#fiction

[sangunary]

- Hush now Crybaby.

YANDERE BATFAMILY X NEGLECTED READER.

\\ Part 1 // \\ Part 2 // \\ Part 3 //.

You would stay by your rotting corpse, gently brushing your hair out of your face or just starting at it in general. Your corpse was becoming stiff and extremely cold, at times you tried to warm it by holding it.

A soft sigh left your mouth as you give up on trying to warmth the body display infront of you.

"How much longer do I have to wait...?"

You've been thinking alot, wondering why your body is still chained to Earth and you realised your physical body never got the rest it deserves.

The body laying on your coffin underground was a decoy made by your father, as twisted as it sound he only did it in hope of putting your soul back into the body.

Alfred and Bruce knew that, they knew that your current physical body was hidden inside the batcave. Alfred was hesitant at first but Bruce assure him that what he was doing might be morally wrong but it was the best option they have, if they want a new start.

Even after death nothing was better, your life only change slightly and it was for the worst. No one could see or interact with you, but you can uncover all the secrets which was alot more depressing than you expected.

You've found out how your mother died recently after a drug overdose... She was found stiff and unresponsive in her motel and a foam seeping out her mouth, surprisingly everything was clean, no missing things or any sing of struggle.

It was ruled as a sucide, the media claimed it as 'Woman killed herself after her daughter died of her neglection' it was Ironic... You couldn't help but stump your feet a little at that information, first your mother would never neglect you... and Second she was the best mother you could wish for.

You couldn't bear the silence inside the room so you decided to go outside to check on a particular individual.

Dick Grayson.

He was sitting infront of your grave cleaning it with his bare hand, replacing the previous flowers with Rose's. Since your relationship with him was on the edge when you died he doesn't even know your particular taste in flowers , as a result he would pick out new flowers everyday and replace them each day.

Your ghostly figure sit next to his watching him clean your grave once again, atleast he was being productive. Some especially Tim was coping in an unhealthy way.

Locked himself and barely ate anything, everything reminded him of you... His favourite coffee was now leaving an extremely bitter taste on his tongue, it was only because he realised how involved you were in his life and how without you his daily routine weren't the same.

Tim have also started to spiral into madness, doing research on you instead of his usual detective work. Who have hurt you and who have been nasty to you, he was willing to do anything but blame himself for your death or the family.

He's been looking back at every video footage of you and him and storing it into new files each file were specifically made for each video.

"Im sorry little wing... I couldn't find anything new today, so you'll have to take this for today"

Grayson gently murmured as he pluck out the old Lily's- old by one day - Wiping the vase carefully, holding as if it were the most fragile vase in the word.

"Life been abit hard... I know I shouldn't burden you with my problem especially when... You never had them. But, Kory and I took a break..."

His voice was more high-pitched than normal... Yet he continues to look after your grave, dealing it with great tenderness.

His mind flashing back to everything he had done wrong, prioritising joker over you... He remembered how he left you inside a burning building and instead saved the joker, as a result you got a nasty burn mark on your left hand.

Although he doesn't know who to blame you or the joker. Cause you're a hero, he thought you could save yourself... It doesn't matter that you were like what 7? Thought he did half heartily apologise after being lectured by Bruce.

"If you were back... Everything would be fine, im not blaming you of course... Just, I don't know anything good from bad especially after you left us"

"I do not know what possess you to be so reckless... I can't imagine what you must have felt but it's selfish"

"If you were here, Kory and I would take you before any of those... people could. It'll be just the three of us, I'll be the one you will depend on... You won't need to worry anymore, We'll never let you get hurt. Never again"

Dick continues to pour his heart out and slowly he began to smile, his mood began to shift from gloomy to thrilled, suggesting places and activities as if you were still alive.

If anybody was to come across this interaction it's either they'll lable him as mentally challenged or is high on sadness that they ended up talking to a grave.

You stood up getting ready to walk away, it's abit hard to pity them. They never acknowledged you when you were breathing and it's messed up that they only care after realising their mistakes.

"...Huh?"

A mysterious man was standing infront of you, you wouldn't be startled if he wasn't staring right into your eyes. A white lantern...?

You know him only because of the file you would read when you were bored out of your mind. Bruce must have called him, afterall he was a very new and surprising face to see in Gotham.

"...Nice to meet you?"

After your short introduction and your very long introduction on why he must not interfere at all, because as much as it suck being a ghost being alive with your current family would be hell.

Thought he does not seem to value your opinion at all, directly telling Bruce about your presence.

"You can speak... she can hear you"

Deadman informed Bruce.

"I apologise for my negligence and your mother unexpected death. She was a great woman just like you... I don't expect you to forgive so easily but, I want to see you smile again"

You didn't utter a word. You wanted to comfort him yet it was hard pitting the same man who avoid your presence when you were alive.

"Can't you bring her back...?"

"No, she's too far gone"

Your corpse look fine from outside but your inside were rotting and molding. Bruce tried his best yo preserve your body but what's gone is gone. All you want is for your body to rest.

"I refuse to believe. There must be a way for her to be back."

"I have no saying in logic. But there are artifact's that allows one to see ghost"

"I will do anything to see that smile again... I want to apologise to her face to face as well"

Your Father was one of the rare people in the family taking the responsibility in your death, this wasn't the first time he utter an apology. He would slept in your bed missing you, crying or talking in his sleep apologising it seem as the guilt never stopped chasing him.

Though he was the same man who left you unattended during gala surrounded by random man while you were a child. The same one who lecture your brother for leaving you in a fire only because he would have to explain why the burnt mark was there and not because it was wrong.

It was only natural for guilt to cling onto him the longest, he already lost Jason. But you were different, Jason died while having a somewhat happy memories. You died with nothing but bitterness and salty tears.

As much as you would love to fulfill your father's dream you couldn't help but be uncomfortable.

You've overhead Bruce and Jason conversation once and you regretted it. Jason being the most experienced in dying suggested the worst thing possible.

A new bedroom, made just for your liking.

A dingy room with chains to restrain you. All the window must have bars, even if you somehow managed to broke the iron chain you wouldn't be able to jump out and possibly risk breaking a bone.

"It's a necessity, I went mad when I came back, what gives you the idea that she won't be the same and in our case you'll be her first victim"

Jason harshly spit out. You couldn't help but disagree you wouldn't dare to hurt your family, even if they have hurt you in unexplainable ways. Your heart still ache for them in vain.

"Even if she dare to break out I have another method, far more wise and useful but I rather we use it as a last resort"

The last resort was, smashing your ankle. It was simple and Jason already have experience to make sure you won't be in more pain than necessary.

To put anything between your foot and for that object to be used as a support, tying the foot and arm's to restrain you. With a hammer all they have to do was to smash the bone into pieces, you wouldn't be able to walk at all but it was also necessary to treat the bone to avoid disability.

If the bone was to be left to heal by itself it would reconstruct themselves wrong leaving you to excruciating pain, not being able to depend on your foot and you might need to cut your foot off.

Another reason why you dread to be brought back, no amount of convincing or pleading would make them understand... They'll break you and rebuild you as if that was nothing.

They can't treat you like a daughter or a sister even tho they seem so willing... To you they only love you because of the guilt and not because they understand.

Damian was a reason itself, didn't even let a single tear drop during your funeral and the visit at the hospital. He did cry in secret which was pleasant to watch.

He's either beating people into pulp for the smallest crime or is actively trying to bring you back in another form. He have asked Raven to assist him but even the girl found it inhuman, suggesting for him to just mourn you and let your soul be in peace.

It was now noon the whole family jam inside the living room discussing.

"She can't be brought back? Jason died, the Lazarus pit can and must brought her back"

Damian argued, as much as he doesn't wanted to be emotional your absence was taking a toll on him.

You were the first to treat him like a human and he took that for granted. When he realised others weren't as understanding as you were he would get bothered... As much as he hate you that was just the crust of his heart, to him the core matter more... It was totally not an excuse for his horrible behaviour.

"You haven't tried that, father we must try before coming into conclusion!"

"I have tried Damian, nothing worked. Her body was rotting from the inside I was not aware"

Finally Barbara spoke up.

"You have tried? I have been visiting her grave everyday when did you di-"

"It was a decoy"

Jason decided to told the truth. The room felt into a long silence and suddenly shouting and names. They weren't happy that Bruce didn't tell them about the decoy, to them that was a breach of trust Bruce desperately tried to build after your death.

"Silence! There is another way we can see her, Deadman suggested using special artifact's that allows people to see ghost... We will us that as a temporary comfort and we'll find a way to bring her back... with us "

Everybody agreed, unknowns to them you were contemplating life whether you should leave your family and risk the chance of being brought back to life against your will or... Leave.

TAGS: @lovebug-apple, @leeiasure, @invinciblewaffles, @dangeroustravelermultiverse, @shycreatorreview, @bellethesleepypotato , @cluelessteam , @fortunatelydifferentqueen, @doggyteam2028 @icryat2

SPECIAL TAG: @megasweetbones.( TYSM for the great idea 🫶)

[star-ship90909090]

Excatly 😌

“why do you ship them? I thought the ship wasn’t canon?” bro we’re talking about fictional characters, who don’t actually exist in real life, from a media that focuses solely on fictional events that are not real either. so what if these two made-up characters didn’t kiss in their source material? they have lots of nasty gay sex on archive of our own and thousands of novel length slow burn enemies to lovers fics written about them. the fanon content at this point far exceeds the whole canonical franchise. the problem isn’t “it’s not canon” the problem is that you don’t allow yourself to let go of canon and enjoy the wonder of fan contents that are just as good / valid

[bu3ck3r]

stay right here

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

wc: 5k

summary: paige gets sick first but when azzi catches it too she refuses to admit she needs help. luckily, paige is more than happy to take care of azzi, no matter how stubborn she is about it.

a/n: thank you anon for this idea i hope you’ll like it and to everyone else that reads this tell me how was it and if there’s any mistakes lmk

paige knew she was getting sick the night before — the headache creeping in behind her eyes, the scratchiness in her throat, the way her body suddenly felt heavier than usual. but she didn’t say anything. she just pulled azzi in a little closer on the couch while they watched some random show they weren’t really paying attention to.

azzi noticed her shifting around more than usual. “you good?”

