#had this on my laptop since october of last year

[ffairyy-art]

Happy birthday to Kakashi! 💕

[f1bordeaux]

If You Cared (Part 5) | mv1

It's been years since you've indulged in a vacation. What better time is there than summer? Your family, the beach house in Italy-it seems perfect. But, for things to be just like good old times, your family needs to invite his. So of course you are having mixed feelings as the boy who broke your heart re-enters your life like nothing happened. Warnings: None Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader Word count: 2.3k Poetry style | Story style A/n: This is it! It's once again rushed because after tonight I wont have my laptop until late October and I really wanted to get this out. So forgive any errors please. I'll rewrite one day! Also, later on I'll write a sequel if you guys want me to because I love this story and the characters. Anyways, enjoy and to those of you who came along for the whole ride, I appreciate you more than you know<3 Cheers and I'll see ya in October! Part One|Part Two|Part Three|Part Four|Part Five

Once your last suitcase was in the trunk, you were ready to go.

One flight took off the following morning at 6. You were willing to sit in that small, grocery store sized airport for a few hours. Anything not to see or think about him. Right now, every room in the house was drowning in memories. You were suffocating.

“Y/n, come inside please.” Your mother begged. It was pouring down rain, and you were sitting on the patio just watching the droplets ricochet off the pool water. “You’ll catch a cold.”

“I don’t mind.” You said.

She sighed, a signal of her defeat. When you left from the charity dinner, taking your mothers rental car with you, nobody but Mia followed. About an hour later, they all pulled into the driveway. Nobody said a word as they walked through the front door to see a pile of suitcases lined up. Nobody dared to even cough as they watched you throw them all in the trunk in the pouring rain. You were done. You’d had enough. Elba was just as dead to you as he was.

Mia begged you to stay the rest of the week, saying that it was Max who should leave, but you couldn’t explain to her how every square inch of the beach house reminded you of his touch. The kitchen brought back memories of his small, butterfly kisses when you both cooked dinner or when his hand would rest on your thigh at the kitchen bar. The living room just reminded you of all the times you fell asleep in his arms during a movie and how he would carry you to your room. Your bedroom was the worst spot of them all. Your sheets still smelled like him, the mirror still displayed his reflection, his clothes were still on your floor.

“I need to go home.” Was all you could say to Mia as she begged you not to.

“Y/n?” The patio door slid open softly, but you didn’t bother looking. “Can we talk?”

“I don’t really feel like speaking to you.”

Luca didn’t sit next to you, he didn’t walk up to you or approach you. Instead, he stayed behind you, speaking to your back. Never before had you or either of your siblings had a situation like this. The three of you had always been close but this. Luca had really done it this time. You also had a little resentment for Mia, too. She’d known for a while and still let you fall head over heels for Max. Was it her fault? No, but she could have said something. She should have said something.

“I’m sorry, y/n.”

“Wow,” You scoffed. “Suddenly everything is all better! Me and Max are getting married tomorrow, want to be the ring bearer?”

“Y/n-”

“What was going through your mind, Luca? Hmm? Can I just ask you that?” You shook your head. It was hard to understand this whole situation.

“I didn’t think he’d take this seriously. I thought he’d say no and laugh it off.”

“But playing with my feelings in the first place was alright? Because you thought he’d say no it was alright?”

Luca fell silent. Obviously it wasn’t right, that much was known. But he didn’t know how to express how sorry he was, or how he didn’t think it would go this far. No matter what he said, you would come back and rebuttal his comment with something more emotional, something more meaningful. Luca wasn’t one with words, he never was and never would be. In this moment, he wished he was.

“Here.” He dropped five or six envelopes on the table next to you. “Maybe you wont forgive me, but this wasn’t his idea.”

Before you could say anything, he was inside, closing the glass door behind him. You looked at the off-white envelopes. They had your family's address on them, but your name was clearly written on there. The return address? The Verstappen house. Not Sophie and Victoria’s house, but the childhood house that Max and his father lived in.

Your heart sank.

After finding the oldest one, dating back to only a few months after he broke up with you, you slid it open and pulled out the paper. A photo fell out, alongside a dried up, flattened rose petal.

Y/n.

I miss you. It might sound selfish to say, but I really do.

I don’t think I ever realized how important love could be in life. I saw it as more of a form of entertainment rather than a necessity. I knew my feelings for you were real, I knew they were physical and emotional and everything in between, but I didn’t know how hard they’d be to get rid of. Leaving you hurt, it hurt so bad that I felt like I couldn’t breathe on my way home. But, I thought they’d go away once I was back with dad. I thought they’d be like a stomach ache or migraine. Like I said, though, they are much harder to get rid of than that. Seeing all the love that other drivers have at the track, seeing their girlfriends and moms and families hurts me. All I have is dad and, well, you know what that's like. I’ve realized that I need someone like you, someone I can laugh with, someone I can talk to, someone who will tell me it's ok and that I won't fail in life after a bad race. I need someone on my side, not someone who is only team Max when I win.

I think of you every time I race. I dedicate every win to you-and mom of course. In the photo I sent, I won my first F3 Grand Prix. It’s a huge step in the right direction and at this pace, I’m set to be the youngest F1 competitor if I can make the Toro Rosso team in a few weeks. I hope you’re there to see it.

I get it if you don't want to talk to me. I know I broke your heart and ruined the rest of your summer but please, if any drop of your feelings were real please write me back. I could use the support.

Love, Max.

Sure enough in the photo a young, 16 year old Max was hoisting a trophy in the air as champagne was sprayed on him. You picked up the rose petal and it crunched in your grasp. Where had these gone? Why didn’t you get any of them? You didn’t move out at sixteen, why didn’t you get them?

The other ones followed the same idea as the first; I miss you, I messed up, I’m making promising moves in my career, please answer my calls or reach out, I love you, Love, Max. And sure enough, every single one made you cry. Near the end of the last one, however, Max wrote;

Take this as my final goodbye. I hope you’re getting these but I’m not getting any response so maybe you’re not. I deserve this, I know. But, I was really hoping things would be different. I’m sorry for the pain I caused you, y/n. If I could take it back, I would.

