#doing this instead of snippet sunday

[hr-twink]

wwfo materials dump

in honor of finishing this beast 3 weeks ago here is a digital scrapbook of my materials and some behind the scenes

initial sketches for the art

Below is the 1 paragraph version of the dms i sent to @thehorsesthatareslow who had the misfortune of letting me bounce this idea off him. ( dms are separated by || so thats why there are 30 'so like's 💀)

ok so my evil mind came up w this last night after i had caught up on all the content on ao3 😔|| ok so like the trope that makes me want to die the most is like reincarnation/finding eachother in every life (😫😫😫) ok so like what if river spider enemies (sexual) in every lifetime over like a couple hundred years and one always dies before it gets like romantic || but the line that i created was “how many lifetimes until we get it right?” gonna kmsssss ||so like at the end coda (the modern era show timeline) spider doesnt die and they finally get to be together ||you are welcome || im going to make it seem like its a sad ending and then drop a final chapter where he comes back to life and everythings fine because its the 21st century and like medicine exists 😂

some of the general rules i tried to follow for each story

meme @cakebatteronabrickwall sent me after chapter 4? i think. sums up the vibes i wanted

the forsaken 1700s chapter :

i referenced this as an easter egg in chapter 7

other chapters that could have been: (real and joke)

1300s plague

Originally chapter 4 was supposed to be 1666 The Great Fire of London but I moved it to the Gunpowder Plot for the espionage.

1600s spider is one of the bored crazy teenaged girls that started the salem witch trials (@manbeaft partially responsible for this idea dfkjgf)

ww2 (although i like to think that the turn-around has to be longer)

Main source for the early chapters:

Arthurson, Ian. "Espionage and Intelligence from the Wars of the Roses to the Reformation." Nottingham Medieval Studies, Vol. 35, 1991,pp.134-154.

The other stuff i got from my knowledge of history, the internet, and youtube videos explaining the insane geopolitics of medieval england

I also went on a giant rabbithole for the telegraph Roddy has in chapter 5 that ended up just being an offhand thing. Same thing happened with the Wire Repair in Chapter 6 where i read like 3 articles and several pages in a book on archive.org about trench telephone wires and wiretapping. Also went no where and ill never need the information again!

finally for this weird post: i went to Lewes today for brunch (Brewers Arms 😘😘😍🥰) and saluted our fallen chapter 2 spider🫡🫡chose a spot in the distance for him to have fictionally died :)

[also song rec from @manbeaft: Old Souls ]

[tracle0]

Snippet Sunday VIII

I think it's the eighth Sunday...? Maybe maybe! Here's some prophet story I wrote freshly for you (yes, you!)

A hand raised to his chest, trying to find the mutilation that had forced his ribs to poke out like ageing farmhouse fencing. His skin was sealed, unblemished under his fingers; sticky from his blood, but otherwise untouched. An identical inspection around his throat found the same. No hole for pathetic, fleshy pleas to wheeze through. All fixed. All perfect.

“You saved me,” he finally whispered, eyes wide and awed. “You – you didn’t have to, but you…?”

The Blight – previously quiet, considerate, letting him get to terms with the gift of his life – curled in his head, content. You’ve done me well, it said simply. I don’t want to lose you yet.

He probed carefully at his skull, hair sliding between his fingers. He could see where shards of his skull had been ejected, pick them up and inspect them, but he found no hollows in his head, no blemishes. “Thank you,” he said softly. “I… thank you.”

Your brother is almost here.

Cain blinked, the brief memory of something – a squirrel? – flashing through his mind, before he shook it away, focused. “We should go, then,” he said, starting to stand. The ground glimmered. His surroundings groaned and sobbed, the forgotten guards whimpering and wheezing, the fury surrendering them to shock and agony. “To Body?”

It hesitated. As he started to walk past a pair of guards, one pinned down by the other, bloodied and bruised, it drew his attention down to the ground, to a discarded knife next to the freed, fighting pair. See if you can slow him down, it suggested idly.

[charliemwrites]

…. So Mister(s) steal your girl, huh?

Content: Unhappy Relationship, (Brief) Gaslighting, Sad Reader

Bombshells, you always thought, were supposed to making a whistling sound before landing. A high pitched warning of impending doom. Too late to escape the incoming devastation, but at least it wouldn’t come out of nowhere. There’d be some time to brace, for all the good it would do.

Maybe you watched too many movies.

Three months. That’s how long you got to enjoy the bliss of engagement before the world began to fall around you.

Your fiance came home and sat you down, his hand around yours. You thought he was breaking it off for some reason. What he did instead was worse.

In the aftermath you can only remember snippets of the one-sided conversation. Like tinnitus, an awful running in your ears left over from a dropped bomb.

Things like,

Still young, I want to explore…

How will I know you’re my forever unless I know what’s out there?

Last bit of freedom before being tied down…

If you love me and our relationship…

You love your fiance and your relationship. You don’t want to lose it just because you’re selfish. He’s still coming home to you, after all. You’re the one with the ring and all the plans for the future. So what if he wants to… explore? He’s even offering the same to you.

An open relationship, he calls it, like it’s some innovative idea.

You’ve heard of them before, never had much interest. Still don’t, honestly, but it was that or the desolution of 4 years.

You insisted on a long engagement. Your fiance promises that you two can revisit the open relationship when you’re married.

Within a week of agreeing, he’s leaves for the weekend. He doesn’t tell you where he’s going, who he’s meeting. He comes back Sunday evening smelling like someone else’s perfume with a hickey on his collarbone. When you refuse any advances, he sighs and says he “understands that this is a transition” and goes to shower.

It’s like that for six months. Weekends without him. Sometimes sending him off Friday morning and not seeing him until Monday evening. Lipstick on his collars, strange perfume invading the laundry. You start doing his clothes separately.

Six months. You spend months suffering in silence, sniffling through Saturdays and drifting through Sundays. Adjusting meal plans to cook for one.

The last straw is when you try to make plans on a holiday. You and your fiance haven’t done on a proper date in months. You want to go out, have all his attention on you, not shared with his phone.

“Ooh, sorry dear, I’ve already got plans with Malorie. Rain check, yeah? We’ll do something next week.”

You decide to go out anyway, sick of feeling sorry for yourself. Nothing fancy, just a bit of self care. You buy yourself a cute new outfit, put on a bit more makeup than usual, do your hair. Find an interesting little late night book shop. They serve wine and food and have comfy booths for people to read or talk or play board games.

The perfect place to be out but alone.

You’re debating the merits of a romance novel when a voice comes from your left.

“Love that one.”

You blink, glance up. Find a handsome man with eyes simultaneously so dark and so warm. Coals, you think. There’s a cheeky little quirk to his mouth as he nods at the novel.

“It’s good if you like will-they, won’t-they.”

You hum. “I’m more in the market for something… easier? If that makes sense.”

He hums, gives you a solemn look. “It does. Here, you might like this then.”

He plucks a book off the shelf and offers it for inspection. You feel awkward reading it the summary thoroughly, especially when you can feel his eyes on you. But you skim it, it looks promising, and a hot guy just suggested it, so…

“Read a lot of romance?” you ask curiously.

He ducks his head a bit, endearingly shy. “A bit, yeah. Call me hopeless.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, but can’t help saying. “I think it’s just romantic.”

His eyes light up. “Yeah? And what kind of books d’you usually like?”

Before you know it, you’re talking thrillers and horror novels with him. Recommending your favorite spooky novel and then following up that you always read a comedy afterwards as a palette cleanser.

You end up touring each other around the shop, talking books and authors and genres. Yet you’re somehow surprised when he asks if you’d like to sit with him. But you agree, a little thrill in your stomach that you haven’t felt since… a while.

You each buy a stack of books, then claim a booth and proceed to read none of them. He tells you his name is Kyle, that he’s in the military but on leave right now, stocking up on entertainment for flights or long spans of hurrying up and waiting.

You’ve never met a military guy before, and you trip over your curiosity. Trying not to pry but interested in what he does. He’s polite and patient, admitting there are a lot of things he can’t tell you but he’ll answer. You don’t stay on the subject long, figuring the last thing he wants to talk about it work.

He gets you back in the department of uncomfortable topics when he notices the ring on your finger. You’re quick to explain the situation, hot with shame all over again, eyes stinging despite yourself.

Instead of mocking you or just getting up and walking away, Kyle sits back looking flabbergasted.

“That’s fucking mental,” he says, “excuse me for saying.”

You burst into laughter. Haven’t told anyone any of this out of embarrassment, but hearing someone on your side is… good.

“I thought so too, but… he’s happy,” you admit.

Kyle frowns. “What about you?”

You blink, can’t look him in the eye. You know the answer but make a show of thinking about it.

“I’d… like to be again. This — the open relationship thing — seems to be working for him. So… maybe it’ll work for me too?” You shrug. “Worth a try.”

Kyle reaches across the table, a big warm hand enveloping yours. There are callouses you’re not expecting. Tantalizingly different.

“Would you like to try it with me?” he asks. “Don’t have to put a label on it or anything. But my schedule is a bit… it’s hard to keep up a traditional relationship, you know? But I like you, and I think your fiance is a knob.”

You snort, but flip your hand around, thumb brushing over his.

“Yeah…” you muse, and after saying it, a surge of confidence infuses you. “Yeah, I’d like to try this with you.”

His smile is absolutely brilliant. You won’t admit — not even to yourself for a long time — but you fall in love a little right then and there.

Next

Masterlist

[strawberrysainz]

about you. charles leclerc

“ snippets of times your paths cross. and how you begin to intertwine a little. / in which you, after many months, find your way back to him again. ”

charles leclerc x fem!reader

word count: 3.7k

strongly advise listening to ‘about you’ by the 1975 just for extra vibes idk

The first thing you think, as he gestures for you to lean into the window of his car - Andrea is holding up your red iPhone to take this picture you may have dreamed of since forever - is that he smelled very real.

It sounds ridiculous. Of course it does, but there is a significant way in which he smells like almond and vanilla scented something that makes you feel like you’re sixteen in your shower with your mum’s body wash she was gifted that in turn was for your own use (she liked soap bars instead).

And as the man smiles and counts down from three, you try to smile effortlessly- you will be showing this photo for years to come- but instead your grin is real, because he is real now, you will remember the smell, his smile, the soft lilt of his voice that you knew wasn’t his proper one.

“Thank you,” you say for a moment, sincere. The Sunday evening is early and welcome, his race win is fresh on everyone’s minds.

“And congratulations.” You add, as an afterthought, smiling. “I seem to have forgotten that.”

He falters for a moment - your casualness has seemed to startle him - and your friends are already pulling you away from the car, wanting to beat the traffic. Andrea hands your phone back and you lean a bit awkwardly over Charles to get it. Charles is staring at you with some sort of amusement, and as you shout a goodbye and a thank you, he waves with a grin as some boys run up to the car.

You laugh into the night air as you get into the taxi, staring at the photos, some candid, some not, of the two of you.