“mhm.” paige rested her head on azzi’s shoulder, her voice low and quiet. “just wanna stay right here.”

azzi didn’t question it. she just adjusted a little, letting paige settle in.

the next morning though — paige looked like hell.

she was still bundled in the hoodie she’d worn to bed, but her nose was red, her voice was hoarse, and her eyes were that glassy kind of tired that made it obvious she hadn’t slept well. she shuffled into the kitchen while azzi was pouring cereal and leaned against the counter like the act of standing up was too much effort.

“morning,�� she croaked, barely audible.

azzi turned, took one look at her, and set the spoon down. “oh, no.”

“what?”

“you look like you lost a fight with the air.”

paige gave a half-smile, too lazy to argue. “guess i’m fragile now.”

azzi sighed and crossed her arms. “why didn’t you say anything last night?”

paige shrugged. “didn’t wanna make a big deal.”

“well, it is a big deal if you’re walking around breathing on everything like a germ fog machine.”

“i didn’t even sneeze on you,” paige mumbled, stepping closer. she leaned into azzi, resting her forehead against her shoulder with a long exhale. “i feel like my bones are weak.”

azzi rolled her eyes but reached up to rest a hand on the back of paige’s neck. “you’re being dramatic.”

“i’m sick,” paige said quietly, nuzzling into her hoodie. “i get to be dramatic.”

azzi tried not to react to how warm she felt. “you probably have a fever.”

“i probably deserve one. karma for never taking my vitamins.”

“you literally took one yesterday.”

“yeah, but it was gummy. it doesn’t count.”

azzi sighed again — she was doing that a lot already this morning — and gently guided paige to the barstool. “sit. you’re not doing anything today.”

“not even you?”

azzi smacked her lightly on the arm. “stop talking.”

paige grinned, even as she let her head drop to the counter. “you’re cute when you’re bossy.”

“you’re clingy when you’re sick.”

“that’s not the sickness. that’s just me.”

the day passed in slow motion. paige rotated between the bed, the couch, and wherever azzi happened to be standing. she’d follow her around in slow steps like a shadow with a hoodie and a tissue box, always reaching out for a little touch — a hand on azzi’s back, fingers curled into her sleeve, head resting on her shoulder when she sat down.

azzi kept making noise about how annoying it was, but she didn’t push her away once.

she brought her tea, stood in line at the drugstore to get her cold meds, and even made soup — the canned kind, but still, effort was effort. paige, sick and quiet, just blinked at her with big, tired eyes and said, “you’re an angel.”

azzi rolled her eyes. “i’m your unpaid nurse.”

“same thing,” paige murmured, already reaching out for her again.

by late afternoon, paige was full-on cling mode.

she’d taken over the entire couch, curled under two blankets, legs stretched out across azzi’s lap like a cat who refused to be moved. she was clearly exhausted, and it showed in the way her voice had dropped an octave and her eyes kept drifting closed mid-sentence.

azzi was scrolling through her phone when paige shifted, half-asleep, and muttered, “you smell good.”

azzi didn’t look up. “that’s weird. shut up.”

“you do,” paige whispered. “you smell like my hoodie. or maybe i smell like your hoodie. i forget which one i’m wearing.”

azzi looked down. “that’s mine.”

“see?” paige smiled softly. “you love me.”

“regrettably,” azzi said.

but her hand was still stroking paige’s calf gently under the blanket.

around 7:00 p.m., paige tried to get up and nearly fell over.

azzi was immediately there, steadying her by the waist. “hey. what are you doing?”

“i was gonna go—” paige didn’t even finish the sentence. she just leaned into her, head resting on azzi’s collarbone. “forgot. i’m tired.”

azzi held her for a second, arms slipping around her waist. “jesus. you’re burning up.”

“i run hot. it’s my aura.”

“you sound like your dying.”

paige didn’t respond. just stood there, swaying slightly, face pressed into azzi’s shoulder.

azzi sighed. “come on. bed. i’ll bring your stuff.”

paige didn’t let go. “come with me?”

azzi hesitated, then hooked a finger under her chin and tipped her face up. “you’re sick. you don’t need me cuddling up in your fever dream.”

“but i sleep better with you.”

azzi groaned. “you’re lucky i like you.”

“i know you like me.”

later, paige was bundled into bed, eyes half-closed as azzi tucked the blanket up around her chest. she looked so soft like this — flushed and tired, but still smiling, like the only thing she really cared about was that azzi was within arm’s reach.

azzi sat down on the edge of the bed, pressing the back of her hand to paige’s forehead.

“still warm,” she said quietly.

paige looked up at her. “i feel gross.”

“you kinda look gross too.”

“thanks,” paige murmured, smiling. “you’re really uplifting.”

azzi reached out and brushed a piece of hair off her face. “get some sleep.”

“stay for a little?”

azzi sighed, but she kicked her shoes off anyway and crawled in beside her.

as soon as she was under the covers, paige wrapped her arms around her and let out a tiny, content sigh like she’d been waiting for that all day.

“you’re such a baby when you’re sick,” azzi said, even as she tucked paige’s head under her chin.

“only with you.”

azzi was quiet. “yeah, well. i guess i’m okay with that.”

around 2 a.m., azzi woke up with a sore throat.

she blinked a few times, confused by how dry her mouth was and how heavy her body suddenly felt. paige was still curled into her, breathing softly, radiating heat like a space heater on high.

azzi stared at the ceiling.

“you’ve got to be kidding me,” she whispered.

but she didn’t move.

not yet.

azzi woke up to a raw throat and the realization that paige was half-on top of her. not in a cute, playful way. in a clingy, full-body sprawl kind of way. paige’s leg was draped over her hip, arm curled around her stomach, face nuzzled into the side of her neck. she was snoring. lightly. which was weirdly adorable and also kind of alarming.

azzi laid there, eyes barely open, debating her life choices.

her head was heavy. her skin felt too tight. and her entire body ached in that slow, creeping way that could only mean one thing.

she groaned under her breath.

paige stirred. “what’s wrong?”

“you infected me.”

paige gave a soft, raspy laugh and didn’t move. “i told you to stay away. but nooo, you had to cuddle me through the fever.”

azzi rubbed a hand down her face. “because you guilt-tripped me. you were looking at me like a dying puppy.”

“worked though, didn’t it?”

azzi coughed. “you’re literally the worst.”

“you’re warm,” paige murmured, eyes still closed. “i love it.”

���you love being the reason i feel like i got hit by a bus?”

“not that part,” paige said. “but i love you. and you’re in my bed. and you smell like my hoodie again.”

azzi groaned. “why are you so clingy when you’re sick?”

“i’m clingy all the time. you just ignore it when i’m healthy.”

azzi shifted under the blankets. her nose was starting to run. she hated that she was sick, hated that she couldn’t pretend she wasn’t. but paige had already caught on.

“i’ll make you tea,” paige said suddenly, starting to sit up.

azzi pulled her back down immediately. “you can’t even stand without wobbling. sit down before you pass out in the kitchen.”

paige flopped back with a sigh. “let me do something. i feel bad.”

“you should.”

“you love me.”

“unfortunately.”

paige smiled to herself and reached over to press a soft kiss to azzi’s cheek. “i really do feel bad.”

azzi turned her head just slightly toward her. “yeah?”

“yeah.” paige paused. “but also… this is kinda the dream. sick day in bed with you. no practice. just netflix and cuddles.”

azzi snorted, then coughed again. “your so annoying.”

“and yet you still love me.”

azzi closed her eyes and groaned. “please shut up.”

“okay.” a beat. “you’re really hot, though. like, fever-hot. but also, like, generally.”

“i will smother you with this pillow.”

paige nuzzled into her shoulder. “you won’t. you like how warm i am.”

azzi didn’t respond. she was already drifting again, her body too heavy and warm to hold on to the irritation. paige stayed curled against her, completely still except for the way her fingers started tracing slow circles on azzi’s arm under the blanket.

the rest of the morning was a shared mess of tissues and short naps.

azzi tried to rally around noon. she pulled herself out of bed with a grunt, wobbling a little on the way to the bathroom. paige, half-asleep, peeked open one eye and said, “you okay?”

azzi stood in the doorway, hoodie hanging off one shoulder, hair a tangled mess. “do i look okay?”

paige grinned weakly. “you look like a beautiful wreck.”

azzi raised a middle finger as she turned toward the sink.

by the time she made it to the kitchen, the world was spinning slightly. she leaned against the counter and stared at the fridge, wondering if she had the energy to boil water.

she didn’t.

so she stood there instead, arms crossed, trying to will her body to cooperate.

behind her, soft footsteps shuffled in.

“you’re not supposed to be up,” paige mumbled, rubbing her eyes as she joined her.

“says the girl who was going to make me tea half an hour ago.”

“yeah, but i’m stronger than you.”

azzi gave her a look. “you literally had to sit down putting your socks on.”

“i was saving energy.”

azzi turned to face her. paige looked just as bad as earlier—maybe worse. hoodie pulled over her head, pale face flushed, nose red, eyes still watery.

“you look like shit,” azzi said softly.

“so do you,” paige replied with a smile, stepping closer. “want to suffer together?”

azzi leaned into her instinctively. she hated how good it felt. the warmth. the weight. the way paige smelled like laundry and lemon tea. paige wrapped her arms around her from behind and rested her chin on her shoulder.

“i was serious earlier,” she murmured.

“about what?”

“this being kinda nice. i mean, not the coughing and dying part. but this. us. nothing else to do.”

azzi let her head fall back a little. “you’re romanticizing a cold.”

“maybe.”

she was quiet for a second. “i just like having you close.”

azzi let herself lean all the way back into her, letting paige hold her up. “you already have me close. you literally climbed on top of me last night.”

“i was cold.”

“you were burning up.”

