#or actually do something with Via's Library

[homiesexuallaj]

Improper

Pairing: Knight! Bucky Barnes x Princess! Reader

Genre/Warnings: fluff, smut, porn with no plot but backstory, penetration (fem rec)., penetration via dagger hilt, petnames, spitting, aftercare of course :), kinda proofread

A/N: Saw something awhile back about knight Bucky fucking reader with the hilt of his sword. The idea has been stuck in brain for forever now. I need to release it

———

What you are doing, what you are in the middle of, is improper for a lady. Even more improper for a royal lady such as yourself.

You had taken a ride out just after midday, out to the tip-top of a clearing that overlooks the the forest that surrounds the castle you reside in. Not by yourself though. You had ridden horse-by-horse alongside one of your royal knights, James Buchanan Barnes. A knight that you endearingly called “Bucky,” as per request of him actually.

Bucky was a royal servant of yours, appointed to your side as of your choosing. He was loyal to no one but you, a bless on your half and a curse on others. No one had dare even breathed wrong in your general direction lest they meet the wrath of one of the knight’s deadly blades. Though, Bucky’s steely blue eyes were enough to kill a man if need be.

Bucky and you spent many hours and many days together. Often just you two, by yourselves. You’d walk the often empty castle halls, meandered through the gardens, sleep in the library, or explore the grounds of your kingdom. The last had lead you two to discover this special spot that was a couple hours ride away on horseback from the castle and atop a hill that overlooked the castle grounds on a hill.

Which is where you were currently. While the sun shone down on your both, making your jewelry shine and Bucky’s steel armor glitter. Though you two were far from looking proper with your dressed ruffled and pushed up your thighs, and Bucky’s armor discarded to the side. It left the man’s loose-fitting undershirt exposed, which was pushed up to his elbows. His helmet was discarded as well, showing off his messy, short hair. The knight’s blue eyes shone in the sunlight despite the heavy set of his brows.

Your own self was exposed. The corset that you’d worn over your dress and around your abdomen had been untied and removed. Your dress had been pushed up to reveal the meat of your thighs, the valley of your lower stomach, and what lay between your legs.

And Bucky had been all to pleased to explore your exposed skin with his mouth and hands once more, pressing his fingertips into your skin and leaving love bites to be hidden beneath the layers of your clothes. And he had teased your skin with the sheathed blade of his dagger that he had unlatched from the strap around his midsection. The leather was cool against your skin and the hilt shone when it caught the light of the sun.

Though, the hilt seemed extra shiny with your slick that coated the ribbed leather with every pull from you. The cross guard dripped with your arousal, making even more of a mess.

Both of you laid in the grass. You were on your back and Bucky was laid on his side, propped up by his elbow and his cheek in his hand. He looked down at you endearingly as one arm of yours moved to wrap around his neck and bury your hand in his hair and as your free hand gripped at the soft fabric of his shirt. Your legs were spread, making room for the hilt of the dagger that Bucky fucked you with.

You were sobbing out moans, eyes screwed shut as you voiced your pleasure unabashedly out into the surrounding nature. Your back arched and feet shifted in the grass below you as you squirmed just a tad.

“Messy girl,” Bucky cooed, eyes heavy as he watched you squirm.

He leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your temple. He stayed there to breath in the smell of you, a mixture of soap, flowers, the grass below, and something uniquely you. Bucky could never get over the way you smell, whether it was the smell of your neck or your cunt between your thighs. It was heaven to him. The knight claimed it was better than any flower in the garden.

“How does it make you feel knowing that I’ve killed men with this very dagger I fuck you with?” Bucky asked, voice low and rumbly.

“G-good,” You stutter, a whine lacing the words.

You grip even tighter as Bucky’s shirt as you feel the pummel of the dagger drag against that special spot inside you. It sends waves of hot pleasure that bubbles under your skin. The heat boils over as slick arousal slips from your pussy, making a mess of your thighs, the dagger, and Bucky’s fingers that are closest to the cross guard. You shift and squirm under Bucky, pleasuring building inside you.

Almost as if Bucky can read you like a book (he can), he asked, “What do you want, pretty girl? Your body’s just begging for something.”

You whine and moan, practically sobbing at the subtle angle change of the dagger. It’s angled upwards, pressing up into your pelvis more.

“Wanna- wanna cum.. Please!” You beg, chest heaving.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Bucky pulled away from your gently. He moved to sit up, but your hand gripping his shirt preventing him from getting far. “Gotta let go, pretty girl.”

You do, letting go his his hair and his shirt. You grip at the fabric of your pushed up dress instead.

“Good girl. Thank you,” With that Bucky moved from his half-laid down position to sit between you thighs.

The movements of the dagger stop momentarily so he can switch it to his left hand, the hand that was scarred and blistered from a fire that happened so long ago. Before you can whine and shift your hips to fuck yourself on the dagger, Bucky pulls it from you into only the pommel stays inside you. Then, he’s easing the ribbed hilt back in, steady his previous steady pace. Bucky splays his right hand on your pelvis, pressing his thumb to your little clit that throbs for attention. He circles his thumb tightly over your clit, glancing between your soaked, heated cunt and your face.

Your thighs are over Bucky’s as he sits between them, giving you no chance to close them around his broad form. You grip the fabric of your dress tightly, knuckles white. Your eyes are screwed shut and your mouth open as you moan and whine below Bucky. There are no words coming from your mouth, and none form in that poor, foggy brain of yours. Bucky’s hands always know how to blank out that brain of yours and make you dumb. It helps that he knows what you need even before you voice it, or try to. Which is why when that familiar coil in your lower stomach starts to tighten, two of Bucky’s fingers replace his thumb to rub slick circles over your clit. His fingers match that pace of his dagger.

“There you go, princess,” Bucky uses your title as a petname. He’s effectively ruined the name for you when anyone calls you by your title. You often have to stave off the heat crawling under your skin and fight of flashbacks when someone calls for you attention. “Feeling so good, huh?”

You nod, closing your mouth to swallow down spit before opening back up with a cry as Bucky changes pace. He goes faster.

“Can feel you tightening up around the hilt of my dagger,” Bucky comments, eyeing the way it shines with every pull from your pussy. “It’s getting harder to pull out.”

The pleasure builds and builds, overwhelming so as it always does with Bucky. Until your thighs are shaking and little whines spill from your lips, sounding out into the open air above you.

It’s like music for Bucky’s ears.

Just before you reach your peak you manage to speak, “Fuck- Bucky- I- I- I’m gonna- fuck- oh my gods!”

Bucky’s fingers over faster over your clit, flicking from side to side as he pushes you over.

The coil in your lower abdomen snaps almost violently and your orgasm washes over you. Your thighs shake and threaten to close, but they obviously can’t. You’re quick to bring a hand up to your mouth to stick to your knuckles into your mouth to bite down on. Your moans are both muffled and clear as day as you cuss and repeat Bucky’s name as if in prayer. But your moans slip into whines as overstimulation set in and you move your free hand down to grip at Bucky’s wrist to stop his movements.

He does, thankfully.

Bucky stops, fingers lingering over your clit to feel it pulse with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Then, he’s pulling off and pulling his dagger out from your fucked cunt.

You peek open your eyes, watching Bucky sit between your thighs. You breath heavily through your nose to catch your breath, not yet pulling your fingers from your mouth. But, your cheeks heat even more as you watch Bucky’s next actions.

Bucky moves his dagger up to his lips, keeping eye contact with you. He sticks out his tongue to lick across the cross guard, up and between the ridges of the hilt, and around the pommel. He groans at the taste of you, eyes fluttering shut and shoulders completely relaxing. When your knight opens his steely blue eyes back up, he catches the droplet of your clear arousal sliding down the leather of the sheath. While still maintaining his deadly eye contact, he’s darting his tongue down to the tip of the sheath and dragging back up to follow the trail of your arousal backwards until he’s effectively cleaned his dagger of you. Without as much as wiping his dagger dry, Bucky latches the sheath and dagger back onto the strap around his midsection. Then, he’s leaning forward and tutting at you.

“Enough of that,” Bucky scolds softly, leaning over you and propping himself up on his left hand beside your head. “Gotta open on up for me.”

Bucky pulls your fingers from your mouth, tugging to encourage your teeth to loosen their hold. When you let go, Bucky pulls your hand down to give himself clear passage to your mouth. He grabs at your chin with his fingers and thumbs at your bottom lip, eyes lingering to watch the skin move. Then, he’s pushing his thumb into your still-open mouth to press down against your tongue gently.

The muscle is slick and wet below his thumb, but you keep it still. Bucky uses this leverage to keep your mouth open. Though, his gaze finally meets yours once against when you whine.

You’re looking at his almost expectedly, but full-on desperate.

“Oh, I know what you want, pretty girl,” The knight’s words are laced with teasing. “I’m gonna give it to you, yeah?”

With some movement of his tongue and a purse of his lips, a string of spit falls from Bucky’s mouth slowly. It’s almost too long until it meets the tip of your tongue, where the string is pulled taunt and snaps. Bucky keeps his thumb pressed into your tongue, watch the glob of spit slide down you tongue. Then, he’s pulling away before the spit hits the back of your throat and he’s patting your cheek gently.

“Swallow,” Bucky demands gently.

You do, eager to swallow down the taste of him.

“Good girl,” He pats your cheek again.

Without another word, Bucky leans down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. His lips are soft and warm, though a little wet. The knight lingers there until he pulls back with a need for air. He’s then sitting back on his haunches and rubbing at the skin of your thighs.

“Let’s get you situated, yeah?” Bucky tilts his head in question. “But I’m keeping these since I gave you your last pair back.” He holds up his right hand, your panties dangling in between his fingers as he wiggles his eyebrows a bit. Then, he’s moving around to stuff them in the side-waistband of his pants that he wears under the lower torso/legs of his armor. “C’mon, up and at ‘em.”

Bucky stands, grabbing both of your hands to help you stand before him. He smoothes down your dress until it covers your modestly again, adjust the waistline and sleeves. Then, he’s turning you gently as he grabs at your little mid-section corset and sliding it on you again. He cinches it tight enough, which is only enough to comfortably hug you, and tying it back in place like he’s done many times before. Then, finally, he’s turning you back towards to face him.

You let Bucky situate you without complaint or compliment, brain still fuzzy and unthinking. It’s a privilege that you trust Bucky so much to act like this around him, to be vulnerable enough to know that he knows what you need from him. When you face him again, you lean forward to rest your forehead on his chest. You can feel the vibrations of his chuckle against your head. Then, his arms wrap around you in a loose hug.

With a gentle hand, Bucky grabs at your jaw with his large hand, squeezing your cheeks together a little bit, and tilting your head to look up at him. He meets your eyes with endearing ones of his own.

“My poor dumb baby,” Bucky coos, shaking your head a little. “Can’t even think for yourself. I gotta do it for you, yeah?”

You nod, almost mindlessly.

“Well, then we can sit here until you wake up some, and then we can go back to the castle and eat,” Bucky says, lowering you two back down to the grass. His words leave no room for argument.

Bucky sits down, waiting for you to get situated however you want to until he gets comfortable.

You crawl between Bucky’s legs and lay on your back between them. You lay your head on one of his armor-covered thighs, staring up at him as he looks down at you.

The knight only chuckles, eyes crinkling at the edges as he smiles down at you. He drags a hand through your hair, pushing strand away from your forehead and rubbing at your scalp. Bucky rests back on his right arm, his left hand gently grooming your hair.

You stare admiredly at the scars of his left arm. You follow them up to where they disappear under the pushed-up sleeve of his shirt and then reappear from his shirt’s neckline as the scars dance and fade away as they crawl up the side of his neck. You like his scars, and you know he doesn’t mind your staring anymore. So, you’re free to admire as you please, which is often.

“We’ll stay here until you’re ready,” Bucky sighs, still looking down at you.

You nod, eyes fluttering closed as a sudden bout of sleepiness settles inside you. You’ll only close for your eyes for a few moments..

[welcometoteyvat]

society moved on too quickly from furina's demo

[apatheticsunday]

Dead Tired College AU

AKA "Danny Fenton and Tim Drake go to college at Gotham-U together" headcanon!!

Maybe Danny moved to Gotham to avoid his parents finding out about Phantom and Tim is a part-time college student trying to get his business degree so people stop accusing Bruce Wayne of nepotism after Tim inherited WE. (It absolutely still is, but at least this way Tim is at least somewhat more qualified on paper.)

Anyways, they both took Anthropology as their humanities/pre-requisite elective and they're discussing death rituals, afterlife, etc. Now imagine Danny, officially Half-Dead, and Tim, who's brothers (Jason and Damian) literally died, getting into a heated discussion about spirits.

I also find the idea of them arguing via fucking Canvas (or whatever discussion forum/platform Gotham-U uses) so, so funny.

Imagine it's like 3am;

Danny, insomniac, been awake for 42 hours and popping melatonin gummies like gummy bears, furiously typing: i'm literally THE KING of infinite realms?? i know what i'm talking about, i fucking died

Tim, also been awake for 42 hours, chugging an energy drink, sending a response in 0.2 seconds: Half of Gotham has died at some point. You're not special, dumbass.

Give me "group of scientists losing their minds and climbing over the table to assault one another during scientific conference" vibes!!

And then they get paired up to do a group presentation (and Brad, who they ignore because they're both Experts, so this poor frat dude just slowly sinks into his chair between two sleep-deprived maniacs screaming at each other in the library). But Tim notices something weird about Danny, aside from his insane views on afterlife. Danny... glows? And sometimes doesn't really touch the floor when he walks. They're going to get coffee (so they can keep arguing debating, obviously, not because they enjoy each other's company or anything), and Tim watches as Danny just kind of... floats. Like, he's still walking but he's not really touching the ground.