His smile is as big as yours, clearly ecstatic about his win still.

🍷🍝📷💋

A few months later - it’s summer - and you’re in Italy, hot nights and all the Aperol Spritzes are powering you through the days. You’re bundled up in the front seat of a little Volkswagen Beetle on your way to someone’s villa/winery when you notice two guys standing on the side of the road with a car that’s run out of petrol.

You gesture to your friend, and she sighs, and you pause the song and stick your head out of the yellow car. “Are you guys okay?” You say in that heavy accented English, and with a jolt you realise it’s Charles and Joris.

Your friend has realised too - she was at the Grand Prix with you that night - and Charles is staring at the two of you through those RayBans, a little laughing smirk on his face. “The car’s gone.“

“Are you sorting it out, or…?” You say, giggling a little; Joris looks very uncomfortable in the summer sun.

“Everyone’s closed. We called. It’s a Sunday.”

“Get in,” you say, sharing a glance with your friend, “Come have some lunch. One of our friend’s dad is a mechanic, we’ll see what he can do.”

You watch him debate with Joris silently, and then with a shrug they get in.

“This is Stella,” you say, smiling, and introduce yourself too. Charles’ face kind of squints with recognition. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“I met you in Monaco the night you won,” you smile, kind of embarrassed, and he slaps his thigh, making a noise of recognition to be nice (but you know he doesn’t remember that interaction at all).

You nod and Stel talks to them for a while, talking about how lovely Italy’s been in August, and the road is winding away until you’re at Luca’s.

🍷🍝📷💋

You friend Luca is very drunk, you note, the flush on his cheeks and the lazy lilt to his voice are very apparent. When he recognises Charles - this friend group is F1 mad - he hugs him and runs away immediately to get him a drink.

You’ve let your friends take on the role of entertainment for the guests, opting to strip down to your bikini and hop in the pool. It’s a scorching hot day, and you lather on sun cream before relaxing with a spicy margherita in your hands.

Your girlfriends pounce, Stella telling the story of picking up the hitchhikers and one of them thinks she can “totally bag Leclerc” before you’re all called inside for the food.

Before you walk in, you slip on the pair of denim shorts you were wearing and some sandals. Charles has a drink in hand and is sitting at the table already, the pasta and homemade bread having been broken into. Stel pulls you in to sit opposite him and Joris, and you lean over to dish some salad while Charles discusses the watch on his wrist with one of your friends (it’s the car chase robbery story that went viral a few months ago). Joris watches on, looking a bit awkward, so you lean in and begin to make some conversation.

He gladly accepts the invitation to talk, and you launch into a conversation about the holiday he is on before getting stuck on the road. You realise Charles is watching you speak now, oddly engaged, and you look down at your food, cheeks hot.

“So you two were in Monaco, right? For the Grand Prix? How was it?” Charles says, smiling sort of amicably, and a rush of embarrassment engulfs you as you smile at him. “So good. We loved it.” You say, and Stella launches into a story about a weird man who sat next to you on the grandstand.

🍷🍝📷💋

You squeeze in to the middle of the backseat, between Charles and Joris: your bare legs brush against them both in a moment that has you scrunching your nose with disbelief, Luca’s dad rattles on in Italian in the passenger seat with a large petrol can in his lap.

Twenty minutes later, you’re back on the hill on the dark and you’re hugging Charles and Joris goodbye, waving them away. You blow a kiss and get back in the backseat, laughing, shaking your heads.

🍷🍝📷💋

Seven months later, the cold February air finds you in Milan as you walk by an open window. You’re here for work, for Fashion Week, and you drift between fashion houses and shows, writing about them, chatting to models and designers and curators and it’s all so elegant, fun and exciting.

Next on your list is Ferrari’s show in the early evening, looking down to your list, and the waitress brings over your drink in the cosy restaurant.

Sitting on a cold hard (concrete?) bench across from the runway, you’re sitting between to an influencer with the most gorgeous pink jacket you’ve ever seen and an old fashionable Italian man with leathery tanned skin (how is he so tan?), and you launch into conversation with him about his experience this week so far, making notes. The show is as good as it could get for the brand, their classic leather, green and red and yellow ensembles with some gems in between that you adore. It’s alright, you think, it’s average, and just as you’re debating leaving someone roars in Italian and holy shit, Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz are walking down the runway.

You immediately begin to laugh a little under your breath, taking some pictures, and as Charles passes your side the girl next to you tries not to shout.

They look pretty cool, you think - all leather pants and shirts and vests, stuff you think they could use a little more of for their everyday fashion. You cheer along with everyone else as Carlos blows a kiss when they leave, laughing a little.

🍷🍝📷💋

You’re just about to leave when a girl comes up to you and engulfs you in a hug, and you tentatively grip her back before looking back, only then relaxing. She’s from university, she eagerly recounts memories of 1st year linguistics class. She hands you a glass of champagne and invites you back to the after celebration, and with a shrug - it can’t hurt, right? - you follow, being led into a room at the back.

It smells like too much cologne, and you scrunch your nose as you find a stray canapé to munch on when Joris calls your name.

Of course he’s standing there, and you run over to give him a hug.

“My saviour!” He jokes, and you laughed, staying by his side to have a chat. You can’t believe he even remembered you. You’re chatting about your latest projects when you’re interrupted by a hand on your shoulder. It’s Charles and Carlos, and Charles has to stare at you for five seconds to figure out who you are before he says your name, squeezing your shoulder. You stand there, rocking on your high heels for a second before he introduces you to Carlos.

“She saved me and Joris in Italy last summer when our car ran out of petrol, we had lunch at their friend’s house.”

Carlos laughs a little when Joris chips in. You’re staring at someone walking past in a great pair of red leather pants when Joris taps your arm.

“We still have to pay you back for last year. Do you want to go for dinner with us?”

Now Carlos’ girlfriend, Rebecca, has turned up, achingly beautiful, and Carlos introduces you and you kiss cheeks before she nods and says she’s so hungry too.

So you end up in a big black car, and Charles is phoning the restaurant and they don’t have a table for 5pm until he does a subtle name drop and then they magically do. Italy has a big love for him, their il predestinato. When you all pull up, there are a lot of people milling about outside, in sparkly dresses and sweatpants, lots of makeup and bare-faced, and you spot Suki Waterhouse when you walk in.

They give you a spot near the back, the brown wall making the space warm as you and Rebecca slide in to the booth.

They order aperitifs and you all chat about what you’ve been seeing this fashion week, the boys’ experience walking, and then you talk to Rebecca about her life for a while.

Then you all order seafood, and it’s delicious and tastes like it’s been made with joy and love.

“I still feel like we have to repay you,” Charles says, catching your attention, and you laugh and shrug the idea away. “This dinner’s lovely. It’s okay.”

“Can I give you and … -“ Joris murmurs to him, “Stella nice tickets to Monaco? Or Monza? Is that fine?”

“Monaco,” Joris nods, and Charles looks at him then back to you. “Really, it’s the least we can do.”

You are busy turning down the offer when Charles shakes his head. “Sorry. See you in May.”

🍷🍝📷💋

You and Stella giggle gleefully as you hear the little sound of your card authorising your access to the paddock. The two of you intertwine arms, walking down. You walk around, peering at everyone supposedly trying to get on with their business in the Thursday morning.

You send a text to Joris, and you just keep walking around for twenty minutes until he replies and says he’s sent someone to come get you. It’s a woman, and she has a lovely smile and she takes you to the hospitality - it’s upstairs, because the paddock is so small in Monaco, and you two have a glass of champagne before Joris appears, slightly sweaty. He’s just got here, he explains, him and Charles - they were slightly held up by fans.

You and Stella laugh and hug him.

🍷🍝📷💋

You spent the day just talking with Joris and other people in the hospitality about their jobs. It’s genuinely the best experience, and it’s nearing 6pm when everyone starts closing up and you are standing near the entrance/exit of the paddock, Stella in the bathroom when Charles comes up to you.

You’re on your phone when you hear him walk up, and you look up with a smile. You haven’t seen him since that dinner - three months ago - and when he pulls you into a hug you feel a rush of energy (electricity?) flow through you. His smile is big and bright.

“How was your day?” You ask, fiddling with your phone case, and he sighs dramatically. “Busy. Monaco is always crazy.”

You nod.

“How was yours?”

“So great. The people in your team are so wonderful. I had a really lovely day.”

Your dress swishes in the wind and you see him cast a glance down at your exposed legs before meeting your eyes again. “Me and Joris are going to do pasta tonight. Do you want to come over for it?”

“Stella’s still here…” you say awkwardly. “I’m not sure what she wanted to do, she mentioned going out.”

“Oh.” He nods. “Ok.”

Stella comes back from the bathroom and she smiled at Charles. “I never got to say thanks for this trip, it’s been great so far.”

Charles smiles at her. “No problem.”

🍷🍝📷💋

Friday comes and goes, a slightly uneventful day (you don’t see Charles, he’s too busy with the practices and the press) and there you are on a rainy Saturday morning.

Stella insisted on hiring a bicycle to get the ‘authentic experience’ so the two of you are busy cursing the weather in plastic rain jackets as you whiz down the streets on bright green bikes.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment when you see that Charles and Andrea getting off their bikes as you arrive. He notices you, sodden like a wet rat, your nice jeans probably ruined, and giggles in the pouring rain, coming over to help you off your bike and give you an awfully cold hug. His arms wrap around you and you feel him kiss your cheeks, so you return them, but you’re shivering so much he keeps his arms around you until the same nice lady from Thursday comes with an umbrella and takes you inside. You wave goodbye to Charles as he goes to the garage and you blush, your hair soaked still.

The woman takes you and Stella to a tiny little room with cupboards and points to a drawer that contains a hairdryer and a Dyson airwrap (to your delight) so the two of you end up hair-drying yourselves dry - jeans and all. You also get to touch up your makeup after you dry your bag with the hairdryer too.

Nice and warm, you’re given cappuccinos and you peer out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the track, and see the boats rock in the harbour due to the rain and the wind.

“I don’t think we’ll have qualifying on time at this rate,” another man comments, also a guest of Ferrari, and you and Stella nod, trying to seem up to speed with track condition information.

So an hour later the two of you get to watch the boys film a YouTube video, and part of a vlog they seem to be making.

Afterwards, Charles comes over with Joris, and the four of you chat for twenty minutes before Charles is called away. It’s soft conversation, irritating talk about the weather because of the people around you, so you’re glad to change the topic when he leaves.

“What are your plans for tomorrow evening?” Joris comments. There’s a big party, you’ve heard from the groups of rich and famous people, happening on this gigantic yacht tomorrow, but you haven’t scored an invite so you might just go clubbing. But that sounds embarrassing, so you shrug. “Not sure yet.”

“You have to come to this big party an old friend of Charles is hosting. It’s on this yacht and everyone will be there.”

You and Stella fistbump under the table.

“And what are you guys doing tonight? Charles said you guys were having pasta last night.”