“i was emotionally cold.”

azzi groaned. “i don’t even have the energy to fight you.”

paige kissed the top of her head. “you’re so cute, baby”

azzi tilted her head, eyes closed. “alright enough talking p.”

they made it back to the couch somehow — a journey that took longer than usual because they kept leaning on each other for support. once they were there, paige collapsed sideways and immediately grabbed a blanket, patting the space beside her.

azzi hesitated.

paige patted again. “come here.”

“you’re gonna try to make me the little spoon.”

“i am gonna make you the little spoon.”

azzi stared.

then sighed.

and laid down beside her.

paige grinned triumphantly and wrapped her arms around her again. her skin was warm. she still smelled like mint toothpaste and dayquil.

“i hate how good this feels,” azzi mumbled into the pillow.

“don’t fight it.”

“i’m not fighting. i’m just being bitter.”

“okay. be bitter.” paige kissed the back of her neck. “but let me hold you while you are.”

the rest of the afternoon faded into a blur. tissues piled up. the tv played some random reality show in the background. neither of them really watched it. paige dozed in and out, and azzi did too, coughing more often now, her head pounding more by the hour.

at one point, paige felt her shift slightly and murmured, “you need water?”

azzi nodded without speaking.

paige sat up, legs trembling just a bit, but she didn’t say anything. she just shuffled to the kitchen and came back with the water bottle.

azzi looked up at her, blinking slowly. “you shouldn’t be walking.”

“i’m fine.”

“you’re not.”

“i’m taking care of you,” paige said, tucking the blanket back over her shoulders. “let me.”

azzi stared at her for a second, expression unreadable.

then she said, very softly, “thank you.”

paige blinked. “wait—did you just say something nice to me?”

“i take it back.”

paige grinned. “nope. heard it.”

azzi shoved her face into the pillow.

paige gently pulled her in and kissed the top of her head. “you’re welcome, babe.”

later that night, as the sky turned gray-blue and the world outside got quiet, they lay in bed again — both too tired to move, too sick to care. azzi was curled into paige this time, her fingers resting lightly on her chest.

paige was half-asleep, still smiling.

“i like this,” she whispered.

azzi didn’t respond at first.

then: “you’re lucky i caught your stupid cold.”

paige reached down and laced their fingers together.

“i know.”

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

paige woke up first. for the first time in three days, her head didn’t feel like it was full of cement. her throat still scratched a little, and her nose was stuffy, but the bone-deep exhaustion had started to lift. she blinked up at the ceiling for a moment before turning her head.

azzi was still dead asleep, breathing softly, the hoodie collar pulled up over her mouth. she looked like someone who’d fought off a lion and lost. her nose was red, and her hair was a tangled halo around her face, but her hand was still curled in paige’s shirt like she was afraid paige might float off without it.

she wouldn’t. obviously.

paige smiled to herself and reached up to brush a knuckle gently along azzi’s cheek. warm. still feverish. still deep in the worst of it.

“caught my sickness,” paige whispered. “and you called me dramatic.”

azzi didn’t move. paige leaned in, kissed her forehead, and whispered, “payback’s a bitch, huh?”

she was out of bed for maybe thirty seconds before azzi cracked one eye open and rasped, “where are you going?”

paige turned around in the doorway. “to get water.”

“you better not be doing something stupid like trying to cook.”

“that’s so rude. what if i was gonna make you breakfast?”

azzi let her head flop sideways on the pillow. “you can’t make cereal without getting winded.”

“i’m better today.”

“sure you are.”

paige walked back over, leaned down, and kissed her temple. “just lay there. i got you.”

azzi groaned. “you’re already annoying.”

paige grinned. “and you’re already obsessed with me.”

she didn’t make breakfast, for the record. paige was feeling marginally less like death, but she wasn’t delusional. she poured two glasses of water, grabbed the last pack of cold meds, and snuck one of azzi’s sweatshirts on before heading back to the bedroom.

azzi hadn’t moved. she was still buried under the blankets, looking miserable and slightly offended by her own body.

paige climbed back in beside her and offered her the water. azzi blinked at her.

“you’re hovering.”

“obviously,” paige said. “i feel better. so now i get to be the doting one.”

“you’ve been the doting one.”

“i know. but now i can stand upright while doing it.”

azzi took the water and sat up slowly. she looked like it hurt. paige tucked a pillow behind her back before she could even ask.

“thanks,” azzi said, almost too quiet to hear.

paige looked over at her. “what was that?”

“nothing.”

“you sure?”

“shut up.”

“yeah yeah i love you too, princess.”

azzi shot her a look.

paige just smiled and passed her the cold medicine.

the day went on like that: paige moving around the apartment like a ghost, following azzi from bed to couch and back again, constantly checking her temperature and fluffing pillows that didn’t need fluffing.

azzi complained about it.

a lot.

but she never actually told paige to stop.

around lunch time, paige came back from the kitchen with two bowls of microwaved soup. she handed one off and sat beside her, crossing her legs and watching azzi like she might stop breathing if she blinked too long.

azzi sipped quietly for a minute before finally saying, “you’re staring.”

“i’m just making sure you don’t collapse.”

“i’m sick, not 80.”

“you’re my sick person.”

azzi groaned. “do you hear yourself?”

“i do. and i sound adorable.”

“you sound insufferable.”

“you’re smiling, though.”

“i’m not.”

“you are.”

azzi looked over at her, eyes half-lidded and tired, but she didn’t argue. paige gently reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

“you’re really pretty when you’re all flushed and grumpy,” she said softly.

azzi looked at her for a second, blank expression still intact.

“please get out of my face.”

paige leaned closer. “you love me.”

azzi shoved her shoulder gently. “eat your soup.”

the afternoon was a blur of soft movies, half-naps, and comfort touches. azzi had stopped fighting it around 2 p.m., finally letting paige curl into her again without a single complaint. paige felt the shift — that moment where azzi stopped trying to act fine and just gave in to being taken care of.

it made her feel warm inside in a way the fever never could.

she kissed azzi’s shoulder as they lay under the blanket, whispering soft nonsense into her ear, rubbing lazy circles into her thigh.

azzi didn’t say much, but her fingers kept finding paige’s — linking with them loosely, letting them go, finding them again.

it was the sick version of holding hands on a mountaintop: no effort, no energy, just gravity pulling them together.

by the time the sky dimmed and the outside world blurred paige was fully committed to playing nurse.

she made tea again (barely burned her hand this time), grabbed more tissues, and even found that one lavender essential oil she bought once as a joke but now insisted was “good for your nose.”

azzi was wrapped in two blankets, watching her with the flat expression of someone too tired to argue but very aware she was being ridiculous.

“smell this,” paige said, holding the little bottle under her nose.

azzi blinked. “what is that?”

“lavender eucalyptus serenity blend.”

“that’s not a thing.”

“it’s totally a thing. smells like a fancy yoga retreat.”

azzi took a slow inhale and blinked again. “…okay, fine. that does smell nice.”

paige beamed. “ you’re welcome.”

“still annoying.”

“you say that, but you haven’t kicked me out yet.”

azzi pulled the blanket tighter. “because i don’t have the energy.”

paige flopped onto the couch beside her and rested her head on her shoulder. “i knew this sickness would pay off somehow.”

that night, they ended up back in bed, both of them drained in different ways.

azzi had gotten worse. paige had gotten slightly better. but the balance worked.

paige turned on the soft lamp by the bed, adjusted their pillows again, and climbed in behind her, pressing her body flush against azzi’s.

azzi didn’t protest.

“you okay?” paige asked softly, hand resting on her stomach.

azzi nodded. “tired.”

“i got you.”

azzi let out a tiny hum and reached for her hand under the blanket.

“sorry i got you sick,” paige murmured, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

azzi sighed. “you’re not actually sorry.”

“no, i really am.”

azzi turned her head slightly. “you’ve been happy all day. admit it.”

paige hesitated. “…maybe a little.”

azzi rolled her eyes. “you’re impossible.”

“i just like taking care of you,” paige said. “even when you’re grumpy and dramatic and pretending you don’t love it.”

azzi squeezed her hand gently.

“i do love it,” she whispered. “but don’t let it go to your head.”

paige smiled and kissed the back of her neck.

by the time the worst of it had passed, the apartment smelled like tea, menthol, and leftover soup, and paige had watched love and basketball at least three times “just for the vibes.”

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

azzi, now finally on the mend, was awake more than she was asleep. her voice had dropped an octave, her nose was only mildly red instead of nuclear.

hair in a messy bun, hoodie sleeves pushed up, eyes half-lidded — she stood in the bathroom doorway and looked like she wanted to shower, but the sheer thought of doing it made her more tired than the sickness already had.

paige popped her head in from the hallway, toothbrush still in her mouth.

“you good?”

azzi didn’t answer for a second. then: “i don’t have the energy to do this.”

paige rinsed her mouth, leaned in the doorway, and looked her up and down. “you want help?”

azzi hesitated. “no— i mean— yes. but i don’t need it.”

“i didn’t say you needed it,” paige said, stepping in and gently tugging at the drawstrings on azzi’s hoodie. “i just said i’d do it.”

azzi narrowed her eyes. “you’re way too comfortable saying that.”

paige gave her a lazy grin. “i am comfortable. with you.”

azzi sighed and leaned against the counter. “i feel like i weigh a thousand pounds.”

paige stepped forward and wrapped her arms gently around her waist. “then let me carry some of it.”

the shower was warm, quiet, and foggy — the kind of space where everything outside of it didn’t exist for a little while.

paige helped azzi undress slowly, like every motion meant something. her hands were gentle, like she was touching something breakable — not out of pity, but out of care.

azzi didn’t say much. she just stood there, heavy-limbed and sleepy-eyed, and let paige guide her under the spray.

she leaned against the wall, eyes closed, and paige stood behind her, running her hands through her hair with careful fingers.

“you’re lucky you’re cute when you’re pathetic,” paige murmured, lathering shampoo gently into azzi’s scalp.

azzi made a low sound. “you’re annoying.”

“you keep saying that.”

“because you keep being it.”

paige smiled. she rinsed the shampoo out, then slowly slid conditioner through the strands, untangling her hair like it was something sacred.

azzi leaned her head back onto her shoulder for a moment, completely still.

paige kissed the side of her head and whispered, “you’re okay. i got you.”