Danny's hands are also super cold. Tim knows this because he grabbed Danny's hands once or twice (or more) to do... something, idk. But since his hands were so cold, Tim figured he should probably keep holding them; y'know, to warm them up.

And when Tim leans in to ask a question or insult him, Danny's breath comes out almost like a mist. Visibly white, like exhaling a hot breath in winter. Which... what. Holy shit, is his presentation partner actually sort of dead??

Danny, on the other hand, has no idea that Tim doesn't know. He literally said he died? And Tim took it so well, snarked back that he's not special - it was so nice to just feel normal. So he lets his guard down a bit. Maybe isn't as tangible, maybe is a bit more floaty, lets his body temperature drop enough to be comfortable. Doesn't put a whole lot of effort into making himself look so alive (because it's really tiring to pretend to be something you're not) when it's just him and Tim because Tim already knows, right?

They could be friends or they could be more! Whatever floats your boat.

But I could totally see Danny squinting at Tim holding his hand, remembering how Tim bought his favorite coffee, saved him a spot a the library, constantly texted him (because, c'mon, Tim is a bit obsessive and you don't think he'd be texting his new "friend ;)" every minute he has the chance?), and always leaned in super close to "ask a question"...and be like, are we flirting?? Oh, Hells, am I into him??

For plot reasons, Danny could be like, "I can't tell Tim I like him! What if I ruin our friendship? It'll be my secret."

And then, one day, Tim is like, "Hey, I know you're keeping something from me. I think I know what it is." And Danny's like ohshitohfuck. This cumulates into them saying, at the same time, I know you're a ghost and I have a crush on you.

Tim and Danny: *shocked Pikachu face*

Then, Danny's like, "I can't believe I have a crush on a fucking idiot."

[laufeysvalentine]

death of you, remus lupin

remus lupin x fem!reader | masterlist

summary ༄ remus x friend!reader -- or in which you realize you like remus. and that absolutely terrifies you. requested

word count ༄ 3.4k

nora’s notes ༄ hiii i hate this but probably will not be able to post until may or june soooo here it is anyway 💘 hope you enjoy!

Liking someone has always been the death of you. You could name all of the crushes you’d ever had on one hand–the boy next door in your childhood home, the sandy-haired one at the ice cream shop the summer you’d just turned 13, the guy who sat next to you in potions year 5.  The thing (or the problem, depending on how you look at it) was that few boys proved to be to your liking–but, if they were, you liked them hard. 

These boys had essentially nothing in common. Different personalities, hair colors, stories. The only trait that united them was how much you liked them–and how awkward you became as your relationships progressed. 

You weren’t boisterous the way some of your peers were–cough, Sirius Black–but you weren’t a complete hermit, despite what some of your friends would claim. You kept to yourself mostly. Being on the outskirts of the picture means you’re still in the frame. The thing was that the second you realized your feelings for someone, you would straightjacket yourself. Your personality would curl in on the edges, speech coiled in the pit of your stomach. 

You try your best now to not like people. You’re totally fine until you do, so staying away from that territory is your best bet–at all costs. 

“Are you coming?” One of your dormmates sticks a head back into your room. They’re going to Hogsmeade, or something like that, to meet the new Beauxbatons transfer. 

You emerge from your trance, shaking your head. “No, I’m going to the library. I’ll catch you later, though.” 

You receive a nod and the sound of footsteps running down the hallway, which cues you to pack up your books and head out to study, where you’re planning on meeting Remus. 

The library is one of your favorite places to be. It’s dark but not dank. It’s cozy. Especially when you spot the boy at your table, snug in one of his signature knitted jumpers. You can see his eyes lifting from the parchment spread in front of him to watch you approach. 

“Morning,” he says with his signature quietness–low and firm. Steady. 

“It’s mid-afternoon,” you respond as a grin crosses your face subconsciously. “You feeling alright?”

“Aren’t I always?” He gives you a lopsided smile, taking your head shake as a response. He’s avoiding your question–the full moon’s coming in a few days–but you’re not one to push. That’s why he opened up to you in the first place. “You going to Hogsmeade later?” 

You shrug. “Maybe. My roommates went ahead, though.” 

“Prongs and I are heading over later–actually, the whole lot will, if you fancy checking it out.” He raises his eyebrows, and you consider it. You like hanging out with James and Sirius; they always make you feel welcome, having been adopted into their group via Remus and being in Lily’s circle. 

“Sure, not like I have anything better to do. This is a bore itself.” You gesture jokingly to him and pause to let him pretend to be offended, acting out the dramatics he’s clearly inherited from Sirius. Luckily, he only bemoans your lack of enthusiasm to hang out for a few moments before returning to his studies. Head over paper, neck craned. “Your posture is terrible, Remus.” 

He pouts, still hunched into himself. “Let me live.” 

“Okay, you’re the one who’s going to have back problems when you’re thirty,” you shrug, patting his arm with a hollow affection and pulling back to work on your essay. “But, suit yourself. I let you live and you let me work.” 

He leans over your seat, a deluge of ink and chocolate and smudges of cigarette smoke that tickles you in the best way and leaves you the slightest bit dizzy, to deliver a quick pinch to your earlobe. You think he mutters something like you started it, but with a petty slap to his shoulder, he shuts up and gets back to his essay. 

You’re not sure if it’s hours or minutes that slip between the two of you, but at some point, Remus stands, looking over the table. A quick glance through the cloud-kissed windows tells you it’s still afternoon. Probably. It’s a little too gray outside to tell.

“Ready to go? Think the boys are heading there now,” he yawns, arms stretching above his head. The edge of his wool sweater pulls up, a sliver of his sweetly tanned skin peeking out. 

You stand right after, gathering your things into a bag. “Mhm, let’s go.” 

When the cold nips at your cheeks outside, makes shivers run down your skin, you shudder, running in place to warm up. Remus laughs. 

“That’s rude,” you say with a scrunch in your nose. “I’m freezing my arse off and all you’re doing is laughing at me.” 

He suppresses himself into a broad, open smile. “If I had a hat, I’d give it to you.”

You shrug. “It’s the thought that counts, I suppose.” 

“Yes, it is,” he says solemnly. Somehow, some time, his arm wraps around your shoulder. “To keep you warm.” 

You hum as you enter Three Broomsticks, catching sight of the Marauders immediately. They’re sitting with your roommates, actually, and someone unfamiliar–the new girl, it must be. Your spine straightens of its own accord, shoulders roll back. Remus notices, dropping his arm from you as the new girl catches sight of you. 

There you two stand, shoulder to shoulder, pressed awkwardly together like soldiers. 

“Hi!” She stands, a wave of ink falling over her back in silk curls. She’s gorgeous. “I’m Romy, Romy Roche. From Beauxbatons.” 

You nod, offering her a quiet smile and introducing yourself. Remus does the same before the two of you slide into the booth, you next to Romy, him across. He gives you a sly grin behind his hand, like a secret between the two of you. You’re not sure what he’s smiling at, yet you can’t help but give one back.

Romy turns towards you, doe eyes big and chocolate and shiny. She asks you something that you respond to dutifully, turned towards her. You steal a long glance at Remus to watch his eyes crinkle, soften, then drift off of you to speak to Sirius. You lean your elbow onto the table, latching onto a conversation between Romy and Lily, chiming in when awarded space. 

As the afternoon shimmers to a sweeping dusk, everyone stands, shuffles back to the castle in one big lump. Your roommate comes to sweep her arm into yours, you walking on the outside. She leans into you, mouth almost on your ear. 

“I think Romy’s into Lupin,” she says at a volume probably too loud to be comfortable given both of said people are currently two steps behind you. 

“Remus?” You ask. “She wants Remus?” 

For some reason, those words sour on your tongue, bite at the roof of your mouth. 

She nods enthusiastically as you approach the Great Hall, the richness of Hogwarts dinner steeping into your bodies. 

“Hm,” you say in response, pulling towards your house’s table. You don’t know what this feeling is–something that’s curdling in your chest. Whatever it is, it’s ugly. Romy and Remus. They do sound nice together. You swallow back the bile that climbs up your throat.

It should probably be illegal to wake up as early as your roommates do on a Sunday morning. 

It should definitely be illegal to make as much noise as they do so early on the aforementioned Sunday morning. 

With a groan, you lurch yourself awake before you can help it. You’re at war with yourself, but you can’t sleep with all the pattering around and attempts at whispering–Merlin help them, they’re trying. You think. 

When they see you, one lets out a guilty giggle. “Sorry. Breakfast is over soon, you ready?” 

The groan that escapes you is involuntary, you swear. You force your body upwards and moving, half-awake as you stumble out the door and into the hall. There’s the Marauders, Romy, your friends. Remus. Your eyelids perk open a little more. Romy’s definitely staring at him, they’re sitting next to each other. Maybe she really does like him. 

You slip into a seat beside James Potter. 

“Morning,” Remus says from across the table. His hair is mussed, sleep ringing his under eyes. He smiles at you. It’s lopsided, tilting his cheekbones. 

“Good morning,” Romy echoes, offering a head tilt. A soft warmness flows from her, washing her in a sweet golden. 

“Good morning,” you return with as much of a smile you can muster with drowsiness oozing through your system. 

Remus looks across at you, tosses a sweet your way. “I bought this for you yesterday, at the shops. You better eat it and enjoy. It cost nearly double what it should have.” 

You can’t help the squeal that scratches at your throat. “Thank you, Rem, this is perfect.” 

He reaches into his bag and slides another one towards you. “I’m glad.”

Romy looks at him with a kind curiosity, tapping on his forearm to ask him something that you can’t hear. Your shoulders slouch involuntarily. 

“Are you okay?” The boy asks as breakfast ends. “You’ve been quiet today.” 

“I’m always quiet,” you counter. “Ask anyone.” 

“Not usually.” He raises an eyebrow. “And quiet is different from completely mute.” 

“I’m just tired.” You yawn, accentuating your point. “Catch you later?” 

He nods in response, turning to his friends when they grab onto his elbow. You stand as well, ready to walk out when a body appears by your side. You startle, not realizing anyone had walked up. 

It’s Romy, who shifts her hair away from you, allowing you a whiff of her coconut perfume. She smiles at you. You smile back. 

“Can I walk with you to the dormitories?” She requests, words softened by her accent. 

“Of course,” you find yourself saying, letting her lead you to your common room. 

“So, I must ask,” she says only two feet outside of the hall. “You and Remus Lupin are dating, no?” 

“What?” You step away from her, jaw loosened in shock. You and Remus? Dating? No way. 

“I thought he was cute at first,” she continues, taking your silence as permission. “But I didn’t want to take your boyfriend.” 

“No, we’re not–we’re just friends.” Heat is scratching the inside of your cheeks, burning. 

“Oh, but you are so cute together. You definitely like each other, no?” Her expression is pure enthusiasm. Your heart’s fluttering now, thrashing in your ribcage. 

You don’t like Remus. You can’t. That’s not how things work. No. No. 

“No, I–” you stutter out, blinking rapidly. “I don’t like him like that. No.” 

She tilts her head at you. Bobs her head up and down. Nodding, you realize. She’s nodding. You nod back, once, then turn away. 

“Okay,” she says, turning back to your common room. 

You barely remember saying goodbye to her, it all begins to smudge. You’re in the common room, then your bedroom. You don’t like Remus. You can’t. You know what happens when you like people. Your palms clam. Your whole body clams, condensing you into the pearl of an unbreakable shell. Your shoulders shudder. Convulse. 

Maybe–maybe, you’re tired. You’re imagining things. He’s a friend. A good friend. That’s it. You don’t like him. You won’t like him. 

Then again, you’ve never allowed yourself to think about him that way. In some sort of self preservation, you’ve pushed that image away. Do you like him? 

Cold clings to your skin and a waterfall of images shuffles through your mind. Him staring up at you with those pretty, pretty eyes. His knit sweaters. His whispers past midnight, hushed in the library, just the two of you huddled in a corner. Him waiting for you to tie your shoes, use the restroom, tidy up after class, even when his friends had long since left. His lopsided grin. 

Shit. You don’t like him. 

You’re in love with him.

–

Before you know it, you’re pacing around your dorm. What the hell do you do now? Your heart freezes when you think about facing him tomorrow. Why did you have to figure this out? Couldn’t you just live in ignorance for the rest of your life? Your head drops down. You love Remus. 

You don’t sleep that night. Instead, your eyes drift to your bedside, where photos of you and your friends lay. There’s one of you and your roommates, you and your family, and you and Remus. His arm is over your shoulder, his thumb massaging your arm. You’re turned towards him all bright and shiny, mid-sentence. How could you not have seen this coming? Of course you were in love. It had been in front of you forever. Fuck. 

Morning rolls around into a heavy thing, something you try to push aside. All night, you’ve tossed in between your sheets, trying to avoid this, avoid him. 

You pull the blanket over your head when your roommates call you to breakfast, mumbling an excuse. You only force yourself up to head to Potions, slipping into the classroom last minute to avoid Remus and his stare. 

You fail, miserably. Though you’ve slipped into a seat near the front, where you can’t see him, he can see you, and you feel the hug of his stare through the whole hour, heating the back of your head. The thought of speaking to him raises bile in your throat, so as soon as class is over, you shove your things into your bag and dart towards the door. You vaguely hear him calling your name, you think, but you don’t dwell on it. You don’t dare to. 

You can’t imagine what you’d ever say to him, now. How you could ever face him after knowing these feelings. And so unfortunately, you have many more classes with him. You manage to sidle out of Transfiguration without him noticing, and intend to escape to the library for lunch, but before you can, Lily’s looped her arm through yours and guided you to the great hall. Fuck. 

You try to search for an escape, but she’s practically dragging you with her, chattering on about something she’d read recently. 

And then, oh shit, she’s sat you with the Gryffindors, with the Marauders, and there’s Remus sliding across and oh shit, your palms are sweaty and your mind’s stopped working and you’re breathing quick and not enough. 