Joris looks a little surprised for a moment then quirks his lips in thought. “Probably not anything. He likes to be alone the night before the race. But last year we did this little dinner at his brother’s house which ended up being really nice.”

You nod.

Qualifying is postponed until five o’clock, and you’re taken to the paddock club by someone to be able to stand at the top and peer down at the track.

The rain has quietened down, yet there’s a lot of tyre warfare, teams mistakenly putting on hards before spinning out so there’s a red flag or two before Q3.

You watch the big screens to see Max score pole, and with a wince Charles is only third.

It’s highly upsetting because of how crucial qualifying is for Monaco. So everyone supporting Ferrari (Carlos is sixth) lets out a heavy sigh before going back to the hospitality.

🍷🍝📷💋

It’s 8 now, the sky dimming, and Stella has plans to see an old school friend so you hang around the hospitality, dreading taking the stupid bike back to the hotel.

There’s an energy in the air tonight, the kind you only get in a different place at night. It’s that kind of powerful feeling. You’re talking to one of the chefs as they all finish their service for the night when Charles comes to pick up food, and you’re surprised to see him when he comes to stand next to you.

“Hi,” you say softly, smiling when the chef you’re talking to launches himself at Charles for a hug, speaking rapid French.

“Where’s Stella?” He asks, and he’s checking how his food looks through a peek at the polystyrene container when you reply. “She has plans with another friend tonight.”

“So what’re you doing?” He looks up at you.

“Avoiding taking the bike back to the hotel, then I’ll probably have dinner there.”

“If you ride that stupid big bicycle 5km back to the hotel now at night and in the rain alone I’m going to kill you.” His expression is one of concern.

You laugh as he laughs too, his cheeks warming.

“I’ll get someone to come pick it up, I know they work at the company. Please let me take you somewhere for some food?”

“Don’t you want to wind down before the race?” You ask, uncertain.

He shakes his head. “You won’t be a bother.” He says quietly, and you blush, looking down at the floor.

So you two leave, and he’s got a car waiting for him, and you sprint from the hospitality because the rain’s started to pour again.

🍷🍝📷💋

You have to stop at his apartment so he can drop off the food that he now probably won’t eat and so he can change out of his garishly red clothing to be a little more discreet.

You two stand alone in the lift, and you look at him in the mirror for a moment before your eyes meet and he looks away.

His apartment is immediately cosy in the way a man just has stuff everywhere. He has a coat of his mom’s you can borrow after he noticed you shiver when you got out of the car, and when he hands it to you the look on his face is so tender you feel a little anxious.

Going back down, you stand a little closer and get back in the car. He smells comforting now, like that cologne you once caught a whiff of one hot Italian summer day.

Scrolling through your feed, your phone lights up the car and he gets a call from his mom, talking softly in French to her.

You lock your phone. The driver tells you to connect to the aux via Bluetooth and you freeze up with anxiety. But when you start with a Fleetwood Mac song Charles is mouthing the words silently as he texts someone so you relax.

Because of traffic, it takes you forty minutes to get to this restaurant tucked away on a quiet street. Charles opens your door for you.

Entering, the maître d’ is an elderly woman and she hugs Charles so tight. You stand there behind him and she comes to hug you too. She seats you two far away from the door after he asks.

“I think you should get pasta. It’s unreal here.” He says, after you’ve both ordered water.

You smile. “What are you eating?”

“Probably just a chicken salad. Have to stay in order for tomorrow,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “I’m not eating pasta if you have to eat a salad. That’s sad.”

You then bicker for ten minutes until the woman - Gilda - comes back. You make him order first - a chicken Parmesan salad - and then order the same and he shoots you a look (he thought he convinced you to order the pasta).

🍷🍝📷💋

After supper you leave in the drizzle, and he takes your arm and loops it through his. His arm is so warm, and you end up leaning your head against the beginning of his shoulder as you stand against the wall, waiting for the driver again.

He turns his head to say something to you, then stares at you for a second. He then leans down to whisper something in your ear and you giggle and then he’s moved to face you properly.

You’re anxiously biting your lip because he’s looking at you like you hang the stars in the sky and you feel terribly awkward and then he leans down and kisses you and he tastes like Parmesan so you laugh in the kiss.

You feel his body shake with laughter beneath your touch and his body is warm even in the drizzle. And when you kiss his lips make your whole body fire up. And his hand is gripping your waist through his mother’s coat and his other hand is running through your slowly dampening hair and he groans and you’re electric.

You pull away when the driver drives up, flushed and awfully happy. His cheeks are pink and his eyes soft.

“Get in the car,” he murmurs softly, and when he opens the door he slides on to the backseat behind you and wraps a hand around your shoulder and everything feels perfect.

back from hibernation. hope you enjoyed!!!!

here’s my masterlist

[springtyme]

𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐲 ♡

Spencer Reid x reader || Main masterlist || Spencer playlist

summary: You spend a lazy sunday with Spencer.

word count: 765

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞: 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟕) 𝐋𝐚𝐳𝐲 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲

You stretch out on the couch, snuggled in a soft blanket, letting the warmth engulf you. Sunlight streams through the window, casting a golden glow across the living room. It’s a lazy Sunday, and the world outside seems to slow down, matching the rhythm of your day.

As you glance over at Spencer, who’s sprawled in the armchair, you can’t help but smile. He’s buried in a book—one of those dense, scholarly tomes that only he could find leisurely. His hair is tousled, and there’s a forgotten mug of coffee on the table nearby, steam still curling lazily into the air.

“Spence,” you call softly, your voice almost a whisper.

He looks up, his brown hazel eyes sparkling with a mix of curiosity and amusement. “Yes?” he replies, shifting in his chair, his attention torn between you and the captivating pages.

“What’s the topic today?”

He beams, the sparkle in his eyes intensifying. “It’s about the psychological impact of color on human behavior. Did you know that studies show blue can create a sense of calm?”

“No, I didn’t know that, but it’s interesting.” You chuckle, shaking your head playfully. “Only you would spend a Sunday learning about the psychology of colors, Spence.”

“Do you want to know more?” he asks, his voice animated, and you can’t help but love how passionate he is when he talks about his interests.

You sit up, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “Sure, but first, there’s something we can do to test out that ‘sense of calm’ theory.” You gesture to the blanket, the soft blue fuss of fabric draped around you, inviting him over to join you.

He hesitates for a moment, torn between his book and you, but your smile is irresistible. With a small laugh, he sets the book down and pads over to the couch, slipping in beside you. You nestle against him, resting your head against his shoulder as he wraps an arm around you.

“This is much nicer,” he muses, leaning his head against yours.

You close your eyes, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere, inhaling the comforting scent of his shampoo. The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you in this cozy bubble. “So, tell me more about how colors affect our mood,” you say, nudging him gently to continue.

Spencer goes on, the words spilling out with delightful enthusiasm, but you find yourself drifting in and out of his explanations, comforted by the cadence of his voice. His talk evolves into a blend of colors, emotions, and the psychological associations various hues evoke. He mentions how warm colors, like red and orange, can elicit feelings of excitement and energy, while cooler colors, such as green and blue, promote relaxation and calmness. You listen, occasionally catching snippets of data and studies, but even more so, you’re enchanted by the sound of his voice and the way he lights up when he discusses his passions.

“Did you know,” he continues, his fingers gently stroking your back, “that yellow is often associated with happiness and optimism? But too much of it can actually lead to frustration and anxiety. It’s a delicate balance.”

You nod, slightly drowsy, but still invested in his words. “Sounds like colors are more complicated than I thought,” you murmur, a soft smile playing at the corners of your lips.

As the afternoon rolls on, you both decide to take a break from deep discussions, opting instead for a movie. Spencer adeptly picks one from your collection, and you laugh when he chooses a quirky classic rom-com, probably unaware of the irony.

As the film plays, you snuggle deeper into the blanket, resting your head against Spencer’s shoulder, feeling the warmth radiate between you. The opening credits roll, and you can’t help but smile at the familiar soundtrack—the kind of feel-good music that reminds you of lazy  afternoons spent on the couch together.

Spencer’s hand finds yours, fingers intertwining effortlessly as the movie unfolds. The lighthearted banter on-screen makes you chuckle, and you steal glances at Spencer, whose eyes twinkle with amusement. You appreciate these moments, finding joy not just in the film, but in the shared experience, the little moments of connection that weave your lives together.

As the credits roll, you find yourself wondering how you got so lucky. The day has been simple yet perfect, filled with laughter, warmth, and a sense of easy intimacy. You turn to him, brushing a stray hair from his forehead, and he looks at you with a gentle smile, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the afternoon light.

[starmocha]

Remember when I said the Grassland!Sylus childhood friends/arranged marriage/soulmates AU was at around 4.6k words?

she grew and I still have like three scenes I need to finish writing, but instead of doing that, I kept writing new scenes and...I think I lost control of the story and my life (╥_╥)

So I'm posting another snippet, because...my brain is tired and I really, really, really want to finish this by Sunday because I have another AU wip that I'm also obsessed with I mean I need to finish part 3 of that other Sylus breeding kink fic I promise it's coming

Reminder that this story will include light breeding kink, pregnancy kink, smut, body worship, gratuitous usages of terms of endearment ("my bride" and "my beloved"), Sylus being grossly in love with you, basically lots of fluff. Anyhoo...

The following morning you were lazing in the field as the flock of sheep grazed peacefully all around you. The warm sunlight had you yawning, already feeling yourself being lured by the tempting sun into drifting back to sleep. As the time passed, your eyes felt heavier, and you nodded off a little. Another yawn escaped before you decided a few minutes of rest wouldn’t hurt. Slowly, you closed your eyes, letting them rest for a few minutes. “Is this what you do when I’m not here?” You immediately opened your eyes when you heard Sylus’ approaching voice. You let out a soft surprised squeak when he knelt down next to you, his face looming just mere inches from yours. He was smirking. “Lazing around and sleeping? What if your sheep gets stolen by wild beasts, my beloved?” You glared at him. “I was not sleeping. I…was blinking.” “Your eyes were closed for far longer than a blink should be.” “I had some dust in my eyes.” “I’m quite sure I heard you snoring.” You blushed and shoved his face aside, glowering when he started laughing at you. “Did you come all the way out here just to tease me?” “Mmhmm,” he answered with a pleased nod as he sat back with his legs propped up. His elbow rested on top of his leg while he cradled his chin in his hand. You noticed in his other hand was a wreath crafted from leaves and berries. Your heart quickened and you gasped softly. You looked at him expectantly. It was at that moment that you noticed the dark bags under his eyes. You crawled over to him and he sat back, allowing you to settle in between his long legs. You reached up and touched his face. “Did you not sleep last night?” you asked him worriedly. He simply smiled and shook his head. Without a word, Sylus placed the wreath on top of your head. You reached up and touched it tentatively as you looked at him confused. “I wanted to finish this for you,” he explained, smiling, “Just as I had thought. This suits you.” “R-really?” “Mmhmm,” he hummed again, nodding. He leaned in to steal your lips. “You look beautiful.” “Sylus…” You could feel your cheeks warming up as he spoke. “Now everyone will know you are mine and I am yours.” You felt touched by his gesture. Without thinking, you threw your arms around his neck, surprising him into losing his balance. Sylus laid on the grass with you on top of him. You grinned and kissed him happily. He looked up, gasping softly when he saw the sunlight had formed a radiant halo behind your head. How…ethereal... He smiled, his hand gently grasped your chin, his thumb brushing over your soft, trembling lips. “We are already promised to one another,” he said, “but if I may be presumptuous, I would still like to ask.” You looked down at him confused. “My beloved,” he said, voice soft and sincere, “will you be my bride?” You stroked his cheek, and as you leaned down closer to his face, your wreath tilted on your head. “What do you think?” He smiled. “Your wreath is going to fall off.” “You’ll put it back on for me, right?” He huffed in amusement at your audacious question, but he nodded. “Yeah,” he said, reaching up to fix the wreath for you, “I will…my bride.” For that brief moment, you felt like your heart had stopped, and then you smiled again as you leaned in and kissed him, feeling his strong arms wrapped around you and holding you close to his body. “This is my vow to you, my bride” he said, “There is only you in my eyes. In this life and all of the lifetimes afterwards, I will always choose you.” “Same for me,” you answered, gazing back at him fondly. You stroked his cheek, letting yourself drown in those passionate crimson eyes. “I will always find you,” you promised, “In all of our lives together, I will always find you and choose you, my love.” Your ardent words beckoned his lips to yours, and for the rest of the day, you lay together under the warm morning sun on the grassland, lost in your own world of bliss.