Dad told me to stop wasting time writing silly letters that get no response, so I guess this is my last one. Hopefully we can reconnect someday. I hope you're watching me on TV. I hope that a piece of you still loves me, as selfish as it sounds. There will always be a place for you in my heart, always.

Goodbye, y/n. I’ve always loved you, and I always will.

Max.

Your hand came up to cup your mouth. These letters were similar to the ones up in your room. Max loved to write, and on your 15th and 16th birthday, he wrote you two beautiful letters that you said you’d cherish forever. You left them in Elba when he broke your heart.

Without even thinking, you stood up, turning on your heel so quickly you were afraid you’d fall. With the letters cradled in your arms, you ran inside. The house felt empty. Nobody was around except for-

“Mia-” You called out in between tears. “Where is-where are-Max, where is Max?”

“He left-”

“What?”

She nodded. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to talk to him. Where did he go?”

“There’s a ferry leaving in like, thirty minutes. He’s going to get on that.”

You shook your head, tossing the letters on the counter before running to the front door. You grabbed a pair of keys and darted through the rain as your sister called out your name. Max at least deserved a chance to explain himself, right? Maybe he was too prideful, too nervous, too scared to speak to you himself. That was alright. You’d just go to him.

The drive was long, you were afraid you’d miss the ferry. It left at five am, you assumed, and it was 4:48 when you pulled into the dock. He was probably already on the boat, no? He was probably already in his seat waiting for the departure to begin. That wouldn’t stop you.

Maybe fate was on your side, maybe it was meant to be. Whatever it was, Max was standing in line to load onto the boat, suitcase in hand. “Max!” You shouted. He was still in his suit, you were still in your dress. Neither of you looked as elegant as before, but it would be wrong to say you thought he looked bad. 

He turned to look at you, his eyes wide when he saw who was calling your name. “Y/n?” Max turned out of line and walked near you.

In seconds your arms were around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug that took him a few beats to reciprocate. You then pulled away, looking him in the eyes as tears flooded yours. He was confused, taken aback, even. “We need to talk.”

“But I’m leaving-”

“Please stay.”

-

“I’m mad at you, don’t get me wrong.” You said, looking off into the distance. There was a small cafe near the dock that was open for breakfast. So, the two of you sat outside and drank tea whilst looking like complete lunatics.

“So why’d you come get me?” He asked. “You could have completely let me go.”

“What good would that do? I would just hate you forever and it would eat me alive. Just like it did last time.”

Max shrugged. “I don't think I deserve a second chance.”

“Luca gave me the letters you wrote me as a kid.”

Max turned pale. “What?”

“Yeah,” You nodded. “I never got them as a girl or trust me, I would have written you back-or texted you at least.”

“I know you never got them.”

Did you hear him correctly? He knew? In the last letter he assumed you didn’t get them. “How’d you know?”

Max looked at the sunrise that was touching the horizon. The sky looked beautiful. There were no clouds, only bright shades of reds and yellows, blues and purples. The water from the ocean reflected the scenery perfectly. He didn’t know how to answer your question. It would be embarrassing if he did. He never planned on you seeing those even though he sent them.

“I was writing your address wrong. I was one number off or something, so they all got sent back at once. I sent them back after fixing it, but I called Luca and told him not to let you get them.” He said in one breath, cheeks igniting with a blush. “I was too embarrassed.”

That's why you didn’t get them.

You were torn. If he really cared he wouldn’t have taken the bet, right? If he really cared, he would have let those letters get to you. What if this was just another elaborate part of his plan? You wanted to believe it, you wanted to see the truth in Max’s story, but you couldn’t trust him. You couldn’t read him as well as you once could. A piece of you was saying, shut up and take it, he's your dream man, and another piece of you was saying, do better.

“Did you ever really care about me?” You asked.

Max looked at you with wide eyes. “What?”

“This summer,” You reiterated. “Did you ever really care about me? Be honest with me.”

Without missing a beat he said, “I didn’t just care about you, I loved you. I don’t like to admit my feelings-mainly because I grew up in a house where feelings didn’t exist-but I couldn’t hide the love I have for you. I’ve never been able to hide it. Ask dad, mom or Vic.”

You sighed. “The scary part is, Max, even after all this, even after I found out one of the worst things, even after I felt used and objectified, I still want you. Every part of my body is screaming no, telling me to run and leave without turning back but one small, small sliver of me is begging to stay.”

Max leaned across the table, palm coming to cup your chin. He smiled softly, his breath dancing across your cheek. It felt refreshing. It felt like summer. Perhaps things would be ok. Perhaps things would always be ok.

“So stay.” He said. “I promise to love you, y/n. I will love only you.”

Your lips connected to his. It was a soft kiss, one that reminded you of your first. Did you know what was going to happen once he went back to racing and you went back to work? No. Did you know if he was your boyfriend now? No. Did you know if things were going to work out? No. But honestly, nothing in life is for certain. But damn, sitting in front of an italian coffee shop, watching the sun rise over the ocean with Max’s lips on yours felt nice.

You were excited for a lifetime of moments like these. All of them with your childhood boyfriend by your side.

And yeah, you did feel like you could call him that now. You could call Max whatever the hell you wanted to.

[tired-biscuit]

Bite

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Kiba/fem!reader

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 18+ mdni, modern AU // werewolf!kiba, monsterfucking, size kink, biting kink, breeding, unprotected sex, slight a/b/o themes [mf has a knot], pregnancy talk, mentions of blood. established relationship, they are very cute.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 10.5k

𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 𝗵𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗻, 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗲𝘀. 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲'𝘀 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗳𝘂𝗰𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴!!

𝗞𝗜𝗕𝗔 decides to share his secret with you on Halloween. 

He doesn’t know why he wants to tell you on October 31st, exactly. Perhaps it is that the matter at hand is rather fitting for the spooky season, or maybe because the last two functioning brain cells inside his head are telling him that you’ll be able to cope with it better this way – his peculiar way of thinking is something that nobody but him seems to make sense of.

So, it takes Kiba four years and three months to make the final decision. It may seem like a long time to some, but to him the years pass by swiftly. He spends them all by learning about how your mind functions and by gathering his wits. By hiding every full moon and ghosting you completely with zero explanation. By persuading himself that that same mind he is so very fond of picking apart and piecing back together, will be the one that will accept him for who – what – he is. 