“Y/N,” he says with a scary kindness, the kind that makes your heart race and ache against your ribs, begging to be let out. “Are you okay? You came late to Potions and you’ve been acting all funny since then.”

You dart your eyes away from his face, hands pulled onto your lap to fiddle with themselves. “Oh, yeah, I’m–I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all.” 

A glance up tells you that he doesn’t buy it. His eyes narrow. He can tell you’re curling into yourself. 

His hand reaches under the table, finds yours. He gives you a friendly pat on the knee, or so you tell yourself. “You can talk to me. Always.” 

Blush burns your cheeks and your eyes slide to where his hand is still on yours, warming you up. You try your best to nod. Or to squeak out something. You used to be so good at this. You used to tease him, joke around. Now all you can do is stare at your plate and pray you don’t burst into flames.

His gaze is hot on you, and you shift in your seat, muscles suddenly tense. He releases your hand from his hold, and you burst upwards, mumbling something to Lily about needing to go finish a Charms project and escaping from the Great Hall. 

You’ve made it five steps before a warm hand wraps around your wrist, grabbing a shriek from your throat. They pull you into a Potions classroom so quickly that you can’t look up to see who it is nor fight back–either way, you’re too stunned to react. 

“Tell me what’s wrong.” You’d recognize that voice anywhere, velvet tenderness and crackling with love. 

“Remus?” You ask quietly. 

“You don’t have a Charms project,” he says without answering you. He knows you know, that you would know with your eyes closed and ears closed off. You know him blind, turned upside down and inside out. 

When you look up at him, the intensity in his eyes makes you shrink back. “You heard me?” 

“What’s wrong?” He ignores you without ignoring you. The twitch of his hand at your side tells you everything. “You’ve been weird all day. It’s scaring me.” 

His grip loosens. 

You look down, watching his fingers loosely encircling your wrist, dancing across your skin. Still, his touch leaves bruises, ones you’ll never be able to see, printing themselves shamelessly onto your heart, your soul. 

When he speaks again, his voice drops to an intimacy you’d only ever dreamed of. “It’s like you don’t know me, like I’m a stranger.” 

No, that’s something much worse. Hurt. 

“What did I do?” He’s pleading now, his other hand coming to rub at your wrist. “I’ll fix it. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.”

A tear slides from your eye, tracing down your face. His thumb rises to your cheek, wipes it into your skin. 

“I don’t want to see you upset. I care about you, dove.” He scares you with his understanding, sometimes. Never have you seen a man so kind. “I care about you. Sometimes, I think it’s too much. I could drown in you and still want more. I’m greedy for you, for your attention.” 

Your lips part. Still stunned into silence. You won’t–no, can’t–say anything. “I–” 

“What’s wrong, baby?” His thumb wanders to the plush of your lip, pushes in. “Tell me something. Anything, please.” 

“I’m scared, Remus.” You say finally, voice a papery whisper. “I think I like you. I think I love you.” 

He doesn’t say anything to you, not at first. He freezes, eyes sweeping across your face like headlights. Just for a moment, you clam again. You shouldn’t have said that. He cares about you, but just as a friend. You should’ve stayed silent. 

You’re embarrassed now, and you move to step backwards, away from him and this suffocating room away from his stare and his eyes those melting eyes boring into you, oh, Merlin. But he anticipates it, anticipates you. 

One hand falls to cup the back of your head. You lean into it involuntarily, let him smooth out your hair and pull you back. 

“That’s not what I thought you were going to say,” he pushes a breath from his mouth. 

“I’m sorry.” Your face is flaming again. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“Me neither,” he says, making you stop. The pause that lingers between the two of you is heavy. 

Then, a belly chuckle, which makes you squirm with warmth, letting his laugh settle over your skin. It’s collected just as much as it’s trembling with relief. “I thought you would say something much worse. I’m scared that I more than love you. There’s not a word for it yet, but I love you so much that I will will it into existence.”

You shudder. Remus, Remus, Remus. 

He says your name like a chant, smooth and thunderous at once. A command and a lullaby. You’ve been put on pause, putty to every motion he makes. The twitch of his finger by his side. His eyelids flutter as they shutter. Your stomach clenches. 

“May I?” He asks so tenderly, so softly that something in your body roils, relaxes so completely that you almost let yourself cry. 

You nod. He’s so close that your noses bump. Your lips part in anticipation, in waiting. 

Three seconds pass. Four. And you can’t say when he erases the space between you or when he became yours or when you melted together and your arms closed around his neck because it’s so natural. You and him just are. His lips, sweet and soft, on yours. His thumb petting your cheekbone. His eyelashes fluttering, faces so close that you can feel them on your skin. Your heart buzzes at his sweetness and the feeling that tickles your insides, this feeling that you want him to hold on to you until time dissolves. When all else fails, you know your love will thrive, that it will do nothing but expand. 

masterlist

tags | @lydiasfalling @cowboylikemac @treefairy-28 @lolwey @callsignwidow @navs-bhat @hisparentsgallerryy @brxght-world @grxcisxhy-wp @luvv-danielle @idkman5353. @just-here-for-ff @rubyinthebooks @laurenzitaa @ariesandwolves @wasiasproject

[thebibliosphere]

Okay, I'll admit it. I'm one of those people who priates books. But only because I've bought so many books that disappointed me! I need to flip through a bit of it before buying.

Sometimes, if the author has kofi or patreon or something, I like to just give them the full price of the book. That way they get it all. But I also know that this isn't the perfect answer because it messes with stats and actual readership and therefore advertising and the platform they are selling on promoting it....

It's complicated. Maybe I should buy the book normally and tip the author what the publishers/printers/distributors take? But that can get really pricey fast. Ugh.

Books are often a luxury when you have no money. I’m very familiar with that. I've saved up for several months sometimes because I wanted a $5.99 ebook and didn't want to steal from the author. That’s just what being poor is. Wanting something doesn't entitle me to it.

That said, most books these days have a reading sample on purchasing sites so you can see if you like the style. Most sites also offer refunds, at least on digital books, before you reach a certain point. (please be sparing with refunds if you can. The refund is taken from the author/publisher, not Amazon. Same with audible. My audible funds are often close to zero or negative because people just return and reuse their monthly credit.)

You can also check and see if the books are available at your library, and if not, request them. Honestly, library sales are so, so, so good for authors. Libraries pay higher lending license rates to authors, and also, depending on the country, every time someone checks out my book via Libby or the local equivalent, I get a little tiny amount of money (we’re talking literal pennies, but it can add up), and it increases the library’s likelihood of re-purchasing the library lending license the following year.

You can alsp sign up to be an ARC (advanced reader copy) reader through places like NetGalley or by checking if the author offers ARCs as well. In a world of algorithms, books live and die by reviews. Some of us are quite happy to give out ARCs for new and upcoming titles.

Failing that and you have absolutely no other option... Yeah. Ko-fi or whatever is an option. Even if I wish they didn't do it because it fucks my sales metrics, I still appreciate when I get a little ding on ko-fi for the exact amount of the book. It's always telling. I even sometimes get little anon messages going “sorry for pirating your book it was really good.”

Like thank you. Please buy the next one properly, lol.

[eightpackdiaz]

was listening to so high school and i got struck with a kingdon vision…an exes (to lovers) au

(there’s like 2k words under the cut, i dont know what came over me)

so mel and frank met in her first year of undergrad, he was already in his third year, and the way they met was…almost cliché, really, it’s the first day back from summer break, and half his classes already are swamping him with work so he walks his ass to the library because he wants to be a doctor, and he will do well in school, and he will prove his father wrong. except he gets there and the tables are full, because of course they are, it’s still summer and the library has AC so people are there and not even half of them are actively studying. But he looks for a table and there’s one little two person table right next to the back window and he can see a girl already sitting there. She has her back to him, so all he sees is a loose blonde french braid, the back of a pink tshirt, and a very neat pile of books to her right. He feels bad asking because he also doesn’t like sharing the table, but he really needs to start studying, so he walks up to her.

Once he’s in front of her, he forgets what he is going to say for a second. He can’t really see her face, but he can see glasses, and a face covered in sun-kissed freckles, and he thinks his heart is beating a little too fast, and oh fuck. she’s looking up at him with a tiny smile and, wow, okay, maybe that’s what it feels like to meet someone who is your type (even if he previously thought he didn’t have *a* type).

She says “can i help you with something?” and he white knuckles his backpack strap to keep himself from doing something stupid like reaching out and adjusting her glasses, he powers through

“Hi, sorry, do you mind if i sit here? i really need to get started on my papers, and people are here and they’re not even doing homework! how’s that okay? anyways, sorry, i know it can be annoying to share a table, but i promise i really just need to study” why is he rambling?!, he hasn’t been a rambler for years and now she’s looking at him funny but she doesn’t look put off yet, that’s good.

“of course you can! i understand, it can be upsetting that people don’t use the library for actual studying. my name is melissa, but everyone calls Mel, nice to meet you” she punctuates this last sentence with the cutest little wave he had ever seen anyone over the age of 5 make, and woah okay he’s staring, he needs to get a grip

“i’m frank! nice to meet you, are you new here? i don’t think i’ve seen you before, i would remember” okay why is he sounding flirty, he need to stop he said he was only gonna study and he really meant it, but she doesn’t seem to register it or simply chose to ignore it,

she gives him a bigger smile and says “i am! first year of undergrad, i take it you’ve been here longer?”

“i’m starting my third year of biochem, hoping to go to medical school after!”

“me too! not biochem, i mean, i want to go to medical school once i finish mine, i’m in biology!”

and so they start studying, he’s doing his best to not be fidgety and annoying, but he can’t help it and he finds himself stopping himself like four different times, until she very obviously catches him the last one.

“i understand if you need to fidget, it won’t bother me, and i’m sure it would help you focus more, i sometimes need to stim to really concentrate”

and he just looks at her, in awe, because this is the first time someone *isn’t* bothered by his fidgeting

And so they have little snippets of a conversation during their hours of study that day, at the end he tells her that he would like to do this again, and she smiles, and tells him she would too, and before he knows it they’ve exchanged numbers, with mel explicitly stating “i do prefer phone calls because i have a hard time deciphering people’s tones via text” and as he sees her walk away he gets a feeling deep in his bones that his life is never going to be the same again

during that first week they study together three times, he’s not ashamed to say he reached out the very next day after that first meeting, and actually, he’s not ashamed to say he reach out all three of those times, but every single time he called, he was met with a bright and warm “hi frank! how are you doing today?”, so all things considered he’s more than happy to keep doing it.

studying with mel is amazing, really. they’re a great team, he learns a lot from her, and tells her that. he has the wild thought that if they were to practice together, they would save s lot of patients.

they’ve been study buddies for about three weeks when for the very first time, they hang out without the pretense of homework, he invited her to go with him to try a new pizza place he heard about, and truly, he has no expectations.

he likes her, of course he does, shes so beautiful, and so smart, and her eyes are so bright, and even when he can tell that she’s missing her sister she never lets that affect the way she treats others, always so kind and patient. she’s in no uncertain terms someone who he knows he’s gonna fall inlove with, he just knows she doesn’t see him that way, and he’s okay with that.

mel is the funniest person he’s ever met. he spends half the dinner laughing and he thinks that maybe she doesn’t first get most jokes but my god her own sense of humour is amazing, and they have enough rapport now that she can appreciate some of his darker jokes, especially because since day one he now follows them immediately with “its a joke”, and it’s great, and god, he wishes this was a date.

he feels it important to note that whilst she does recoil to most people’s touch or proximity, after that very first day she has been okay with him standing or being near, he doesn’t touch her much, doesn’t want to test his luck, and also doesn’t think his heart could handle it. but he’s always near, always almost touching, and she lets him, and he feels like he has done something right.

so for about two weeks after that, they start hanging out more and more, yeah he has a friend group, and she’s making her own friends but they make time for each other. they meet for coffee on the way to campus, or meet in between classes just to talk about anything other than school, and little by little he can tell that this crush of his is becoming more.

they’ve known each other for about two months, when they’re in his apartment, his roomates aren’t there (yes he made sure of this, no not like *THAT*) and they’re watching a movie, and they’re sitting in the sofa and then she leans her head on his shoulder.

his heart is going a mile a minute, she initiated the contact and god, her hair smells like strawberries, and he can feel her breathing through his tshirt, and he feels her cheek move, so now he knows she’s smiling.

the movie ends, and she looks up, they hold eye contact for about 5 seconds before he blurts out “wouldyouliketogoonadatewithme” before he chickens out

she just blinks, and he sees her trying to process it, but he waits, he will always wait for her.

“yes, i would like to go on a date with you. i like you, and i could tell that you liked me too, but figured maybe i was confusing signals because you didn’t ask”

and so he explains, that no, he very much does like her but he is a coward. she just smiles and says “i would never call you a coward”

and so they go on a date, he’s had a handful of first dates in his life, but he has never felt this at peace in one before, there’s nerves of course there’s nerves, but it’s like his system knows, it’s like it’s saying “there you are, i’ve been waiting for you” and it lets him feel calm.

the date is amazing, he asks if he can hold her hand, and her answer is to take his hand and swing their joined hands between them and he thinks his heart will explode. at the end of the date, he walks her to her house. he asks if he can kiss her, and he sees her thinking about it, but he waits, he will always wait for her.

she nods, short and determined. he leans in, projecting his movements so she knows what to expect.

he swears he can see fireworks when he closes his eyes, he feels like floating, her hands are clutching the front of his shirt and he decides that it’s his favourite thing ever. they part, he bids her good night and takes a deep breath after she enters her house, he feels delirious to think it, but one day he’s going to marry that girl.

he meets becca after dating mel for six months. becca’s funny, and crazy smart. she tells him in no uncertain terms “i told mel to find someone to kiss at college, so you’re welcome” the responding blush in mel’s checks is what frank’s dreams are made of.

they have a lot of firsts, firsts for him, firsts for her, and firsts together.

they date for about two years. he knows this is it, he knows he’s never going to love anyone the way he loves her, he’s known it from the very first time he sat in front of her.

then he gets accepted to med school on the other side of the country, and he knows she won’t want a long distance relationship because they’ve talked about it, and she loved him but this was a boundary for her, and he applied there because his mom moved to pittsburgh last year after the divorce, and he misses her, and because he really likes their medical program, and because mel from the very beginning told him to stick to his life plan because as much as they love each other, they both have dreams, and those dreams might be similar but they’re not the same.