[magic-shop-stories]

Hi! How are you doing? I hope you're doing fine! ✨️💜

I've read all your headcanons so I was hoping if you could accept my request. ✨️

They have been dating reader in secret but their relationship gets leaked (You decide how for each member) and it could be angst?

Thanks you for taking time on reading my ask and hopefully writing my request 💜

Have a nice day! ✨️

💌 Reply:

Hi there! 💜 Thanks so much for your kind message and for loving the headcanons! Absolutely adore this angsty request... I appreciate you sending this in, and hope you have the loveliest day too! ✨ - also I'm sorry for the late reply, but I hope its what you wanted and imagined 💜

-c-

BTS (OT7) x Reader Secret Relationship Leaked 

NAMJOON

-“Not all rainbows need an audience.”-

HOW IT LEAKED

starts with a demo track

Namjoon had been working on a solo project

= raw, unfiltered piece titled “Monochrome Rain” 

inspired by the quiet mornings he spent with you

= the way you’d trace constellations on his back while he scribbled lyrics

= the way your laughter harmonized with his piano’s minor keys

he accidentally uploads an unedited version to SoundCloud, in a sleep-deprived haze

track includes a voicemail snippet of you whispering:

“Come to bed, Joon-ah. The stars can wait.”

fans dissect it within minutes

metadata reveals the recording date

= a night BTS was supposedly in Tokyo

ARMYs cross-reference his old VLives

finding the exact moment he’d glanced offscreen, smile softening as if someone had called his name

hashtags trend: #NamsSecret, #WhoIsShe

by dawn, Dispatch has your name

HIS PUBLIC REACTION

Stage Persona

at press conference for the new album, he’s asked about the leak

adjusts his glasses

CEO-like mask sliding into place

“Music is a diary. Some pages are meant to be read aloud; others… are written in ink that fades.” 

room erupts in chatter

he doesn’t flinch

Weverse

posts a photo of a stormy sky

captioned:

“Not all rainbows need an audience.” 

ARMYs debate if it’s a metaphor or a confession

Damage Control

lets Big Hit release a vague statement about “private matters."

insists on no lies

“I won’t call her a ‘friend.’ She’s… more.”

HIS PRIVATE REACTION

he’s in his studio

staring at the chaos of papers and half-empty coffee cups

when you walk in, he doesn’t turn around

“They’ll dissect you."

voice hollow

“Your childhood photos, your family, the way you pronounce ‘bibliophile’… They’ll say you’re why the album’s delayed.”

you reach for him

he pulls away

pacing like a caged animal

“I knew this would happen. I’m… I’m not safe. I’m a curse.” 

his voice cracks on the last word

suddenly he’s 19 again - rookie leader who apologized for existing (too loudly)

Breaking Point

at 4 a.m.

drags you to Namsan Tower

city lights blurring through his unshed tears

“I wanted to protect you."

rasps, gripping the railing until his knuckles bleach

“But I’m just… a man who loves too loudly in a world that demands whispers.”

you kiss his trembling hands

he collapses into you

he's muttering into your hair like a prayer

AFTERMATH

Professional Life

Album

releases “Monochrome Rain” as the title track

rewrites the bridge

new lyrics gut you: 

“Love, a language too heavy for my tongue / I bite the words, let them bruise my lungs.”

Interviews

when asked about the “mystery muse” he smirks

“Art thrives in shadows. But if you listen closely… she’s in every breath.”

Personal Life

New Rules

no more lazy Sundays at Han River

instead, he rents a secluded cabin under a fake name

“Kim Namjoon? Never heard of him”

buys a vintage typewriter to write you letters

unsigned

Guilt

starts therapy

scribbles in his journal

“How do I love her without devouring her?”

Quiet Rebellion

wears your scarf to the Grammy’s

tucked under his suit

lets it slip during his red-carpet twirl

quotes your favorite poet in his acceptance speech

LITTLE THINGS ONLY YOU SEE

Nightmares

wakes up gasping

clutching your wrist

“I dreamt they… they took you.” 

lets you hum “Moonchild” 

until his heartbeat steadies

Playlist

makes you a mixtape titled “For When the World Feels Heavy” 

filled with Mitski and Epik High

hides a voicemail at the end: 

“I’d burn it all down for you. Just say the word.”

Ritual

every anniversary, he plants a tree in your name

“Roots are the original secrets, they grow deeper when no one’s watching.”

JIN

-“My only partner is this mic! And Jungkook’s credit card.” -

HOW IT LEAKED

a stray sticker on his water bottle during a Weverse Live

a tiny cartoon heart you doodled as a joke

fans zoom in

reverse-image search it

trace it to your Instagram story from months ago

within hours, screenshots of your matching couple bracelets (yours engraved with “Worldwide Your Handsome”) flood forums

Dispatch digs deeper

= a blurred photo of Jin leaving your apartment at dawn, a bouquet of peonies in hand (your favorite, bought after a petty fight)

headline reads: “BTS’s Jin: Secret Romance with Non-Celebrity Partner Exposed!”

HIS PUBLIC REACTION

Deflection with Humor

at a fan meeting, a fan shouts:

“Oppa, are you dating?!” 

Jin smirks

flexing

“Why? Are you proposing? Don’t make Worldwide Handsome choose!” 

crowd laughs

his grip tightens on the mic

VLive/Weverse Damage Control

hosts a mukbang

casually showing his bare wrists

“Bracelets? Too flashy! I’m a simple man... just give me kimchi and WiFi.” 

fans notice his pinky ring

= yours, borrowed and never returned

he waves it off

“Family heirloom. My grandma’s ghost will haunt you if you ask again!”

Company Statement

BigHit issues a vague denial

Jin insists on adding more

“Please respect my personal life. I’m still the same guy who forgets to water his plants!”

HIS PRIVATE REACTION

Night of the Leak

cancels your dinner date

citing “group stuff"

you find him at 1 a.m. in the kitchen

stress-baking songpyeon with twice the usual sugar. 

"It’s okay...” (you)

slams the rolling pin down

“It’s not.” 

his voice cracks

“They’re calling you a gold-digger. A distraction. I should’ve… I should’ve been smarter.”

Breaking Point

avoids you for three days

throwing himself into rehearsals

on the fourth night, he shows up at your door

hair messy

holding a Budae-jjigae pot

“I couldn’t sleep...”

mumbles

“Kept thinking… what if they hurt you? What if I’m not enough to protect you?” 

you hug him

he clings like you’re the last life raft on the Titanic

AFTERMATH

Professional Life

Fan Interactions

starts ending lives with:

“Love yourself! And… maybe don’t stalk your bias’s water bottles?” 

ARMYs laugh

tho the subtext stings

Variety Shows

hosts tease him about dating?

he leans into the joke

“My only partner is this mic! And Jungkook’s credit card.” 

later texts you: 

“Miss you. Will make it up to you with jajangmyeon.”

Personal Life

New Rules

no more public dates

rents a private karaoke room weekly

dedicating “Epiphany” to you off-key

“You’re my real audience" 

he grins, cheeks flushed with soju and sincerity

Guilty Pleasures

sneaks your photo into his selcas

hidden in phone case reflections

“Inside joke, with myself. Because I’m hilarious.”

Quiet Rebellion

Gaming Nights

livestreams under a fake account (“EatJin_SecretSnack”)

teaming up with you

“Noob_Queen? Just… a fan. A very talented fan.”

Food Wars

brings you to his favourite’ restaurants, introducing you as “my taste-tester”

chef friends side-eye him

"Seokjin-ah, why is she wearing your jacket?” 

he chokes on kimchi

LITTLE THINGS ONLY YOU SEE

Notes

slips handwritten jokes into your bag

“Why did the scarecrow win an award? Because he was out-standing in his field… just like you.” 

signed: “Your (secret) Worldwide Handsome.”

Protectiveness

buys you a panic button disguised as a keychain

“For my peace of mind. And don’t lose it... it’s Gucci!” 

Vulnerability

falls asleep on your lap after concerts

murmuring

“Jin tired. Just… let me stay here, okay?”

YOONGI

-“My music speaks for itself. If you’re looking for gossip, you’re in the wrong room.”-

HOW IT LEAKED

a producer’s slipup

Yoongi had been collaborating on a track for an indie artist

during a late-night studio session, he’d left his phone unlocked

voice memo plays accidentally over the speakers

= your voice, soft and sleep-heavy, murmuring

“Yoongi-ya, come to bed. You’ve been at it for hours.” 

other producer, thinks it’s part of the song

includes the clip as an “authentic, intimate vibe.”

track drops

fans dissect it instantly

within hours, the audio snippet is isolated

looped, and compared to your voice from an old YouTube video where you reviewed his mixtape

hashtags like #WhoIsSUGAsMuse and #AgustDGF trend

Dispatch digs up a grainy photo of you two from a year ago

= Yoongi’s hand brushing yours under a café table

his face unreadable

his thumb tracing your knuckles

HIS PUBLIC REACTION

Cold Silence

ignores all questions

at a press conference, when asked about the “mystery woman,” he stares the reporter down

“My music speaks for itself. If you’re looking for gossip, you’re in the wrong room.”

Defiance

releases a remix of the track a week later

your voice amplified and distorted into a haunting echo

title? “No Comment.”