And as spring turns to summer and autumn falls victim to the icy clutches of winter, Kiba stalls. Year after year, your relationship grows like a sturdy vine taking over the walls of an abandoned building with the change of the seasons. The cycle repeats itself for the second, third, fourth time around, and Kiba still keeps changing his mind. 

He almost tells you sooner than planned, but then he worries. Grows agitated because of said worrying. Stalls even more. Almost gives up, and thus nearly abandons you as a result at some point as well.

You don’t know anything about that, of course.

But no matter what he picks and chooses, something makes him stay put. Kiba can’t quite explain the reasoning as to why. It might be that he’s immensely loyal. Or the fact that he’s in love. Maybe you’re his person. Perhaps it’s in his blood. He doesn’t know what it is, but he lingers because of it. Wraps his arms around you and falls even deeper. So deep, in fact, that he can’t possibly find his way back to the surface and moral reasoning anymore. 

And because of it, he feels scared when the day he has to tell you his secret finally comes. Absolutely petrified. But he trusts you now, he’s positive about that. Nearly half a decade of being so close has done its job. 

And he hopes, nearly prays to a god he’s long since lost belief in, that after all of this is over, you’ll still trust him, too.

—

Much to Kiba’s misfortune, that doesn’t happen.

You don’t trust him anymore.

“Oh, my… You we-were actually being serious for once, huh?” The words are spoken barely above a whisper by someone who you think is you, despite that you swear you’re on the brink of screaming your lungs out. 

Everything is quiet chaos. Standing in the middle of your bedroom, it’s a struggle to breathe properly; you can’t even get an exhale out, much less a shout. The moment your boyfriend’s supposed prank turns out to be a truth so gruesome that it makes your jaw drop, you’re feeling like your legs are giving in. To say you were on the verge of fainting would be an understatement. 

You feel like you’re going to die.

It all happens exactly how he’s told you it would, but that doesn’t help. Staring at the thing that used to be your boyfriend just mere moments before the pale moonlight had seeped past the curtains, you still find yourself frozen into place from the shock and terror that begin to course your veins in fast, pulsating waves.

The movie you were watching together on your laptop is still playing. Background music and dialogue fills the tense air between you and is the only sound present besides his deep breathing and the ferocious pounding of your heart; which you swear you can feel climbing up your throat now. 

The movie is playing – time certainly hasn’t stopped. But you wish it did.

He’s just so big, after all. Huge in every aspect, he’s nothing like himself and you’re barely keeping pieces of your sanity sticking together because of the intimidating stature he possesses now. He’s broad, the slopes of his shoulders are potent and the curve of his biceps is so defined that you’d have trouble wrapping both hands around just one. There’s no way your fingers would touch whilst hugging it – you’re positive.

And goodness, he is heavy. So fucking heavy, in fact, that the mattress sinks below him, and the wooden framing of the bed gives a prolonged creak of protest because of the triggering weight when he picks himself up. 

Watching them stretch and relax repeatedly, you suppose you’re used to seeing the strong limbs and the rippling muscle, even if it currently hides underneath thick, coarse fur. And it may be just a hint of familiarity soothing you now, but panic still flashes through your very soul when he stumbles on his hind legs as soon as his feet land on your carpeted flooring. 

Standing at his full height, your boyfriend – or rather the thing that used to be your boyfriend – appears even taller now. Its enormous stature makes dread trickle down the back of your sweaty neck, because god-fucking-damn it; the top of its head is nearly touching the fucking ceiling. 

But it's still Kiba, or that’s at least what you keep telling yourself. This creature is still your lover, even if his clothes are torn and his entire body is sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the furniture of your bedroom that just appears toyish when compared to him. 

And now, his arms flail around in the same manner his tail does. Wagging from side to side, it’s a brief moment of alarm as he attempts to catch his balance like a toddler learning to walk for the first time. But he’s not a child; he isn’t even human. Every clumsy footstep he takes on the carpet is like a dull thud of thunder because of how hefty he is. It seems that even he, himself, isn't quite used to his new body just yet. And it’s almost cute in a way.

Almost. 

Still, cute or not, the entire situation makes your breath hitch and forces you to take a cautious step back when he turns towards you at long last and just looks at you. 

Staring right back at him, you’re not sure if you like having his attention on you all of a sudden. So you stand more firmly, lift your hands into a shield of sorts – as if that could fucking stop this monster of a wolfman if he ever did make the decision to tear you to shreds and swallow you whole – and just breathe.

You just can’t help it. Stepping back and causing more distance feels like a survival instinct, because he is just that – a monster. You don’t do it on purpose, it seems, but the reason for it is because of the more uncanny features he possesses. And those features frighten you right to the bone, whether you want them to or not.

The tail is on top of that list of reasons, of course. But it’s also the eerie height. How he stands and walks like a human, but isn’t one. The triangle-shaped ears atop his head and the set of honed claws on each broad, paw-like hand. The chestnut fur. How his eyes are now yellow instead of a golden brown. 

Speaking of his eyes: they glow in the silvery moonlight. The pupils inside dilate sideways whenever a shadow crosses them, and both are so sharp that they’d do a better job at piercing through you than the point of the sharpest blade ever could. 

The thought makes your skin pull taut and your heartbeat thump inside your mouth this time around. You can feel it rattling behind your teeth, which you’re clenching so hard that your entire jaw is beginning to hurt. Even the saliva that has gathered on top of your tongue is hard to swallow from how thick it’s become laced with fear now. 

Your entire body is shouting at you to run away.

But you can’t run. You’ve sprouted roots into the ground by giving him the promise of staying no matter what happens, and you simply can’t break it; can’t run. You’re here to stay, because perhaps you’re even more loyal than he is.

So it’s just you. 

And the werewolf.

The big bad werewolf.

“H-Hey,” you croak out feebly after what seems like ages, upper lip trembling in pure fear. He’s still staring at you; unmoving. Just breathing in and out, in and out, in and out. Other than the rise and fall of his shoulders, he’s so still that it’s making you feel on edge. “You–...” Your brow furrows as you try again, “You in there, Kiba?”