The day he gets the acceptance letter, they both know their relationship has an expiration date. They are officially together right until the morning he’s set to move away. They wanted to break up amicably, they still love each other so deeply, he thinks knows she will always be his one true love. They kiss goodbye, and they’re both crying, and as soon as they part she says “i love you, and i want you to be happy, so please. try to move on, we can be friends in a few months, but first, we need to try to move on”

the day they become friends again never comes. he loves her so much it aches, but he knows she’s right, and he also knows they might never see each other again, and he needs to focus on med school, and if he can do something is make his mom proud and prove his dad wrong, and…

goddamn it, its been two years and he still can feel the ghost of her touch, he can still hear the way he used to call her name, he can still….he needs to stop. he needs to get laid, he needs to move on. she probably has moved on already, he doesn’t know, because he’s been too much of a coward to check, and because she said to be friends when they move on, and he hasn’t moved on so why even try to reach out.

abby is the polar opposite of mel, she’s also clearly into him and he thinks she’s fun and attractive so he goes for it, he knows there’s a saying about getting under someone to get over someone, and he’s drunk enough that he doesn’t care that she’s not who he really wants her to be.

“i’m pregnant” abby says into the phone, it’s late, and he was studying for an exam, and he’s in the middle of his third year of med school. what the fuck is he going to do.

abby and him are friends, they like each other, they fuck sometimes, and she wants to keep the baby, and he likes her enough to think that he might convince himself one day that he loves her.

so life goes on, they get married because her parents want that, they have tanner and he loves his son, and there’s a pandemic, and he’s just starting his residency and the world is falling apart, but things get better, him and abby are still really good friends, he tells himself he’s not lying to her when he says he loves her, because he’s not, she’s the mother of his kids, and he does love her, she’s just not. well.

it’s just another random thursday, and he’s leaning on the desk in front of him because his back is killing him and he’s only been here like 20 minutes, but he’s trying to space out his pills so, he is doing his best, and then robby wants to introduce the….

he knows that braid. he hasn’t seen her face, and robby is talking but he knows that…

“…second year resident, dr melissa king, fresh from the VA” robby says, like this isn’t taking the air straight out of frank’s lungs. he blinks, looks away and at the computer because this can’t be happening, she’s here. his life is falling apart, his back is killing him, abby is angry at him for god knows why, but shes here, his mel is here.

“everyone calls me mel. i’m so happy to be here” he wonders if she hasn’t realized he’s right behind her. he’s looking at that braid, he’s standing behind her and he can’t stop staring, and he’s suddenly 20 years old again.

[kenyatta]

Quick long story based on my last reblog:

I used to work in the compliance department for public access television in Manhattan in the 90s. If you're not familiar with public access, it was basically YouTube and TikTok before the web existed -- local tv channels that anyone could broadcast on. and it was everything -- dance shows, kids shows, educational programs, queer programming, labor rights shows, wannabe stars, porn stars, amateur wrestlers, bus and train spotters, therapy help lines, psychics, spoken word shows, punk rock shows, and a ton of experimental tv.

A lot of famous people got their start on public access way back when and especially on MNN. They weren't called 'Creators' or 'Influencers' back then -- they were 'Producers'.

My job was to make sure that all of the shows were in FCC and local station compliance -- nothing lewd or graphic out of the safe harbor hours, no "Seven Dirty Words", etc. Every morning, I'd come into office, read through the complaints sent in via mail (actual letters) or left as voice messages overnight on the hotline. Once someone complained, I'd have to go down to the tape library, pull the (video) tape in question, watch it, and fill out a form to say whether it was a real violation or not.

Sometimes it was. The edgelords of the 90s were guys who'd submit shows about something mundane and then slip a few minutes of scat, mutilation porn, gore, or maybe a beheading or war footage into a mundane show about birdwatching or whatever. (By the time shock sites like rotten dot com came online, I was fully inoculated.) Those were easy calls.

Most of the time the producers were chill about it. Robin Byrd -- pornstar, and host of a call in show about all things sex was always super sweet about it. So were the producers who filmed the local drag balls when I had to tell them that they forgot to edit out a random peen popping out of a thong.

My favorite complaints were for a show I think was called 'Mustafa' (but I can't be sure). It was just a young guy with dreads and dark sunglasses, sitting motionless in his apartment window for 30 minutes, in a single shot. That was it. That was the show.

It drove one viewer into a state of rage.

He'd call the complaint line screaming: "I want to file a complaint about this show! Why is this shit on my television -- he's just sitting there doing nothing!!! This is a waste of money!!! I'm not paying for this!!!"

And then a second message: "I just watched this entire show until the end and HE NEVER MOVED!!!"

This man called nearly every week for half a year. It was beautiful.

[greentrickster]

Okay, so, been reading some good scumplane (OG!Shen Qingqiu/Airplane) lately, because in this house we support Airplane being loved by terrifying/terrifyingly hot men, but also, like... I do love Moshang just so so much as a ship.

And all this has awoken a mighty need in me.

A need for a Moshangjiu fic with scumplane getting established first and then bringing our favorite popsicle in on things.

Anyway, scenario! Shen Qingqiu starts noticing Shang Qinghua when they're disciples via the classic scenario of being smart enough to realize something is fishy about SQH being the only survivor of a demon attack, begins paying attention to his most anxious shidi, accidentally shows his most anxious shidi the simplest of Human Kindness, accidentally becomes shidi's favorite shixiong, accidentally becomes friends with shidi, accidentally catches feelings. Continues being a Sneaky Bastard in order to figure out what shidi is up to (and now also to confirm shidi is single).

Ah, shidi is entangled with an Ice Demon. This shixiong will make use of his scholarly peak's library to learn all and then decide to- wait. Wait, it's super violent by human standards, but is it- is this demon attempting to... court shidi?

...

Not if SQQ dates him first he's not!!!

There follows a whirlwind romance between SQQ and SQH where no one really knows what's going on, especially the two involved, it involves a lot of shit talking about everyone else in their lives, snacks, and accidental trauma bonding.

Also Airplane being Airplane and accidentally spilling that not only is he also kinda crushing (bad) on Mobei-jun, but also Mobei-jun's entire backstory and please, shixiong, I know it all looks bad but this shidi's house is literally the only place in the world it's completely safe for his king to sleep, everyone deserves to sleep without having to worry about their relatives murdering them for things that aren't their fault from time to time, right, shixiong???

Shen Qingqiu: ...goddammit, the demon's a fellow sad little meow meow. (only not in these exact words because he doesn't know these phrases, naturally)

In a wild, bold, and - dare I say it - shockingly sexy convolution of thought processes and ideas, SQQ manages to finagle SQH into letting him meet with MBJ (SQH nearly has a heart attack three times in the process but it's fine, it's cool, this is his life, this may as well happen, it's fine-).

SQQ: It has come to my attention that my shidi is spying for you on our sect.

MBJ: (glowering at SQH, who is cowering behind shixiong wondering how he got talked into all this)

SQQ: However it also appears that this is merely a cover story and the only thing you really do is use his room to nap. And also that you are quite fond of him.

SQH: (This is it, this is how I die. Again.)

MBJ: (...if I stare straight ahead and don't change my expression, no one will be able to tell that he's right)

SQQ: So anyway I think you should join Cang Qiong Mountain Sect.

MBJ: (gears grinding)

SQH: (squawking splutters of protest and confusion)

SQQ: (who speaks panicking!SQH at this point) Stop that, it's perfectly reasonable. He has the head disciple of our logistics peak under his thumb, it would be the simplest thing in the world for him to have you throw the sect into absolute chaos without even trying, then organize an attack, swoop in, and crush us all. He could have done it years ago, but he never has, he never even seems to initiate anything. I don't think he even cares about taking the Northern Throne, I think he's just incompetent about wanting to spend time with you. So he might as well just lie low until our shizuns ascend and then I'll take him on as a disciple on Qing Jing and you two can stop sneaking around like idiots.

MBJ: >8O

SQQ: Are you actually opposed?

MBJ: (folds arms and looks away sulkily, because like... it's true but you don't have to say it like that)

SQH: 8O ...reverse uno...

SQQ: What?

SQH: You're reverse unoing my blorbo!

SQQ: Quit making up word-

SQQ cannot continue because the System just presented the option to accept this potential new plot line (even if it does have the rather confusing title of 'Shidi Has Two Hands'), and holy shit, Mobei-jun seems to be potentially down for it, holy shit, apparently Mobei-jun actually likes me, holy shit, SQQ may have just solved all my problems-?!? This is great, this is fantastic, this is the best day of my life, this- is a long time I'm being allowed to be myself about all this, why is Shen shixiong not interrupting...?

Ah.

It is because I am kissing him full on the lips.

Cool cool cool.

At least I'm gonna die on a high note.

SQQ: O///O o_o (ahem) Shidi's- shidi's a really bad kisser.

SQH: Ah-haha, I can explain-

SQQ: We should work on that. Later.

SQH: (BEST DAY OF BOTH MY LIVES!!!)

MBJ: (I... did not actually hate watching that. Hm.)

Anyway, he agrees to the plan, SQQ and SQH start dating, some more time passes, the previous generation of peak lords ascend, the new generation take their places, and a week later Mobei-jun is an outer disciple of Qing Jing Peak.

The other peak lords are not amused, Qingqiu that is a demon, no.

SQQ: So what I'm hearing is that whole 'Cang Qiong will accept anyone from anywhere' philosophy was a lie then?

He's a demon!

SQQ: Children can't help where they're born. Now if you'll excuse me, I have classes to teach.

First lesson of the day is SQH and SQQ are a package deal, take it or leave it. Second lesson is no canoodling with Shang Shibo until you've finished with lessons and chores for the day. Third lesson is if you see any Bai Zhan disciples hassling our peak's disciples you can break their swords. Just snap 'em in half. Throw them off the peak. Don't kill them, but do make them cry.

SQH, meanwhile, has now seen MBJ in an outer disciple uniform and had a whole bunch of new awakenings on top of all the other things he already knew about himself.

And, in a twist of dramatic irony... Qing Jing's first disciple to ever have demonic heritage decides the dorms are a no-go after one night because, to him, they are broiling hot, how can anyone sleep in this heat, and chooses to go sleep in the wood shed instead.

[kataraavatara]

and another thing about acosf!

If their sole plan was Nesta “getting better” via forcing her to do something against her will, they could have just forced her to spend time with Priestesses. Why not? Do they genuinely think SA victims are all silent and meek, and that no SA victims has ever behaved similarly to Nesta, so the priestesses would have no idea how to interact with her? If they think Nesta is self harming by having risky sex with men and hasn’t shown an interest in women, wouldn’t an all female enclave be ideal? They know the library has worked for hundreds of women.

Instead, Nesta is forced to

•live in close proximity with Cassian-so it’s more likely the bond will snap so she’ll be loyal to the Inner Circle forever. Her reliance on sex as a coping mechanism is now something that’s to their advantage instead of something they would have to let her work through. She can now be “fixed” not by addressing the underlying issues but by continuing the unhealthy behavior in a way that benefits the IC.

• Train as a warrior- I mean, obvious. They’re worried about potential threats and need to make sure she’s as efficient as possible when they shove her on the front lines again.

•Find the Troves- Free labor is free labor. Now instead of Feyre doing it, they can risk someone with less value to them. Best part? She doesn’t get a salary like every single other member of the IC does. Now Rhysand’s infinite wealth can stay infinite!

•Psychological conditioning- Yeah, I’m know the field of psychology hasn’t been invented in ACOTAR. Walk with me anyways. By positioning themselves as saviors they hope they can overcome the hurdle they placed by forcing her there to begin with. If Nesta sees the IC as the people who saved her, she’ll not only feel indebted but also be less likely to question them in the future. We see this working when she bows to Amren, and apologizes to Cassian for being upset when he violated her clear cut boundaries at Solstice. They want to acclimatize her to her autonomy being stripped for “the greater good.” If she was sent somewhere else, she’d be probably be more loyal to whoever actually helped her than the people who forced her to get help. That’s why Cassian and Azriel are in charge, despite the the fact that there’s the equivalent of talk therapy in the Library.

Anyways, the bullet points are Rhysand and Amren’s agenda. Feyre and Cassian are (perhaps intentionally) oblivious and thinks they’re just trying to help. Azriel wasn’t let in but has figured it out and doesn’t want to rock the boat. Mor is just happy to see Nesta suffer. Elain is a pawn who’s been strung along for the ride so they can get Nesta to do what they want her to by threatening to have Elain do it instead.

[alexanderlightweight]

Hello darling~

Prompt for you: Shifters!Malec going on a first date & scent marking?

— Saeth

why do my bf's prompts never let themselves be written in short doses? (because we talk about what they want and basically we both go down plotbunny shortcut and end up in a labyrinth of ideas)

ily even though this was only supposed to be like two scenes of dating and ended up so much longer and yes this will have to be added to but that's what writing wednesdays are for

<3 lumine

i hope reading this distracts you from pain for even a few minutes sweetheart and that you also enjoy it

-

in the shadow of a flame

There are few truly peaceful places in New York that Alec can find rest safely and without worry of interruption. 

The Halls of Refuge is one of the only places that is truly neutral in the entirety of New York and perhaps the whole of the East Coast.  It is an imposing building, beautiful and crafted from ancient stone steeped in magic and found in the quarries of the Spiral Labyrinth.  