ARMY’s Clues

notices he starts wearing a black ring on his right hand

a subtle symbol

fans debate if it’s a coincidence or a middle finger to speculation

HIS PRIVATE REACTION

he’s in his studio

jaw clenched

deleting hundreds of hate comments aimed at you

when you walk in, he doesn’t look up

“You should leave."

mutters, voice gravelly

“I’ll call you a cab. Don’t… don’t come here for a while.”

you freeze

“Yoongi, we knew this could...”

he snaps

slamming his fist on the desk

“I told you I’d ruin it. I’m not... I’m not built for this.” 

his anger cracks

revealing the fear beneath

“They’ll eat you alive. And I’ll just… sit here. Useless.”

Breaking Point

disappears for two days

you find him in Daegu

in the tiny studio he built in his parents’ garage

walls are covered in scribbled lyrics

half of them about you

he’s asleep at his desk

head pillowed on a notebook open to a page titled “Ways to Disappear.”

when he wakes, he doesn’t apologize

just hands you a cup of instant coffee 

“I’m not good at this. But I’m not letting go.”

AFTERMATH

Professional Life

Music

writes a diss track aimed at the producer who leaked the clip

“You want a story? Here’s one about betrayal and bitch-made moves.” 

buried in the second verse is a line only you understand fully

“Her voice is my compass... you just noise.”

Interviews

when probed about “romance” he deadpans

“I’m married to my work. But my work has trust issues.”

Personal Life

New Rules

no more midnight walks

installs blackout curtains and soundproofing in ALL rooms

“Our world starts here” 

nodding to the tiny couch where you now sleep most nights

Guilt

starts donating anonymously to anti-paparazzi charities

when you ask why, he grumbles

“Tax write-offs.”

Quiet Rebellion

learns ASL to communicate with you during events

“Love you” 

signs it under the table at the MAMAs

eyes locked on the stage like he’s bored

writes your name in tiny Hangul letters inside his Grammy trophy

“So they’ll never know who I’m thanking.”

LITTLE THINGS ONLY YOU SEE

Nightmares

wakes up in a cold sweat

clutching the collar of your shirt

“Dreamt they… found you. Took you.” 

lets you play his own “First Love” on the piano until he stops shaking

Playlist

makes you a mixtape titled “For the Bad Days” 

filled with angry rap and a single hidden track

= a lullaby he hummed into his phone at 4 a.m.

Ritual

every month, he buys a new plant for your apartment

“They’re quieter than people."

names them after lyrics he’ll never release

J-HOPE

-“Love… is the reason I dance.”-

HOW IT LEAKED

a moment of unguarded tenderness

happens during a live dance practice stream

Hobi pauses to adjust the camera angle

“Gotta make sure they don’t see...” 

before cutting himself off

but the mic picks up your voice offscreen

teasing

“Hobi-ya, your shirt’s inside out… again.”

clip goes viral

dissected for its intimacy

= the way his shoulders relax at your voice, the fond exasperation in your tone

fans stitch it with old content

= you wearing his hoodie in a 2018 Vlog, him slipping you a candy during a concert rehearsal.

by midnight, #Hope’sSecret trends globally

HIS PUBLIC REACTION

Mask

at the next fansign, he cranks his sunshine dial to 200%

laughs off questions

“You know I’m married to dance, right?” 

his smile strains at the edges

posts a mirror selfie captioned “Alone but not lonely 💜”

a lie so glaring it aches

Damage Control

volunteers for extra schedules

flooding social media with dance covers

ARMYs praise his “relentless positivity”

you see the desperation beneath it

- he’s trying to outrun the storm-

Interview That Breaks Him

reporter asks him:

“Is love a distraction from your art?” 

Hobi’s smile falters

“Love… is the reason I dance.”

clip trends again with edits of him glancing offstage (as if searching for someone)

HIS PRIVATE REACTION

cancels your anniversary dinner

you find him in the practice room

shirt drenched

dancing to “Blue Side” on repeat

when you call his name, he whirls around

eyes wild

“Why did I... Why did I let myself need you?” 

his voice cracks

“I’m supposed to be… strong.”

Breaking Point

avoids you for days

then shows up at your door at 3 a.m.

trembling

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I keep... I keep ruining things.”

collapses into your arms

repeating “I’m sorry” like a mantra

= as if guilt could be scrubbed clean by confession

Fear

confesses in whispers

“When I was a trainee, they told me joy was my only currency. What if… what if they decide I’m bankrupt?”

AFTERMATH

Professional Life:

The Choreography: Creates a solo piece titled “Eclipse.” It’s all sharp angles and abrupt silences, his body folding inward like a flower denied light. Fans call it his “most raw work yet.” Only you know it’s about the nights he cried in your lap.

The Lie: Refers to you as his “cousin” in interviews. Laughs too loud, adds, “We’re super close!” The first time he says it, he vomits afterward.

Personal Life:

New Rules: No more public dates. Instead, he rents a secluded dance studio under a fake name. Teaches you choreography at 2 a.m., his hands lingering on your waist like a secret.

Guilt: Buys you endless gifts—designer bags, rare vinyls, a necklace with a hidden sun pendant. “You deserve everything,” he says, as if materialism could offset the loneliness.

The Quiet Rebellion:

Wears mismatched socks to rehearsals—your inside joke. When teased, he grins. “Fashion is chaos, right?”

Slips your initials into his next album credits under “Special Thanks to My Sunrise.” ARMYs assume it’s a metaphor.

LITTLE THINGS ONLY YOU SEE

The Ritual: Every morning, he texts you a sunrise photo. No words—just light. On bad days, he sends two.

The Playlist: Creates a secret SoundCloud titled “For Her.” Filled with jazz covers of BTS songs, slowed down and soulful. The bio reads: “Love is a dance no one else hears.”

The Tattoo: Gets a tiny sun behind his ear. “So even when I’m performing… you’re with me.”

JIMIN

-“If I had someone… I’d want to protect them. Even from me.”-

HOW IT LEAKED

a humid night in Seoul

Jimin’s live stream starts innocently enough

cozy, post-concert wind-down where he’s draped in a oversized sweater

hair damp from the shower

answering fan questions with sleepy charm

exhaustion makes him reckless

when a comment asks: “What’s your ideal date? 💜” 

he smiles absently

gaze drifting offscreen to where you’re curled on the couch

“Hmm… Rainy mornings. Someone who steals my hoodies. And… dancing in the kitchen at 2 a.m.” 

his voice softens

a secret slipping through

“Especially if they’re terrible at it.”

you laugh, unaware the mic catches it

a bright, familiar sound that ARMYs recognize from a cameo months ago

clip goes viral within hours

“WHO IS SHE?” 

next morning, a blurry paparazzi photo of Jimin’s hand brushing yours under a café table floods forums

your linked pinkies labeled: “Proof.”

HIS PUBLIC REACTION

Mask

next fan sign, he’s all dimples and sparkles

laughing off questions

“Dancing in the kitchen? I was just… describing a drama plot!”

tho his smile doesn’t crinkle his eyes

he signs an album with “Love is patient” 

Social Media

posts a mirror selfie half shirtless

captioned: “Focus on the gains, not the rumors 💪🔥.” 

comments explode with “He’s deflecting!!” and “Protect him!!”

Stage Persona

at concert, he performs “Filter” with razor-sharp precision

hips snapping like he’s punishing the world for looking too close

during the ment, he whispers:

“Love… is a mirror. Sometimes it’s kinder to look away.”

HIS PRIVATE REACTION

cancels your date

citing “schedule conflicts”

then shows up at your door at 3 a.m.

eyes red-rimmed and hair tangled

“I’m sorry... I’m so sorry...” 

he chokes

collapsing into your arms

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean to… ”

fists his hands in your shirt

voice breaking

“They’ll hate you. They’ll say I’m yours and... and that’s dangerous.”

Guilt

avoids touchfor days

flinching when you reach for him

practices until his feet bleed

screaming at mirrors

“Control it. Control.”

when you bandage his blisters, he sobs

“Why won’t you leave? I’m ruining you.”

Turning Point

you find him in the studio

slumped over the piano

playing a mangled version of “Promise” 

he freezes when you enter

“I rewrote this for you” 

he whispers

“But now it’s… a cage.” 

you sit beside him

pressing a melody into the keys

= your song

the one he hummed while making breakfast

he crumbles

“I’m scared...” 

admits it, forehead against yours

“But I’m more scared of losing us.”

AFTERMATH

Professional Life

Comeback

releases a new solo track - “Veil” 

with lyrics about “hands that fit too perfectly to hide” 

dances with a blindfold during the choreo

fingers brushing empty air where you’d stand

Interviews

when asked about dating, he tilts his head, coy

“If I had someone… I’d want to protect them. Even from me.”

Personal Life

New Rules

no more public cafes

instead, he rents out entire movie theaters under fake names (“Mr. Park and… Mrs. Pancakes?”)

learns to cook your favorite dishes so you never have to risk takeout

Quiet Defiance

starts wearing your ring on a chain under his stage outfits

lets it slip during a jacket adjustment

smirk daring the cameras to notice

Healing

therapy

journals: “Love isn’t a sin. Fear is.”

takes you to Busan

introduces you to his parents as “my peace” 

his mom cries

his dad hugs you, asing how you like your coffee 

“You better deserve him” 

but slips you extra cake

LITTLE THINGS ONLY YOU SEE

Nightmares

wakes up gasping

clutching your wrist

“I dreamt they… they took you.” 

lets you hum “Serendipity” until his heartbeat steadies

Playlist

makes you a mixtape titled “For When the World Feels Heavy” 

filled with H.E.R. and old Bolero covers

hides a voicemail at the end

“I’d burn it all down for you. Just say the word.”

Ritual

every month, he lights a candle and deletes one hate comment aloud

“Your words don’t own us.”

TAEHYUNG

-“I wanted the world to see you like I do… but not like this.”-

HOW IT LEAKED

a photograph on his private blog

one he never meant to share

Taehyung had been curating a series titled “Light in the Cracks”

= glimpses of his world through fractured mirrors and sunlit dust

one image stands out

= a shadowy silhouette of you dancing in an empty studio

backlit by golden hour

your figure blurred but unmistakable to anyone who knows you

caption reads: “My favorite kind of magic: the unseen.”

fans zoom in

your necklace is a tiny moonstone pendant he gifted you on your first anniversary

matches the one in his latest live

ARMYs stitch timelines

tracing your shared glances at concerts

the way he’d hum “Sweet Night” when you entered a room

by midnight, your Instagram is flooded with comments

“Is this V’s muse?”

HIS PUBLIC REACTION

Artist’s Gambit

doesn’t delete the photo

he posts a follow-up

= a close-up of wilting roses

captioned:  “Beauty is fragile. Handle with care.” 

fans dissect it as a plea for privacy

Press Play

at a movie premiere, reporters ambush him

“Is love your new inspiration?” 

he smirks

adjusting his beret

“Love is always my inspiration. Next question.”

Social Media Silence

archives all personal posts except the roses

changes his bio to “Guardian of galaxies.”