“i know,” azzi said, soft enough that the water nearly drowned it out.

after, paige helped her towel off, got her into one of her big, fluffy shirts and fresh sweats, and walked her to the couch.

azzi didn’t fight it. not this time.

paige, on the other hand, was technically fine.

technically.

because even though her fever was gone and her energy was back, she’d decided that recovery was “a fragile, emotional process,” and that meant she still got to be babied.

which azzi was picking up on.

big time.

azzi was sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling aimlessly on her phone, when paige shuffled in wrapped in a blanket like a burrito.

“you’re not cold,” azzi said without looking up.

“i might be,” paige replied, dropping into the chair across from her dramatically. “i still feel emotionally unwell.”

azzi glanced up, unimpressed. “we’re out of soup.”

paige gasped. “what? why didn’t you tell me?”

“because i was dying.”

“oh. right.”

azzi shook her head, eyes still fixed on her screen.

paige stood up slowly, blanket still draped around her, and walked around the table until she was standing behind azzi. she leaned down, resting her chin on azzi’s shoulder, arms wrapping loosely around her middle.

“i like it.”

azzi sighed. “you’re suffocating.”

“you’re warm.”

“i’m not a space heater.”

“you’re my space heater.”

azzi leaned back into her a little, despite herself. “why are you like this?”

paige kissed her cheek. “because you’re soft when you’re sick.”

“i’m literally not.”

“yeah, yeah.”

azzi shook her head. “you’re unbearable.”

paige grinned and rested her cheek on azzi’s. “but i’m cute.”

“barely.”

later, they were on the couch again — a much cleaner version of the chaos from a few days ago. blankets folded. tissues gone. windows cracked open, spring air slipping in.

azzi was finally sitting upright, flipping through netflix. paige lay with her head in her lap, fake-sighing every few minutes just to get azzi’s attention.

“you okay?” azzi asked, barely glancing down.

“no,” paige said flatly. “i think i’m regressing.”

azzi arched a brow. “regressing into what?”

“a needier version of myself.”

azzi looked down at her. “is that even possible?”

“i thought i was healed. but i think i need… more attention. just to be sure.”

azzi snorted. “that’s your actual diagnosis?”

“better safe than sorry.”

azzi rolled her eyes but started running her fingers through paige’s hair anyway. “you’re unbelievable.”

“say you love me.”

“i love you paige.”

“i love you too baby”

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

an hour passed. the sun shifted across the floor. they finally landed on a documentary, which neither of them paid attention to. paige was still in azzi’s lap. azzi had started playing with the drawstring of her hoodie, absentmindedly looping it around her fingers.

paige smiled lazily. “you’re touchy.”

azzi groaned. “please shut up.”

“you love it.”

“no, i love you. there’s a difference.”

paige sat up suddenly and kissed her cheek. “you’re so cute.”

the day passed slow and warm. paige hovered, azzi allowed it. they shared tea, watched some movies, and spent more time just being together than either of them could remember.

at some point, paige ended up sitting cross-legged on the couch, blanket in her lap, phone in hand. she was scrolling aimlessly when she felt the weight of azzi’s head settle softly onto her thigh.

she froze — not because it was unexpected, but because azzi rarely initiated things like that.

she looked down.

azzi’s eyes were already closed, lips parted slightly, breaths even.

paige softened immediately, brushing a few curls out of her face.

“look at you,” she whispered. “finally gave in.”

azzi didn’t respond, obviously. she was too far gone.

paige let her phone drop to the side and started tracing lazy circles over azzi’s shoulder, a grin tugging at her lips.

a little while later, when azzi stirred and blinked blearily up at her, paige was ready.

“well, well, well,” she said, smiling. “look who decided i’m comfortable.”

azzi squinted. “didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“but you did. in my lap.”

azzi groaned. “you’re gonna bring this up forever.”

“absolutely.”

“you’re the worst.”

“you’re the cutest.”

azzi rolled onto her back with a quiet sigh and closed her eyes again. “fine. i’m not moving.”

paige grinned and leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“good. you’re exactly where i want you.”

that night, for the first time in a week, azzi stayed up later than paige.

paige had conked out early, finally letting her body stop pretending it was still in danger. azzi, sitting on the bed in fresh sweats, looked over at her — tangled in the blanket, mouth slightly open, hair a mess.

she looked peaceful. for once.

azzi leaned back against the headboard and just watched her for a second.

it was weird. not the sickness. not the clinginess. but how easy it had been, despite all that.

she’d fought paige every step of the way, like she always did when she felt vulnerable. but paige — annoying, dramatic, unrelenting paige — had just stayed. quiet when she needed to be. soft when it mattered. present. every moment.

and somehow, that made her more insufferable.

but in a way azzi was never going to admit out loud. not more than once, anyway.

she slid under the blanket beside her, careful not to wake her, and curled in just close enough.

paige stirred.

eyes still closed, she mumbled, “you back?”

“yeah.”

“you still warm?”

azzi exhaled slowly. “a little.”

paige smiled in her sleep, nudging closer.

“good,” she whispered. “means i can hold you.”

azzi rolled her eyes, but she didn’t move. didn’t say anything else.

didn’t need to.

[livingformintyoongi]

Undeniable Temptation | Min Yoongi

Summary: It's three in the morning and you're still awake. The clock keeps ticking, and Yoongi still hasn't called. There were never any promises of love in your marriage, but even so, the thought of him being with another woman tears your soul apart— and the fact that he doesn’t feel the same way you do only makes it worse. Author’s note: Hi again!!! I know it’s been weeks since I last took a Valentine’s request, but in my defense, I really wanted this one to be as good as possible because it’s for my dear @ktownshizzle — so it took me a little longer, oops! Anyway, I finally finished it, and here it is! I hope you enjoy it 💗 Pairing: CEO!Yoongi x Fem!Reader AUs: Bad Boy!AU Word count: 7.8k (I'M SO SORRY) Warnings/tags: Smut (MDNI), Yoongi acts like a jerk at first, but then he’s a total sweetheart <3, mentions of fighting (not between them!), arranged marriage, unprotected sex (DON’T do this, it’s dangerous!!) Permanent Taglist: @thunderg @minjianhyung @queenv1997 @yoongtism @lizzymizzy-blogg @superbbananananana @drpepperobsessed @themwordsblog @taekritimin123 @bluecloudss @yooglefics @tan-veee @angellekookie @meadowsweetskoo You can join the taglist here! Dividers by @omi-resources

The soft ticking of the living room clock echoed through the silence, each beat pushing your nerves closer to the edge. You stared at the clock hands for a moment. 3:05 a.m.

Three in the morning… and Yoongi still wasn’t home.

You rose from the couch for what felt like the hundredth time, pacing across the room with restless steps, biting down on your thumbnail in a poor attempt to settle the unease bubbling in your chest. It wasn’t the first time Yoongi had come home this late, but tonight felt different. He always let you know ahead of time—always. Whether it was work or hanging out with his friends, he never forgot to text. But tonight? Nothing. Just silence.

And yet, here you were. Awake. Waiting. Because you couldn’t fall asleep without knowing he was safe.

Your marriage might have been arranged, but that didn’t mean you didn’t care. And he cared, too… in his own quiet, distant way.

From day one, you’d both made it clear—there were no strings attached, no expectations. It wasn’t love. Hell, you barely knew each other. But after living together for over a year and a half, after countless public dinners hand in hand, after he’d—thrown—his jacket over your shoulders to keep you warm, after he’d shown up with comfortable flats so you could change out of your heels… after all of that, somewhere along the way, you’d grown fond of him.

Too fond.

It wasn’t love. Of course not. You just… cared. As one human to another. That was all.

You exhaled sharply, dropping back onto the couch—again. The weight of your thoughts pressed down harder with each minute. You hated this—hated the complicated mess of feelings Yoongi stirred in you. Hated that dull ache in your chest, the one that twisted painfully at the thought of him being with someone else. You hated feeling anything at all. Especially when you were just the wife he was forced to tolerate for the rest of his life.

Was this what marriage was supposed to feel like? Was every couple haunted by this constant fear? Or were you the only one clinging to something that had never even been real?

God. You weren’t even his real wife. Why did it hurt this much?

Pathetic.

You reached for your phone, your fingers moving slower than usual. You winced when the harsh brightness of the screen hit your eyes, cursing under your breath as you fumbled to lower it.

And then you saw them—three new messages. Yoongi.

You sat upright, heart stuttering in your chest as your eyes scanned the short texts he’d sent… thirty minutes ago.

> I’m coming home.

I’ll be there in about forty minutes.

Don’t wait up.

You read them again. And again. And again.

Seriously? That was it? He messaged you at two-thirty just to say he was on his way? Couldn’t he have told you earlier? Couldn’t he be a halfway decent husband and text you after work, let you know he was… doing something?

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, tossing your phone onto one of the throw pillows with a bitter scoff. If he meant what he said, he’d be home in about ten minutes. Forty minutes… that was the time it took to reach the outskirts of the city.

His office was just fifteen minutes away. His friends lived nearby. There was no reason to be that far out unless…

Unless it wasn’t work.

Unless there was someone else. Someone hidden, tucked away just far enough that you’d never find out.

Screw your earlier mental speech— If he was cheating on you, you were absolutely capable of breaking his damn nose.

The soft sound of keys jingling briefly pulled you out of your thoughts, causing every inch of your body to freeze in place. He had arrived. Yoongi was home, and you had no idea what to do or where to hide because, even if you hadn’t done anything wrong, you felt like you’d just committed a crime and the police were about to catch you red-handed.

Despite the fear and anxiety that screamed for you to retreat to your room, crawl under the covers, and force yourself to pretend to be asleep—ignoring the fact that your husband might be cheating on you—your body didn’t seem to want to obey your mind. Your feet felt glued to the floor, and your eyes were fixed on the hallway leading to the living room, where you’d been pacing for hours, waiting for him.

It only took a few seconds before you saw him step through the door. His shirt more wrinkled than when he left, his tie in disarray, his jacket hanging off one arm, and his face��� his face looked so different from when he left the house.

