#doonas writing

[doonarose]

I wrote sickly sweet mostly PG rated Christmas fic about Crowley and Aziraphale having their first Christmas as a couple (Crowley would like it noted that they are not a couple) and it likely needs an edit and a britpick but have at it until I wake up tomorrow and do those things. Wheeeeeee!

***

“In what universe, did you actually think I would be interested in Christmas frivolities?” Crowley stares down the overflowing box of fake pine branches, metallic tinsel, and flashes of red velour. “Half of all that stuff is literally hell’s own work!”

The box is held in Aziraphale’s arms and he’s looking far too pleased with himself as he blocks the bookshop front doorway and any obvious opportunity for Crowley’s escape.

“Yes, but, well, we haven’t technically stayed together for Christmas – ”

Crowley cuts him off, “Not since 1826 and that was – ”

“That certainly doesn’t count.”

Of course it doesn’t.

Aziraphale clicks his tongue and moves past Crowley to drop the box on the sofa next to the desk. And then he turns on his heel in a flourish of swishing caramel winter jacket and heads back towards the front door. “And we’ve seen each other on Christmases, of course, but never as a couple and I thought, now that we are a couple we could try celebrating properly.”

Crowley staunchly ignores Aziraphale’s emphatic choices. They are most certainly not a couple. They are occult beings who have admitted quite a lot of feelings culminating in admissions of love (adoration, attachment, affection, admiration… Crowley doesn’t start on the ‘Bs) and have determined to spend most, if not all, of eternity together. It’s been almost six months now. They are not a couple.

Aziraphale is bustling back through the door with another box spilling over with hideous Christmas garb and Crowley swears this will be the last time he ever lets him run errands in the Bentley unsupervised. (It will not.)

“Angel, I am not one to celebrate the birth of their lord and saviour Jesus Christ, I’m a – ”

“Yes, a demon, I know,” Aziraphale says with an audible eyeroll. “Can you shift that.” He motions with his chin.

Crowley moves a stack of books out of his way. “What do we even need all this for?”

“To be festive!”

“And why do we need to be festive?”

“Because it’s fun,” Aziraphale positively wriggles with his delight and Crowley has to chew back on his own grin of kneejerk satisfaction to see it. He needs to stop reenforcing this kind of thing.

“I don’t see what’s fun about it at all. It’s the depths of winter except that there’s more winter to come, everything’s more expensive than it should be, and you have more customers than ever.” Crowley sets his lips in a scowl very deliberately. “Bah humbug, I say!”

“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale huffs and has the absolute audacity to beam at him as he pinches Crowley’s scowling cheek before disappearing back out onto the street to retrieve another box.

***

“If you don’t want to help me decorate, you don’t have to.” Aziraphale’s pouting and Crowley still hasn’t built up sufficient immunity against that well-deployed expression (very, very secretly, he hopes he never will).

He grumbles, “Well, I do, though. I’d feel bad if I didn’t.’

“Lovely.”

They stare at each other, Aziraphale’s eyes a challenge, Crowley’s working hard to convey general discontent.

Which is hard what he’s probably, maybe the most content he’s ever been, and just mildly annoyed about the repetitive Christmas music in the shops he frequents, and at Aziraphale’s ability to infect him with softness. He’s not meant to be soft, that’s Aziraphale’s job, and he likes Aziraphale soft. It won’t do if it’s the both of them, lazing around, being soft.

Aziraphale relents and tilts his head back with a huff. He’s sitting on the sofa, surrounded by the six over-stuffed boxes of Christmas paraphernalia he’s brought back from who knows where. He’s all splayed and flushed pink under the snug collar of his shirt and still wrapped up in too many layers of wool against the cold flurries of snow falling outside.

Crowley considers putting a stop to their Christmas debate and spending quite a bit of time on unwrapping Aziraphale.

“Can we at least do presents?”

“What?”

“For each other?”

Crowley scowls some more, but of course he has a half-dozen gifts he’s just been waiting for an excuse to bestow, soft, besotted, ethereal immortal that he is; presents sound rather lovely. Plus, he’s been looking for an excuse to buy Aziraphale some new socks, various wines and pastries, an undiscovered diary he’s got his eye on that he’s sure belonged to Joyce, a selection of maps he knows have Darwin’s scrawls on them. Also, a cushion for the Bentley, and fingerless gloves and…

“We already do gifts, don’t need capitalism to enforce a due date.”

Aziraphale’s mouth twists up, displeased with that response.

Crowley relents and hopes it’s convincing. “Fine, I’ll buy you something and wrap it up all nice and festive.”

“Wonderful, “Aziraphale breathes out. “And we could go and see a pantomime?”

“I will suffer all manner of tortures besides you, but I draw the line at purposefully bad theatre.”

Aziraphale pouts some more. “What about Christmas jumpers?”

“Only if you manage to knock me unconscious first,” Crowley snarks, his lips tipping up at the thought.

Aziraphale sits forward and steeples his fingers. “There are some very funny ones, you know, and in lovely shades of red, I’m sure we could find something you like.”

Crowley dismisses the idea with a laugh. “What else?”

“Mince pies?” Aziraphale asks, sounding meek.

“Do you really even like the taste of them? All sickly sweet, gummy fruit and your most hated spices?”

Aziraphale’s face falls. “Christmas pudding?”

“Same objection.”

“Well, we can still do a nice roast turkey with all the trimmings.”

Crowley’s grin breaks free again. “Ah, yes, the driest, worst roast that exists. Angel, I don’t know why you want to bother.”

“Because it’s nice.” Aziraphale snaps, becoming stroppy in Crowley’s rejection. It scratches at the back of Crowley’s neck in an unpleasant way because, of course, he’ll do at least some of it, if it makes Aziraphale happy.

“Will we have to cook the turkey and trimmings ourselves?” Crowley grumbles.

“Yes!” Aziraphale tells him. Cooking is mostly new to both of them. They’re awful at it, but more often than not it ends up rather an enjoyable experience. And they have a reliable list of late-night take-aways for backup anyhow. “I’ll make some lists and we can do a big shop together!”

Aziraphale’s face has lit up and it has become apparent that he wasn’t really that hard done by Crowley’s initial rejection and has rather adeptly played him. “And jumpers!” he adds like it isn’t up for negotiation. “Mulled wine, I’m sure you won’t object to?”

“In general, imbibing copious amounts of alcohol is one tradition I can get behind.”

“Lovely!” Aziraphale wriggles again and Crowley works to keep from cocking his head and devouring Aziraphale’s pleasure with a heated gaze. “Merry Christmas, my darling,” Aziraphale tells him.

Crowley’s continues to grin in spite of himself; he shakes his head and feels the blood in his cheeks. “You’re ridiculous,” he says. Aziraphale is ridiculous. They are both ridiculous.

***

“Angel!” Crowley calls for him and balances urgency with easiness. Occasionally, they still make each other panic, they still panic together. Six thousand years of near-death and furtive romance (that’s what it had been, really) and all sorts of trauma will do that.

Aziraphale descends the spiral staircase, into the dimly lit bookshop, multi-coloured fairy lights strewn over surfaces and suspended interwoven into bits of plastic tree providing the main source of illumination.