The sound of his name being spoken into the air makes him perk up. And it’s feeble relief that washes over you now as you finally release a shuddering breath. Like a sign that your boyfriend remembers at least some part of his human psyche, you watch as one of his ears twitches before he tilts his head to the side like your neighbour’s German Shepherd tends to do whenever it snows outside for the first time. 

It’s curiosity in its finest form, but despite him recognizing his name, you’re still worried. Especially because that curiosity makes him come closer. Makes his attention shift solely onto you ever so slowly; the only living, breathing thing left inside this house besides him.

You certainly hope it’ll stay that way by the end of the night. With both of you still breathing.

Because footstep after footstep, Kiba’s balance goes from inept to completely fine by the time he backs you up against the wall and just keeps staring at you. 

The yellow in his irises makes his eyes sublime. Shadows dance inside them as he approaches, turning them dark then light again. The size difference between you is so profound that he has to stoop down just to reach eye level with you. Practically looming over you, you feel like you’re about to start crying any second.

His pupils dilate immediately after eye contact is established and your own turn foggy from the tears that are beginning to gather at your waterline, threatening to spill. Black consumes the yellow; swallows it whole. Until you can nearly see yourself in the reflection of the void.

And even if he’s told you what to expect when he’s like this, even if you’ve nodded and laughed at the warnings he’s tried to get across because you couldn’t have possibly taken them seriously: as soon as you come face to face with this supernatural being, you’re simply terror-struck.

And you don’t trust this being. Don’t trust it at all.

But every moment is used for his benefit. He’s starting to learn about your mannerisms. You’re standing still as a statue, fear lacing your scent so profoundly that he feels the need to dip in and hide his face into the crook of your neck just so he can smell it better. 

So seconds pass: one, two, three. He breathes in your scent so that he can memorize it. Rests a paw on the curve of your hip as gently as he’s able, even though you can still feel its immense weight and the way the claws dig into your skin right through your t-shirt despite the mellow effort. He can’t retract them, but they’re still so sharp that you have no doubt he could tear right through the thin cotton in mere seconds if he wanted to, along with everything else underneath.

Your stomach twists because of it. If he scratches or cuts you by accident and smells your blood as a result, you have no clue what’ll happen. He’s never told you about that possibility. 

And perhaps it’s just a gut feeling, but something tells you he had good reason for it.

Eyes blown wide, shoulders shaking with the fast-paced, never-ending series of inhales and exhales that you can’t seem to slow down for the life of you, you’re letting out a quivering whimper that makes your entire face twist in reluctant disturbance. He’s just too close, too unnatural. Too demanding to know you better, and thus too pushy.

So you try to push him away to cause more distance between your bodies because you can’t focus, can’t breathe. But holy fuck, every hair on your body prickles and stands up to attention when instead of having him take a step back, you just hear him growl in response.

He doesn’t like that; the snarl and the flash of big, sharp teeth tells you all you need to know as his upper lip curls and reveals the gleaming white underneath. Doesn’t appreciate you shoving him away like he’s unwanted and scary, when all he wants to do is to be close to you and just breathe you in. Just that, he isn’t even thinking about hurting you. 

But you don’t know that. Can’t understand him either.

Listening to the growl as it slowly dies down, it’s a quiet sort of sound that comes from the depths of his chest and rumbles in the back of his throat. Like the noise a dog makes before it’s about to go absolutely nuts at any given second, except that it’s deeper, more threatening; a warning to come from a provoked beast much larger than your poor self. The series of vibrations it sends through you makes your teeth rattle inside your skull and your skin pull even tighter over your bones from how deeply it fazes you.

And when you whimper out of fear again, the tears spilling over your hot cheeks, it makes him freeze. You’re scared – scared of him – so he pulls back, looks at your sweat-riddled face, as well as the fright it exhibits, and looses a freaking sigh now.  As if he’s upset by your reaction, perhaps even disappointed, the low grumble to follow right afterwards only adds to the discontent he feels for you.

And you; you’re staring up at him, sniffling and trying to blink away the blur in your eyes now whilst your entire body is literally shaking. 

He’s the one that’s displeased? After scaring the literal shit out of you and making you cry, he is the one that gets to grumble about it like some senile, old grandpa whenever his grandkids get caught doing something naughty? You can’t believe the nerve of this man. Wolf. Wolfman? Werewolf.

It seems that Kiba remains a crabby douche no matter what form he’s in. And it is him; your grouchy boyfriend is actually still somewhere in there – looking at you worryingly through pupils that remind you of a cat’s, and owning a body so powerful that it could turn your entire house to rubble if it went on a rampage.

“I-I’m sorry,” you choke out at the thought, carefully reaching out to place your hand on his chest again, but this time to appease him instead of shoving him away and provoking him again. “I just–... I wasn’t expecting this, ‘kay? Try and understand how I feel about this.”

Just breathe. Breathe, breathe, breathe – in and out. He’s less scary already. 

He perks up at your words again, his paw covering your hand entirely when he presses it more closely to his heart so that you can feel the rhythm of his pulse better. The knuckles are nearly human, as well as the digits that bend and curl over your own now; just covered in fur and equipped with those menacing claws you’re still continuously flicking a wary eye towards every few seconds.

Fingers tangling into rough chestnut fur, his heartbeat is so strong and other-wordly that it makes you sick in a way. It beats faster than any human heart – rhythm quick and potent enough that it kisses the pads of your fingers every time it hits.

It’s like the damn muscle is jumping and bouncing off the sides of his ribcage as he grumbles once more in answer, this time more in agitation than anything else. He can’t even speak proper English with you, or any other human language whatsoever, and yet you’re starting to understand him perfectly just from the faces he’s making and the noises of irritation coming from the back of his throat every once in a while.

“What,” you whisper, feeling dizzy from the heat his body gives off, “what is it?” It’s as if his very blood has come to a boil, is starting to sizzle like oil on a frying pan underneath all of that muscle and skin. He’s practically burning up, warming your entire bedroom by merely existing. It’s making your vision spin before your very eyes.

So he clutches your hand harder when you look like you’re about to faint; pushes it even closer to his heart. And when you look more stable, like the touch grounds you in a way, he circles his free paw around his face – that uncanny, strange face – and presses it to your own chest. To your own heart.