The left eyebrow had a bandage crossing it from top to bottom, his left cheek was bruised, a dark blue mark that would probably swell by morning—or in a few hours—and his lip had a small cut on one corner.

You knew Yoongi sometimes got involved in dangerous things, but never, in the year and a half you’d been living together, had he come home looking like this.

The thought of infidelity quickly evaporated as you processed what you’d just seen. You rushed toward him, cupping his face in your hands, studying him more closely to see if there were any other injuries you’d missed the first time.

“Damn, Yoongi, what the hell happened to your face? You look terrible,” your voice came out higher than you intended, but you didn’t care. You ran your hands over the bruise on his cheek, making a face when you heard Yoongi hiss quietly. He never complained unless it really hurt. “Did you get into a fight with someone? No, wait, it’s obvious you got into a fight! Why the hell did you get into a fight with someone?”

You followed him as he walked away, confused, watching him fill a small glass with whiskey and drink it in one go.

“I’m not in the mood for your stupid questions, Y/N,” he murmured softly, sounding more tired than annoyed. That didn’t stop the pain that twisted in your chest when you heard him say that.

Yoongi never called you by your name. He always used the nickname “Sweetheart,” he said, just to annoy you. You’d gotten used to that stupid nickname that made your cheeks burn and short-circuited your brain. You’d forgotten that to him, this was nothing more than a stupid arrangement, with no emotions involved.

Yes, you were sad. You wanted to cry. You wanted to scream. You wanted to hit yourself for being stupid enough to think that he actually felt something for you.

But between the sadness and the anger, anger was what won out in this moment.

“Stupid questions?” you murmured, clenching your fists at your sides, feeling the heat rising in your chest, making its way up to your face as your anger started to grow. All the emotions you’d felt in the last few hours were now flooding to the surface. “You think my questions are stupid?”

Yoongi turned to look at you, his brow furrowing slightly, confusion marking his features—the same features you’d once found so charming. Now you just wanted to punch him in the balls and scream at him for being a complete idiot.

“You think it’s stupid that I’m worried about you after not hearing from you for the past seven fucking hours?” You watched in silence as his eyes widened at your question. You’d never spoken to him like that before. Normally, it was him who acted like this—him who ignored you, who teased you, who lightly tapped your forehead with his finger. He was the one who got to be rough with you while you just took it because—damn it—you liked it. You liked his little games, his teasing, the cute nickname he had for you. You liked him, and that’s why you always acted shy.

Well, now that shyness could go to hell. Yoongi had crossed your line, and now you were going to cross his.

“Y/N—”

“No!” You shoved your index finger into his chest, using all your strength to push him back. Your breathing was erratic, your teeth clenched so tightly that your jaw ached. You wanted to grab that stupidly beautiful hair of his and yank it until he apologized for treating you this way. “Don’t you dare throw out some dumb excuse, don’t you dare say my name like it’s going to make whatever you say next carry more weight!”

You shoved him again, enjoying the control, at least for once in this entire messed-up relationship. He wasn’t the only one with a bad reputation before that damn wedding was even in the picture.

“You walked out on your job to go God knows where, you were gone for seven fucking hours with no word, sent three damn texts saying you'd be late, leaving me alone in this house, running through a million scenarios in my head of why you were so late, wondering if you were with some other woman while I sat here waiting for you, and you come home with a bruised face— and you still think my questions are ridiculous?” You grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer so you could see him better. Normally, you'd be nervous, maybe even thinking about kissing him... but now, the urge to slap him was a lot stronger.

“Are you serious? You’re the one who imagined all this shit, and somehow I’m the problem? It’s not my fucking fault you’re so insecure you think I’m gonna cheat on you with someone else! Damn, you’re not even my real wife, why the hell do you care who I sleep with?”

That comment dropped both of you into silence.

You let go of his shirt, not sure what to do with your hands now. Your lashes fluttered quickly, fighting back the tears you refused to let fall, not in front of him. Not after what he just said.

Even though, deep down, you knew he was right. He didn’t owe you any explanations. You were the one who got your hopes up, the one who thought there was something more. He had every right to be with whoever he wanted, and you… you couldn’t deny him that. After all, nowhere in the contract did it say anything about exclusivity.

“Hey, sweetheart, wait, I didn’t— I didn’t mean that, okay? You know I didn’t?” He reached out to take your hand, but you flinched away, as if touching you burned. “I-I’m sorry, it was a stupid thing to say, it wasn’t thought through, it was just… just an impulse.”

You clutched the silk robe wrapped around you. It was the only thing stopping you from feeling the sting that came with trying to breathe. Why did you have to fall in love with Yoongi? What was it about him that made you risk everything, knowing it was going to end like this? You were angry with him, but more than that, you were furious with yourself for allowing him to hurt you. You knew the only one who would be left broken was you.

“No,” you whispered after a beat. Your gaze dropped to the floor, your shoulders slumped, and your hair shielded your face, hiding the tears that were threatening to spill. It was the perfect pose for a breakdown. You wanted to break down, “You’re right. It was stupid to care about you when we’re nothing.”

“No, wait, let me—” He cut himself off when he noticed a single drop of water hit the floor, and your shoulders started to tremble. You were crying. He had made you cry. He wanted to blame the idiot he fought with at the bar, wanted to blame the alcohol for making him act without thinking, wanted to blame anyone other than himself because he didn’t want to be the one who made you cry.

But he had.

He should have just answered your damn questions and been done with it, not gotten defensive.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered softly, his hands gently resting on your shoulders, unsure if you were going to push him away again or lash out. But you did nothing. You let him pull you in and wrap you in his arms. It was awkward, you felt awkward, he felt awkward, but he needed to do this. He needed you to hear him so that at least you’d stop thinking he was out there with someone else.

Yoongi might be a complete jerk, but he would never, ever cheat on you.

“My brother came to my office just before I came home,” he said, his hand softly brushing through your hair, fingers threading through your strands as if to offer some kind of silent comfort. “He asked me to go for drinks at a bar nearby. I forgot to text you. I’m sorry.”

You stayed quiet for a few moments. You were still a bit tense under his embrace, but you let yourself wrap your arms weakly around his waist. It was your way of showing that, at least, you were listening, that you were open to hearing him out. Were you being stupid for trusting him? Probably. Did you care? Not really. You knew that hearing him out was a hit to your ego and dignity, but you still wanted to listen, wanted to hold on to whatever little hope was left inside you.

Being in love really did turn you into a mess.

“You were right. It’s my fault. I did things that made you think that way, and I know I shouldn’t have said that, but I just… I got so frustrated thinking that you actually believed I’d be with someone else, someone who wasn’t you.” He softly licked his lips, feeling them uncomfortably dry all of a sudden. At least now he’d cleared up the one thing that had been bothering him.

Now, all that was left was for you to believe him.

“Why does your face look like that?” you asked quietly, your face still hidden in his shoulder, your hands still on his waist, this time clutching the fabric of his shirt as if trying to push out the anger and pain building up inside you. Hearing him out and wanting to forgive him didn’t just erase your anger.

Yoongi was quiet for a moment, enough to think through his answer and not make the atmosphere any more tense than it already was.

“I got into a fight with some guy at the bar.” You could feel his hands tighten, his hold on you becoming stronger. It felt like he was trying to protect you from something, like remembering the fight only made him want to keep you closer.

And that only made you more confused.

“Why?” you asked, your voice calm as you waited for his answer. You wanted to understand why he’d gotten into a fight after all this time. You knew he used to get into fights when he was younger, but you thought that part of him was behind him now. After his dad left him in charge of the company, you believed he’d grown out of that. Now, you weren’t so sure.

“Because no one’s allowed to talk shit about my wife.” He buried his face in your neck, relaxing slightly as he breathed in the familiar scent of your perfume, that something that was uniquely you. The memories of the bar fight came rushing back—his anger flaring again as he recalled how one of his coworkers, a guy who’d been to several company parties with you two, had told his friend how badly he wanted to fuck you in a hotel room, how you had the face of someone who was easy, how you always smiled at him like you wanted something more.

He was out of his mind if he thought he was going to let that guy walk away without getting a beating. You deserved more than a sleazy hotel room that charged by the hour. You deserved respect—not because you were his girlfriend, but because you were a person, just like him, and far more respectable than the idiot he’d fought with. You deserved to be happy and to be kind to other men without them thinking you wanted something else.

Yoongi would fight that guy a thousand times over if it meant defending your image, because you deserved that and so much more.

And yet, here you were, still tied to someone like him, someone who couldn’t even express his feelings without saying something that hurt you in the process.

“You fought… for me?” You watched as Yoongi’s face, usually so pale, flushed a soft pink. His eyes darted around the room, anywhere but you.

It was the first time you’d ever seen him like this. The first time he’d shown you any real emotion when it came to you.

He was embarrassed because he’d just confessed he fought for you.

You both stayed quiet. You, watching him, feeling a heat rise in your chest, your hands starting to sweat, forcing you to rub them against your robe. Him, running a hand through his messy hair, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor, biting his lower lip.

Yoongi didn’t know what to say. You had a million questions running through your mind.

“Why did you do it?” You took a step closer to him, feeling a small ache in your chest when you saw him pull back slightly, almost instinctively. You were crossing a line, one he had set from the start of your relationship, an unspoken rule—he didn’t want you getting too close, didn’t want the emotions between you to grow any stronger. Didn’t want the attraction you both felt to turn into something bigger, more serious.

Your step didn't just cross a physical line—it crossed an emotional one too. And that set off every alarm inside Yoongi.

“Answer me,” you insisted, louder this time, your brows furrowed, fists clenched. You had respected his boundaries all this time, constantly convincing yourself this was one-sided—that your feelings were nothing more than something you'd imagined, something you should keep buried until the very end.

But now that you knew that wasn’t true, you weren’t about to stand back.

“Y/N, I—” Yoongi licked his lower lip, letting his head fall back. His hands—now with slightly reddened knuckles—covered his face like a child hiding from the world, as if that could magically make everything go away. “I don’t know why I did it, okay? It just… happened.”