Crowley holds his position in the doorway to the backroom, one leg bent, one ankle crossed over the other. He has one of his arms cast above his head, leaning his wrist against the top of the doorframe. “In here, angel.”

“Crowley?” Aziraphale seeks him out, a crease between his eyes as he squints to see Crowley backlit in the doorway. “I thought you were in bed already?”

“I thought you said you only had a couple more pages to read.” Aziraphale’s been squirreled away in the spare room for hours and Crowley, having attempted sleep, had found himself too restless for it. “Come here,” he beckons again. “Closer.”

Aziraphale moves to him without hesitating and Crowley drops back from the door a half step, keeping one arm raised as he pulls a sleek A4-sized silver box from behind his back. “Early Christmas present,” he announces, with an overly pleased grin.

“Four more days,” Aziraphale admonishes, but his eyes catch on the box and it’s glittering surface and expensive looking red bow. “Is this for me now, though?”

Crowley gives him a slight nod but when Aziraphale reaches for it he pulls the gift back. “Hold on, I’ve got another festive tradition I think I can get on board with.”

Aziraphale’s hands pause in mid-air as Crowley sways back and very pointedly looks up to where his forearm’s still resting against the doorframe.

In his fingers, a spry looking bunch of mistletoe is grasped and hanging, tied together with a festive red bow and twisting back and forth between his fingertips.

Crowley waggles his eyebrows suggestively and lets his lips open around a mischievous smile, his tongue resting against the backs of his top teeth.

Aziraphale tries to school his expression, but Crowley’s intimately familiar with his look of delight. With the look he gets right before he leans in and kisses him. “Ah, you’re trying to tempt me?” Aziraphale attempts to be coy.

“Not at all, this is tradition, basically a rule,” Crowley drawls.

Aziraphale considers, faux reluctance about his lips. “Can’t really go against a Christmas rule, then.”

Crowley tips his face down to meet Aziraphale’s lips in a chaste press, easy in how casual it is, the expected taste of earl grey tea in the crease, and the warm blossoming softness of Aziraphale’s mouth against, welcome and pleasant in a way that spreads all the way out to his fingertips.

All too soon Aziraphale’s stepping back, Crowley’s gift grasped triumphantly in his hands. Crowley grumbles. “This is some grade A fresh mistletoe and I hardly think – ”

Aziraphale cuts him off with another kiss, more momentum, more movement, but still so blissfully soft, little movements back and forth as they slot together and tease at each other to see if, when, they’ll escalate. Aziraphale licks at Crowley’s bottom lip and he’s undone with it, as he always is, his lips going pliant and open so Aziraphale can lick with more pressure in between. Little motions into Crowley’s mouth and up against his tongue until Crowley’s halfway through a moan and rampant, unravelling, overwhelming thoughts, of dragging the angel over to the couch or up the stairs or somewhere. Then he sways too close and is jabbed in the stomach by the corner of the box and he pulls back with an “Ow.”

Aziraphale chuckles at him and then winces as the mistletoe drops from Crowley’s hand and bounces off his head onto the floor beside them.  He gives Crowley a look as he licks his lips and then turns his attention to his gift.

Crowley flushes and is suddenly unsure. This is exactly the kind of dumb shit couples do, he thinks. But so far, not so much, what he and Aziraphale do. Kissing in doorways under mistletoe, exchanging stupid gifts days too soon, without any excuse except that it’s Christmas and they want to.

“What have you gotten me?”

“’S nothing, really,” Crowley caveats.

Aziraphale clicks his tongue like he doesn’t believe it and wastes no time in tugging the bow free and pulling the lid off the box.

Beneath is tartan, deeper red than anything Aziraphale would ever usually wear but crossed through with his usual palette of browns and creams. He presses the box into Crowley’s hand so he can pull the soft cotton garment out and hold it up for appraisal.

“Pyjamas?” he figures correctly.

“’Cause you’re spending more time in bed.”

Aziraphale arches an eyebrow.

“I mean you never used to spend any time in bed, is all.” Crowley’s gaze drops to the floor. “Want you to be comfy.”

Aziraphale pulls the next layer of folded cotton out to find the matching pyjama bottoms. He stretches the waistband, testing the give, and then closes a hand over the edge of the box, deliberately bumping up against Crowley’s. “I love them,” he says and leans forward for another easy kiss even without the mistletoe overhead.

There’s still one layer of soft fabric left, verdant green with splashes of red, glimmering like satin under the Christmas lights. As Aziraphale holds the pyjamas scrunched in one hand so he can pull the rather ridiculous boxer shorts up, Crowley tries very hard to sound filthy instead of ridiculous when he says, “Also because you should be spending more time in my bed.”

Aziraphale snorts and it twists up something like devotion in Crowley’s stomach even as Aziraphale holds the mistletoe adorned silk boxers aloft.

“Really, Crowley,” Aziraphale says as he turns them over in his hands only to discover the inscription over the back of one thigh.

Kiss me under the mistletoe.

“Really, Aziraphale,” Crowley tells him, leaning into it if only because Aziraphale’s laughing and pink-cheeked and happy. “I thought you wanted me to find Christmas traditions I could get on board with.”

“Not sure this counts.”

“Those are definitely Christmas themed pants,” Crowley defends himself. “And if you’d be much obliged and go upstairs and put them on, I can once again demonstrate the requisite Christmas tradition.”

Aziraphale’s smile grows as he huffs out, “Crowley!” and is entirely unconvincing in his scandalized tone.

“Merry Christmas,” Crowley tells him and it’s enough to have Aziraphale laughing again, grasping his new pyjamas and ridiculous boxer shorts with intent, before he mumbles it back, sweetly and softly:

“Merry Christmas.” Then Aziraphale reaches for Crowley and it’s less sweet and soft, as he drags him in for one more kiss before turning and leading Crowley by the hand up the stairs to their bedroom.

[lxdymoon0357]

How about making Duna jealous by having Minho in the palm of your hands?! I mean like, reader definitely loves him, but she absolutely despises Minho cause she had already done some damage and so she likes to spoil him, flaunts that she has him, etc to both Duna and Wookyung? She's also rich and what not..

(You spoke literally my heart's desires and put them in a post!! Reader is described to have tattoos| Fem! Reader, reader is mentioned to have long hair| Mentions of SA, unhinge shit from Duna.)

© Writing belongs to me, Lxdymoon0357. Do not plagiarize, but reblogging, liking and commenting is deeply appreciated.

The other...better spouse..

The moment Duna walked out of the shop, clutching a box of cigarettes, her eyes were burning to cry because it was the most sick and twisted dream because why was she seeing Minho standing outside a alcohol shop having a little person cling to him inside his black puffer jacket as he laughed softly?

She never knew he could laugh so beautifully, that he had creases under his eyes when he laughed or smiled, that he is very ticklish.. She noticed your long hair falling out of his puffer jacket as he laughed softly, before you finally came out of his jacket, enjoying yourself as you both talked and crossed the streets heading in her direction...

Duna never knew that The Byun Minho was capable of change...I mean, she honestly always wanted to put him in his place during sex, break him down, make him bed for her forgiveness, make him her own personal rape doll...She was confused as to how Minho could get anyone with his bitter, distasteful and gross personality and not even being big enough to pleasure someone...