“What?” His hand, if you could call it that, is so big that it covers the entirety of your ribcage. Thumb to pinky; he’s touching you from one end to the other. You have trouble breathing at the realization of his immense size. “Is there so-something wrong with my heart?”

He shakes his head in answer. Repeats the action of circling his face, but then he stops and pauses for a moment. Contemplates. Pointing to his twitching ear this time around, he does it a few times before pressing the paw to your heart again.

Puzzled, you blink at him, attempting to understand what he’s miming to you as he starts pointing to his ear again. “Are you… Are you saying that you can hear my heart?”

He nods feverishly now, tapping his digits against the middle of your chest a couple of times in the exact same rhythm your heart beats inside your ears, paying heed that he doesn’t strike you with his claws by accident.

“It’s fast, yeah,” you mumble hesitantly. “Nothing like yours, though.”

And now, much to your surprise, he whines in reply; sounding like a little puppy when it yawns with that squeal-ish sort of sound. As if he’s not happy at all with your statement.

Your brow quirks because of it. “You don’t like that it’s fast?”

Kiba shakes his head again.

“Why?”

You frown when he just points to his face again and drops his eyes to the floor. He taps you over your heart only once this time; gently. Like he’s afraid he might break you in two if he uses any more force, the click of his claws only gives you more proof that he could. 

And it’s sort of soothing – him caring enough to be this cautious. It calms you, coaxing you to warily place your hand upon his own and say, “I’m not scared of you anymore, Kiba.”

You mean it. Even if your body is still stiff as a board; you mean it.

But all he does is grumble again. Incoherent, rumbling sounds that make you chuckle almost as his tail drops limp between his legs. Your lips are twitching as you speak again, “I’m serious, my heart is beating so fast only ‘cause I love you so much, and ‘cause I’m worried about you. I mean, baby, you have a tail, for Christ’s sake. Come to think of it… Does it hurt when it grows out?”

What a lucky girl you are, your statement makes him growl for a third time as his paw drops from your chest and rests on the curve of your hip instead. If he weren’t so big and unpredictable, you’d bash his head in for being so fussy. “Stop making that noise, y-you’ve gotta cut me some slack! At least I didn’t run away and called the cops! Or, ya know… Animal control, since you’re… Well… Yeah.”

The look he gives you now just spells that sarcastic ‘Funny.’ even though he really is more animal than human. He’s nearly slouching, curving his broad back just to remain face to face with you, and when you’re about to open your mouth to retaliate, because being witty is just how you’ve decided to cope and be comfortable around him, nothing but a squeak pushes past your lips instead.

Because now, Kiba lifts you up – so swiftly and effortlessly that you’re amazed in a way, even if it’s nothing surprising if you take his sheer size into consideration. Paws wrapping around your hips, you can feel his claws dig into the plush fabric of your pyjama shorts, but never tearing, as he tosses you over his shoulder and just keeps you there. 

Like you’re some damsel in distress, hell like he’s Bowser and you’re Princess Peach; he carries you across the room as if you’re light as a feather.

You squeak out this high-pitched sort of noise when he throws you onto the bed. Squirming around, you try to back up against the headboard, but he grabs you by the ankle and just pulls you closer as he falls onto the mattress himself.

Nearly cringing at the second creek of protest the wooden framing gives to his weight, your own objections are stifled as his arms wrap around you like armor and he attempts to make himself seem smaller – badly. One paw-like hand rests on your middle now, giving you a single push until you’re firmly pressed against his chest. You can feel his heartbeat thumping right against your spine now. It nearly makes the discs rattle from how strong it is.

And even his tail is wrapping around your hip in almost a protective manner now; warming you up with the heat of his body and the thickness of his fur. You’re sweating after mere seconds, the coat of salt thickening the glaze that’s already there as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck and just starts breathing in your scent again.

It’s like he’s addicted to the way you smell. Even with the initial tension gone, every grunt that reverberates down your spine is still chill-inducing despite the heat.

Laying next to him in the dark, the rational part of your consciousness screams at you to run and never look back. How you should feel scared; caged in from the way he wraps himself around you and holds you in place. But you don’t. Goddammit, you just don’t. You’ve known him for too long, and he’s just too sweet, even if he looks equally as bitter.

However, when you attempt to turn around to look at him again, he just growls once more. The same as the first time, it’s a warning, but it doesn’t scare you like it did the first time.

Your voice is calm because of it now, “You don’t want me to see you anymore?”

Paw leaving your middle for the briefest moment, you exhale a sigh at how cool his lack of touch feels now as he points at the laptop that’s still laying open on your bed. His body temperature is so high that it makes you burn all over when he touches the sliver of bare skin on your belly.

You swallow the thick saliva that’s gathered inside your mouth again. “The movie, right… Watching movies until you change back, or I fall asleep. Just like you’ve said.” 

Fuck, when he pats your stomach in approval and grunts, it just makes you sweat even more. You shouldn’t be thinking about this sort of thing, now should you? About how it’d feel if he were to stroke the naked skin, not just linger on it… If he were to lick it, too. His tongue is probably rougher than normal. It’d hurt, wouldn’t it? Or would it feel good? Oh, and how would it feel if he were to trace your skin with those claws just enough to make you antsy?

As the thoughts ensue, your toes are curling from embarrassment, expectation, arousal – you, yourself, don’t even know from what. This entire thing is so confusing. Are you seriously attracted to a fucking werewolf, or is the heat that’s pooling between your legs only there because this is something new and exciting, and it’s your boyfriend that’s the beast? 

The curiosity of humans truly is a wonder. It’s like you truly want to fuck everything that comes your way.

But it seems that Kiba knows what you’re feeling even if you don’t, or perhaps he can smell the change of hormones that lace your blood now. Because as soon as your dainty fingers lightly begin to trace his own thicker ones, seemingly all coy and innocent, he starts to stroke your naked skin in return, too. Gentle swipes that nevertheless make your breath hitch in the back of your throat, he’s sighing at the way your thighs squeeze together in response to his touches.

You’re slowly becoming drenched; he can smell the dopamine on you. The amount is big enough to make his thoughts fuzzy and his dick hard. God, he wants to suck the hormones right out of you.