Once one has passed through the entry ward you are then beholden to the rules of the Hall and therefore, fighting is not only discouraged but completely restricted.  Even the thought of violence could get you both kicked out and banned.

Alec isn’t pleased at the fact that the reasons he finds it peaceful are because most of his hunters either avoid it out of prejudice or had already been banned, but still, he finds himself also relieved to have a refuge, just as the name boldly states.

The Hall itself had been established at the end of the Uprising, something beyond mere empty words to try and seal the festering wound that has lingered in the shadowworld since before the Accords.  It’s been a place of safety for Alec since he was a boy, still training and lacking understanding of the world around him.

Alec is fairly sure that the only reason the hall exists is because its creator, Ragnor Fell had insisted on retrieving the books he’d lent the Clave before the Uprising and the Clave had refused to give them up for good.

Their own pride had played against them, the books now accessible to all and with very few nephilim actually bothered to venture out and study them.

Alec and Izzy were two of the few who did but after the last incident involving Izzy, a fey and a pile of nearly ruined books via bodily fluids — for once not blood — Alec found himself alone.

It was amazing.

The rooftop of the Hall, while developed for leisure, was rarely used during the daytime.  

Any vampires staying for the day in the Hall wouldn’t go near the sun and while the architecture was stunning, there were very few plants so the fae folk often preferred the educational greenhouses with rows of bark bound books and stone scrolls.

Alec also liked the greenhouses, but only when they were empty. Despite being a shadowhunter, once he entered the wardline, he apparently became approachable. 

Not by many, but by more than he knew how to deal with, especially when he had no idea why they were approaching him.

No one knew who he was here, names were often left unsaid or used in a carefree manner without attaching the weight of legacy and lineage. 

For someone who had lived in the shadows but often had a spotlight thrust upon him, it was familiar yet even more discomfiting when Alec couldn’t understand what was wanted from him.

Hence, while he would never take any book beyond the lilac and wisteria covered gazebos — the risk of sun damage to the books despite the spells on them kept him cautious — Alec liked napping on the sun hot stone with the heat of sol warming his fur.

His senses were finetuned enough that any disturbance or intrusion of his solitude and peace would wake him up in time to shift back without a risk of vulnerability. 

Or at least, that’s how it had been so far.

—

Magnus rarely visits Ragnor’s little library project in the daytime.  Not for any grand reason, but as a habit since he often sleeps during the day.  

Today, however, is a boring one and the night before has been uneventful, for once.  

Deciding to stretch his wings rather than portal isn’t even a conscious decision, not when Magnus aches to feel the the wind yield to the strength of his wings.

The rooftop — largely left bare by Ragnor as a courtesy for him to land — is occupied, but the presence is calm and contained and as Magnus gets closer, the scent entices him closer. 

Landing doesn’t awaken him, even as Magnus realizes that the abyssal lynx lying before him is a shadowhunter.

It’s as surprising as it is a temptation and Magnus deliberately lays near him, drawn as he is by the possibility of an unclaimed and hidden treasure now discovered.

Magnus doesn’t dare actually touch him, not yet when even in sleep he’s alert and wary.  Ears sway delicately in the breeze made from Magnus’ wings and yet, when most would startle and panic at the scent of a predator, he relaxes. 

His paws twitch in his sleep, making kneading motions in the air as his tail flicks back and forth and he remains asleep, undisturbed even in the shadow of Magnus’ presence.  

This could only happen if he found Magnus’ scent and magical aura as enthralling as Magnus finds his.

It’s easy enough to curl around Magnus’ newfound kitten, his form minute compared to Magnus’ own strength and size.  

Soon enough his kitten sleeps in the coiled embrace of a dragon.  

From nose to tail tip Magnus has formed an ouroboros, containing his treasure without disturbance, not willing to yet wake him.

It’s delightful to watch him sleep, to admire the sheen of black fur, glossy with health in the gleam of sol. Yet as the sun reaches its zenith, hot and bold in the sky without a pity for those under her piercing rays, Magnus grows concerned.

Surely a creature meant for the shadows and the dark is weaker, more sensitive to the brilliance and heat of the sun.  Without conscious thought one of his golden wings spreads out in a protective canopy, shielding his gem from the harsh rays.

It is a mistake.

—

Darkness wakes Alec up.

Despite the warmth still surrounding him, the light of the sun against his closed eyes is gone, which means it is no longer safe to rest when night is about to begin.

When he opens his eyes he finds that gold envelopes him even as darkness continues to surround him.  Not the abyss of the night, but the dark of confinement, the only light coming from what's keeping him trapped.

Alec should feel panicked, his hackles should have already been raised the moment a presence intruded on him and yet, even now, he’s surprised but unconcerned.  

The scent and power of whoever has entrapped him is equally comforting and beguiling. It’s hard to form cohesive thoughts when he wants to rub against the warmth radiating from what he can now recognize as golden scales.

Yet even as the idea crosses his mind, the scales are shifting, gold flickering as the sun is once again allowed to shine as a wing is pulled away.

Alec is still trapped in the coil of an ancient embrace and yet despite the fact that he could — and should — slip away into the shadows he finds himself shifting, despite the more vulnerable state of his bipedal form.

After all, even on two legs instead of four, Alec is a hunter.

As if waiting for him to shift, the dragon does as well and from where he’s sitting on the floor — no longer surrounded by warm, golden scales yet still feeling like he’s been caught in a snare — Alec can’t help but wonder at his own luck.  

“Was it too hot? I thought my wing might offer some relief.” 

Alec is surprised at the question, at the immediate regard for his well being and concern for his comfort despite being an unknown in a place a dragon rests.

“No,” and despite the fact that he could easily make up a reason, Alec finds himself telling the truth, “I come here for the sun and when it’s gone, I leave.”  That’s the best and safest answer he can give without lies or overexplaining.  

“A pity,” is all that’s said for a moment and then golden eyes narrow at him with a wicked gleam, “I was enjoying watching you dream, kitten.” 

Alec can’t help but glance up at the sky as he frowns, no matter that there is still time before dusk, it’s not worth it to try and sleep again for such a small period. It’s a waste but not one he can change. 

He deliberately ignores the heat on the back of his neck.

The last time he’d been called kitten was when he was a child in training, the instructor mocking him had never regained the use of his vocal cords.

Strangely, he doesn’t mind the term from the man before him.

“It’s Alec,” he finally offers, preparing to stand because while he might not mind it in feline form, it feels strange to be sitting when the dragon who watched him as he slept stands tall.

Footsteps sound; deliberate in their movement rather than soundless as Alec knows they should be. 

“And I’m Magnus, kitten.”

—

Magnus barely holds back the hungry trill that threatens to spill from his throat.  

He’s absolutely precious.

Large hands lined with callouses finally take Magnus’ own outreached hand as he pulls Alexander to his feet. 

“Let me make it up to you?” Magnus asks, a thrill in his veins as Alexander’s expression turns contemplative.  The pink creeping up his neck extends to his cheeks even as his ears twitch in interest.

“I can’t return the sun to its peak,” well he could, but that wouldn’t exactly get him what he wants, now would it. “But I can take you somewhere the sun is just beginning her reign?”

“Really?” There’s no shock or disbelief in Alexander’s voice, simply confusion. “ Just to make up for something that happened out of kindness?”  

If Alexander wants to think that Magnus’ mistake was out of kindness instead of greed, then all the better.  A small smirk forms on Magnus’ face and his eyes gleam even as he softens his voice.

“Well, I’m not being entirely selfless,” he lets himself admit and as much as he’d love to brush his fingers over Alexander’s cheek and let his scent linger there, he can be patient. 

When the prize is worth it.

“I quite like the idea of spending more time with you, Alexander. As lovely as you were to watch sleeping—” and Alexander’s ears fluff even as a scowl crosses his face at the reminder. “It would be even lovelier to get to know you.”

“There’s no guarantee you’ll like what you learn.”

“Well then, perhaps you’ll just have to let me watch you nap again, hmm kitten?”

—

Aoreatera is perhaps the only place Magnus can think of where the sun is newly risen yet still growing towards its peak this late in New York.  The beaches there are lovely and there are more than enough secluded coves that are warded away from mundanes because of the magical specimens found there. 

The warlocks born and raised in the cultures of their homeland are the ones to tend to and maintain these places, but entry is allowed when respectful.  Especially in Magnus’ case, when his mere presence often brings a new vitality. 

The balcony they arrive at is carved into the rock of the cliff itself, nothing but nature and magick were used to make and maintain this place.

Salt is thick in the air and perhaps so sandy a place isn’t the best choice when Alexander’s fur is so thick, yet Magnus has no regrets as Alexander’s eyes widen in delight and his face turns up to welcome the bright sun.

The food available here will be simple and must be self-foraged with a wild but thriving garden and a cove full of fat, healthy fish, most of them of magical varieties. It’s been a while since Magnus’ has refreshed himself like this, actually taking time away from the cloying and seeping feel of mundane cities.

Here, engulfed by wild and pure magick, entranced by natural beauty, Magnus is too tempted to deny himself and so he doesn’t.  

—

Alec isn’t sure what he expected when he let himself be guided through a portal, a balcony made of stone overlooking a cove full of rich and thriving tidepools isn’t it.  It’s real in a way that Alec hasn’t experienced since his last venture to the snow covered peaks of Idris.

He should be thanking Magnus, or asking what he wants in return and yet Alec has barely taken a few deep gulps of air and then he’s shifting.  It’s so much easier to enjoy the warm wind tugging on his fur, his tail coiling in the playful breeze, here than in New York.  The sun is glorious and the cliff without threat of shade except beneath the boughs of the large, lush trees and the air clean without the need of magical filtration.

He’s barely shifted before Magnus follows, a large, hot golden muzzle pressing against his side as if in comfort.  Alec’s allowance is taken as permission to an unasked question because a moment later, Alec finds himself being groomed.

Magnus' tongue is slick in a way his own rough one isn’t and yet heat presses down, smoothing his fur and permeating his muscles until he feels loose and languid.  Magnus’ scent is hot, less fire and brimstone and instead like the fierce heat of sunbaked stone. 

It’s not pure destruction but also the creation of new life, of ashes and then rebirth and it’s an intoxicating mix.  

He’s saturated in Magnus’ scent by the time the dragon is done and his fur is damp despite how hot Magnus’ breath is.  It’s without thought that Alec transforms, relaxed and with slowly blinking eyes he lets himself indulge in comfort so often denied. 

Magnus doesn’t stop, his tongue passing over the curve of Alec’s neck and lingering on the arch of his cheek. It’s unexpected but all Magnus does is chuckle, a deep rasping noise like the rumbling of an earthquake before his nose nudges Alec’s side and he inhales.

There’s a deep pause as nature itself seems to hold its breath and then hot — as scorching as a brand — skin presses against his own and arms wrap tightly around his waist. 

“Cold?” Magnus teases, the question a whisper of lips on the shell of Alec’s ear.  They flutter involuntarily, one brushing back up against Magnus’ mouth as if begging for more.  

It should be a hopelessly embarrassing display — Alec hasn’t let himself be so controlled by instincts since he was a child — and yet Alec finds himself desperately wishing that Magnus isn’t offended, but pleased.

Teeth tug playfully at the ear pressed against Magnus’ mouth and then nip, fangs teasing at the tender skin under his fur before retreating.  A warm mouth presses against his jaw before Magnus’ forked tongue tickles the swell of his lips.

Magnus keeps going, his nose tucking behind Alec’s ear as he inhales before his cheek presses deliberately to Alec’s neck and he nuzzles.  

Alec is going to smell like Magnus, for days.

The only way to erase this kind of marking is with magical tonics and despite how practical that would be, Alec can’t imagine wanting to erase Magnus’ scent when he already mourns that it will naturally fade.

—

Alexander presses back, head tilting in an unconscious submission as he offers more skin for Magnus to scent.

It’s not a sly, careful maneuver but one that means he’s just as entranced as Magnus himself is and it’s as irresistible as it is delightful.

Magnus takes advantage, pressing himself closer and letting his hands finally wander, tucking his fingers under Alexander’s shirt until he can press his hands flush against warm skin.  

Every place Magnus touches he made sure to leave evidence of his claim.  When Alexander returns to the institute — which Magnus will allow despite his instincts demanding he hide his treasure away — it will be with Magnus’ claim lingering on him.

— 

A harsh ring interrupts the gentle symphony of nature as they sit next to each other, watching the tide and Magnus resists the urge to flick his tongue and let his flames consume Alec’s phone.

Even Alexander seems irritated, his face going from soft wonder and serenity to a cold, solemn mask that turns his vibrant eyes dark and serious.

It’s a change that Magnus watches with careful intensity, all of his senses focused on Alexander in earnest. 

“Summoned by duty?” Magnus asks, keeping his voice wistful and pushing down the possessive anger that emerges at the thought of Alexander being taken away by another's command.

“For once, duty can wait.” It’s said with a casual carefulness, a deliberate nonchalance even as Magnus can smell Alexander’s emotions warring, as if this is the first he’s ever allowed such a thing.

Yet he did, to stay longer with Magnus.

What a precious and delicious treasure that Magnus has found at last.

[lvlybin]

𖦹 ̼   ᮫   FAIRY SONGᘞ̸⠀ ׁ ₊ KIM GYU VIN

summary   ༝༚༝༚ … Four times Gyuvin has cuteness aggression with you, and one time you have cuteness aggression with him

wc 3165 ! ૮ ྀི◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ྀིა    ۫  ੭̲    𝓴gv & 𝓯!reader   ⊹   university!au with high school!au flashbacks ( library )

爱    ࿁ ⠀ ˚⠀ warnings … none! just fluff   ︩︪ ׅ

✉️ thank you for all the support so far! this is what happens when I watch too many vids of Gyuvin & see his cuteness aggression for Yujin :p

You wouldn’t trade anyone in the world for Gyuvin. Your best friend could be a little much at times, but he was your favorite part of life. It was easy to let time pass with him and sometimes, all you wanted was to spend every moment with him. 