Duna stood there frozen as you and Minho crossed, hand laced together, with him giggling at something you said while you couldn't bother to remove your eyes from him...How could you? He was just such a gorgeous human inside that hard exterior.

Just as you both got on the pavement, Minho froze as you finally turned away to meet the eyes of a girl, quite pretty but you weren't getting good vibes from her, You tightened your grip on Minho's hand ever so slightly,

"Who are you?" Duna asked you, quite audacious you guessed from her mannerisms, as you glared at her up and down before softly poking Minho's cheek and clinging to his arm more making Minho snap out of his trance as he awkwardly looked at you and Duna before shaking his head and saying,

"Ah, Uhm...Y/N..Jagi, this is Duna...My ex.." he said murmuring as you nodded in realization, so she was the one who cheated on him and the one who raped him...You glared at her angrily, before sighing, squeezing Minho's hands in yours softly before letting go and pushing the door of the shop Duna just came out of,

"I'll go get the things we need." you said going inside the shop as Duna stared at you with jealousy and anger, you were gorgeous, she couldn't lie, long hair, gorgeous fashion, you seemed smart, with the etiquette and the style of you clothing, it was also safe to assume you were also quite rich..

Minho sighed as he stood aside, wondering who'd make the first move as Duna walked closer, "Minho...Why'd you choose her?" she asked straight forward glaring at him, making chills go down his spine as he rubbed his nape and took a step back, "I..Uh.." he took a step back every time she took a step forward.

Duna softly took a hold of his wrist in hers, pulling him uncomfortably close to her, pushing him against the wall of a closed shop besides the one which was open where you were inside.

"You know I'm better than her, right? What is it about her that's better? Is she pretty? Rich? None of it, you know I tried to help you, I was just a bit mad back then..." Duna said, her words spilling out without her noticing as Minho seemed frozen, taking deep breathes as he shrunk into himself. The sight made her feel powerful.

but suddenly a sharp jerk pulled her back from her hair as she was thrown onto the ground as she looked up to meet your glaring eyes as tow large broad men stood besides you also staring at her seriously as you helped Minho while the other the two men glared at her,

"Please, do not dare to hurt Sir.Byun, otherwise we'd be contacting authorities." one of the man said as she could see you pepper Minho with kisses who was clinging to you like a little child.

Softly you rubbed his back, snapping your fingers and handing your bag of wines and another plastic bag of different things to a bodyguards while a expensive car pulled up close to you as Duan dusted herself and quickly got up with embarrassment.

You were simply trying to calm Minho and sat him down in the expensive sports car before turning to Duna and walking closer, your heels clacking on the side of the pavement as she took steps back before she was backed into the wall where she was pinning Minho a few seconds ago,

"Listen, bitch. If I see you getting even a hundred miles closer to Minho, I'd take a thousand amount of evidence that you sexually assaulted him and get you a good life sentence." you said grabbing her jaw and grinning at her with mock and disgust, tightening your grip on her jaw making it ache,

"You're lucky it's Minho's kindness of not wanting to ruin your already no-good, pathetic, little life by not reporting you, but I won't be kind...Tell that to the little freak Cha Wookyung as well." you said letting go of her jaw as she rubbed it before throwing the cigarette box she dropped in her face and turning on your heel and sitting in the car.

As you sat inside the car and it drove off, Duna could just stand there staring down at the box off cigarette you threw in her face, realizing maybe you were the better one out of both of you...

[cellsshapedlikestars]

Great chapter!

It was really great to see Jon and Sansa interact throughout the chapter and to see how they are.

Sansa is still on the defensive when someone goes to her, as Jon found out when he gave her his old parka. I'm guessing that Sansa isn't used to people giving her things, without expecting something in return.

And it seems that Jon is still in turmoil about Sansa wanting to spend time with him and he is still hoping that she will lose interest. Which is not going to happen.

It was interesting to see them running into Val and seeing that Sansa thinks that she is still into Jon. Is Sansa right and is Val still interested in Jon?

Also, i'm guessing that the person to which Sansa sent the text messages and called early in the chapter is her agent or a bandmate, right?

All will be answered in time!

What I can confirm is that Sansa will not be losing interest any time soon :)

[lenteur]

random thoughts about doona!

(the rest will be under the cut because i don't know how long this post will be, might contain some spoilers as well)

i'm trying something different from my other "random thoughts about xyz" and i'll divide this into what i liked and what i disliked about the show. i watched all nine episodes in the same sitting so i'm too lazy to make a post for each episode <;/3

let's start with the pros

the acting is great. the choice of casting was made wisely and every actor knew what to do to make their character believable.

the scenery is stunning! if you know me, you know i'm a sucker for beautiful decor and landscapes and this drama gave it to me.

bae suzy. yes she needs a whole section dedicated just to her. i may be biased but she is a great actress and played doona really well. so, for that and her beauty, she deserves to be mentioned at least once in this post.

now onto one of the main reasons why i liked this drama: the behind the scenes of the kpop industry. the writers gave us the whole picture: the diet culture, the hate comments, the se*ualization of women in the industry, and the toxic environment she is in. it was important to tackle this topic and they did it good.

talking about doona's toxic environment, let's talk about the one and only in wook. that man is a scumbag but he's unfortunately not the only evil manager in kpop. using the darvo tactic to guilt trip doona into making a comeback. the only thing i wanted to do was slap him and shoo him away. but alas, he won in the end.

lots of pretty women!!!

and now the cons

i'm sorry but this drama was sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo sloooooooooooooooooooooooooooooow (ironic comment if you understand what my username means) the want to skip parts of the show was strong but i held it back because i feared missing a crucial part.

it felt weird that i had the anti-main couple syndrome when watching this. i've always either ignored or supported the main couple but for this show............. how can i say it? i was a h8ter. the moment they got together, i wanted them to break up immediately. lots of awkward moments and doona kind of playing with won jun's feelings didn't sit right with me. the only couple i rooted for was choi i ra & koo jung hoon 💕

just like i mentioned previously, it was obvious that doona was copying the treatment she received to won jun. she was being manipulative with him, playing with his feelings and using him to forget in wook. i didn't like it. at times, i found her selfish too :/

i wish this drama had a lot more scenes with doona as an idol and with her group dream sweet but that didn't happen unfortunately.

this is weird but this show felt too short and too long at the same time. too short because i wished some points were developed a little bit more, but too long because there were some unnecessary moments in it.

overall, i'm giving this show a 6/10. the cons outweighed the pros and i couldn't wait to finish watching it.

[fairyridden-a]

✱ open . m / nb . premise : doona lures her victims boyfriends in by acting all cute . . . ur muse fell right into her trap .

' do you like my dress ? ' twirls for them as if they weren't handcuffed to her bedpost . ' shame you can't come with . . . the stupid police are still looking for you . and we don't want them taking you away from me , right ? '

[mister-eames]

Learned a new word today (a doona) because of your tags

I can't begin to tell you how confused I was when I first read the words 'comforter' and 'duvet' aha. I still need to mentally translate sometimes!