So he lets his fingers travel higher. Lifts the hem of the shirt you’re wearing with one sharp claw and reaches just the underside of your breast as he strokes even more tenderly. Same movements, different pace and intensity, because he needs to be careful if he wishes to keep you intact and whole.

Minutes pass. He’s stupid, so he’s somehow ended up with both of your tits in his hands; squeezing the fat and flicking the cute nubs ever so gently. Making you squirm. Listening to your quick, little breaths. You’re so needy that it’s amusing in a way.

However, he grunts the moment you roll your hips against his own. Your smell turns him insatiable – you just smell so fucking good, it’s not fair – so he bucks his hips forward and ruts into you once, twice, but then stops immediately when you mewl something delightfully submissive in response and arch your back to feel him even better over your flimsy shorts.

Shit. That sounded so good that it made his ears perk up.

But he’s so big when he’s like this and you’re so small. The ridge of his semi-hard cock that presses against your clothed cunt is already so massive that there is no way your tiny human body would be able to take him in – it is quite literally impossible, no matter how badly you want it to happen. Too enormous for your sweet little pussy, he’d ruin you completely with just one pump if he was to become completely turned on. And you don’t even have a clue about the knot.

Holy fuck, the knot – how could he forget. His heart is racing now at the thought of you taking it willingly, it’s insane how fast it is as he releases you and points towards the laptop again with somewhat shaky digits. 

It’s better to stop early. He’s not sure how much sanity he has to spare, the fact that you’re accepting him for who he is; that you are getting fucking aroused by what he thought of as an ugly secret until now is making drool ooze down his sharp teeth. Is making him yearn to push your face into the pillow so that he can just take you doggy style, because it’s, well… Fitting.

He wants to do it painfully slow and rough. Like an animal, the instinct to breed you until you’re his little mate is so acute that it hurts him. Christ, you’ve mentioned wanting kids, now that you’re both in your mid-twenties. Have begun talking more and more about moving in together and starting a family. 

And Kiba wants it, too, he truly does. He wants kids, marriage. The chance of coming back to a warm home every single day, and spending the rest of those days with you, now that you know what he is. He’s never been happier because of the fact that you still want him just as badly as he wants you, but how the fuck is he supposed to give you all of that and grant you all of your wishes when he’s a monster?

During the course of your relationship, he’d been nothing but excuses as a result, even if he didn’t want to be. Stalling whenever you had suggested sharing a household. Completely disappearing roughly once a month whenever there was a full moon, even though – much to his luck – you’ve never managed to make the connection. Telling you, ‘Yes, I want kids.’ even though he’d started pulling out the moment you had told him that you got off your birth control.

Seeing the disappointment cross your face each time was hard. He wants kids, fuck, he wants them so bad – it’s in his blood to give you as many as you’ll be willing to have with him, for fuck’s sake. But all of this is complicated. Him feeling scared to give you babies because they’d almost surely be different from the ones you gush over whenever your friends swing by is completely justified.

But now, after you’ve seen him for what he is and have clearly accepted him, just imagining you still wanting kids with him makes his fucking tail want to wag. The way you'd whine and then beg him to cum inside you as your tiny pussy sucks him in, in, in. How you'd spread your legs and let him grab you by the hips until they'd be littered with scratches. How you'd squeal when he'd bite you to keep you still for long enough to make you pregnant with his offspring.

There’d be more than one in this form; he’s sure of it. Sadly, he’s just too big to fit. Perhaps, if you’re willing, you could try when he’s back to normal again.

“But Kiba, I–” Your lips clamp shut the moment he points to the screen again, this time sternly, and exhales this deep, fed-up breath through his nose that tickles your neck and just makes you buzz all over.

He’s even drawn his hips away from you whilst thinking of slamming them in instead. No more rutting – you’re not fucking a monster no matter how bad his need is and how nicely you’ve accepted him. He wants you alive and whole, after all.

And that means: end of discussion.

—

Even in his werewolf form, your boyfriend is as stubborn as ever.

You finish the movie with a frown etched upon your lips that he promptly seems to ignore for your sake. As soon as the credits roll, he makes you watch another one. 

Hours pass; fading away into the night, and you feel him growing lighter. Smaller. More human. Changing or not, Kiba still doesn’t allow you to look at him during it. He’s told you that the transformation can be a bit unpleasant to see when you’re not used to seeing it, so you can’t do anything else but comply with his wishes. 

And just when you’re on the verge of sleep, consciousness nearly fluttering away into dreamland, do you at long last feel him move.

Thick fingers digging into your t-shirt, he presses himself against you after hours of nothing. “Babe?” He whispers right into your ear, nudging you with the tip of his nose, “You still awake, baby?”

He can speak again.

“Mhmm.” His body is still so warm that you can’t help but feel it lulling you to slumber. “I’m awake.” It’s a bother to stay that way, but you still force yourself to remain conscious by rubbing your cheek into the pillow tiredly. “Can I look at you now…? Please?”

A smile ghosts over Kiba’s lips at the plea you’ve surely been harboring for hours. He’s still not used to you knowing and liking this part of him. He doubts he’ll ever be. “I’m not fully back to normal just yet,” he says, and you can tell, because there’s still this coarse bite to his voice that makes him sound like his teeth are too big for his mouth. “But I think it’s safe enough to look… If you want.”

You don’t ask him if he’s absolutely sure, nor if he’s all right with it. Far too impatient to look at your boyfriend again, you’re swiftly flipping onto your other side to finally lay your eyes on him not even a second after the words of insecurity finish leaving his lips.

His appearance makes your heart start to pound all over again. Not out of fear, though. No, this time it’s thrill – the good kind.

He’s mid-stage, just like he’s said he’d be. Not human just yet, although not full-werewolf anymore either: he’s a being of something supernatural and in-between that you don’t know how to name for the life of you. 

He’s still big – bigger than usual – though nearly not as before. The fur is gone, but his hair is still overwhelmingly thick; partially hiding the pointy ears that remain sitting and twitching ever so slightly atop his head. His facial features are back to normal, even if his eyes aren’t. Still yellow, they glow in the dark with those slits for pupils that dilate sideways whenever they make eye contact with you. You can feel the tail as it curls around your hip once more, and can see the fangs when he parts his rosy lips to release a shuddering, anxious breath.