HIS PRIVATE REACTION

he is in his darkroom

red light casting shadows as he develops film

when you find him, his hands are stained with chemicals

trembling

“I’m sorry...” 

whispers, voice raw

“I wanted the world to see you like I do… but not like this.”

shows you a contact sheet of stolen moments

= your laugh caught mid-frame, your hand curled around his wrist, a tear he kissed away

“These were just for us, now they’re… theirs.”

Breaking Point

3 a.m.

he drives you to Daegu

speeding through backroads until you reach his gradparents old farm

sits you under a persimmon tree where he wrote his first song

“Hyung once told me love is a secret you plant."

murmurs

dirt under his nails as he digs a hole

buries a film canister of your photos

“Let’s grow it here. Where no one can dig it up.”

AFTERMATH

Professional Life

Artistic Rebellion

next photography exhibit features distorted self-portraits

= mirrors shattered and rearranged

he centerpiece?

= a single rose encased in glass

titled “Unreachable.” 

critics call it “melancholic genius.”

ARMYs know better

Music Clues

releases a jazz cover of “Someone Like You” 

with modified lyrics

“Don’t forget me, I beg… but forget the world.”

Personal Life

New Rituals

learns calligraphy to write you letters in Daegu satoori

sealed with wax stamps

signs them in red ink

Guilt & Protection

hires a bodyguard for you

then fires them when you protest

“Fine. Then I’ll protect you myself.” 

starts taking Krav Maga

“For art."

Defiant Love

wears a silver ring on his thumb

your initials etched inside

lets it “accidentally” face the camera during a fansign

quotes Pablo Neruda in a Weverse reply

“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.”

LITTLE THINGS ONLY YOU SEE

Midnight Piano

plays “Winter Bear” on loop when he’s anxious

fingers stumbling until you sit beside him

 “You’re my melody...”

mumbles

resting his head on your shoulder

Sketchbook

fills pages with your eyes

...“the left one’s brighter when you lie”

hides it under his bed

lets you find it with a sticky note

“For your eyes only.���

Code

develops a tap system for crowded events

three squeezes = “I love you” 

two = “Let’s run” 

uses both excessively

JUNGKOOK

-“You said… you wanted normal. And I… I couldn’t even give you that.”-

HOW IT LEAKED

happens during a live

Jungkook, half-shirtless and sweaty post-workout

rambles about his gym routine

you call out from the kitchen

“Kookie, did you eat the last mandu?!” 

he freezes mid-flex

eyes widening like a deer in headlights

live cuts off abruptly

but not before 2 million ARMYs hear his panicked: “Uh… no?” and your laughter

fans dissect the clip frame by frame

someone enhances the background noise

isolating your voice from a BTS fanmeet Q&A three years prior

by midnight, your Instagram is flooded with side-by-side comparisons of your hands

visible in an old VLOG and the “mystery girl” in his live

HIS PUBLIC REACTION

Silence

Jungkook ghosts social media for 72 hours

unprecedented for the man who once posted 10 gym selfies just a few days before

Deflection

returns with a thirst trap video captioned “Focus on your gains, not my snacks.” 

comments are disabled

Protective Fury

when a paparazzi shoves a mic in your face, he snarls

“Touch her again and I’ll end you” 

voice so low it trends as “Demon Jungkook.”

HIS PRIVATE REACTION

Immediate Aftermath

he’s a mess

you find him in the gym at 3 a.m.

punching a bag until his knuckles split

“I ruined it.”

chokes, sweat and tears mixing on his face

“You said… you wanted normal. And I… I couldn’t even give you that.”

Breaking Point

that night, he crawls into your bed

shaking

“I’ll quit."

whispers

“Fuck the fame. Let’s move to Jeju. I’ll fish. You’ll… sell seaweed. We’ll be nobodies.” 

you laugh

he’s dead serious.

Guilt & Growt

buys burner phones

creates coded playlists (“Strawberry Milk” = I miss you; "Banana Milk" = I love you)

forces himself to watch the leaked clip 100 times

“To remember how stupid I was.”

AFTERMATH

Professional Life

Music

releases a solo track

“Seven (Silent Nights)” 

lyrics about “loving in the dark, counting heartbeats instead of stars.” 

ARMYs sob

you know it’s about the nights he held you

terrified of dawn

Interviews

when asked about “dating rumors” he just smirks

“I date my dumbbells. They’re very loyal.”

his knee presses against yours under the table later

Personal Life

New Rules

learns to cook mandu from scratch and YouTube tutorials

leaves them on your pillow with Post-its

“Proof I’m learning.”

Symbolic Gestures

gets a tattoo of your initials under his ribcage

“So even if they take everything, you’re here.”

LITTLE THINGS ONLY YOU SEE

Nightmares

wakes up clawing at his chest

convinced your initials vanished

makes you trace them with your finger

until his breathing steadies

Chaos

drags you to Namsan Tower at 4 a.m.

both of you in disguises

“We’re tourists! From… Canada!”

Softness

whispers “I’m sorry” into your skin every time he kisses you

= a mantra, a prayer, a promise

[whoopsiesnodaisies]

Saturday Sunday Snippet!

Thanks @my-castles-crumbling for the tag

From Chapter 1 of Teenage Werewolves Don’t Dance with Posh Boys

James stopped Remus in the hallway, “Remus, can we talk?” James asked.

Remus paused, completely confused as to what this could possibly be about. “Yeah, I guess.”

James breathed a sigh of relief, before awkwardly asking, “Uhm, you’re hanging out with Evans?”

Remus nodded. “Yeah, guess so.”

James gave a strained kind of grimace, “She’s kind of off limits.”

“You’re not dating,” Remus said, very matter-of-fact.

James swallowed hard, “Not yet.”

“So then she’s not off limits.”

“If you date Lily Evans, I will make your life a living hell.” James rushed out, his tone threatening and his cocky smile gone.

Remus scoffed at that, struggling not to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” James demanded.

“I’m not into girls,” Remus answered, half expecting to get beaten up on the spot and called a plethora of slurs by the jock.

Instead, James just looked down, rather bashfully. “Oh,” He said, like he was processing the information, “Sorry, man.”

“It’s fine.” Remus shrugged.

“That’s cool.” James mutters, unsure of what to do now.

Remus raised an eyebrow, “Excuse me?”

“That you like guys, it’s totally cool.” James says, clearly unaware of what he’s supposed to do right now.

“We don’t have to have this conversation, James.” Remus insists, just wanting to get to his bus.

“No, like, Sirius likes guys too. So I don’t have any problem with gay people.” James insisted, trying to defend himself. “That wasn’t cool of me to assume, um, sorry.”

Remus paused for a second, taking in the information. Sirius Black was gay. Remus was certain that James probably wasn’t supposed to say anything about it. “Sirius Black is gay?”

[sukunas-wife]

YOU NEED TO MAKE MORE DAD!SUKUNA😭 It’s just soo good!!!, I’m literally obsessed with Dad!sukuna🫶🏻

lol here’s a little snippet to start the day, in other words I had a domestic dream 🥺🤍

Jujutsu Teacher Sukuna AU

Somewhere in another time line Sukuna became a not so dedicated teacher at Jujutsu high school still after having turned himself into a curse, even 1000 years he landed a spot on the higher up’s board it hilarious when they try to execute someone and he completely disagrees.

They learned quickly is Sukuna disapproves of their actions agree with arrimen Sukuna. Don’t go behind his back and try to do it either. He’s not afraid to kill everyone and replace the entire board of Higher Ups

Then one year he met you, you came in from the sister school to be teacher. Usually he tried not to mess with staff they only last so long anyways. But maybe it was that time he saw you banging your head in the drink machine because you used your last bills to buy a drink and it got stuck. Or maybe it was that time Gojo and Toji surprisingly decided to team up against you and you managed to hold your own.

It was when YOU started to pursUE HIM he became really intrigued. At first he became annoyed because not to far behind the corner he could hear the snickering and “Oh she’s really doing it!” “She’s a brave woman to try and flirt with him…” “What are you idiots do- oh, this could be interesting.” “shhh, I can’t hear what he’s saying!”

You didn’t notice when he flicked his wrist, but you did hear your coworkers panic and the rushed steps. Looking back confused you were more confused when you looked back at Sukuna and he was leaning forward getting face to face with you before squishing your face in one of his hands. “You do understand you proud Jujutsu Sorcerers don’t live very long, so give me one good reason you want my attention.”

You wanted to badly to look away from those demanding red eyes, to pull away and breath the God given air, instead here you were getting dazed off his musk and cologne. Feeling his warm hand squish your face, nails lightly pressing against your skin. Smash- swallowing you had one chance to do this right. Don’t stutter, don’t fear, breath, don’t rush, don’t show him WEAKNESS.

“I J- ahem” ah.. I messed up already, “Wait let me restart- Okay I’m ready, I’m not gonna stand here and promise happiness smiles and endless love, praise and worship. I’m not gonna lie to your face and tell you everything you want to hear and pretend it’s all sunshine and rainbows. When I go on a mission I’m not gonna say I promise to always come back that would be a fools move. But at least in my last moments I’d have to privilege to remember you and all those wise words you used to tell me like. “Dumbass that’s why you keep more than two dollars in your wallet.” Or “Living to please others and dying with regrets if no helping everyone is vain, Live to please yourself at least in your final moments you’ll have some sense of fulfillment.” So like it or not I’m here to please myself if you say No and tell me to fuck off and send me on my way. I won’t regret having asking. If you say yes, well I won’t lie I wouldn’t really know what to do or say I came in expected to be rejected and humbled.” Finally your eyes left his, you were oblivious to stare he had. He wasn’t completely amused but he wasn’t bored of your words either. “Look at me.” You did, “you didn’t bore me entirely with your little … speech so I’ll give you one opportunity. Sunday, I have an early mission, meet me here at 4 in the morning and I’ll tell you with me. After I finish you can have the rest of my day or until I get bored.”

He didn’t get bored… it turned out you amused him so much more when you weren’t surrounded be suits.

And that’s how you ended up here.

“Yuji don’t say something stupid love can’t protect anyone.” Nobara rolled her eyes, “Yuh huh, your words can’t hurt me because my mom and dad’s love protects me.” He puffed his chest out crossing his arms and smiling with closed eyes, missing the book Nobara was throwing at him. A solid sound was made, Yuji was wide eyed, the all to familiar wrist holding the heavy book just in front of his face, “Careful Miss.Kugisaki it’d be a shame if you caught extra missions for disabling another student from completing his own.” Yuji smiled proudly, “See, protected.”

Sukuna rolled his eyes, “Get to class Fushiguro was on your ass last time for being late to class.” He nodded his head at Yuji who just smiled sheepishly rubbing the back of his head, “Alright.” Of course the Trio ran past you greeting you with “Hi Mrs.Sukuna!” Good morning Mom!” “Morning Y/n Senpai.” You watched them all keep running until your husband stood next to you offering you the Coffee Cup he had been drinking. You were distracted by one thing “Why do you have our photo album?” Sukuna felt his eye twitch, “Damn brat.” Was all he mumbled tucking it under his shoulder, “Your son believes your love protects him.”