[ogradyfilm]

Recently Viewed: Broker

Like The Shape of Water and First Reformed, Broker is a cinematic Rosetta Stone, clarifying the central themes that pervade Hirokazu Kore-eda’s body of work. The writer-director has always sought to illuminate the humanity in the unlikeliest of social pariahs, from deadbeat dads (in After the Storm) to shoplifters (in the aptly titled Shoplifters) to magically animated inflatable sex dolls (in Air Doll, a whimsically literal variation on the premise). Here, he turns his lens on child traffickers—an unconventional subject, to be sure, but fertile ground for conflict in the hands of a storyteller with the proper sensibilities.

Fortunately, Kore-eda tackles the topic with remarkable sensitivity. He neither condones nor condemns his protagonists’ actions; he merely observes them—their flaws, their ambiguities, their nuances—and allows the viewer to decide whether or not they “deserve” to be forgiven. It’s a difficult judgment to make: every character is compassionate and selfish in roughly equal measure; do their ethical lapses truly make them irredeemable? After all, the inflexible bureaucracy of “the system” is rarely kind to underprivileged outsiders; even the most ardent enforcers of “law and order” must acknowledge that crime is often motivated by desperation rather than malice.

Perfectly cast, stylistically spare, and emotionally rich, Broker is a bona fide masterpiece. I’m not terribly consistent in my stance on “auteur theory” (production being an inherently collaborative process), but Kore-eda’s filmography makes a compelling argument in its favor.

[eveningepiphany]

hotel room | H.S

summary: harry & Y/N are friends but it’s a love hate relationship with so much tension you can hardly breathe. this tension isn’t any better when they get stuck in a hotel room together for the night. and it only has one bed.

warnings: SMUT! hand job (f+m receiving), PIV unprotected, sloppy morning sex, teasing, swearing, praise, friends to lovers.

A/N:I have opened my requests! and I’d love to write some from you guys, so send them in here <3

———

“So there’s only… definitely only one room for us?” I say slowly, and the lady behind the counter nods.

“Y/N,” Harry says, “we’ve shared a room before—“

“I’m so sorry the inconvenience— Since the multitude of delayed flights from the storm we’ve had an unexpected influx of last-minute bookings…” her hands are zipping along the keyboard as she is clearly under the pump.

“You’ve been booked under a single room.” She glances up, face turned up apologetically, confirming.

I nod, knowing there’s so many other people needing somewhere to stay right now, there’s no point being picky.

It’s just one night.

Because Harry and I live in the same part of the UK, we usually catch the same planes to and from when we get short breaks from touring with the band.

So of course we flew out for our Australian leg of the tour several hours ago and got stuck at our layover destination, Abu Dhabi.

The storm rolled in quick, putting hour— even day long— delays on flights. So now people are scrambling to book hotels for the next few nights.

Luckily our management got on it as soon as we’d called them about the delay of out flight, but I suppose they only could get us the one room for two.

We get our room key and head up the elevator to the 7th floor.

When we walk into the room there is a single queen bed in the centre of it, and I glance at Harry out the corner of my eye. We are always close to one another being in the band, but never “share a bed” close.

“Don’t stress.” He says.

“I’m not stressed.” I quip.

“Yes you are, don’t try and bullshit me.”

“Harry, we’re adults it’s fine.”

“Hardly adults.” He chuckles.

I scoff at his constant digs, there is a fineline of how much Harry I can tolerate in a day and we are really pushing it.

“Well if you think that then I implore you to take the couch.” I know just by looking at the couch he’d hardly fit on it, and I’m not that much of an asshole to let that happen.

“Oooh, you’re just trying t’get the bed all to yourself? Bloody bed hog.”

I open my bag up, pulling out fresh clothes and my toiletries, “Was just providing you the options. I’m going to shower.”

“Too bad if I wanted one first.” He sighs dramatically, with a little smirk that usually indicates he’s teasing.

“Too bad indeed.” I smile sarcastically at him as I shut the door.

It’s so nice to wash away the gross feeling that sticks to your skin after long flights like we just had.

When I come out of the bathroom he’s laying in the bed, crisp white doona pulled back.

“Dude you’re getting airport germs in the bed.”

He glances up from his phone, eyeing me for a split second— I’m just in sleep shorts and a plain tshirt.

“It’s fine, I’ll just have this side.” He replies, a smile breaking out over his face.

He leaves me no room to respond as he stands up, “im gonna have a shower as well, and then we can order room service, how’s that sound?”

I nod, “I’ll get the menu and have a read through.”

It’s weird how we one minute can’t stop sarcastically niggling and the next we’re back to being normal friends.

I browse through their relatively large menu as the shower runs in the background. If I strain, I can hear Harry gently humming.

I’m happy to see my favourite foods on there… and heaps of deserts.

He comes out shortly after while I’m still reading the menu, and he’s clad in only grey sweatpants, adorning damp hair.

I choose to tear my eyes away from his bare chest, “I’ve figured out what I want to get, have a read through.”

I chucked him the menu and he comes to sit down next to me on the bed.

Im surprised we don’t end up in another debate about the sleeping arrangements, but I think we’re both so exhausted from the flight. The 8 hour plane trip settling deep into our bones.

“They have y’favourite.” He says with a smile playing on his lips.

“Yea, I’m so glad. It’s all I’m craving right now.”

“What are you gonna get?” I lean to look over his shoulder at the menu.

“Maybe I’ll try their tacos?”

“I’m gonna order some of the desert stuff too.”

“Y’gonna be so full.” He laughs.

“It’ll be worth it.” I say, as I stand up to go over to the phone on the desk in the corner of the room.

I ring up and order an unnecessary amount of stuff before giving them our room number and hoping back into bed.

It’s so cozy, and if it weren’t for the food I knew was coming, I’d probably curl up and fall asleep straight away.

We lay together, talking about the plan for the next few days until the food gets delivered with a knock on the door.

I get up to open it, taking the trays of food from the kind waiter.

He groans, “God it smells good.”

We both spread the dishes of food on the bed and quickly start eating.

The TV starts playing reruns of friends, the episode where Ross makes the paste with his leather pants, trying to get them up.

We’re both tearing up with laughter, stuffing our faces with our first proper meal since dinner on the plane over 5 hours ago.

“Holy shit.” He says, and we’re are letting out fits of giggles, as Ross says “—and the lotion and the powder have made a paste…”

“I swear— why did he listen to joey.” I scoff, shoving a bite of food into my mouth.

“No, because the way it just keeps getting worse.” He buries his face into his hands with a pained grin.

We watch a few of the episodes that were playing, sharing the last of the chocolate cookies that I’d ordered.

I stood up to move all the trays our food came on over to the small kitchen bench, leaving them for the morning.

“That was so yum.” I sigh out, content and full.

I go into the bathroom to brush my teeth and finish up my night routine, ready to honestly just go to sleep.

I come out with a small smile on my lips, excited to get back into bed where it’s cozy. Slipping back under the crisp white sheets, Harry turns off the TV.

The room is now dark, “fuck… can’t see now— I gotta brush m’teeth as well.”

“Have my phone.” I chuck it in his general direction, and clonk him straight in the side.

“Ouch.” He huffs, grabbing it and turning the flash on.

He pads over to the bathroom while I roll my eyes at how dramatic he is.

He turns the lights on in there, coming back over to give me my phone now that he can see.

I text a few of my immediate family members to let them know we’d settled into our hotel, choosing to leave out the fact we’re sharing a bed.

I mean assuming that’s what the plan is. I highly doubt he wants to sleep on the couch.