He looks like a hybrid. That’s the word!

“How long?” It’s the first thing that comes out of your mouth as you reach up to touch him. He’s completely naked underneath the thin duvet, you can see the pile of torn up clothes on the floor. It’s a good thing he’s brought an overnight bag with him.

“Huh?” Goddammit, he’s so insecure that he flinches when your fingers make contact with his warm, golden skin.

Your gaze turns soft as you trace his cheekbone and utter, “How long have you been like this?”

“Uh,” he mumbles, brow furrowing despite that he tilts his head so that he can lean into your touch better, “ever since I can remember. I was born with the gene.”

“Just you?”

“It… It runs in the family.” 

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip. Chewing on the tender flesh, your voice is hushed, “And why haven’t you told me?”

He hates admitting his vulnerability to anyone – even you – but he has to if he wants this relationship to work and for the bond to strengthen. So he sighs, voice equally as quiet as he says, “I was scared you’d be disappointed.” 

He pauses for a bit now, letting the beat of silence pass. Avoiding eye contact whilst those peculiar yellow eyes flick across your entire room, he seems almost jittery in a way, despite that you’re the harmless human in this situation. God, he hates feeling insecure like this.

You can’t stay still, silent. It’s eating you alive, so you cut into the quiet, “What is it?”

“It’s…” Kiba inhales deeply, shaking his head with a groan that just provokes you further. You’re on the brink of jumping him and shaking him by the shoulders until he spits it out. Luckily for the both of you, you don’t have to do it because now he at long last looks you in the eye and says, “It’s hereditary.”

This time, your roles are reversed and the silence is far longer than the previous beat. A lot longer.

“Say something, sweetheart,” he mumbles, voice strained from nervosity.

“I see.” It’s all you give him and Kiba isn’t sure what the tone means. Either he’s dumb as fuck or he’s just incapable of reading it, it doesn’t matter how sensitive the ears atop his head are – he is still not getting it. 

So he asks, “You know what that means?”

Instead of answering, you ask a question of your own, “Is that the reason why you turned all weird when I got off the pill?”

He just nods before his chin dips down, lips pressed into a firm line and shoulders slumped. Oh, boy. Watching how guilty he looks, you almost feel the gears turning inside your head as all the puzzle pieces click and begin to paint the bigger picture you would have never solved on your own otherwise. 

And here you were; worrying like some idiot that he was refusing to settle only because he didn’t take you seriously enough. 

The entire thing seems so utterly stupid, now that you think about it.

“Is it, like,” your voice breaks before you swallow the saliva that’s gathered inside your mouth. “Is it definite? If we were to have–...”

His expression softens at the worry to glint inside your eyes. “There’s a chance.”

“A chance?”

“Yeah.” He sighs again. “It’s not, like, fully definite or anything like that... I mean, Hana isn’t like this, and we’re brother and sister. But there’s still a pretty big chance, ‘cause I’d be the dad and my genes are… Well, they’re more dominant, I guess.”

“They’re more likely to prevail?” you ask, quirking a brow as you place your hand on his warm chest. His heartbeat isn’t back to normal, per se, it just isn’t nearly as fast as it was before. “I think I’ve read that in an article somewhere before. Or a book I was reading… I can’t remember.”

“I don’t like that word; prevail,” he mumbles, the bridge of his nose scrunching in distaste. You can even see his ears flatten until they’re flushed against his head. “Our kiddos would have as much of you in ‘em as much as they’d have me.”

“Yeah, but if they’re like… This,” you trace his chest gently and jerk your chin upwards to make a point, “they’d have more of you in them than they’d have me, right?”

“They could still have your smile. Or your height. Hell, even your eye colour, which is so pretty by the way.” Kiba says, the corners of his lips twitching when you smile at the smooth compliment. “The yellow would only show when they’d turn once a month; and that's to say if they’d turn. I mean, yeah, it’d play a huge part in their lives, being like this, and it would be hard at times… But that side isn’t everything that'd define them, ya know? They’d still be people. Human.”

You’re surprised how mature he is about this – speaking about it as if he’s practiced it in front of the mirror a dozen times before, albeit still sounding just as genuine. Normally, you’d expect him to be unreasonable whilst attempting to shove his head through the wall, but that’s not the case this time around. And thinking about said case; he’s right. 

Even if he turns into something unnatural every full moon, he’s still Kiba, no matter the form. He’s still your boyfriend who likes to poke fun at you every chance he gets, who likes to scream with joy at the TV whenever his favourite team scores a point, who always picks chocolate ice cream over vanilla, who’s terrible at making the fitted bed sheet actually fit over the mattress – all of that. Those quirks make him human, and he is just that. He’s a person, just like you.

Though, he’s just proved to you that he’d be a wonderful dad, too.

“I don’t see it as a bad thing, baby,” you say, blushing at the thought whilst cupping his face delicately. “I still love you, even if you look like you’ve just graduated from Monster High.” It’s no wonder he was so good at being a jock, both through high school and college. Always so agile and fast by instinct.

He snorts, rolling his eyes. “Hilarious.”

You giggle at your own jab. Sigh in content at the kiss he presses to your cheek a moment later. “I still wanna try, you know.”

He stills, warm mouth lingering right next to your temple. “Like… Right now?”

“Yeah.” Your voice is nothing but a whisper as your fingers tangle into his hair and trace the back of one pointy ear. Like a cat, you’re simply too curious to hold back. You can see them both flatten against his head in an instant as he stiffens above you and groans.

“Sensitive?”

“Yeah.” He pauses to draw in a shaky breath. “Very.”

Well, fuck.

You’re growing hot again, almost feverish at how responsive he is to mere strokes. “Should I not touch them?”

“You can. I’ve just never–... Nnh.” He turns into putty that you hold in your hands the moment you scratch his scalp and trace the shape of both triangles after hearing his approval. They’re surprisingly delicate underneath the pads of your fingers; almost silken to the touch and twitching every time you land contact. “Never had anyone touch ‘em before. It’s different than anything else I’ve ever felt.”

His brain might just burst if you actually take his knot.