You laughed, “OUR son believes OUR love for him protects him. Considering your holding that book Im assuming Kugisaki tried to throw it at him or you were reminiscing on that time you had to save them from a Special Grade ambush and when you had to carry them all out Yuji was sniffling how he knew he could count on you to be there for him.”

He looked away, “Higher ups are lucky I only wiped out half of them.” You rested your head on his shoulder pulling the album from him. “Aaww this is Yuji’s baby album” you cooed seeing the picture of Sukuna holding Yuji next to a bouquet of “It’s a Boy!” Balloons. In the background you could see the blur of Geto smacking Gojo on the back of the head.

Sukuna is secure as a man and father 🥹

So it’s not a surprise to you when you come home late from the school and find true form Sukuna threatening to break the sofa under his weight coddling 15yo Yuji 🥹

As much of a brute people have him to be, Yuji might be his only son, and he might call him brat and roll his eyes a lot. But he’d be damned if he were truly a bad dad. In a whispered conversation he told you about everything that happened on Yuji’s mission. How the mission was purposely miss graded and they basically walked into a special grade curses domain. Sukuna had no doubt in his mind that if wouldn’t have been the one over seeing their mission the first years wouldn’t have walked back out alive.

Yuji was alright the entire ride but when he got home he broke down crying, speechless gasping for air. That’s when Sukuna pick him up carrying him over the sofa, coddling Yuji wasn’t as easy now that they were almost the same height, so he turned to his true form. And let Yuji cry, scream and hold onto him. Rubbing his back, holding his head against his shoulder, just talking to him to comfort him. “Do you remember that time we went to the park, and you wondered off to far chasing a duck.” Yuji nodded still sniffling, “Your mom was scared shitless when she couldn’t find you.” He laughed and Yuji laughed lightly, “y.. yeah I remember I jumped into the pond and then you and mom started screaming and then jumped in…” sukuna laughed louder, “Y/n was so mad but she couldn’t stay mad when she saw you with that little duck.” He patted Yuji’s back resting his chin on his head. Soon Yuji fell asleep.

It led you to find him this state. You asked him to go lay him in his bed, he did. He came to help you make some comfort food, it was hilarious when you asked if he could use dismantle on vegetables and it turned out he could. Now over the table in the wall is a sign that says “Malevolent Kitchen.”

The house that night was filled with the soft sounds of cooking, you and your husband talking about whatever came to mind. The Golden pot boiling with whatever broth you made. Sukuna was fighting the rice cooker while you tempura fried some shrimp and rolled some noodles to cook

It was well past 9 when you heard Yuji coming, both of you turning to see him walking yawning and rubbing his eyes. Bare feet padding along the kitchen floor. “Come sit down Yu you gotta be hungry.” you fixed him a large bowl of noodles with Tempura shrimp. On the side were the massive Onigiri Sukuna had made, he even tried to use the nori stamp to put little faces on them. More often than not they have 4 little crooked eyes that looked mad but it squeezed your heart how he laughed to himself saying “Yuji’s going to love these.”

He did, you watched as he bit into it rice sticking to his face. “These are good dad what did you fill them with?” “Nitamago we forgot to pack em for lunch so.. improvise I guess.” You both sat down with Yuji talking and eating. Just enjoying the free time you had together before Sukuna would go commit another crime against the higher ups 🤍🤍

Yeah 🥹

Im here 10-1 in the morning 🤍 It took all day to type this out 😭😭

Also a lot of my co workers walked out today 🥹 it was rough

Tag List: @sad-darksoul @cyder-puff @satorisgirl @bontensbabygirl @lupita97lm @queen-luna-007 @sakuxxi @mercymccann @simpforyoubitch @certainduckanchor @domainofmarie @najiiix @bakugou-katsukis-wife @amitiel-truth @souyasplushie @mylovelessnightmare

[caterpills]

Traffic Light Tag Game!

Thank you so much to @cha-melodius and @leaves-of-laurelin for the tag for this! Similarly, I'm going to do this instead of the normal Sunday snippet sharing.

rules: talk about something creative you're working on of any kind.🚦

green: what is it about, what excited you about it, what sparked the idea?

orange: slow down and share something from it: a photo, a few words, some more background info etc.

red: what is the roadblock currently? what is one thing that is a necessary evil in making it? GREEN

So many things, but going to pick this one: affectionately called "the saudade fic" was an idea I had mid-writing and posting Comment/Question, and it's been percolating for a while. Basically, Alex attempts to save a boy from drowning when he's younger, but he never knows if the boy survived, so in order to cope with the loss, he creates an imaginary version of the boy, who he calls "H", to talk to. Except you know, H talks back. And maybe isn't as imaginary as Alex thought when they meet (unknowingly) again in college. There's grief! Feelings of loss! And so much yearning! And coming to terms with not being everything to everyone! So many water metaphors! And takes place over a series of time, and playing with some timeline things, for funsies. It has all the things I love reading about in books.

ORANGE

I have a whole pinterest board of things that inspire the feelings I want to feel while reading/writing it, so it's grown a lot (lots of oceanic pictures - I'm also afraid of the ocean, so this is really a terror writing experience for me too!!) I also have an extensive playlist for no reason other than I love music to write to. But I wanted to use this quote, in the literal sense, as well as the emotional one in the book:

“Thank you from the bottom of my heart for having saved me. I was drowning and you threw yourself into the water without hesitation, without a backward look.”

And a quick little collage of some photos on that pinterest board:

RED

URGHGHGH so many things. Real life is very nightmarish, so finding time where I don't want to sit and disassociate is hard. I also have some pretty complicated feelings about writing and fandom at present and feel that maybe the idea might be too big for me to tackle (right now.) It's weird because the urge is there, but the words are all mucked up, and I just wish it was easier than I thought (this goes for all my languishing WIPs, too.) tl;dr - I'm tired, and I feel like putting words to paper is a massive undertaking for me. But I figured blabbing about it here to people might get me out of that stupid little rut and get more than 2-3 sentences on a page a month.

ANYWAY, if you've gotten this far, here are some no-pressure/low-pressure tags to join in!! I hope you all have a wonderful week ❤️

@alasse9 @taste-thewaste @firenati0n @thesleepyskipper @suseagull5914

@myheartalivewrites @miss-minnelli @judasofsuburbia @thinkof-england @onthewaytosomewhere

@anincompletelist @14carrotghoul @porcelainmortal @wordsofhoneydew @blueeyedgrlwrites

@stellarmeadow @faketrex @sophie1973 @littlemisskittentoes @thedramasummer

@tailsbeth-writes @milowren29 @tinyarmedtrex @sparklepocalypse @clockwrkpendrxgon

@cricketnationrise @kj-bee @thighzp @theprinceandagcd @bitbybitwrites

@miharaikko @dani-dabbles @msmarvelouswinchester @priincebutt @incalamity @shesfromboston @zwiazdziarka

[slowd1ving]

[INAMORATA] SNIPPET . *࿐ SUNDAY, MOZE, SOMEWHAT JIAOQIU??

for some additional context reader is an incubus and also joined a class on catching/apprehending monsters in the modern world as a joke, but now is doing a project on said monsters (cough, incubi) thus is in a really fucking awkward position rn anyways this will probably be the last snippet before I actually post the work so enjoyy

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

“…edit it documentary style. It’s professional, organised, and will suit the Professor’s tastes.” Sunday’s mellifluous voice washes over you as you sit in the campus library with your classmates, desperately trying to look engaged. 

It does not work. 

Sunday’s fountain pen wavers in the air and turns on you, and your heart jolts and skips past a few beats—it looks far too close to a weapon for your liking, and you would not trust an angel with a dagger for the life of you. Or without the dagger. He does not inch it closer, but it’s rather an unconscious mirroring of his thinking that betrays that he’s about to scold you for falling asleep. You’re thankful for the table that separates the two of you, but you fear wood can only do so much to counter flames of divine punishment. 

But before he can lecture you, Moze beats him to it. And for the record, you don’t know how he ended up sitting right next to you, and you’d like to complain. 

Leaning across his chair, he gets unnecessarily close to talk to you, and it’s not like whatever he’s saying is important. 

“Do you have anything to add—” and here his leg ghosts up against yours, but you don’t flinch. At least, you don’t think you do. “—or did you not get enough sleep last night?”

His voice is low—enough that there’s an undercurrent of tension without him even trying. You choose not to reply directly to him; instead, you look at Sunday once more, and you swear you feel a spike of irritation from the angel. But, surely not, right?

Mulling your words over, you carefully select a sequence that won’t land you a one-way ticket back to hell. There’s a certain trick to this, you see—and that’s crossing your fingers and thinking of an escape plan in the event you fail, or the shameless cowardly demon approach. It may not land you a spot among the Lieutenants, but it sure is better than being skewered by some angel. 

Especially one named Sunday. You disguise your grimace. 

“Uhh,” you wrack your brains, before settling on the first thing your mind falls upon—yesterday night, all cozied up with Jiaoqiu. Fuck. “A horror movie.”

You can feel Moze’s stare burn into dermis, sizzle a bit, then singe your very bones.

“That’s an— unconventional idea,” Sunday coughs, and you remind yourself that angels are way meaner than you’d expect. 

“If you think it’s ill-founded, then I would like to remind you our professor’s maturity doesn’t necessarily mean he’ll enjoy an orthodox style,” you argue, suddenly remembering that angels are also ill-suited for debates and ‘gotchas’, and also that incubi can honey their tongue to saccharine degree.

Fuck. You’ve really spent too much time in the human realm. 

Before Sunday can get a word in, you keep talking, desperate to look enthusiastic to discuss incubi and possibly give yourself away. “If it’s being entered into the Film Festival, a mockumentary or a horror film could be both informative and entertaining. Or even a silent film.”

“It’s succubi and incubi,” Moze mutters. “If there were more people I’d bet there’d be one group submitting porn.”

You stifle a cough, but you don’t think you did it well. 

“What, with Hopkins as the intended audience?” you glance at him, and see the traces of laughter on his mouth, and suddenly your own feels somewhat dry. Just a little. 

“Yeah, imagine,” he matches your airy tone—and the proximity forces your heart to lapse. Just a little. 

Sunday’s glare bores into both of you. “Can the two of you take this seriously? We are absolutely not doing that.”

If you ever forgot he was an angel, this is a poignant reminder. Should you squint, you think you can see a faint halo around his head, but that could also honestly just be the library light causing the incandescence. 

“Yes, which is why we should do horror or a mockumentary,” you interrupt. This is the only fight you’d ever attempt with an angel, and boy do you deserve a medal for it like the humans do. “The topic isn’t particularly… uh… safe for work, so horror would convey the right message that we investigate in each class, while still having space for detail. Think something like found footage horror films or something.”

“You raise a good point,” Sunday deliberates—if there was anything good to say about angels, it would be that they are gracious with their concessions. Some concessions. “Fine.”

