He tastes of the lemon curd thumbprints we had jointly made, and I relish the flavor, wanting more. 

Shifting closer to him, I tilt my head to provide greater access, and his hand drifts to my sweatpants. Withdrawing from me, he examines our clothes. “Mind if I remove this garland?”

“Not at all,” I purr. “As long as I can get rid of these bows.” The wrapping paper skirt had already been ruined when we sat down for the Scrabble game. 

Rather than unpinning the garland, though, he hooks his thumbs into my waistband and draws the sweatpants over my hips. “Up, Smith.” I lift my bum as he removes my bottoms, leaving me in my panties. 

In return, I inch his hoodie up his chest and off, tossing it over my shoulder, heedless of the bows that seem to desire to stay attached to the musician. Can’t say I blame them. 

“Hmmmm,” he murmurs before capturing my lips again. 

When we come up for air, my hands have managed to roam his chest, tweaking his nipple and wrenching a moan from his mouth. For his part, his hand has drifted over the small piece of cloth separating my treasure from full access. His thumb rubs a pattern over the fabric, and soon I’m panting. 

“Fuck,” I mutter as we separate. 

“Yes please” is his cheeky reply. 

“Dork,” I indict.

“Mhm. Take off that hoodie. Please.” 

Willingly, I oblige. Before the material has hit the floor, he’s capturing my nipple in his mouth, and I throw my head back as fire stokes through my body from my tits to my core. “Shit,” I proclaim. 

His fingers return to the scrap of cloth covering my center. As his thumb teases my clit through the silk, a finger slips underneath and into me. Without thought, I cry out, my lower body rising from the bed to get closer to heaven. 

“Been a while?” His voice is rough, sounding like sandpaper as he dislodges from my breast. 

“Too long,” I pant, “but you’ve always had the power to bring me to the brink just with a look.”

“I see,” he smirks, and normally I would want to smack him, but this time, I find it endearing. 

“I want --” I gesture to his sweats, and he grins. 

“If I refuse?”

“Then my treasure box can close pretty quickly if I don’t have something in my hands.”

Harry laughs. “Fair enough.” Shucking his sweatpants over his hips, I find that he’d chosen not to wear underpants as his cock springs upwards into my waiting hand. 

“Shit. I need lubricant.” I complain. 

We gaze at each other, the lust clear. Jumping up from the sofa, we race together to Glenne and Jeffrey’s bathroom. I scour the lower cabinets while Harry throws open the linen closet. “Got it!” he announces, holding the bottle over his head. 

“Thank God!” My relief is real. Grabbing the bottle from him, I find I can’t move. Now what? Where do we go? We can’t very well do the deed in their bed. 

Grabbing my hand, Harry once more takes the lead, and we end up in his guest bedroom. I gesture at the bed, and he strips off the duvet before lying down on his back. Crawling onto the mattress, I settle between his thighs, tilting the bottle of lube and squeezing a fair amount into my hand. Relaxed, I hold my hand over his cock, allowing droplets to fall. His eyes plead with me, and I grin at him. 

“Impatient, Styles?”

“Desperate for you, Smith.”

With that pronouncement, I wrap both hands around his length, allowing my fingers to glide gently along his shaft. One hand falls underneath where I can tickle his balls playfully. When his hips start bucking, I withdraw from him completely -- albeit slowly with a final few long strokes. 

His eyes fly open, and he pats the bed next to him, so I lie there. 

“Smith…”

“Shhhh. Hush, Styles.”

Miraculously he doesn’t say anything, but he does reach out and shift aside the fabric over my vagina before he delves a finger inside. I know I’m wet. Hell, I can feel the dampness. 

His finger teases me, and I writhe under his attention. 

“Fuck, Styles. I’m gonna…”

“Do it!” he orders, and my lower body creates a bridge as my hips rise into the air while my thighs tremble in ecstasy. 

As I land back onto the bed and earth itself from my recent visit to heaven, Harry carefully removes my panties and throws them over his shoulder. 