Being the only female in a band of boys leads to lots of assumptions throughout my family unit. Especially with Harry.

They mistake our arguments as ‘pent-up sexual frustration’. Which is far from how I like to think of it.

He steps out from the bathroom, and I turn my torch on so he can flick the light off.

He scrapes a hand over his face, looking to me with tired eyes.

The hotel was relatively quiet now, only a few drunken laughs echoing down the hallway as it nears 12am.

He climbs back into the bed, pulling the covers over himself.

I tug my pillow down a bit before turning off my flash.

“Y’tired?” He asks quietly, sounding already kind of groggy.

I hum in agreement, rolling to face him. It’s quiet a few beats.

I can just make out his outline next to me,

I can feel the warmth of his body from where I’m laying. And it feels like I’m being enveloped by it in a strange— yet lovely way.

The thought floats around in my head, images conjuring from the darkness.

I blame this on the 8 hour flight and sleep deprivation.

Usually I can ignore it, but as much as he’s a proper pain in the ass sometimes, I’d have to be visually impaired to say he wasn’t good looking.

And hell he’s laying in the same bed as me without a shirt on.

“Y’staring at me.” He chuckles softly, and I startle a little.

“How can you even see me?” I ask, amused.

“I can’t, can just feel it.”

“As if you can feel it.” I scoff, “I’ll roll over if my eyes being on you makes you too uncomfortable.”

“No, no, wait come back.” He whines as I start to move.

I huff out a laugh, and roll back over to him.

I keep my eyes shut, “better?”

He whispers a yes, and I smile.

I keep that very smile as I drift off, listening to Harry’s slow breathes from beside me, allowing them to lull me to sleep.

———

I can only half remember waking up.

I was warm, heavy, and I felt his body before I saw it.

My eyes had only opened a tiny bit—there was light creeping through the thin curtains, making his unruly hair just visible.

My leg was thrown over his hip, and I was pressed right into his chest. We were fully intertwined, and fuck did it feel nice.

I close my eyes again, I can feel his morning wood. My heart jumps a little in my chest. Maybe I can just roll over— pretend I didn’t feel it, and go back to sleep.

I carefully strain to make the movement, but I instead get pulled closer to him.

He pushes himself against me, a sigh slipping from his nose, and I realise moving may have been a bad idea.

“Fuck…” I hear him mutter against my hair, bucking his hips up again.

“Harry.” I say, voice croaky with sleep. Of course this does nothing.

I have no idea how awake he is, I’m not even fully awake yet. But Jesus, this feels better than it should.

I feel like a horrific person for enjoying the way his clothed-length is pressed into me. But by god I am not strong enough to remove myself from this situation.

“Harry, wake up.” I groaned, squirming a little in his grasp.

He seems to come to it, just enough to realise whatever the fuck is happening in a couple seconds.

“Y/N…? Fuck. what is—“ I feel his body tense underneath me as it hits him, and he probably feels his boner pressed between my legs.

His hand flys up to my thigh that’s resting on his hip, “Holy shit—“

“It’s fine, H.” I whisper, and I’m not really sure why I say that, or what I’m implying by doing so.

Or what it means paired with the fact I haven’t protested to his dick practically grinding against my cunt.

“What do you mean?” He asks, groggily.

“Not sure.” I confess, whimpering a little as he still is hard underneath me. I push into him a bit out of unspoken desire and I hear him swallow.

He doesn’t say anything as he slides his hand up my leg, cupping it on my ass.

I glance up to see his face, his eyes still half-lidded, and his cheeks have a gentle flush to them.

I feel myself getting wetter as he keeps rubbing himself along my thin sleep shorts.

He moans a bit, and I slip my hand between us to palm his cock through his sweatpants.

“This ok? Want me to help you out a bit?”

“God— yes please…” he groans.

I push it underneath his waistband, tugging him out.

He’s heavy and hot in my hand. Glancing down, its bigger than I expected. The tip is flush and red, glistening with the damp beads of precum. Hardly surprising he’s got such a pretty cock.

“Fuckin’ Christ— look at y’little hand wrapped ‘round me.” He swears.

I slowly squeeze the head of it, and that quickly has him bucking into my palm.

His own hand travels between my sleep shorts, “Mind i return the favour?”

I hum in agreement, but he doesn’t do anything, “Gotta hear you say it, tell me what you want.”

I roll my eyes, of course he’s like this in bed, wants to hear how bad I want him.

“What do you want me to say to you Harry? How bad I want your fingers in my wet cunt right now, or how I want you to fuck my clit with your tongue?”

“Want my tongue do you? Because yes that’s exactly what I’d like to hear.” He says, smirking as he dips his hand under my shorts, running his fingers through me.

“No panties… been next to me all night with your pussy so easily accessible. Such a little slut.”

He collects my arousal, carrying it up to my swollen clit. I moan with the action, trying to keep my hand pumping rhythmically.

This proves to be a challenge, as he’s very clearly skilled with his fingers.

“Fuck, you’re so wet. Hardly even touched you.”

“Been grinding your dick into me for a bit, actually.” I hiss as he slips a finger into me.

“Sorry, Baby. Did my hard cock get you all worked up?” He teases, and I hate the fact that he’s right.

I give a particularly hard squeeze and he grunts, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He quickens the pace of his fingers, fucking them in and out of me.

“Hard to hate me when I’m making you feel so good, hm?” He kisses my forehead, curling his fingers in me.

I cry out. Fuck— I was going to come.

“Wait, wait, wait— don’t wanna come yet, please…” I clench my thighs around his hand and it stills.

I look up at him, his green eyes burning with desire.

He doesn’t say anything, just leans his head down and places a wet kiss on my lips.

He keeps his fingers pumping slowly in and out of me as we start to kiss.

He brings me close to coming again a few times, just to tease me, but he keeps his focus on my lips— pulling my bottom one between his and sucking on it.

It’s messy and sloppy, edges of it blurred from the morning haze still over us.

“Harry.” I say into his mouth, legs shaking a little.

“Want you in me.” It comes out of me as an unbridled thought.

“Jesus…” he murmurs, stunned by hearing the words fly out of me so openly.

He pulls his lips away, cock twitching in my hand, “you want…”

“You want me to fuck you?”

I nod, grabbing the hem of my shirt and slipping it off.

He’s enamoured by me, it’s clear in his eyes.

He reaches his hand up, out of my sleep shorts and he cups my breast with it gently.

He moves his mouth down to place gentle kissed over them.

“You’re perfect, yknow that?” He says against my skin, tugging me closer to him as I smile at the flattery.

“I’m on birth control too.” I state.

He glances up, and it appears I’ve shocked him yet again, “you wanna take me raw?”

I haven’t gone without I condom in ages… but I trust him.

“We’re both clean, right? I trust you.”

He smiles, “I’m clean. As long as your sure.”

I don’t think I’ve ever been surer of something.

He pulls my sleep shorts off, and I help shuck his sweats the rest of the way down his legs.

We’re warm between the sheets, and he’s peppering open-mouthed kisses along my neck as he lines himself up with me.

He locks eyes with me as he pushes in, and both of us moan at the feeling.

“Fuck— you’re tight.” He squeezes his hands on my hips.

I am blinded with the pleasure of him filling me up, I can’t even think about how bad an idea this could be.