Fine. 

Fine.

Fine. 

With glee, you save the moment to brag about when you next visit downstairs. I got an angel to agree with me. 

But simultaneously, you compose your face, knowing the next item on the agenda will inevitably be the very topic of the proposal. 

Suddenly, you no longer feel the glee of just a minute ago. 

Oh shit. 

[aconfusedkitten]

Snippet Sunday

In theory, it shouldn't be hard to find a power module that's compatible with Aventurine's systems.

There are hundreds, if not thousands of broken androids scattered across the city, and one of them is bound to have the right parts. Even if Aventurine is an older – or newer, really – model, he can't be the only one of his kind. Statistically speaking, that would be highly unlikely.

Or at least, that's what Veritas keeps telling himself.

In reality, he's never met an android like Aventurine before. In reality, Veritas has never met anyone so utterly human before.

Because how else is he supposed to describe him?

“Where to find another power module,” Veritas mumbles absently.

His eyes flicker around his makeshift workshop. Parts scattered across every available space, two cots set up in the corner – topped with their cloaks instead of a blanket, but that was a luxury he couldn't afford – and scarce, battered walls that would hopefully keep them safe for as long as they stayed here.

No matter what precautions Veritas takes, it will never be safe to leave Aventurine here alone.

Not when he still hasn't woken up. Not when there's still a goddamn hole where his eye should be. Not when his body – his lively, always moving body – is limp in Veritas’ arms, never responding when Veritas tries to fix his circuits, and-

Not when the world still wants Aventurine dead for doing nothing at all.

[roguishcat]

Snippet Sunday

Thank you for tagging me @arzen9, @verbenaa, @feedthepheasants, @clazberryk and @xxnashiraxx! 💖💖

Here is my contribution, a snippet from 'Part of his plan' Part 2.

Astarion lowered Tav onto the bedroll, one hand behind her head, the other on her hip. Slowly, taking his time to savour the softness of her skin, he trailed his fingers up. The fabric of her shirt bunched as his hand traced the contours of her body and settled just below her breast.

“Are you sure?” He felt warm breath against his lips as they broke apart.

Instead of replying, Astarion put his mouth on Tav’s neck, fangs grazing sensitive flesh, her heartbeat strong in his ears.

He would tell her everything. And he would tell her soon. Because the thought of him being in any way like that vile male who dared to use her and scar her, to put that dejected look on her face, was something that Astarion could not bear.

His movements grew more frantic as he removed the last of the barriers between their bodies, wanting, needing to do enough that she would stay.

Because whilst he didn’t want to examine his feelings for Tav too much, not daring to hope for anything, he was terrified of what the consequences of his deception would be. 

No pressure tags: @bardic-inspo, @obsessedwhyyes, @busy-baker, @cinnamontails-ff, @larvasmoon, @anacdoce, @vividiana, @obsessedwhyyes, @preciouslittlebhaalbae, @lanafofana, @caffeinatedmunchkin, @silent-words, @waterdeep-weavemoss, @ladyduellist, @coyote-mint, @funniestbitchinfaerun, @inkymoonbunny, @khywren, @kalmiaphlox

[welcometololaland]

10 things - 2024/2025 edition

happy new year, everyone! 2024 has been a year of change for me in so many different ways, and i've posted very little fic this year, mostly due to writers' block and time constraints. so, instead of doing the writing round up i thought i'd list 10 things i'm grateful for in 2024 (fandom edition) and 10 things i want to do in 2025 (also, fandom edition). please feel free to make your own if you wish! consider this an open tag 🏷️

2024 - things i'm grateful for (in fandom, in no particular order)

1. my ride or die friends who deal with my self doubt and breakdowns and (being 100% real) paranoia about situations that simply don't exist - @rmd-writes @celeritas2997 , the popcorn squad and others. wouldn't be writing without your support!

2. the writers who have trusted me to beta for them - @heartstringsduet @basilsunrise @rmd-writes i think i'm forgetting some (so sorry if so). michelle, being with you through first aid was such an amazing experience, and i feel so lucky to have seen you develop as a writer!

3. the people who have read my fics and encouraged me including the wip wednesday and seven sentence sunday tags! - i literally would not be anywhere without you. you actually give me life.

4. the friendships i've made on discord with people who just wanna know me for me and share little snippets of their lives - @reyesstrand and @heartstringsduet the little squirrel photos y'all send me are soul soothers for real! @st-elle-ar and @clottedcreamfudge and @lightningboltreader and @birdclowns for the cat pics! @howtosingit for your commentary and spoiler services 💜

5. the grace given to me by @carlos-in-glasses and @actual-sleeping-beauty - you two are so kind and encouraging and tell me all about your knitting projects even when i go missing for weeks on end. thank you for being my friends <3 and i don't even think you guys know you are both my yarn obsessed friends but you ARE.

6. everyone who has trusted me enough to collab with them on projects - the legends on never the same twice, @rmd-writes @strandnreyes. i loved working with you and i hope you had a positive experience! looking forward to more collabs in 2025.

7. the document gremlins, betas and sensitivity readers i've collected this year - @rmd-writes @strandnreyes @lightningboltreader @celeritas2997 @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut ty ty ty ty some of those fics were in danger of being lost forever but we revived them!

8. @she-walked-away for making me laugh with your hilarious posts and olympia2997 who apparently doesn't exist on tumblr but leaves the most unhinged comments of all time on my fics.

9. everyone who has translated my fics or made art or gifs this year! inspired by you and in awe of you! @donghaian @whatsintheboxmh @heartstringsduet @guardian-angle22 i know there are more i'm so sorry if i've not listed you here!!!

10. everyone in the various fandoms i'm in who have created brilliant works in 2024! i am inspired by your work more than you know <3

2025 - things i want to do (in fandom, in no particular order)

1. read more, and read more broadly. expand my horizons a bit. read things that are a touch outside my go-to zones just to test the waters. read stuff by new authors!

2. spend time co-writing because that's actually my favourite thing to do. i have some things in the pipeline with a couple of people which i hope work out!

3. finish. the. damn. fic. (eurotrip). IT'S SO FREAKING CLOSE.

4. spend more time with my 2019-2021 beloveds - alex and henry. write more rwrb fic. engage in the fandom a bit more.

5. finish the ring-in 2.0 within 1 month of the LS finale (weep).

6. take one hand off the wheel with fandom relationships - my therapist tells me i need to stop trying to control how everyone feels about me and instead let people show me the kind of friendship they're interested in maintaining. scary because i think i may lose some people along the way but OH WELL WE BALL.

7. worry less about the engagement! god! i need to stop looking so much! *shakes fist at self*

8. write a little more regularly with less word count expectations.

9. learn how to be okay with smaller comments (from myself). sometimes i feel terrible if i don't write a damn essay but sometimes it stops me from reading which is horrible!

10. be a better fandom contributor than i was in 2024 - i think continuous growth is important and i'm always open to feedback (as long as it's constructive and genuine)! my mission is to always make a positive contribution and to make people feel good about themselves, and if i can even do that for one person in 2025, i think i will achieve this goal.

ty for the 2024 wrapped tags @hippolotamus @rmd-writes @reyesstrand @emsprovisions @nancys-braids @carlos-in-glasses @lemonlyman-dotcom @alrightbuckaroo @strandnreyes @thisbuildinghasfeelings @whatsintheboxmh @heartstringsduet @firenati0n @cha-melodius. you are real ones! consider this a tag back if you would like to do a 2024/2025 10 things edition.

[pleasuretrade]

Several Sentences Sunday

except i'm doing it monday because i've had food poisoning for the last two days

tagged by @swifty-fox <333 i said i wasn't gonna post more truth serum snippets but uhh i lied bc im tired of posting demo derby stuff

warning for: vomit, child abuse, torture kind of

 Another one of the krauts says something, and there’s a settling over the room, something final, Gale can’t place it, can only think that he’s aware of something shifting.

 The vomit surprises him, somehow. His mind had been wandering, away from his body, and when he heaves it’s directly onto his own lap. There is some kind of reaction from the Germans, a small commotion and some unimpressed murmuring, but Gale can’t focus on it enough to glean information. He doesn’t even taste or smell the vomit, senses removed from him and placed somewhere else.

 He’s seventeen and there’s blood on his face. He’s drunk. His father is drunk. Gale is laid flat on the ground outside. The stars are beautiful, but they’re spinning, and Gale wishes he was up there with them instead of down here on the dying summer lawn. The air is cool now, coaxing the grass around Gale’s face into a ticklish caress. His father had hit him before, but Gale had never hit him back until tonight. Vaguely, Gale is aware there will be consequences beyond maybe anything he’d ever known, but for a brief moment he’s content to appreciate the bright dot of Venus in the sky and how the universe swims around it. Thick, warm blood spreads down his tongue and into his throat, mixing with the taste of the brand of beer his father also drinks.

 When he opens his eyes he can barely see for all of the motion that he distantly understands is not really there. Panic rises with a wave of nausea, and he gags and heaves without producing so much as spit, mouth dry and stomach tight. He wishes he could vomit, wishes he could expel this, only he remembers that it’s in his veins, and then he wishes he could rip himself open to let it out.

 Hands are grabbing him, water is poured in his mouth, he doesn’t know if any of it makes it down his throat, is afraid that he’ll drown or at the very least choke and develop pneumonia and die an embarrassing death before he ever touches American soil again. Would slowly die in the infirmary while Bucky watches. Oh, god, Bucky.

[skibasyndrome]

Sunday Snippet

so for today's sunday snippet I won't be sharing another one of That Fic (TM) that I've been going on about for weeks mostly because I reeeeaaally wanna post it some time these upcoming day and instead give you a snippet of this idea that @impossibleknots brought into my life. for some reason, I immediately had to write 1k words for it in a frenzy, despite having plenty of other wips sitting around. idk when this one will turn into something real, but have fun with it for now! <3

He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t hear it when the door to the office is first pushed open. The sound of it startles him, and he’s glad his pen isn’t touching the paper when he jumps a little. His head whips around, and his eyes land on Wilhelm, one of his quieter colleagues. Wilhelm stares back, in this unnervingly intense way of his, the coat that he was about to dispose on the hook by the door still held in his hand, frozen. And something about that, about the fact that Wilhelm, who never even bothers giving Simon more than a cordial “good morning”, who most of the time doesn’t even spare him a look, even when Simon tries to initiate a conversation, now looks at Simon like he’s the intruder for doing overtime? Something about that rubs him the wrong way.

Simon doesn’t bother straightening up from where he’s hunched over his drawing board. If Wilhelm wants to be rude, so can he. “Deadline tomorrow,” Simon presses out, slightly annoyed at himself that despite it all, he feels the need to explain himself. “What’s your excuse?” That seems to wake Wilhelm from his trance. He whips his head around, only managing to meet Simon’s eyes briefly before he busies himself with the coat in his hands. Of course. Wilhelm clears his throat. “Same,” he grumbles and quickly turns away to unwrap the scarf from around his neck.