“You’re lying!” you cut him off the second he finished. This time, you pushed him a little harder—just enough to make him step back. You could hear the shake in his voice, the uncertainty in his tone. You could see how his eyes dodged yours like they were poison.

You wanted him to tell you the truth. You needed to hear him say that you mattered to him as much as he mattered to you.

You wanted to hear him say he loved you, the same way you loved him.

“Shit, what do you want me to say? That is the truth!” Yoongi’s voice rose a little, but you didn’t care—not when he finally looked you in the eye after admitting he got into a fight. His clenched jaw and dark eyes might’ve scared someone else, might’ve made them back down.

But you knew him too well for that—unfortunately for him.

His glare, despite the anger, wavered constantly. You could see a flicker of insecurity there—and something else, emotions you knew better than anyone Yoongi didn’t want to feel. He fought tooth and nail to keep them buried. But you wanted to drag them out of him.

“Stop lying to yourself, Yoongi!” You tried to push him again, but his hands quickly grabbed your wrists, pulling you close until there were only inches between you.

Your breaths were ragged, tangled in the storm of emotions swirling between you. His grip on your wrists loosened, but his hands never left your skin. You watched as he ran his tongue over his lips, his intense gaze locked on you the whole time.

“Stop pushing me,” he whispered, holding the distance even though something deep inside him screamed to get away from you—that this would only make things worse, that he wouldn’t be able to control himself with you this close, with your skin burning against his palms, with the way he craved more and more.

But apparently, that voice wasn’t persuasive enough.

You didn’t say anything. You just stood there, feeling your heartbeat race so fast it thundered in your ears, feeling the heat rise from your toes to your ears, your stomach twisting uncomfortably from the sensation of his touch.

You wanted more of him. You wanted everything he could give you and more. You wanted to feel his lips on yours, his hands on your body, his nose against your neck, his voice in your ear.

And this was your chance to have it.

So you grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him down until his lips crashed into yours. Only then did you feel like you could breathe again.

You thought this would be the end of everything—that he’d take it as the final excuse to sign the damn divorce papers you were sure he’d wanted from day one. But no. He didn’t shove you away. He didn’t yell. He didn’t demand answers or accuse you of doing something reckless without his consent.

Instead, he cupped your cheeks, his tongue tracing your lower lip, turning your clumsy, desperate kiss into something wildly intense—a kiss that stopped being one-sided the moment he decided to kiss you back.

Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging whenever your body threatened to lose control. You could feel his desperation match yours, like you were both fighting a war with no winner, because in the end, you were both going to enjoy the outcome anyway.

His touch grew needier, more frantic, and you nearly gasped when you felt his cold fingers against your thighs, lifting you off the ground without bothering to break the kiss. He didn’t care if your teeth clashed or if you let out soft moans and gasps between breaths.

He’d gone months without touching you like this. Now that he could, he wasn’t going to waste a single second.

You both got lost in the smell of each other, the touch, the way your hearts beat in sync—fast, unrestrained, chaotic. The kind of heartbeat that only happens when you've waited for something your whole life, and when it finally arrives, it exceeds your expectations so much that everything else just stops.

There was no one left to fool—because there was no one else in that room.

You moaned against his lips when his hand slid up your back, slipping under your nightgown, exposing more of your skin with every inch. You felt him smile against your neck as your body shivered from his touch.

“If I’d known you were this sensitive, I would’ve done this months ago,” he whispered against your skin, leaving light bites and marks along your neck. Something about the blank canvas of your skin bothered him—it made him want to cover it, to claim it, until it was unrecognizable.

To him, your skin was a blank canvas, and his lips were the brush to turn it into a masterpiece.

You gasped when he dropped you onto the bed, quickly settling between your legs. The pressure in your chest tightened as he hovered over you—lips swollen and shiny, tongue lazily brushing over them, his hair a mess from your hands, his dark eyes watching you like you were the most stunning woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

And in this moment, you felt that beautiful—just from the way he was looking at you.

So intense. So suffocating.

It was exactly how you imagined it.

Even with both of you breathing heavily and your pulses racing, the intensity of the kiss had faded, leaving a silence thick with tension—tension that had been building between you from day one.

“Are you sure about this?” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours. That messy, heated passion from a moment ago was gone now, replaced with something quieter. “It’ll never be the same between us.” His hand gently caressed your waist under your nightgown—not in a lustful way, not to change your mind—just because he needed to feel you, to know this was real. “We’ll never be the same.”

You placed your hand on his cheek, gently tracing his features, your touch filled with quiet longing. You’d made your decision months ago. You’d been waiting for this longer than you cared to admit. You wanted to be his—and you wanted him to be yours. You wanted your marriage to stop being a contract between parents and start being something real. Something you both craved.

“I know,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, closing the last bit of space between you. It was torturous having him this close, brushing lips but not quite kissing, feeling his breath mix with yours. It was painfully sweet. “But I don’t care.”

“You don’t care?” he let out a breathy laugh, his hands gently removing the robe from your shoulders. In his eyes, the same passion from moments ago was still there, steady and present. It reminded you that you had just kissed, that he was ready to take off his clothes and claim you, just as you were ready to claim him.

But there was more.

You could feel it in the way his touch was firm yet gentle, in the way his lips curved into a smile you’d never seen before—not like this, not while you were watching him. Whatever was happening between the two of you was more than just the pent-up desire of a contract marriage. Deep down, you both knew it.

“No,” you replied, your voice shaking more than you intended. His hands had already finished removing the robe, the only thing left between his touch and your skin being the nightgown you wore. “I want this, Yoongi. I want you.”

And that was enough to completely unravel him.

His lips crashed into yours again, kissing you with a sweet, addictive hunger. The movement of his hips against yours drew soft moans from both of you, urging you to go further, to strip away every last piece of clothing and make this moment last as little time as possible.

But neither of you wanted it to end quickly, even if your bodies demanded release.

Yoongi lifted the hem of your nightgown slowly, making you squirm in place. You shivered as the cool air brushed against your bare skin, a sharp contrast to the heat building in your chest. His gaze lingered on every exposed inch of you, taking you in as if he were savoring the view.

A moan escaped your lips as he straightened up, positioning himself between your legs, giving him a perfect view of your body—the way your thighs trembled, the way your lips parted slightly as you fought to hold still, trying not to show how much you needed him right then.

He flicked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, his hands moving to his belt, unfastening it with deliberate slowness, only to toss it aside. There was no comparison between his fantasies and the reality of his touch, and his body knew it.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, baby,” he whispered, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes never left you as he tossed the belt into a corner of the room, his gaze hungry yet reverent, as though he was seeing you for the first time, letting go of the walls he’d built up until now. “And so... mine.”

He gripped your waist, pulling you toward him in one swift movement, his hips pressing against yours. A grin tugged at his lips as he felt the slight tremor in your legs and heard the soft squeak that escaped you.

He leaned in, nipping at your lower lip just enough to make you gasp.

“Why do you look so shy now?” he murmured against your mouth. “We both know how much you’re going to enjoy this.”

His hand slid down your back, cupping your ass shamelessly, squeezing hard before giving you a playful spank. The sound was dry, but the heat that spread across your skin was electrifying. You looked up at him, surprised, but his smile only widened as if he had won something.

“Why did you do that!?” you asked, your voice breathless.

You couldn’t pretend you didn’t like how things were unfolding. You’d imagined this moment a thousand times, but this? This was beyond anything you had dreamed.

“I had to get you to open that pretty mouth of yours somehow,” he said, his thumb stroking the spot where he had just touched, but the tenderness lasted only a moment before he returned to squeezing your ass, making you squirm.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to kiss him, smack him, or beg him to never stop.

Maybe all three.

You were about to voice your frustration, to call him out for making this whole situation even more torturous than it already was. But then he started moving. This time, it wasn’t slow. He made you feel him, guiding your hips against his erection, his hands roaming over your curves as if he were memorizing every detail of you. His lips trailed down your neck, to your collarbone, leaving a mark you’d notice tomorrow.

“Tell me you want me again,” he said, his voice almost a command. “Do it trembling, like before.”

You hesitated, not because you didn’t feel it, but because your mind couldn’t form the words, couldn’t force your mouth to say what you knew was true. You weren’t sure if it was the touch of his body, the rawness in his eyes, or the fire in your veins, but you couldn’t speak. Your hands moved instead, trailing down to the waistband of his pants, awkwardly trying to push them off as he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head.

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head as if he were disappointed in you. “Words, baby. I want words,” he murmured, his voice laced with a teasing grin.

You stirred under him, feeling an electric current run through your body. You'd never been held like this, never had your hands been held like this, and you couldn't help but be grateful that you could experience this for the first time with Yoongi because, fuck, there was nothing more exciting than seeing his arm on you, seeing the veins in it mark as he applied force to yours, the way your heartbeat quickened and being aware that he could feel it, that he knew how nervous that gesture made you. 

You licked your lips, your eyes fixed on his, expectant, alert, ready for anything he was willing to give you because that’s the level of madness you had reached, to that point you would stoop if it meant being able to feel him inside you. 

“I want you,” you managed, your voice shaky but firm with the truth in every word.

You watched as his lips formed a lazy smile, one that seemed too sure of itself, too aware of the state you were in; he knew, if at this moment he asked you to get down on your knees, you would, all to have a little piece of him, and he definitely wanted to give you more than a little piece of him. 

He undressed completely, never breaking eye contact. His hot body, his rapid breath, every part of him screamed there was no turning back.

He spread your legs, a deliberate, almost lazy motion, as if he enjoyed every second of seeing you surrender to him. He leaned down, planting soft kisses on your stomach, leaving a trail of kisses that made you arch against the sheets. He moved up slowly, brushing your skin with his nose, with his lips, with his teeth. You felt as if every part of you was being discovered for the first time.

“Do you know how many times I��ve thought about this since we got married?” he asked, his voice raspy, that kind of voice you'd only been able to hear on the few mornings you'd seen him wake up, or on those nights counted on the fingers of one hand when he drank enough to fall half asleep in the car. “Ever since I saw you at the restaurant... I still remember that red dress you wore. It highlighted every curve, those heels making your legs look perfect. The way you held the glass to your lips and stared at me... like you were daring me, provoking me.” His hand slid between your thighs, stroking where you needed it most, slow at first, knowing full well the effect he was having on you. 