“Condom?” He inquires.

“IUD. You clean?”

“Yep. Got tested not long ago. You?”

“Fuck me, Styles. We deserve this.”

“Indeed,” he grins just before he plunges into me, and I cry out at the feel of his length inside me, filling me and touching every part of me. 

“Shit.” My breaths come in short spurts as he pumps into me. I can’t seem to catch my breath as my second orgasm starts building. “Shift to the left, Styles.”

“You got it, Smith. Can you scratch at my back?” 

“You bet.” 

The communication is nice as we guide each other to what pleases us the most. As much as I want to take our time, it’s not nearly long enough before I feel my insides begin to clench in a familiar way. 

“Fuck, Styles. I’m coming!”

“Me too, Smith! Fuuuuuuuuuccccccckkkkkk!” He stretches the word into multiple syllables as I feel his seed squirting into my womb, stopped only by my birth control. His fingers reach between our bodies as he manipulates my clit until I see stars and arch my lower body to become closer to him. 

Collapsing on top of me, his breathing is as uneven as my own. 

“Merry Christmas, Smith,” he murmurs while we’re still joined. 

“Merry Christmas, Styles,” I reply, hugging his body tightly to mine. No telling if we have a future, but this holiday is going to be one for the books. 

A/N:  This short story is dedicated to those who aren’t able to join family this Christmas due to the Coronavirus.  Be safe.  Be healthy.  Make the best of the situation. Sending you BIG HUGS!

[rataltouille]

BONFIRE, BONFIRE!: A COLLECTION OF FLASH FICTION + POETRY

so i’ve decided to compile all twenty [these will be split into two so that the post isn’t super long] of the writing pieces i’ve done for my random celebration into one post so that it’s easier to read / access share!! you can also find it here, all put into one work, on wattpad, because i feel nostalgic about that website and decided to just post it!!

NOTE: i know that this shouldn't need to be said, but these 20 pieces belong to me so please don’t copy/repurpose it for your writing!! i plan on using these somewhere in my own writing and either way they’re stuff i’ve written so don’t use them!!

1. cooking + destructive + purple from @andiwriteunderthemoon [also i kind of cheated with this prompt and asked my sis @dreamscanbenightmarestoo for ideas and so the base idea’s from her!!]

I didn’t mean to set my house on fire, alright?

Let me set the scene: I’m sitting in my room, watching the infomercials that blur together, and suddenly there’s a bright purple flash on the glitching screen: /grapes/. They’re shiny, plump, and oh? A recipe for fine wine? Don’t mind if I do. So I pop into my kitchen and cut the grapes, dice them up, finally using the knife after years of not cooking— /mother, are you proud of me now?/— and stick the soft, luminescent fluid into a glass bottle. Following each step of the recipe.

The recipe didn’t mention an explosion.

Destruction rained around my house like a meteor shower. The bubbles from the fluid, frisking up at contact with metal, swam across my shoes and into the living room. It touched the TV, which still flashed the recipe, which I was still cursing at. And then, you know, it burnt up. The couch scorched first, I think. So that was fun. I later realised that I’d used my reserve of petroleum, which I’d put in my kitchen cabinet, instead of vinegar. I think I’ve got to move back in with my mother again.

2. running + quiet + sky blue from @kryskakikomi [i have no idea what this is i drafted this in a fever dream state]

Summer crawled up his skin like a worm. He was seated at his dining table, crosswording his way through the sticky morning, when it struck him that the humidity was new. He’d been caught in summer before, of course, but this year was different. His parents had whisked away to their hometown, and he still didn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed to go. He loved their home— he could have been running on beach sand and waves could have cruised over his feet, and his face would reflect sky blue under palm trees. Instead he sat doodling and scratching at cement walls in a quiet that nagged at his ears, grappling his flesh like a fishing hook, reeling him in. Boredom, him sister told him, before she also left for someone’s home. What would you know? he whispered once the door latched from the outside. Maybe /she’d/ like to sit on the same wooden chair, all the pink paint worn out, and scratch out squares of empty text until the pen poked through the other hand. He scoffed. At least he knew the number of scars on the wood; he could hold that over her when his parents returned.