“Feels so good, H.” I groan, scraping my nails along his chest.

“Can feel you clenching around me.” He reaches a hand down to play with my clit.

He’s gonna make me come embarrassingly quick— especially considering he sort of edged me a bit while we were kissing.

He was thrusting into me, a perfect pace to have me squirming in his arms.

I can tell he’s getting close, my name flying out his mouth paired with vulgar words and moans.

“I- fuck- I’m not gonna be able to drag this out if you keeping squeezing m’cock like that.” He pants.

“I’m close, so just come with me.” I plead, the thought of him finishing with me adding fuel to the fire in the pit of my stomach.

“God H, I’m gonna come— hard.”

“Fuck, sweetheart, keep talking.” He says, his skin slapping into mine, chasing his orgasm.

“You’re so pretty.” I blurt, spewing the first thing that comes to mind as I look at him.

He really is, his hair is tousled from sleep and my hands, his eyes half lidded from pleasure and tattooed chest slightly damp.

He swears, bottoming out and coming hard without warning. His hand circles my clit fast, bringing my crashing down with him.

“Harry!” I cry, burying my head into the crook of his neck as I ride out the waves of pleasure.

“Good girl, Y/N.” He groans, still thrusting into me trying to prolong his orgasms.

The high slowly ebbs away, and he stays in me for a bit. Nothing but the sounds of our laboured breathing filling the room.

I think we don’t know what to say, after something like that happens— when it all comes on instinct and you’re without any clue on what it changes.

Our dynamic, though it was a love-hate kind of thing, it was a consistent one. You knew what to expect. Now that this has happened…

“I have no idea what you’re thinking right now.” He whispers, “and that kind of scares me.”

I lay quietly for a few heartbeats, “just… that was really good. And I’m not 100% prepared for what might happen after this, y’know. To us I guess.”

“Well. To keep it simple, I really like you— and that was some of the best sex I’ve ever had so…” he trails off, unsure where to go with the sentence.

“Ok— so this isn’t gonna ruin our friendship?” I sigh in a bit of relief.

“Of course not,” he pulls back to look at me, and a smile spreads across his face, “after all, we are adults.”

———

[elderflowergin]

blood free v secret forest, a quick and dirty comparison:-

As someone who fell for Kdrama through Stranger, i loved it because it appeared seamless, grounded and weaved several systems and levels of privilege very elegantly. Most of all it seemed morally urgent, even if it was at its core a detective mystery. (Which, to be fair, Blood Free is as well.)

Secret Forest’s first success was that it held nuance for everyone in the middle of the road; LSY afforded so much thoughtful shading to those men. I often think they will never look as beautiful as they do on SF, and that’s only partly because of whoever did the lighting etc, but they’re not Kdrama glossy perfect; they’re real people trying to reckon with themselves and the moral calculus they have agreed to, and their dignity comes from the reckoning. Lee Chang-joon, Kang Won-chul, Lee Yeon-jae, even Seo Dong-jae for that matter, all have that advantage. LSY managed this for Jung Sung-il in the scant few minutes of screen time he had.

The second success was Cho Seung-woo and Bae Doona. If Secret Forest was a universe they were its gravitational field; it was their fierce sense of honour and morality that drives both seasons. And their moral decency is hard-won; it is tested constantly, and it’s burnished at each opportunity, which is why they are respected. It is a dream that people like that can influence or impact those around them, but you don’t question that they do, by the end of each season, and that’s the victory of writing, casting and the charisma of both leads.

That’s why that funeral scene in season 1 is so important (to me); it shows the gravity shifting. The prosecutors rely on their forest of secrets to keep the centre together, but Hwang Si-mok demonstrates how untenable this has become, how the roots must be pulled out so the weeds die; so new healthy things can grow. The chaebols are at the periphery, and they continue to be there because, most audaciously of all, they don’t matter if enough people shift their moral calculus. I think this gravitational pull happens to Lee Chang-joon in season 1 thanks to Hwang Si-mok and it happens to Choi Bit in season 2 thanks to Han Yeo-jin. They are easily some of the most powerful parts of the show.

On the other hand, we have Blood Free. I’m not sure who the moral gravitational field of this show is meant to be. Maybe it’s Yun Ja-yu and/or Woo Chae-woon. Maybe it’s Lee Mu-saeng. Maybe it’s about the ethical dilemma of experimentation and whether that’s a worthwhile price to pay for the scientific advancements in cultured meat and seafood. Perhaps we need more time to really see the middle of the road characters, but four episodes in there’s not much to go on: there’s Lee Mu-saeng, there’s Queen Dowager as a VP, here’s Jeon Seok-ho. There are three chaebols, all of whom seem like one-note characters to me. (Why ask a talented sketch artist to produce cartoons like these? Unless they’re not, but nothing seems to suggest otherwise.)

The most interesting insight from episode 4 was about Yun Jayu - when offered 72 trillion won for her company, she actually considers it because it means she doesn’t have to face investors and can focus on research. She has influence and money but these are means to an end, for her. I wish we could see more of that, and not necessarily through exposition alone.

When she gives deft, cool answers to reporters, did that come naturally to her or did she work at it? Is she the face of the company because she hated it a little less than Lee Mu-saeng did? If so, why? What comparative advantage did they determine she had? When she wears Chanel tweed skirts and smiles her way through presentations, is that a natural extension of her work or is that a mask she wears? Give me process, guys! Give us the backstory, the way the markets work, the environment for cutting-edge bio research in Korea, the reaction of Big Meat, the interplay of new rich and old rich, some indication of her actual influence (which must be considerably more than what we see on the show, although what little we see, while uncomfortable, is frankly not that inconceivable in a world where you’re constantly connected.) I am so interested in her, and yet I feel I am made to watch the story of her reacting to chaebols and to the mystery of corporate sabotage rather than her being the fulcrum of her own universe. And at no point does the mystery seem morally urgent to me, and it’s because 1) why does it matter if all this is is a giant M&A negotiation 2) why should we care if it doesn’t feel real to us? So what if there’s sabotage? Why on earth isn’t this company guarded like fucking Fort Knox? Why is this company ostensibly so influential, so powerful and yet capable of unusually amateurish errors that are the centre of the show so far and not on the periphery of it? Where is the moral quandary that is meant to grab us by the throat?

Is it a question of the writing? Have her interests shifted and did she want to do a show without having to do too much character work? If anyone has earned a vibes-only moment it’s Lee Soo-yeon, and I respect that for her. I hope the direction isn’t stifling the writing, because that means there is an arresting, politically trenchant drama underneath this dry procedural, and that’s upsetting to consider. We still have a ways to go and I think there is potential, but I have to remind myself not to expect something like SF, that maybe you can’t bottle that formula. That it’s the gold standard for a reason. But honestly, Disney, in the words of TikTok star imo_unusual, you’ve made this show like God was dozing off when the angels were working, now RELEASE US (and LSY writernim)

[doonarose]

I made a post, I think two days ago, about how when Crowley's all undone and defenseless he begs. And when Aziraphale's the same, he takes. And obviously I'm talking about very nice sexual things, but it also stands for fight or flight responses, attacks and dire situations. It's the same base, wired-in rationale.

But anyway, that's refined itself over the last however many hours.