In high school, anything related to public speaking or any variation of speech was your biggest fear. By no means were you shy. After all, you had a pretty decent circle of friends, but no one in their right mind would want to stand in front of their class and give 10-minute speeches about topics they were interested in. 

Especially not teenage girls. 

Everyone knew who Gyuvin was, including you, and when you’d walked into your first day of speech class, seeing him there made your stomach drop like it was filled with wet sand. You didn’t have a problem with him, you just knew his tendency to laugh at everything and anything, which would only make his other friends laugh, and the thought of that happening while you were standing in front of the class quickly became the source of your anxiety for the majority of the semester.

The first time you’d actually talked to Gyuvin, he’d been assigned as your first partner for peer critiques. When you approached his desk, he was by himself, his other friends already off with their own partners. 

“Hi,” you’d said softly as you sat down at the desk in front of him, sitting in the chair backward. Gyuvin’s eyes followed you as you plopped down, and you figured he was giving you a once-over as you awkwardly set your computer and notebook down. 

He tilted his head a bit and something in your stomach fluttered at the sight. “You could’ve just pulled a chair over.”

“This works,” you replied instantly. “Do you wanna go first or should I?” 

He’d simply gestured for you to go ahead, flipping to a new page so he could write down his comments. “What’s your name again?”

Mentally screaming at his question, you gave him your name. The side of his mouth quirked as you answered. You tried to pretend like you didn’t notice it.

And then you began speaking, reading off your computer screen, and refusing to look up and make eye contact with him like you were supposed to via the class standards. The five minutes passed by quicker than you thought, and when you were finished, you finally looked up at Gyuvin, avoiding the page of his notebook to see how much he had written down. 

“Do you have allergies?” Was the first thing he’d asked, and you felt your face grow warm.

“Well– I mean, yeah… Why?”

His eyes dropped back down to his paper and he scribbled something on the page with his pencil, “You just were sniffling a lot.”

You had thought that the comment didn’t mean a lot, especially since he didn’t write anything down about it on your critique page. At least, until you were standing up in front of the class, hands gripping the pages of your speech as you spoke as clearly as you could, only to hear snickering from the back of the class. In all honesty, you hadn’t meant to actively look across the room to see who was laughing at you, and you wished you hadn’t, because when you saw Gyuvin and his two other friends giggling as you stuttered, all confidence drained from you. 

The rest of your speech was difficult to get through, and when class ended, you’d immediately approached the taller male. 

“Gyuvin–” He stood, head turning to look down at you instantly. For a moment, you were distracted by how pretty he was before snapping out of it. “Care to explain why you were laughing at me when I was giving my speech?” 

He reached into his pocket as you crossed your arms over your chest, preparing to say more. “Here,” he cut you off, and you glanced down to see him holding a few tissues in his hand.

You blinked a few times, confused. “What?”

“I have allergies too… I have Claritin in my bag if you want some–”

“Gyuvin, that’s not what I asked for.”

He stared down at the tissues he’d been offering you before bringing his hand back closer to his body, realizing that you weren’t going to take them. “I’m sorry… I promise I wasn’t making fun of you or anything, it’s just I have certain reactions when I find something cute–”

Gyuvin’s eyes snap up to you and widen a bit when he processed what he said. Your heart began to beat a bit faster at his words.

“Oh…” Before he could react, you reached out, taking his large hand in your smaller ones, holding his wrist as you took the tissues from him. A sort of softness overtook you as his warm brown irises lit up with a kind of hope as you took the tissues. “Well, if I get a bad grade, it’s your fault.”

You had passed that class with an A+. And with Gyuvin becoming practically glued to your side.

As the years went on, now in your second year of university, your best friend hadn’t changed much, and you’d only learned more and more about his tendencies of cuteness and aggression. As well as becoming, more often than not, his victim.  

“Gyuvin, I think you should hug her a little tighter. Almost looks like she can still breathe,” Ricky, Gyuvin’s roommate, commented as you entered their apartment, only to be swept off the floor by your best friend. You feel his arms squeeze you a bit tighter and you had to swallow down the cough in your throat. 

“I haven’t seen you in weeks–”

“It’s been two days–”

“Woah! YN, are your lips turning blue?” 

Your feet touch back down onto the floor after the words leave Ricky’s lips, back to Gyuvin’s front. Before you could say anything more though, one of Gyuvin’s hands gently cupped your chin, tilting your head back so he could look at your face. The sight of his warm brown eyes tracing over the details of your lips had your heart fluttering in your chest, your hands reaching up to grip the arm of his hand that was holding your face. 

Just when you thought that you were going to melt to the floor from the almost intimate staring, Gyuvin looked back up at Ricky, his fingers still holding your face in place. “Ricky, you liar.”

Ricky laughed a little, “Don’t need you two getting too comfortable in front of me.”

You scoffed nervously. “Ricky, Gyu and I are just friends.” And then you were pushing away at the arm that was holding your chin, letting your head fall to look at the older male. The blond shrugged and glanced at Gyuvin, a look in his eyes that you could only describe as a mix between sympathetic and teasing. 

“I’ll be back in a little. Don’t get too crazy–”

“That’s gross, Ricky!” you shout back at him and he snickers lightly, exiting the apartment, leaving Gyuvin and you alone. 

You sucked in a deep breath, not sure how you’d be able to meet Gyuvin’s eyes without that nervous, giddy feeling building up. The one that would cloud your mind and make you reveal all of your truths to him. Still, you turned to face your friend. The smile that spread on his face as you looked up at him made all of those worries fade. 

You let yourself smile a little as well, giggling slightly. “What?”

Gyuvin’s eyes scrunched up as he grabbed you again, lifting you off the floor and beginning to squeeze you tightly again. 

“Just friends, huh? Is that why you’re wearing my shirt?”

You would’ve looked down if you could’ve. But it was like Gyuvin was trying to pop your head off with how tightly he was holding you, walking you both over to the couch. So, you had to keep your head straight, eye contact with him becoming just the smallest amount of intense and you were sure your face was turning red. 

“Best friends, then.”

He lays down on the couch, not releasing you as he does so. “Just best friends?”

“Now what is that supposed to mean?”

Your relationship with Gyuvin got confusing just before you both graduated high school. 

Not confusing in a bad way, well maybe in a bad way since you just kept embarrassing yourself in front of him, but confusing in a way where you weren’t sure if his acts of affection were genuine or not. He’d been doing the same things he’d always done: hanging out with you 24/7, getting your lunch for you, talking with your mom about you, studying with you… But they all had this new kind of–secret? Meaning behind them. 

Like the last soccer game of his entire high school career. 

That day, you’d reassured him that you were going to be there, watching and cheering him on in the same spot that you always did and he’d met your eyes, the anxiety in them clear. 

“Could you wear my jersey?” he’d asked and you’d done a bit of a double take at his question. 

Instead of showing it though, you laughed softly, “Isn’t that something that couples do?” He’d reached across the lunch table to hold one of your hands that was struggling to open your banana milk. When you’d made eye contact with him again, the most adorable sight of puppy eyes had met your vision. 

“Please– It’s just. It’s my last game and I would really love the extra support.”

You weren’t sure how you wearing his jersey was extra support, but you’d agreed nonetheless. The overjoyed expression that’d appeared on Gyuvin’s face was worth it. 

Watching him play that night was stressful, your hands gripping onto the cool fabric of his oversized jersey as you watched the tall male run across the field, steering the ball towards the goal only for it to be stolen and for the whole process to repeat. You’d held onto the little pom pom your friend had gotten for you both and you stood next to her side as the blur that was Kim Gyuvin sped across the field, with less than a minute left on the clock.

Heart beating swiftly in anticipation, and your knuckles turning white as you gripped onto his jersey, the entire student section held their breath as Gyuvin kicked the ball only for it to slam right into the goal. The entire stadium erupted into cheers as the timer went off and as Gyuvin broke the tie, making the winning shot. 

You’d jumped up and down with the rest of the students, your friend Danielle holding onto your arm as you both let out shouts of joy, bodies running into each other as students moved around. And then they were rushing the field.

Danielle tugged on your arm, trying to get you to follow the other students. “Come on! Let’s go!” You’d initially hesitated, not wanting to get trampled, but the curly-headed girl simply rolled her eyes and pulled you along with her. She’d muttered something about you “Regretting it if you didn’t come” but you were too distracted by the sight of Gyuvin.

He was surrounded by his teammates and other students, that cute eye-smile on his face as they all congratulated him and as some of them tried to pick him up. He looked so unbelievably happy, practically radiating waves of joy and your breath hitched at the warm sight. Then he made eye contact with you, and it was like everyone else faded away. It was just you and Gyuvin as Danielle guided you to the crowd of students.

The tall boy made his way through the group as quickly as possible, probably knocking some people into each other as he did so, but it didn’t matter because you were in his arms in a split second. You weren’t sure where Danielle had gone, but you didn’t really care. Gyuvin’s arms encircled your waist as he lifted you off the ground, spinning you around and setting you back down, only to hold your face with his large hands. 

His lips pressed against every inch of your face before you could catch your breath, and you could only giggle as he showered your skin with what could only be described as love. People were probably watching you both suspiciously, considering how adamant you’d been about Gyuvin and you only being friends, but now you wanted that to be anything but the truth.

In that moment, when Gyuvin had pulled away and taken in the sight of you again, you’d realized that you were in love with your best friend.

“Sorry, you just look really cute in my jersey.” 

So that led to your closet slowly being filled with Gyuvin’s clothes, him asking you to wear his t-shirts instead of your own. And when it was cold, he didn’t even give you the chance to get your own jacket or a blanket before he was slipping off his sweatshirt to give to you. 

Watching him from your spot in his bed, cuddled up in his sheets as he looked through his closet for something to wear to the party you were both supposed to go to that night, he sighed loudly. 

“Did my t-shirts grow legs and walk away or something?” he’d muttered to himself, and you couldn’t help but feel a little flustered at his words.

“I think I have a lot of them,” you said meekly. “You never ask for them back.”

Gyuvin looked over at you. His heart melted at the sight of you snuggled into his bed and suddenly, finding something to wear to a stupid university party was the last thing on his mind. He made his way over to the bed in two strides before throwing himself on it, making your body bounce slightly and forcing a few giggles from your throat. 

“I want you to keep them,” he said as he moved across the bed so he was face to-face with you. And then he somehow got even closer. Holding your cheeks, he placed his forehead against yours, squishing your face slightly as he said some more words you couldn’t quite understand. Partly because he was so close to you, you could only hear your heartbeat, and also because he was gritting his teeth so much that his pronunciation was awful. 

“Gyu– you can back up a little.”

“You can back up a little,” he’d repeated in a higher tone that you assumed was supposed to sound like you.

When you were finally able to put some space between you and him, you’d breathed out a sigh of relief. “I don’t get a second to breathe when I’m around you…” you’d laughed, and Gyuvin looked at you fondly.

“It’s just because I love you so much.”

You felt your eyes widen, stomach dipping a bit as your heart sped up to what was most likely an unhealthy rate. Not even like– love.

“Wha– What?”

Gyuvin hummed, grabbing you again to cuddle up to you, tucking your head under his chin. “You heard me,” he’d said nonchalantly. You could hear how quickly his heart was beating as well. “Let’s just skip that party tonight…”

About a week after that scene, the two of you were spending time together and skipping yet another university party. It was late at night and after a sudden spike of hunger, the two of you had walked to the nearest convenience store for a snack to satisfy your cravings. When it’d begun to sprinkle outside, you both decided that it would be best to rush back to Gyuvin and Ricky’s apartment. 

With his jacket over both of your heads, you started walking back to his place, trying to maintain as much space from him as possible. 

“YN, come on, you can get a little closer. I don’t want you standing under the rain.”

You swallowed, throat feeling dry. 

“I’m okay.” You could practically hear Gyuvin roll his eyes. 

A beat of silence passed. “Is this because I said I loved you?” 

His straightforwardness was a surprise to you, and you had to take a moment to think of what you wanted to say. You settled on a cowardly: “What do you mean by ‘this’?” And then you avoided locking eyes with him as he glanced over at you in disbelief.

“Look, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I just thought that maybe–”

“That I’m in love with you too?” You finished the sentence for him. The rain fell around you both, filling the quiet. 

“Well– yeah, kind of.”

You stopped walking, making Gyuvin stumble a bit at the abrupt decision and struggle to hold his jacket above both of your heads. And when you turned to face him, he looked so unbelievably adorable. The hopeful expression on his face as you stared up at him was something that you had no other choice than to commit to memory. 

Instead of saying something in response, you took his face in your hands, like he’d done to you many times before. Standing on your toes as he bent down a bit, you blinked slowly at him, letting yourself smile a little. “Then you’d be right,” you whispered before closing the small distance to kiss him. 

The jacket fell from his hands as they found your waist, the rain finally succeeding in getting you both wet. You could feel Gyuvin smiling into the kiss, attuned to the happiness and enthusiasm that he was putting into the way your tongues met. Only when he chuckled into your mouth a bit was when that aggressive feeling bloomed in your chest and before you could stop yourself, your teeth were biting down on his bottom lip lightly.

Gyuvin pulled away instantly. Shock was in his eyes as he watched you laugh and go back to hugging him tightly as he’d always done with you. Still surprised, he moved his hands from your waist to wrap around you completely.

“Did you just bite me?” He joined in with your laughing.

You sighed softly into his wet shirt, “You’re just too cute.”