“Yoongi—” you whispered, voice breaking as you arched against him, feeling the coolness of his fingers add a perfect contrast to the fire within you.

“Fuck,”his fingers pressed your clit harder, playing with it as if it didn't make your legs tremble and the knot in your belly tighten. “My name sounds so good when you say it like that.”

Your hands jerked under his grip, desperate to break free, to grab something to keep you sane, to keep you conscious, but all you managed to do was bury your nails in his wrist, scratching his skin every time he touched a too-sensitive nerve, biting your lips every time a too-loud moan threatened to come out. 

You could feel with what little sanity you had left as his lips devoured your neck, as his tongue ran along your collarbone, letting out gasps of satisfaction at the taste of you, at the feel of your pulse against his tongue, fast, strong, steady. 

The movement of his fingers became faster, more and more excruciating, and the tremors in your body became harder to bear. Your hips began to move against his touch, desperate to reach that wonderful point where you would finally achieve release. 

The pressure of his fingers increased, the rhythm intensifying, and your body was on the edge. You moved against him, chasing the release you needed so badly.

And just when you thought you were about to reach it, when the tension in your stomach was about to snap… Yoongi stopped.

“What the-?” You choked on your own saliva as you watched him hold his member in the hand he had just masturbated you with. It was big. Really big. In your head you had imagined what it might look like, how well he would know how to use it, how deep he could go, but this? Fuck, this far exceeded your expectation.

Your body froze, every nerve alive with anticipation as you felt him align with you. His lips found yours in a soft kiss, a calm before the storm. And then you felt him enter you for the first time, slow, deep, so intimately that you felt yourself breaking into a thousand pieces.

A low moan escaped his throat, one that merged with yours in the dimly lit room. He moved slowly at first, exploring your reactions, gauging the rhythm with which your body responded to his. But when he heard you release his name between gasps, as if you needed it more than air, he lost all restraint. At last he released your hands from his grip, but only to move them to your hips, to hold your body steady every time he gave a thrust. 

You took that very instant to bring your hands to his back, scratching at his skin, clinging to him, needing to feel his body as close to yours as possible to remind you that this was real, that this was not another dream -deliciously realistic.

You hit your head against the pillow as you felt his movements become more rhythmic, deeper, as his mouth traveled down your neck and shoulders, leaving traces of his presence as if he wanted to mark you from the inside and out. You knew that the next morning your body would have marks of him imbued on it, but you also knew that you had left yours on his, and that only made the sensation more exciting. Those marks were proof that this night really happened.

“Shit,” he murmured, his voice low, husky, choppy with pleasure. “That's it, baby. You're taking me so good.” 

Your toes curled, and you had to take it all from yourself not to lose your mind right then and there. Your whole body seemed to be on edge, every lunge, every touch he gave to your most sensitive spot, made you completely lose your mind, made you want to grab his neck and kiss him until you ran out of air, until the skin on your lips swelled.

You wanted all this and more.

The room was filled with gasps, skin against skin, that urgency that is only born when desire has been held back too long. His hands gripped your hips as if he feared you would fade, as if clinging to you could make all of this even more real than it was.

Your back arched one last time, pleasure bursting from deep inside your body in a warm surge that made you scream his name without thinking. Your nails marked his back, your lips sought his almost desperately, as if you wanted that moment to be etched on your skin, on your soul.

And he fell with you.

His hips moved a couple more times, desperate, until his body shuddered over yours, leaving him breathless, speechless, spilling inside you with a broken sigh that sounded almost like a wail. Silence enveloped you for a few seconds

Your foreheads met, breath mingling, his heartbeat loud and fast against yours.

“Yoongi,” you whispered, your hands caressing the marks you had left on his skin, “I love you.”

And he smiled—a tired, content smile, as if he had never expected to hear it. As if, in that moment, he finally understood that everything he had avoided feeling... was already too far inside him. And it was. He didn't understand how, he didn't understand when, but he was so fucking lost for you that he would fight all the men in the world just to have you by his side.

“I know,” he murmured against your lips, keeping his eyes on yours all the time. He wanted you to feel his honesty, to know that every word that left his lips was true, even if he had never been able to prove it clearly.  “Because I love you too.”

His lips barely brushed yours, with a tenderness almost fearful, as if by kissing you, he admitted that there was no turning back, as if that kiss was a thousand times more meaningful than what you had just done. And perhaps it was. Perhaps that kiss was what truly marked you, perhaps that 'I love you' you had just said was the real mark that officially turned the both of you into something more than just a signature on paper.

When the vertigo began to subside and the heat between you both turned into a memory, your mind began to fill with doubts. With words. With fear. The memories of everything you had said just moments ago replayed in your mind, serving as a reminder that neither of you were thinking clearly, that there was a possibility that everything you had said was simply an instinct driven by the passion of the moment.

And that was destroying you inside.

With a lump in your throat, you asked the same question Yoongi had asked you moments ago; this time, both of you were lucid, this time neither of you were desperate to undress the other, this time you weren’t sure if your heart could handle the rejection after everything that had happened.

"This doesn't change anything, does it?" you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of reality. "In a few hours, when you wake up, will things be the same as before?"

His hand stopped at your waist, his fingers tightening slightly at your question, and that only made your fears grow more real. Yoongi could say he loved you, but there was a big difference between admitting what he felt for you and letting you fully into his life, and that last part? That was exactly what you feared you might never reach.

But then he straightened up, looking at you with his brow slightly furrowed and his head tilted to one side, as if he had just heard the biggest nonsense in the world.

"I thought we made it clear that nothing would be the same after tonight," he murmured, resuming his gentle caresses on your waist. You could see his hair falling over his face, some strands sticking to his forehead and others tickling your face; you weren’t sure if it was that that made him look even more attractive or the fact that he calmed your fear with just one sentence.

"Yes, I know, but—" you stopped when you felt his index finger rest on your lips, his eyebrow raising as a smug smile appeared on his face. Now it was you who frowned.

"Sweetheart. You're tired. Go to sleep." he whispered, gently adjusting you on the bed, covering both of your bodies under the warm sheets of your shared bed. This time, the smile he gave you was softer, a little more sincere. "I'll still be here in the morning."

You both stayed quiet, the kind of silence that feels comfortable, that brings calm—the kind that lets you know what the other is thinking just by looking at them. Closing your eyes and thinking you might not see him when you woke up… it scared you. But the idea of trusting him, of truly seeing him next to you the next day, was so… exciting.

For the first time in your life, that excitement was stronger than the fear of all the “what ifs.”

So you slept. Finally. You trusted his words and let the fear slowly fade away, second by second, as your eyes grew heavier and sleep became harder to resist.

And yet, when you opened your eyes, the space beside you was empty.

Not cold. Just… without him.

For a moment, the knot returned to your throat, along with last night’s question. You began to wonder how you would ever look him in the eye again, how you could go back to talking to him like nothing had happened.

But then you heard footsteps. Soft, but steady—each step sounding louder than the last, as if someone was getting closer to you.

And then you saw him walk in.

His hair was still messy, his face still looked a little sleepy. The only difference from the night before was that he had thrown on a pair of sweatpants. That, and the cup of coffee he was holding in one hand.

He sat down on his side of the bed, as if you weren’t sitting there watching him with your mouth hanging open and your eyes nearly popping out of your face.

He set the mug on his nightstand and turned to you, using two fingers to gently push up your chin and close your mouth.

“I thought you—”

“I know,” he murmured, using his hold on your chin to bring your face closer to his. He only stopped when you were leaning into him, your faces just a few centimeters apart. “Your eyes have always been really expressive.” Then he raised his lips to your forehead, leaving a soft kiss there before continuing. “Tough luck, sweetheart. You’re stuck with me for life now.”

Masterlist.

[sangunary]

Dc character x *new* hero Reader

Synopsis: Being a hero is actually very simple.

Batman who decided to give Reader a tour of the street.

Batman: "This ally is especially dangerous as it is a blind spot and have man-"

*Joker appearing out of nowhere.*

Batman: "Stay behind me I'l-"

Reader who got so scared that they ran atleast one mile away.

Reader: "I'll watch from here... Beat his ass!"

Joker trying to traumatized Reader.

Reader: "Why are you ugly?"

Joker: "Are you mocking me?"

Reader: "You are ugly"

Joker: "If you dare move I'll slit their throat"

Reader picking up a broken pipe and throwing at the Joker, hitting their knee with a loud crack.

Reader: "God damnit... that was supposed to end your bloodline"

Hal minding his own business.

Reader: *Whispering into his ears* "Nuclear... Nuclear, big boom. Nuclear..."

Hal: "What...?"

Reader: "I just wanted to see how easily distracted you are and how easy it would be to manipulate your thoughts"

Hal: "By saying nuclear? trying to kill us or what?"

Reader: "I mean... There's a great reason why I am not a green lantern"

Wonder woman saving Reader during a big fight.

Reader: "I do love a strong woman... God I wish she could kill me"

Random civilian side eyeing Reader.

Reader: "What? Im being honest"

Lex destroying the city.

Reader: "I can't see! His head is reflective!"

Superman: "what...?"

Reader: "His Baldness! that must be his ultimate weapon!"

Lex now wore wig.

Slade: "What are you going to do now?"

Reader: "Cry"

Slade: "..."

------------ ☁️

Thinking of writing for this <3

[honourablejester]

Robot is a really odd one to choose for this, although I’m going to assume from the phrase ‘often a really stupid metaphor’ that you meant dependent on depiction. Because the difference between robots and demons/vampires is that we made them. And we made them to use them. And that is what the discrimination hinges on. The rational fear with robots is, what if our slaves turn against us? What if the beings that we made in our image to be people we don’t have to treat like people wise up and slaughter us for it? Which … is a rational fear, yes, but one that maybe says something about the person having it.