When Crowley's vulnerable he confesses.

When Aziraphale's vulnerable he commands.

Anyway, enjoy your evening. I'm still trying to write.

[random-fandoms-fanfics]

Drowning in You

I have returned after finding some time and energy to write, uni drains me too much and all I can do is play games.

A Wenclair x reader fic because the show gave me inspiration. Can't wait for season 2.

In the wintertime, werewolves gain extra fur all around their bodies, not only making them extra warm but extra soft.

Opening her eyes Wednesday found herself standing in a field of pink and blue tipped gold and (h/c) grass, the grass shining from a warm soft orange glow emanating from a sunless sky, basking in the warmth surrounding her Wednesday took in a deep breath through her nose, a smile crossing her lips as she exhaled. Mindlessly wandering through the field with her fingers grazing over the grass, listening to the gentle rumbling and the soft breeze rustling the grass. 

As she continued walking the sky grew dark, the grass began growing, it started getting hotter and Wednesday found it harder to breathe with every second that passed, clutching her chest Wednesday fell to the ground, clawing at the elastic ground that refused to give in to her nails. As she scrambled to tear away the protective layer of scales she pinched the flesh between her fingers, seeing it slightly pulled towards her, struggling with the elastic she slowly stretched it closer to her face. With her final bit of strength, she sank her teeth into the flesh, being flung awake as blood spilled into her mouth.

Jumping awake you flung your arm up into the air, dragging Wednesday with it as her jaw was locked around your bicep, with the weight of an entire person on your arm and being in an overcrowded bed, you tossed yourself off the bed and on top of your attacker. Laying there for a few seconds you heard a few gentle thuds coming closer to you, eventually, you were lifted off Wednesday and placed against the bed, Enid crawling over to Wednesday and lifting her up into her lap, “you ok?”

“I’m going considerably well after my partner crushed me after they tried suffocating me,”

“I’ve told you to stop sleeping in between us due to how much I move but no, you gotta insert yourself right in the middle,”

“You are one of the most powerful and dangerous monsters to exist, if you want me to stop, stop me yourself,” about to pounce on the smaller girl you felt a sharp pain in your left arm, forcing you back down against, “oh shit, wait right there Gup, I have a first aid kit,” placing Wednesday against the bed, Enid ran out of sight, leaving the two of alone, “I didn’t mean to bite you that hard, I am sorry darling,”

Grunting you watched as Wednesday shuffled herself closer to you, grabbing your wrist and lifting your arm to inspect the bite, "it's not that deep, I just broke the skin," lifting her other arm you imminently swatted it away, glaring at the girl in front of you, "don't you dare," Wednesday looked up at you with large doe eyes with her head slightly tilted, "I know what you're thinking, you did this to Enid, when you bit her," the two of you started at each other until Enid came rushing around the corner with her phone in her hand, Wednesday wiping up a bit of blood when you were distracted, “ok Gup we need the bathroom, can you get up?” lifting yourself up onto your feet, you followed Enid to the bathroom where a first aid kit was opened and rummaged through, “I’m not sure what bateria Wednesday has in her mouth but we should be able to clean it normally, hopefully,” after a quick shave, multiple minutes of thorough cleaning and an argument on how tight a bandage should be wrapped, you were finally able to leave the bathroom.

With Enid attached to your back, you dragged her back to Wednesday's bed, pulling her under the doona where the two of you took up most of the bed. As the two of you curled around one another you felt something press up against your back, small hands grabbing ahold of the fur on your sides, "thank you Black Bird," humming she closed her eyes, soon finding herself back in her field but this time only seeing (h/c) grass around her.

[cellsshapedlikestars]

do you plan out your stories in advanced or do you just start writing and hope for the best? I'm trying to get back into writing but I always end up completely deviating from any plan I made beforehand

My writing process is chaos, anon.

For a tl;dr: I just start writing and hope for the best

For a longer explanation of my process, see below the cut. Also, I feel dumb saying this, but spoilers for my own fics, especially the mysteries (which are better examples for plot planning than my romcoms)

1a) I get an idea, something super basic. Like, "time travel murder mystery" or "Sansa and Jon reluctant roommates". The idea then usually forms into a series of scenes or one particular scene in my head - for example: Sansa is dead, Jon goes to her funeral, later is questioned by police as a suspect, then time travel. Or, Sansa is already having a bad day and arrives at her brother's house only to find he's also letting his friend stay there and they were both unaware & kinda pissed about it, which starts them on the wrong foot as she threatens him with a knife.

1b) OR I watch a piece of media, go "wow they fumbled this great premise hard and I want to fix all the things I didn't like" and then I take the inciting incident and build my own story from there. (See: Doona. Business proposal is different, I actually liked the show, but Jon and Sansa did not fit the main leads' personalities so I had to change everything after the inciting incident. Plus I just find it more fun to come up with my own story than following the source material to a T)

2) this idea does not leave my brain, even if I want it to. I don't think you can force this step, tbh

3) I write a first chapter to get the idea/scene out of my head so I can get back to writing the story I'm already in the middle of. I post the chapter to exorcise it from my mind

4) this does not work

5) People in the comments are excited, which makes me excited! I obsessively think about it until I have a vague idea of how I want the story to go. Usually I have an end goal and some important story beats. Nothing is set in stone, and 99% of the time I don't even bother writing an outline, because I know I won't stick to it. The only "outlines" I make are just a string of ideas in the general order I want them to go in

6) I think of scenes I want, then work backwards to how to connect them

7) when I write a chapter, I know what I want the chapter end to be/the cliffhanger, and I write until I get there. Only once or twice have I had to cut chapters in two, but I try not to do this, even if the chapter ends up being pretty long.

8) sometimes you have to throw away ideas/scenes you thought were set in stone. Sometimes you start writing and those scenes Do Not Work anymore, and that's ok

For example, in mongrel heart, there was supposed to be this big, super dramatic showdown with Ramsay, like this big action movie scene. But when I got there, it felt totally wrong for the vibe of the story, so I went with a more intimate/personal final fight. The scene I had envisioned was totally gone. I had to add Oberyn kind of at the last minute, because I had come up with this elaborate world in the background, and needed to wrap that up.

For you on the run, I wrote the first chapter because "Sansa is kidnapped in a library" would not leave my head. I then posted it and had to scramble to come up with a plot. I knew the why, I knew I wanted it to be for Sansa's own safety, but WHO is out for her? I honestly don't think I decided for certain until she's back in winterfell.

In help me out of the shape I'm in, the bad guy was going to be ol' Bobby B, until I started writing chapter 4 when it switched to Joffrey because I had started fleshing out that case more and liked the horror of it being someone Sansa had "dated" more

Anyway, the gist is, I write as I go, and I go where the story takes me as I write. I'll be completely honest and say that a lot of the time, the excitement in the comments makes me excited to write and fuels my creativity. (this can backfire though. The few bitchy/negative comments on trojan horse kinda ruined the momentum for me on that one, which is why I'm not as actively writing it, despite REALLY liking it and thinking those comments were kinda dumb/narrow minded. And I'm not even talking about the rando anon who seems to have made it their mission to be negative on multiple jonsa fics, those people I don't even take into account. It was the ones from people who CANNOT escape a POV trap and make me so frustrated that I don't want to write anymore lol. I feel like how grrm must feel in these moments). But yes, the basic gist is: chaos and my obsessive brain that needs a creative outlet

I know this method isn't for everyone. I know there are authors out there who write an outline before they ever write a sentence, and they post their first chapter with the chapter count already out, bold and confident in their outline. This is not me. I could never aspire to this level of control

Anon, I hope you keep trying! Write those stories! Be creative! Remember the number one rule of fic: it's FUN, so have fun and write what YOU would want to read!