3. hallucinate + hazy + violet from @chloeswords [i wanted to write something dreamy and ethereal but everytime i look at your url i’m reminded of church mud and indirectly my religious trauma so here we are 🤡]

We hold the book in our arms and chant for God. We don’t know what he looks like. They say that he’s sharp, never pixelating or blurring or showing through, like a hazy image would. No, children, our family says, he will come clothed in gold and velvet— the colour a deep and rich crimson, or chartreuse. And of course, he weaves a violet into his hair. Because he is just that humble. Just that gentle. Loving.

We’ve almost understood now. Pray, clasp our palms together into a transient equinox, and pray. Maybe he will shine down on us. Maybe we will speak so loud and chant so long that our lips will chap. Maybe we’ll simply hallucinate him to salve our bones. Our family says, he will bless you. And so he will.

4. halcyon + pluviophile + beige from anon [i was yearning for cats i am a cat person i love cats]

I remember my life before I moved to London,

Those halcyon days that I spent scooping up cat litter and brushing warm fur,

Being a mother to beige and white and black little felines.

They keep better company than humans.

Now I’m a self-proclaimed businesswoman, artist, influencer, pluviophile,

Even when I’ve barely stepped foot outside during the rain,

[But it needs to be said that when it rains in London, it pours].

I think I’d like to open a cat cafe;

I’m rich enough to pull it off.

5. sing + vulnerable + olive green from @occiidens [this was actually super fun to write because it’s a break from the typically unhinged stories i gravitate towards]

You watch from the highest hill of your town, hand wrapped around the serrated wood of a red oak tree. The bark pokes into your flesh, drawing blood that shouldn’t have been taken from you. You scowl. Just another thing that lives to cause you pain.

Three storeys down is a young man, short and smiling and lovely. He has dark skin and darker hair, walking with the stride of a deer, and he’s smiling; the joy reflects onto your face, even though you can’t hear him. He wears a cotton shirt, the olive green stark against the fire-blue sky. You call out, sing his name, three times in a row.

When he finally looks up, squinting as you silhouette under the sun, the smile widens. A wave. You’re suddenly overcome with embarrassment. Your palm digs into the bark until the wound is freshly dug again, the skin supple and vulnerable. You want to wave, but your hands would look so awkward, and the blood wouldn't help. So you turn on your heel and run— why are you so awkward?— and the grass around you is brighter. This is now a tomorrow issue, you conclude. You’re still smiling.

6. dislocate + ostentatious + blood red from @oasis-of-you [this got really unhinged really fast. TW: body horror]

If you take a turn at Finn Avenue,

Rogue your way down a blood red river,

[It’s not actual blood, do not worry. The colour’s a pigment and it’s saturated enough to give you the texture, the touch, the taste of blood, but I repeat, it isn’t true blood. You might think that it’s ostentatious of us to make you cross a river like that, but you’ll understand why.]

And if can stick your fingers inside the fluid,

You’ll find a bone.

Don’t pull it out fully! Only observe.

[This is a real bone, most likely animal. We may be ominous, but we don’t hurt humans. Not yet.]

So what do you do now? You want passage into a better world.

You came here because you saw the brochure, the flyer,

Radiant Idyll, home for love, but you also saw the jutting anatomy that leads to the city. The pictures were rather clear.

Why do you look so surprised? We’ve put this on the brochure— don’t you ever read the fine print?— to avoid this exact situation. That you would cross a body, a skeleton, pooled over in a fluid that we don’t name, but it’s probably alive.

It’s watching you right now.

So what do you do now?

Hurry up, unhinge your arm, dislocate the elbow, drop it into the blood, forgive me, false blood, and pay for your passage.

Oh! Excellent; that’s record time. We do hope you enjoy your stay!