[burningcheese-merchant]

PLEASE FEED US MORE JUST AS DOWN BAD GOLDEN CHEESE. PLEASE MORE YANDERE CHEESE

Did you send two asks in a row screaming for more Accidental Yandere Golden Cheese lol. Calm down brotato, Merchant is here. Merchant sees you (and everyone else in my inbox I swear to God Almighty I will address you all eventually). Let me see what I've got in my noodle for you

Under the cut because this is fucked and gets a little extra graphic at one particular point lol

Golden Cheese actually has tried to gather the identities of those Burning Spice has murdered. What she wasn't able to glean on her own, from her own personal knowledge of other lands and peoples (i.e. noticing certain traits she knows to be endemic to certain cultures, like a hair accessory or something), she found in books and scrolls in her kingdom's library that gave her a better idea. Whatever she couldn't find in those, she found via sending cheesebirds to travel far and wide in search of any kingdoms, cities, villages, families and friend groups with confirmed missing persons. They would report back to her and, with all the knowledge she's gathered, she's able to find a name, which she then wrote onto a label and placed under the person it belonged to. She's managed to eventually give all the heads their identities/personhood back, at least to some degree. And now, knowing who these people are/were, she can get them back to their loved ones easier. Right? ...Right? (She tries not to progress beyond being proud of herself for going that extra mile, because it just leads back to "ok so why are the heads still here, why haven't you returned them". In trying to do the right thing, she ultimately just does the WRONG thing again and reinforces her preexisting guilt and shame, because... she knows exactly why she hasn't returned them...)

Golden has started... experimenting with Spice, for lack of a better term. After she was proven correct about him paying attention when she mentions someone she doesn't like and later killing that specific person for her, she starts testing him in other ways. She makes subtle suggestions about how he ought to kill people, to see how he responds in the moment and if he actually ends up doing it later. She tries to coax him into going into detail about how the killing went, just to see if and how he does so (turns out he really does like to brag about his crimes, especially to her). She tries to hint at him giving her other things besides body parts, like certain trinkets (it... sort of works. If she asks for a watch, he... brings her a severed arm with a watch attached to it still, for example). She's observing how far he'll go and in which direction he's willing to travel in at her suggestion. (...And she revels in how much power it turns out she has over him. She really does have him at her beck and call. It's lovely.)

When her friends ask her how she's been managing her Beast (they are aware that hers is still actively targeting her, but that's it), she acts as nonchalant as possible. Burning Spice is nothing. He's just a fly buzzing around her head. She handles him just fine. When they ask her how they can help, she tells them she doesn't need it, because she doesn't want them anywhere near him she really is fine. It's fine. She's fine. When they suggest going after him themselves... thank goodness she's a good actress and a quick thinker, because her very first REAL reaction was seething fury that she had to keep under control until she was alone again - but then, when she finally is, she just has another crisis of conscience, because now she has to confront the fact that she can no longer tolerate the notion of him being harmed by anyone besides herself. She used to want him dead or imprisoned by any means necessary, but now... now, she lies about his whereabouts to everyone who asks (and she always knows where he is, she snuck a tracking device onto him), because she doesn't want anyone coming near him for any reason anymore, least of all to harm him. Because only SHE can harm him now. He still comes to fight her, not just to give her things. And she obliges him, albeit begrudgingly (never mind the sick satisfaction she feels when she hurts him or takes him down. She wonders if this feeling is what he's referring to in those letters about him reveling in their battles and how he enjoys her suffering). She... she won't let that end. She won't let anyone get in the way. In his way. In THEIR way. She can handle him by herself. Everyone else can stay home. They won't take him away from her. She cannot guarantee their safety if they try.

She once idly wondered about his past. About the people he likely once had in his life. About... if he'd ever been fond of any other women. She could hardly fathom the hatred that utterly overwhelmed her senses when the thought entered her mind. So angry was she that she broke the glass of water in her hand in said anger and injured herself. So haunted by this notion did she end up, that she tried to ask him about it the next time they met (as subtly as possible; she understands the implications of asking such a thing). He just shrugged and said he didn't recall; the only woman that mattered to him was her. She hated how relieved she felt when he told her that...

...but after that day, and for a good while, he only targeted women. He kept killing adult women and bringing their heads to her, and no one else's. She quickly surmised that he might have noticed her jealousy (or at least imagined she was jealous) and immediately set out to prove his devotion to her further than before by destroying those she feels threatened by - even if the threat does not exist, for she is all he ever wanted. He never told her directly, but she figured that's what it was. And she allowed herself to believe it. Because it made her happy.

(When the women-only killing spree eventually ended, she was struck with morbid curiosity and asked him about the men he killed. Was there anything behind the ones he chose? He revealed to her that, though his targets were mostly random, he would go out of his way to kill any man that he thought she might find attractive. He was capable of feeling threatened, just like she was. It was quite the surprise... a surprise she welcomed, a surprise she found deeply amusing. Because really, what was left for her to find attractive in anyone anymore, when no one went as far as he did to earn her favor?)

She actually does find him handsome. She always has, from the beginning. It was something she considered to be a great shame; such good looks squandered on such a horrible man. But now... with her greed slowly spiraling out of control thanks to him constantly overfeeding it the way he does with his violent extremism... she's starting to dare to find that extremism handsome, too. She's slowly but surely ceasing to find any shame in the circumstance. She's starting to think he's handsome... and that's it, that's the end of the thought. He's handsome, with all of that blood coating his face and body. He's handsome, puffing his chest out and beaming with such sick pride at the handiwork he performed for her. He's handsome, in his maddened, unwavering dedication to her. He's handsome... no asterisk, no addendum, no ifs ands or buts. He's handsome. Burning Spice is handsome. It weighs on her like a stone. And it only gets heavier each time he sees him and his handsome face again.

Sometimes... just sometimes... she'll reread those letters that are particularly... steamy. There's something rather fascinating about them, in a different way than the others. They're so... uniquely visceral. She believes him when he tells her he's starving; his hunger practically lunges at her from the page, claws at her, sinks its teeth into her, sets her body alight. Pure, unashamed, blistering hot lust and sexuality, with some of that same addiction to violence mixed in (he's a sadomasochist, go figure). People have flirted with Golden before... but not like this. No one on earth has ever dared to speak to her so brazenly, not even after several pints of liquid courage. He talks about wanting to break her bed as well as she herself. He tells her how often he touches himself to the thought of her. He details exactly where he wants to put his hands. Where he wants to put his mouth. What he intends to say straight into her ears as they go, and what he wants her to say back to him. How he doesn't want to stop until they both collapse with exhaustion. Just neverending feverish rants about he wishes to destroy her in more ways than one, and how he expects her to scream and beg either way. She won't admit it, not even to herself, the thought tried to make itself known inside of her head once and she shoved it down and tried to bury it under concrete instantly, but... she's almost... intrigued. She's flattered, of course. She relishes this aspect of his insatiable appetite for her alongside all the others. (She likes being told she's pretty. He does that and then some.) But... some small part of her is... curious. Curious about... if he really would follow through on what he says he wants to do, if he really had the chance. How it would feel. How HE would feel. What the difference would really be between him overpowering her to win a fight and him overpowering her to... to...

...there are nights where she lays awake, drilling holes into the ceiling with her bloodshot eyes, wondering where it all went wrong. There are nights where all that succeeds in putting her to sleep are the warm, bitter tears that stream down her face when the guilt and shame grow too powerful. There are nights where she just gets up and leaves, throws herself out of her own window and flies off somewhere, anywhere, it doesn't matter - it just had to be somewhere she couldn't feel dozens of empty, lifeless eyes watching her through the walls. Judging her. Condemning her. Damning her to Hell, where she and the monster who ended their lives belonged.

...and then, there are nights where she feels... strange. Where she notices how... big her bed really is, and how small she feels laying in it. She wonders how it would feel if he was there. If she could nest in his thick, strong arms instead of thin bedsheets. How much more comfortable his chest would feel, compared to her pillow. If his hair was as soft as it looked. How he'd react if she started tracing his tattoos with her fingertips. If sharing a tender moment like that would awaken something in him. If it would somehow help him realize how wrong all of this is.

...Or maybe it would just make it worse.

Maybe she doesn't care anymore.

[writingquestionsanswered]

hiya! for writers who are complete beginners, kinda sorta maybe write at a high school level, can't describe to save their lives, have overall bad flow (as in they can't decide what little moments scenes to think up and even write, if they do, they're no good), have been told countless times to write daily and just read more but that doesn't cover the basics or foundations of creative writing, not like they can learn from a book bc they're a hands on learner anyway and p.s they're super broke so can't afford writing classes and no library near them offers free ones ---- aka me :( --- do you have any advice? lol i feel kinda doomed and that maybe writing isn't for me, but I don't wanna get my hopes down!! with the right tools, it's possible.

Free Resources for Learning How to Write

I want to start with addressing why you've been told so often "to write daily and read more" as a way to learn how to write. It's very difficult to learn and excel at a craft if you have no experience with said craft. You can read all the information in the world about how to forge a sword, but that doesn't mean you'll be able to pick up a hunk of metal and be able to forge a beautiful sword. You need to spend a lot of time watching other people forge swords, and spend a lot of time actually practicing each step yourself if you want to get good at it. Writing works the same way. Reading lets you experience what fiction should be, writing lets you practice each step for yourself.

Fortunately, there are lots of ways to read fiction for free. You can borrow books from friends, family members, and members of your community. You can check out books and e-books from your local library if you have one. You can look for Little Free Libraries in your neighborhood. There's also a lot of legally free fiction available online. Project Gutenberg, Planet E-Book, Bartleby, Literature.org, Classic Literature, Classic Short Stories, Wattpad, Archive of Our Own, Library of Short Stories, Levar Burton Reads, and sites like Kobo, Amazon, and Audible often offer freebies of both e-books and audio books.

Other free ways to learn how to write:

1 - Follow bloggers and vloggers and authors on social media who talk about the craft of writing. Some of my favorites are: Joanna Penn/The Creative Penn, K.M. Weiland, Liselle Sambury, Abbie Emmons, Hannah Lee Kidder, Brittany Wang, Alyssa Matesic, Bethany Atazadah, Lindsay Puckett, Alexa Donne, Shaelin Writes, Ellen Brock, The Writing Gals, and Sincerely, Vee.

2 - Follow writing craft blogs here on tumblr: (some suggestions) @writingwithcolor, @howtofightwrite, @heywriters, @cripplecharacters, @lgbtqwriting, @fixyourwritinghabits, @wordsnstuff, @yourbookcouldbegayer, @lizard-is-writing

3 - Watch writing craft videos on YouTube: If there's something specific you want to learn about, say, "how to structure a scene," type it into YouTube and many different videos will pop up that walk you through how to structure a scene. Just look for one that strikes you as appealing!

4 - Look for free writing resources online: many authors (especially indie authors and writing gurus/coaches like Joanna Penn, K.M. Weiland, Bethany Atazadeh, Brittany Wang, and Abbie Emmons) offer free writing resources on their web sites or by signing up for their newsletters. Often you'll see writers participating in free online writing summits/workshops which you can sign up for and either watch the videos live or via video playback that is offered for a short period of time (like 24 hours.)

5 - Do a Google Search: believe it or not, there's not a single thing you could want to learn about writing that you can't find for free on Google. If you want to learn how to improve your grammar, go to Google, type in "tips for improving grammar" and you will get a million articles that will tell you how to do just that. Want to learn how to improve your story's flow? Google "how to improve story flow" and you'll have your answer. You can even search for free worksheets, guides, and workbooks on just about anything you want. "Free character development worksheet" brought back a ton of nice looking free worksheets. "Free worldbuilding workbook" brought up several free workbooks and worksheets to help you with worldbuilding. Everything you could want to know is out there.

And, bonus: you can always read through the posts in my WQA master list to get help with a wide variety of craft and writer-related issues.

Happy learning! ♥

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[writing-for-life]

How Do Writers Get Compensated by Streamers?

(And Libraries, but That’s an Afterthought)

Across several platforms, I see a lot of discussions about whether it is ethical to stream shows by problematic creators because it might give them direct revenue.

I think some of this is down to the fact that many people don’t know how remuneration of writers by streaming services works. It’s not a “they get paid per view”-thing. Or even a, “If I stream this, the writer will definitely get more money”-thing. (All of this obviously excludes other considerations, like giving people exposure/promotion etc).

The moment a show hits the screen, credited writers have basically already been paid. Whether you watch or not makes no material difference to that fact whatsoever—with one caveat:

For the big streamers, this usually only applies to the first 90 days. Because this is the time period that’s covered by what’s called the initial compensation period (for really small streamers, that period is usually a year).

After this, you enter the stage of residuals and exhibition years. So for every year the show stays on a streaming platform, credited writers will receive residuals. These usually drop year after year (so the longer your show airs, the fewer residuals you will get in terms of percentage).

What Does This Mean?

Watching a big budget show within the first 90 days doesn’t make a difference to a credited writer’s bank balance (I’ll get to the exception in a sec). Watching thereafter is also not tied to a “payment per view”, but simply to a formula per year the show gets streamed. You can find this more neatly explained on the WGA website:

Streamers usually also don’t take a show/old episodes off their platform after 90 days or a year just because viewer numbers naturally fall with time (it’s usually a pre-negotiated license period of 3+years), although that sometimes happens (if you have a look through Amazon’s and Netflix’s catalogue, you’ll find lots of older shows on there that probably hardly anyone watches).

So whether people stream or not usually matters most when it comes to renewals and cancellations, because that’s where a streamer makes or loses money (production costs vs overall new subscriptions etc).

For a show that’s finishing or already cancelled, the implications are far less material. And the first 90 days do not matter at all in this context (they only matter for a renewal, but in terms of residuals, they’re basically out of the equation).

This obviously doesn’t mean that a boycott can’t be a consideration for many other reasons. But if it is financial compensation via residuals that’s the main ick, it really doesn’t matter as much as people think.