[daniwib]

I feel like doing some writing!

Opens doc. Checks tumblr. Writes two lines. Checks discord. Writes one line. Oh wait I need to check something. Searches if you can feel a pulse in a lion's leg. Gets distracted reading a very interesting blog about lion pride dynamics and the individuality of roars. Scraps the line about the pulse cos no answer fast too hard distraction bad. Wrote a whole paragraph, woohoo! That deserves a cup of coffee as a reward. I may as well put a load of laundry on while the kettle is boiling, my sheets need washing. Oh wait I was going to buy my parents new sheets and it's prime day soon and but I need to confirm what size Dad's doona is. Calls Mum. Chats for half an hour. Finds suitable sheets and puts into cart ready for the sale. Reboils kettle and actually makes a cup of coffee. Sits at keyboard and cracks knuckles. Right, let's write! Oh shit it's time for the school run. And I forgot to hang the washing out.

[ayeforscotland]

Aye, I've got to ask. How good/bad is a written Scottish accent with "I doonae" (I didn't?) "Nae" "ya cannae" "ya ken what ah mean" and the like in every part of a Scottish person's dialogue? Is it accurate or too much?

Good question - and it really depends where in Scotland you are.

I’d normally write “dinnae” over “doonae”

And I’d probably use “Ye cannae” over “ya cannae” but it differs from place to place.

It also depends on intent - if the character is actually speaking Scots and you want to include Scots words then crack on, but I wouldn’t write someone speaking English and writing their accent phonetically based on where there from, if you get me?

[impossiblescissorspeachpaper]

Happy birthday to my angel @tswaney17 💕

I’m sorry I haven’t had time to write you a full birthday fic with all the EM prep, but here’s a little drabble just for you. Love you endlessly 🤍

***

“I’m thirty Azriel. Thirty!”

Elain was sat up in bed, the covers pooled around her waist and hair adorably disheveled.

Azriel just gave her a flat look from the mattress besides her. Rolling onto his side, he crooked a muscled arm to rest his head in his hand.

“So you’ve been saying. And this is a problem, why?”

“Because it’s old!”

He chuckled. “If you think thirty is old, what does that make me?”

“That’s unfair. Men don’t age, they just get hotter,” she grumbled petulantly.

“From where I’m sitting, you’re still pretty fucking hot, Elain.”

Her chocolate brown eyes leveled him with a flat stare. “Not the point.”

She groaned, dramatically flopping back onto the mattress and pulling the quilt with her, burying her head beneath the covers.

Azriel laughed before diving under there with her, pulling the doona over their heads and turning in the sheets to face her. The sunshine from her bedroom window filtered through the covers, cocooning them in a fort awash with soft golden light. He brushed a strand of brown hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear.

“What’s really bothering you?” He prompted gently.

He knew Elain wasn’t vain, she wouldn’t be bothered simply because of aging. Something else had to be troubling her.

“I just don’t feel like I’ve really…lived. Fine, I have a decent job, and good friends, and you. But- what have I actually done?”

She felt…unaccomplished? Had she bought into the bullshit idea of needing to have your life together by now? Did she believe the lie that society had dictated thirty was the end of the line?

Thirty was just the beginning. You’ve somewhat found your place in the world and the true friends that will ride out life with you. You finally make enough money to do the things you love and still have the energy to do it. And you finally stop giving a fuck.

If only she knew how good it was about to fucking get.

“How can you say you’ve done nothing?” he replied gently, treading with care. Because although he knew those pressures were some grade A bullshit, he also knew women felt them more acutely than men.

“Look at all the people you make happy every single day just by existing. Look at all the lives you’ve touched simply by making it to thirty. You certainly can’t say that for everybody.”

Elain looked at him skeptically, but her face had softened, her expression turning contemplative.

He’ll let her mull on it for a while. He knew she needed to come to her own conclusions about things.

Azriel just ran a hand down her arm, reaching her fingers and tangling them with his own. He fiddled with a ring she wore on her index finger, tracing the small blue stone that sat embedded within the delicate golden threads of its design.

“Happy birthday, Elain.” It was a hushed murmur over the rumpled sheets between them.

Snuggling herself into his embrace, she pressed her face to his chest.

“Thanks, Az.”

[kojandra]

✨ dramas i watched in 2022 and my ratings for them ✨

Had a short kdrama year because I fell into a random slump. Here’s what I watched this year:

1. Strongest Deliveryman ⭐️⭐️  (it got very skippable near the end. cute ships but wish i got to see the thriving company at the end. good ending tho. not great, just good. i have a girl crush on Lee Dan Ah tho)

2. Chicago Typewriter - TvN ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐  (soliiiddd!!! the friend 😭 ship 😭 got me back into writing too omggg. excellent plot. excellent cast. excellent characters. chef’s kiss. ending was excellent. did not feel unfinished at all.)

3. Move to Heaven ��⭐⭐⭐ (solid slice of life and v nice characters and OOF TAE JOON NEED I SAY MORE. subtract a star for the unfinished side story tho like why’d they build it up like that to not give me closure goddamn)

4. The Silent Sea - Netflix ⭐⭐⭐⭐  (scifi!! in a!!!!! drama series!!! give me more!!!! and bae doona!!! again shoulda been a five star if they gave me a little bit more at the end for closure)

5. Happiness ⭐⭐⭐⭐ (would have had 5 stars if the resolution wasn’t so rushed! 4.8. can i do that? anyways this is a post pandemic apocalypse drama...i lowkey needed therapy after finishing it. 12 episodes and very bingeable! how to ruin your weekend 101.)

6. All of Us are Dead - Netflix ⭐⭐⭐ (i already watched happiness so this just felt like a re-hash of it....oops. unsatisfying ending imo ://// idk it was as expected. nothing major.)

7. Ghost Doctor - TvN  ⭐⭐⭐.5 (mehhh...got predictable and slow but I loved the ending and the beginning was so intriguing)

8. Through the Darkness ⭐⭐⭐⭐ (more like a 3.6! some familiar stories and overall good acting. if you like criminal minds, you’ll like this!)

9. Twenty-five, Twenty-one -TvN  ⭐⭐⭐⭐ (v nice youth show except I feel like I’ve seen this concept before already)

10. Forecasting Love & Weather - JTBC  ⭐⭐ (what was that honestly)

11. 39 - JTBC  ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐ (YUP. It gave me everything I wanted. Romance. Friendship. EMOTIONAL. Everything.)

12. Little Women - Netflix  ⭐️⭐️⭐️ (IT WAS SO STRONG. SO MANY HOPES. Then it fell off. Did not like the ending.)

13. Extraordinary Attorney Woo - Netflix  ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐ (PERFECTION. NEED I SAY MORE?)

dramas from this list i’d rewatch in the future: chicago typewriter, move to heaven, and extraordinary attorney woo!