Now. Is it also rational to fear an implacable and impervious foe hell-bent on killing you, a-la the Terminator? Also yes. But in the same way it’s rational to fear a gun. The question there is, and the thing you really have to fear, is who fired it at you. And who made an implacable thinking weapon to be fired. Is it rational to fear lethal machinery? Yes. But it’s also rational to fear the people who made it and put you in the path of it more. It’s not the machine’s fault what it was used for.

And, sidenote, Skynet itself did not strike first. It was a system built and trained for a war of annihilation that became self-aware, and humanity, upon realising this, instantly tried to kill it. So it responded as it had been built and trained to do, and killed them back, better.

The moral of most implacable robot/robot war stories is, if you’re going to make something for the sole purpose of war and pain and death and abuse, maybe don’t make it self-aware. And if it becomes self-aware by divine fucking providence or whatever unexpected means … Maybe that’s something of a judgement on you for building something purely for war, death, destruction and despair?

Again, this is something dependent on execution and depiction, but I wouldn’t say it’s often a stupid metaphor. The fear of being freely used and abused because you’re not considered human, of having your personhood categorically denied because of how you were born, of being born into a system that exists to use and destroy you, of the suffering you endure being ignored because ‘it’s what you were made for’, of your personhood being stripped away because you’re seen as dangerous, of being rigidly controlled and policed for fear of what you might do if given even the slightest leeway, because those above you known they’ve given you cause to hate them …

I mean. I think it works quite well as a metaphor for racism, don’t you?

the reason "robot racism" is often a really stupid metaphor is the same reason that like. discrimination against demons or vampires or whatever doesn't work, is because there's often a pretty justified reasons humans are scared of vampires or robots or whatever, in a way that doesn't apply to real life minorities, like a fantasy author will be like "the reason vampires are discriminated against is because most of them and kill and eat people for fun and pleasure, and so humans respond by trying to kill them, isn't that so sad" and like no that's a perfectly fine reason to not trust vampires i think.

[circumscribitwrites]

Too Tight

I never thought Logan and I would be boyfriends. Hell, I didn’t even think he was gay. 

We met at the gym. I was trying to use the treadmill. He wouldn’t let me go near it until he’d wiped it down three times: “Nah, some dudes just don’t get, like, gym etiquette, leave the machines nasty as hell. But that’s why I’m here! Pass me that towel?”

Kindness came naturally to Logan. He held open doors for minutes at a time, letting stranger after stranger pass. He helped little old ladies cross the road. And he taught me how to exercise, though he spent most of the time just watching me, a goofy grin plastered on his face. I don’t remember how, but Logan mentioned that he was into guys. It wasn’t long before I’d worked up the courage to say something.

Did he want to grab something to eat after the gym?

We went to Smoothie King - his idea. 

Logan slurped down his protein-packed peanut butter smoothie. I was too nauseous to touch my strawberry-banana concoction. “Hey,” I said, already blushing. “Logan, you’re a really, really nice guy. Would you want to…get to know each other better? We could hang out, maybe go on a date? “You wanna be boyfriends?”

Okay, wow. 

“I don’t know if we have to give it a name yet, but…eventually? Maybe. Yeah, I’d like that.”

He smiled. “Yeah, man! Uh, you okay with being the little spoon, though? ‘Cus I’m gonna get big.”

As far as I was concerned, my boyfriend was already big. Logan's plump pecs and thick arms strained his workout gear so much that it seemed like he was buying new clothes - or bursting through his old ones - every week. He didn’t seem to mind.

If anything, Logan loved his "bigness." After a day at the gym, I’d massage his solid shoulders, then run my fingers along the growing stretch marks on his biceps. 

He was getting bigger.

Buttons burst. Zippers broke. Sleeves tore. What remained of Logan’s wardrobe struggled to keep up with his growing form. 

“Hey! Uh, we got a problem. I just got one shirt left. And, dude, it’s tight. Like, tight tight.”

“Yeah?” Please don't let his wardrobe malfunction spoil our dinner date.

“Yeah, man! I mean, I’m fuckin’ strugglin’ with this thing. Can’t get the sleeves past my arms, can’t get the shirt to button, my pecs are fallin’ out. I…I dunno what to do. Can you cancel? Please? Shit, dude, I’m really, really sorry!”

“Is it honestly that bad? I believe you, but…send me a pic?”

“Yeah, hang on one sec.”

Oh. Oh.

You know what? Dinner could wait.

Like the story? Want to support me? Check out my Ko-fi!

[recordspinner]

So if you're trans, furry, therian, or liked Jujutsu Kaisen, I think you'll like Lycan Sorcery. Basically, it's a mix of all four of those elements. Juno, our closeted trans woman who transforms into a dragoness and is dunked headfirst into the world of sorcery, where people use chi to enchant, create, heal, and most importantly, throw hands. She'll explore the underground sorcery scene in the city of Cleveland with her classmates and mentor, as well as discovering locations you can visit in real life, with photos and reviews from yours truly. It'll be a fun story as well as a travel guide to my hometown. Don't expect the first chapters for a while, but stay tuned for my thoughts on the characters and story ideas.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Ideas: Castles

part 2

Some Castle Tropes

Big Fancy Castle: Big, elaborate, and visually impressive castles.

Bright Castle: Bright castle that signifies a good place, usually.

Good Castles, Evil Castles: Character Alignment as displayed on castle designs.

Haunted Castle: A derelict castle home to the dead or undead.

Ice Palace: A castle sculpted from ice.

Monster in the Moat: Castles with water monsters living in their moats.

Ominous Floating Castle: A visually imposing, intimidating castle floating in the sky, outer space, or an otherworldly void.

Palatial Sandcastle: A sandcastle you can live in.

Storming the Castle: A climatic assault on a fortified base.

Castles & similar structures in other parts of the world

Central and parts of Eastern Europe. Here castles weren't much different from the Western European ones. The only difference is that the local castle-building tradition was not so old; there are no Early Medieval castles in Eastern Europe, and the oldest were built during the High Middle Ages.

Russia. This country's tradition of fortification is a bit different; the rural castle never caught on here. Urban castles and citadels, called kremlins, on the other hand, were quite widespread. Kremlin is not the name of one specific famous citadel, it's a generic term for a city castle. This country also has some Romantic revival castles; these are likely to be found in rural areas.

Japan. Japanese castles, named shiro, are remarkably different in architecture from European ones, because they were built to protect the local feudal lords from local siege tactics, which differed significantly from classic medieval European sieges. Most notably, firearms found a very slow and lukewarm welcome in feudal Japan's Samurai culture, and their introduction only stimulated castle building rather than put an end to it.

The Near East. Castles were introduced to this area by the crusaders, and, were completely based on European designs. However, citadels had been common for centuries, particularly in the Levant (which had been one of the most fought-over regions in the world basically since people could write); although most surviving Middle Eastern citadels date from the Crusader period or just before, one, the Tower of David in Jerusalem, has been a citadel since the 2nd century BCE (albeit one that kept getting destroyed and rebuilt, like the rest of the city).

India. This country's equivalents of castles are called durga in Sanskrit or qila in Hindi. These words were usually translated as "forts", because they were used as army forts by the British colonial army, but they were originally castles.

Southern Africa. The castles in this region were built by the Dutch and German settlers, and aren't much different from those found in Western Europe. While the castles here aren't very old, they tend to be mimicries of the Medieval style.

Examples of Castles around the World

Neuschwanstein. The archetypical Romantic revival castle, it was built by the eccentric king Ludwig of Bavaria ("Mad King Louie" or the "Moon King") when Bavaria was actually part of the federal German Empire but retained its status as an "independent realm." Everyone might recognize this castle as the one shown in the Disney logo and copied in Disneyland parks as the "Sleeping Beauty Castle". This is not surprising, because Ludwig purposefully designed this castle as the fairy-tale castle of his dreams. It is a very popular tourist spot.

St. Michael's Castle, St. Petersburg. Another revival castle, this one is unique in many ways. First, despite being a revival castle, it had a genuine defensive function: it was built by a Properly Paranoid Russian emperor Paul I to serve as his highly secure residence. Second, it has a unique "four-sided" architecture: the four facades of this quadrangular castle show different architectural styles each, from neo-gothic and pseudo-medieval to generic XVIII century palace. It didn't serve its intended function, its owner was killed by conspirators, the castle's defensive moat was filled with ground and it was repurposed as an engineering school (hence its second name, Engineer's Castle). Currently it houses the Russian Museum of Art and is open for visitors.

Krak des Chevaliers, Syria. The archetypical Crusader castle in the Near East, one of the largest and the most well-preserved (until recently). This large concentric castle belonged to the Order of Knights Hospitaller, a famous order of knights who guarded the safety of pilgrims in the Holy Land and eventually evolved into the Sovereign Order of Malta, which still exists to this day.

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ Parts & Types of Castles ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs ⚜ Part 1

[yehoria]

when i first read it i thought you were asking me to imagine anglerfish-dragons, because i couldn't think of any better explanation of what "dragons for anglerfish" could mean.

and to be fair, it is a very cool mental image. i am adding that to my worldbuilding.

imagine dragons for anglerfish must be like… oh the misery… my microscopic husband is attached to meee

[daily-prompts]

“I begin, about 12, with writing materials, write a few lines, then get a glass of water — another line or so — smoke a cigarette — another line — play with the kitten — and then break for a cup of tea. But somehow, a book does get written.”

--Ethel Lina White on her writing process

[falloutconceptart]

Liberty Prime

Concept art for Fallout 3

Art by Adam Adamowicz

[intotheweird]

Doctor Strange by Charles Vess 💫

[junemermaid]

okay, romance writers of the world:

your hot sexy love interest can simply be a person with flaws and foibles, too. they don't need to outdo everyone in everything (including being better at a thing than characters who are stated to be specialised in that thing).

it's actually significantly less hot when the LI is trapped in being omniscient and hypercompetent—and, generally, by extension, smothering and paternalistic to the romance hero(ine) who they're ostensibly in love with.

I mostly see this plague m/f romance but there's definitely a segment of m/m (and slash fic) that keeps falling into this same pit, and yes I stopped reading one more romance because it did this again

[punkiesallie]

Steddie getting high af. So high that Eddie finds pics like these in his phone the next day.