This isn’t to tell people to do one thing over the other, but I see so much misinformation about the basic nuts and bolts of this on a daily basis that I think it’s maybe worth looking into it a bit more closely for many people.

What About Libraries?

As a little addendum (because that’s also something people frequently misunderstand): Not every country has a PLR scheme that remunerates writers for library loans. And the ones that do have a cap. So if you are worried about giving a writer royalties if you borrow their books from a library, first have a look if your country actually has a PLR scheme, and how it operates (you can do this here). As examples:

The UK has a PLR scheme, so secondhand is generally preferable over libraries because authors get royalties up to a cap (which, generally speaking, is a good thing, but it’s obviously worth considering if the author is a vile human being). It also needs to be said though that they, or their estate, need to be a resident or have a principal home in the EEA to qualify, but that just as an aside.

The US don’t have a PLR scheme, so the author gets diddly squat per loan.

Again, there are other, legitimate considerations as to why secondhand is preferable over borrowing (or vice versa), but if we are talking about royalties, that’s how it works…

[glitter-stained]

A compilation of resources

Hi guys, sorry for spam-posting this morning: I have over 2000 drafts and needed to get these posts out so I could put them in order, in order to make this post.

FOOD

Stay on track of recalls to avoid getting food poisoning + more food recall info

5 ingredients/45 minutes recipes

Apple chai caramel cider

How to make cookies in a mug

Edible plants catalogue:

Homemaking, gardening and self-sufficiency resources that will not radicalize you

Sad bastard Expectations

You need to eat vegetables

Transcendent pumpkin pie

Hungarian mushroom soup

The spite cookbook!!

Crustless quiche of eternal dinner

Accessible cookbook for people with sensory issues!!!

RESOURCES FOR PHYSICAL AND MENTAL HEALTH AND SUPPORT

Disability survival guide

Resources for sign languages

Toothbrushes you can use while in bed!

Hey, person who's feeling overwhelmed by life!

How to do hard things

Reality statements for interpersonal effectiveness

In case anyone else is having a bad night

Stretching advice

Learn the Beck Columns with Cassandra Cain!

Activities that are not doom-scrolling

How to actually help someone who attempted suicide via pills

Lavender tip

Resume help for people with disabilities!!!

READING RESOURCES

Public domain websites

Bookshop is in the place!

Reading sites

Ao3 cheatsheet

Support your local library

Study time!

J-stor has it for you!

WRITING RESOURCES

Useful websites aplenty

Disability writing guide

On villains with tragic backstories

On carrying children

Some writing resources

Ref recs for whump writers

Writing dialogue

Writing characters with Schizophrenia

Writing advice ("crime")

Taking emotional intelligence in account!

Non tragic backstories

Useful geographical descriptors for writers:

How to say "it hurts"

You don't need an agent

Write your story backwards

Quick english grammar dialogue guide

Worldbuilding guide website

Writing about wounds

Gems (more useful than you'd think)

Wikipedia monster compilation

GRAPHIC ARTS RESOURCES

Anatomy help

Hot artists don't gatekeep

Sketch warm-ups

Muscle references!

SURVIVING THE DIGITAL HELLSCAPE

Resources for staying safe online

Escape the discord generative AI

Stop NCII

Back-up your tumblr blog

Fuck ads

Fuck your paywall

Fuck your paywall, science edition

Learn the basics of digital archiving/preservation

Fuck your overpriced Netflix subscription , really, fuck it

Hidden search systems

Wafern = fediverse tumblr (none of these words are in the bible)

Fuck that spotify subscription

Woops! Gmail scam

Wolfram Amadeus Mozart or something idk i don't play the violin

FUCK YOU AI TOP RESULTS

Discord switch?

Lock your fics!

Piracy yay

Decentralize and clean up your life!!

MISCELLANEOUS

Dealing with the worst case scenario

Supporting native artwork

Correct your misconceptions!

Free classes!

Small ways in which you can support science!

Frozen water survival guide

Kink sex ed

Care packages

Magical bookstores (now with a map!)

Tumblr culture special: lore and legends

DIY clothing repare

Manners/etiquette

Yeah no I'm not doing that for free

Derek guy helping transmascs and trans men dress!

Summer advice

House maintenance

Washing machine tips!

Home repair! How do I cover up holes in my wall

Some help for finding help! Resources exist, but may be difficult to find

AP US History help for high school students

Making stuff and doing things

There we go! Hopefully some of those help make your life easier.

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Picture Perfect - Smallville!Clark Kent x Reader

A/N: Inspired by the song Picture Perfect by Angela Via. pairing: Smallville!Clark Kent x f! reader warnings/content: fluff, mutual pining, one singular swear word. word count: 2.2k

I should be yours, baby, you should be mine. Meant to be, can’t you see? We’re picture perfect”

Clark watched as you chewed on the end of your pen absent-mindedly as you glanced over the notes in your binder, written in your vibrantly feminine script, large and looping letters forming your thoughts on the page, written in your favourite pink gel pen, as you always did. He couldn’t help but smirk at how even your notes looked like they were transcribed by Barbie herself, but as silly as the thought of media law scrawled out in pink glittering ink in your flourished handwriting was, he loved that about you. He loved that your bubblingly bright personality had its way of working itself into every aspect of your life, including your studying methods. 

His piercing Kryptonian blue eyes continued to stare over at you, fixated on the way your hand gracefully glided across the page as you wrote, your fingers curled just so around your pen. He was fascinated by the way you could make even the most simple of tasks, like holding a pen, appear elegant. He knew he had it bad for you, he had for as long as he could remember, since you met. His friends would often tease him about diving in head first when he fell in love, and he tried to work on it in an effort to protect himself from getting hurt, but with you, he knew it was useless. He may not have had many weaknesses, but you were one of the few things that could stop him dead in his tracks. 

“Clark? You ok?” 

You had looked up from your notes to see Clark seemingly staring off into space at you, unable to break his focus from his thoughts. He chuckled nervously before pointing at his open text book on the table and nodding his head. 

“Yeah, I’m fine!” He said, trying to sound confident and hide his embarrassment as she caught him staring.

You tossed your textbook closed and shoved it across the table in front of you with a tired laugh. Straightening your ponytail, you let out an exasperated sigh before rubbing your hand inbetween your thumb and index finger.

“I’m starving, and my hand is cramped up, ready to go grab something to eat? I think if I have to read anymore of this I might implode,” you laughed, shaking your head as you stood up from your seat.

“Yeah, yeah I could go for something to eat. Pizza?” Clark laughed softly, raising an eyebrow as he followed behind you. 

He tried to keep his gaze upwards, focusing on anything but your backside as you walked in front of him out of the library. He had to congratulate himself on his willpower - resisting the urge for his eyes to drift downwards, tracing the shape of your curves as you walked. He caught up beside you, chuckling as he pretended to jog up beside you. If anything, it was harder work to pretend he couldn’t keep up with your strides than it was to actually jog, he could run from Kansas to California in a matter of seconds. In fact, he’d often thought about doing just that. He’d worked so hard to keep his secret from everyone, including you, as much as he hated hiding things from you. He loved you, and he trusted you, but he was terrified of how you’d respond. Would you be afraid of him? Would you stop speaking to him? Would you think he was crazy and tell everyone he’d gone insane? The more he’d thought about telling you, the more he realized he’d rather continue the facade he’d created than have any chance of losing you. Having you in his life and not knowing the truth about him was better than telling you and not having you there at all. 

“Clark, are you sure you’re ok? You keep spacing out on me.” 

Your laughter rang out through Clark’s ears - he could easily list it in his top favorite sounds, second only to the way his name sound when it fell from your lips, making it sound like an answered prayer every time you said it. Clark had it bad for you, and he knew that if he continued to hold it in, it’d end up forcing you away, but he’d been through this before with friends, and it rarely ended in his favor. The last thing he wanted was to push you away, either due to him revealing his true feelings, revealing his secret or by continuing to ignore how he felt for you. His own happiness aside, he knew ignoring his long-standing feelings towards you was the easiest solution. He ran a hand through his thick dark hair for a moment and chuckled awkwardly, his piercingly bright blue eyes glancing over at you as he spoke.

“I’m fine, I promise. Just thinking,” He said, trying his best to be reassuring but he couldn’t help but think he was failing miserably at it. 

“Oh, that’s what that smell is?” You teased, giving Clark a playful shove of the shoulder as you spoke. 

Clark rolled his eyes and gave you one of his infamous smirks, the kind that had most girls you knew weak in the knees. Clark had often been told he had a nice smile, but he was also oblivious when women found him attractive. Half of the time he had no idea when someone was flirting with him, and the other half of the time, he didn’t know how to respond to or reciprocate the flirting. The best he could do was flash a sweet, charming smile someone’s way and be his usual kind-hearted self, which was how he liked it best. He hated the idea of having to work for someone’s attention. With you, however, he found himself wanting to try. He wanted to flirt with you, he just had no idea where to begin.

He held the door to the pizza place on campus open for you, giving you another one of his warm, heart-melting smiles as he gestured for you to enter first with the motion of one of his long, muscular arms, the sleeve of his navy blue sweater shifting up on his wrist slightly as he moved, the arms just a little short for his frame. At six-foot-four and the majority of his height in his legs, Clark’s clothes were often just that half inch too short, often masked by pushing his sleeves up or by the shoes he wore. 

Little did Clark know, while he was busy admiring your every feature, you were doing the same to him - the way his blue eyes would light up and shine when he smiled was enough to make you swoon. The way he always acted like a total gentleman around you, holding doors, pulling out your chair, walking on the outside of the sidewalk, it was enough to make your heart flutter and race each time. The way he’d talk about his mom’s homemade pies back on his family farm in Smallville, the way he’d sing her praises and humbly brag about how her baking was famous across their little town. He’d always jokingly offer to bring you a slice the next time he went home to visit her, teasing you that despite the fact it wouldn’t be at its freshest, it’d still be the best slice of pie you’d ever eaten. You loved all these things about him, as well as the way he cared for everyone - he was always doing whatever he could to be a good person, which was a rarity a lot of the time on campus at Metropolis University, but you treasured his difference from the other men on campus. 

To anyone else who saw the two of you sitting together in the pizza parlour that day, they would have sworn you were on a date - the longing, loving stares at each other, exchanged stolen glances and sweet smiles, blushing red cheeks and nervous laughter - all the signs of a budding romance sparking between two young lovers. To the two of you though, it was one-sided, guarded feelings - scared to make the first move, scared to let feelings become known, anxious about how the other might respond, worried about whether or not your feelings might be showing through too much to the other party. You and Clark occasionally got comments about how sweet of a couple the two of you made from passersby, usually elderly women who’d say it as they passed through, commenting how it reminded them of how they were years ago when they first met their husbands, giving you a wink about how Clark was a keeper, or telling Clark to continue being the gentleman he is. The comments were always met with blushing cheeks from both of you, an awkward chuckle and thank you from Clark and a polite smile from you, but unbeknownst to the both of you, you and Clark both secretly felt your hearts flutter in agreeance to the compliment, hoping the other would agree too. 

Clark finished his pizza, pushing his plate away from his body on the table slightly, letting out a satisfied sigh as he reached for his glass of soda, bringing it up to his lips to take a sip. He peered over the glass at you, stealing a glance as you blushed to yourself, biting your bottom lip for a second, appearing deep in thought as you sat across from him. Clark wrestled with whether or not he should finally bite the bullet and tell you how he felt. After a few moments of his own deep concentration, he decided tonight was as good a night as ever to finally talk to you about his feelings and find out where he stood with you. He set his glass down, clearly appearing uncomfortable as he shifted in his seat. You tried not to notice his discomfort as you finished eating, and the two of you left to head back to the dorm building in silence. When you reached the front steps of the building, having had enough of the piercing silence and avoiding eye contact that had taken place the whole walk home. 

“Listen, I need to talk to you,” Clark said as he shifted the weight of his backpack on his shoulder awkwardly, looking around at the sky, trying to focus his eyesight on anything but your face as he spoke in an effort to avoid the awkwardness that he felt would inevitably come with what he was about to confess to you. 

“About what?” You raised an eyebrow as you took in a sharp inhale of air, holding your breath as you hoped he wouldn’t be saying how he met someone or how he thought the two of you could use some space.

“I think you and I should…discuss our relationship, going forward,” Clark shook his head as he chuckled awkwardly and held his hands up for a moment in surrender, “That sounded better in my head, let me try again?”

“I really like you,” Clark finally sighed with a nod of his head, “I’m not good at this, I know I never say the right things, and I know everyone tells me I’m blind to stuff like this, but I really like you. All of you. Everything there is to love about you.”

Clark looked at your bewildered expression, unsure of what to say, but fearing in that moment that he’d just fucked up the only thing he knew he wanted to cling to in life, the one thing that helped him retain some sense of normalcy, some sense of humanity in life while he was living away from Smallville. After a moment of awkward silence had passed, a strained, awkward sounding laugh fell from his lips, almost out of desperation to fill the void that was lingering between you both now.

“I like you too. All of you. And, I know you’re…different, Clark, I don’t know what it is, or how to explain it, but I know you’re not like most people. And I don’t care. I like you anyways,” You finally said, nodding your head in confirmation of your words as you spoke.

Clark breathed out a heavy sigh and laughed, shaking his head, his thick, dark hair tousling slightly as he did so. His deep blue eyes looked at you again, sparkling and glistening as they always did when he smiled. He put a hand on your cheek gently, leaning in to give you a tender kiss. He’d kissed you on the cheek before in a friendly, affectionate kind of way, but this, this was different. This was a soft, tender kiss, full of passion and love for you, as if you were the only woman in the world. In a way, in Clark’s mind, you were, at least in this moment.  “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to hear you say that, you know,” Clark murmured as he pulled away from your lips, smiling softly as he rested his forehead on yours, “As for the different thing…we’ll get to that.”