1. @noteaboy [i’ve interpreted your url as ”note, a boy”]

There’s an orange tree. It’s spring, and there’s an orange tree, and it brims with fruit and citrus perfume. Point your lens flare downwards, and note, a boy. A young man, perhaps, because he combs his hair, uptight and firm, and he wears a tie. A long suit. He doesn’t look up, because his hand holds a book. /He/ holds the book, not the hands— tenderness doesn’t translate through anatomy, I’ve taught you this before. He’s waiting for someone. There’s only the rustle of leaves. He drops the book onto the lap of the tree, crushing the apple that had fallen down. Orange, not apple. Take note better. You only have one chance to get this right.

2. @eatingjupiter [your url is so beautiful omg]

The goddess had said this before she died: you need to watch over him. He needs your sentry to survive. The goddess’ words weren’t heeded. Little baby Jupiter tottered on lava as him parents small-talked with their kingdom. Well, it must have been small talk, because nothing seemed to happen afterwards other than his mother’s face collapsing in agony, anger, annoyance. He knew not to touch them then. He’d fly off into the sun one day, but if his hands were but and charred, he wouldn’t survive even a third of the journey.

The prophecy was simple: the firstborn to the kingdom will metamorph into a celestial, purify themselves so that only stardust remains. Live in the sky forever. The astrologers were baffled; you don’t just become a star. They should have heeded the goddess.

Jupiter was sixteen when he expanded and collapsed all at once. He still lives, they say, and the astrologers /were/ right, in a way: people just don’t become stars. They become almost empty space. Nobody knows if his hands were burnt when they left earth’s orbit forever.

3. @laughtracksonata [your name gave me slight horror vibes idk why!!]

Hahaha. The Horror Movie (don’t ask me for a name, I’m not good with those), with its cymbal crashing and plastic sounds, it’s so loud and scary that it hurts, father. Please turn it off.

Father doesn't listen. I shiver on the couch. The screen flickers like radio static and reflects off our wide eyes. What kind of a home is this anyway? I don’t want to fucking listen to a laugh track or a horror VHS tape or watch the bass crescendo as the serial killer jumpscares the watcher. I don’t think that having hour pupils glued to the same blood-splattered movie, with the same recording looping in his eardrums will help him. He laughs along, sometimes. It’s scary. Father needs a new hobby.

PART TWO COMING SOON!!

anyway this got REALLY long so i’m posting the third prompt group, the one based on songs, as a second part in some time. i hope you enjoy this, and PLEASE do boost!! i spent a lot of time writing these pieces and am pretty proud of them :’)

general taglist: @lovingyou-is @guulabjamuns @andiwriteunderthemoon @coffeeandcalligraphy @melonmilk @silentlylostwriter @charles-joseph-writes @eklavvya @eowynandfaramir @bitterwitchwrites @laughtracksonata @whatwordsdidnttouch @indeliblewrites @thenataliawrites @summersguilt @illimani-gibberish @sarahkelsiwrites @writing-in-delirium @shaelinwrites @sienna-writes @chewingthescenery @jennawritesstories @chloeswords @aelenko @keira-is-writing @cherylinanika @infinitely-empty-pages @jmtwrites @august-iswriting @freedelusionbanana @beetleblue88 @mistercaleb @iwannawritepls @hanwatchingmovies @mortallynuttyqueen @idratherliveinnarnia @maisulli @thegreyboywrites @ahowlinwolf @ravens-and-rivers @oasis-of-you @yanittawrites @chazza-writes-sometimes @skyfirewrites @lovebenders @treybriggsthewriter @themidnxghtwriter @ash-karter @queen-devasena @a-procrastination-addict @gaymityblight @beyondthebracken @madmaxst26 @adielwrites @moonpixxel @hollow-knight-dnd @keep-looking-here @overlap @ashleygarciawrites @ryns-ramblings​ @wordsbynathan @novaemlynlewis​ @sophiewritingstuff​ @howdy-writes​ @occiidens​ @nsanelyawkward​ @viawrites-andacts​