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’ll be gentle.”

He’s toying with your shirt, claw tugging at the hem whilst attempting to focus. “You seriously wanna try for a baby now?” Turned on so easily and still yearning because of the teasing you gave him before, he can’t think straight.

“Yes,” your answer is confident. Honest. “As long as it’s safe for the both of us, I don’t care if our baby ends up being like you. I’ll still love it, just like I love you.”

God, he could cry at this point. “It’s safe, just a little different... Might hurt a bit ‘cause I’m still pretty big, but I’d never put you in harm's way, you know that, baby.”

Your heart is racing. “How much would it hurt?”

“We’d–...” Goodness, he’s so flustered. “We’d be stuck for a while after we’d be done, like for half an hour… Maybe an hour. It can get a bit uncomfortable.”

“Why?”

He blinks. “Why would it be uncomfortable?”

“No, like why would we get stuck?”

“Oh.” Heat sears Kiba’s face at your question. He’s looking down at you with a furrowed brow and nearly a frown now. You just look so perfect, hair all messy over the pillow and skin dewy, and here he is about to explain the most humiliating thing ever. 

“I, uh… God, this is so embarrassing, but I have a knot, okay? It’s meant for, mm… Basically, it makes me unable to pull out, because it literally hurts us both if I try. And uh–...” He’s nearly scowling now, the poor man. “It just gives us a better chance at having a kid, okay? That’s all you need to know.”

“Wow.” Your eyes grow wide at the crude explanation he’s given like he’s some damn caveman. Pure wooden clubs and unga bunga language, like the definition of Fred Flintstone. “So it’s just like in those fanfics I’ve read as a teen?”

“C’mon, baby, I don’t read that shit.” The pointed look he gives you with those sharp pupils tells you everything you need to know. Nearly makes you laugh. “And you shouldn’t have either, ‘cause listen to the crap you’re spouting while we’re talking about our goddamn future… I mean, seriously.”

“Hah!” The chuckle slips out. “I’m so sorry, Ki. I’ll be good, I promise.” 

He rolls his eyes in faux-annoyance. “Aha.”

“C’mon, I wanna try!” The smile that’s forcing itself on your lips is so big. “I want to have a kid, and move in together; all of that… So, do you wanna do it for real this time?”

Something is fluttering inside his chest and stomach at your proposal. Something that makes him light-headed as he looks you dead in the eye and says, “Well, it depends… Are you gonna take my knot?”

Oh, he’s serious now. All intense, his eyes are burning like a forge.

“Yeah,” you whisper, the air suddenly solemn. He doesn’t want you to joke about this. “I will.”

“Yeah?” he whispers back. “Even if it hurts a little? You’ll still take it?”

You wonder what ‘a little’ means to him. No matter. “Mhmm.”

Studying your features for any hint of deceit, he’s breathing hard just thinking about it. “Okay.”

As are you. “Okay.”

Moments pass, and the silence is intimate. However, you start to laugh again the moment his tail starts to wag. He’s just so goddamn red, so adorable. “You excited?”

“Yeah, m’sorry,” he mumbles bashfully. “It has a mind of its own sometimes. Especially when I’m happy.”

“You’re happy ‘cause I’ll take your knot?”

“Overjoyed.”

“That’s cute. Like you’re a good boy, or somethin’.” Heat is crawling up your neck as you look at him underneath your lashes and mumble, “So… How do you want me?”

Fuck, that flusters him even further. Especially because the communication is good and you start touching his ears again. Good boy, good boy, good boy – he really is a good boy. “I, uh… Just lemme…”

But instead of finishing his sentence, Kiba just manhandles you into position. He’s as gentle as he can be, perhaps even respectful, though you still feel heat overtake your body the moment he flips you onto your stomach with complete ease and hovers above you by pinning both arms on either side of you.

He’s still so big; strong. His body covers your own, warmth and that musky scent fogging your senses completely. That alone is enough to make you shove your face into the pillow and push your ass up as high into the air as it’ll go. Like a proper little mate.

You smell so sweet with dopamine that it makes his voice sound rough from how dry it makes his throat as he watches you squirm into position, “I–... I gotta undress you first.”

“Just tear it off.” Your eyes are glazed over when you turn your head to the side to look at him. “It’ll be faster that way.”

The drool he forces down is thick. “You want it that bad?”

“I need it, love. Need all of you.” Even the werewolf side.

“Shit… O-Okay.” Goddammit, you’ve even got his voice to quiver as he does what you ask of him. The collar of your top chokes you for a brief moment as he tugs on the back of it, fingers so eager whilst the cotton starts biting into your neck, but then he releases you the moment the noise of shredding fabric fills the room. 

Kiba trails his eyes over your exposed back now. At the way goosebumps cover the smooth skin the moment he traces your spine with the tip of one claw. He can see the sides of your tits as they press against the mattress; all plush-like. It just makes his mouth water all the more. “What about the shorts?”

“Same as the shirt,” you mumble, lifting and wiggling your hips again.

His pupils are overtaking his entire irises. “Underwear, too?”

“Mhmm.”

His tail is wagging again, you can hear the dull thump, thump, thump against the mattress. “Tell me what I ever did to deserve you… For real.”

You could tease him. But this moment is tender, intimate, so you decide against it and just say, “Shush.”

You’re naked in mere seconds after that; he’s slicing through the fabric like it’s butter. And that excites you, especially as he inhales so, so deep and says, “Fuck, baby… What’re you doin’ to me?” 

“Nothin’...?” you trail off playfully, smiling into the pillow as you feel your toes curl. His voice is just so coarse; so fueled with passion. You’re dripping just because of the dazed tone alone.

“You smell so fuckin’ good, that’s what you’re doing,” he mumbles, kissing your bare shoulder blade as he tops you. “It’s driving me insane.”

Your eyelids flutter shut at the kisses he keeps peppering all over. “Is your sense of smell better than usual?”

“Yeah.” The tip of his nose presses against your spine, making you giggle when the ends of his hair brush your skin. “I can smell how turned on you are. All that dopamine, fuck… I’m so lucky.”

You chuckle now, “I’m surprised you even know what dopamine is.”

“Tsch. Full of fuckin’ surprises today, aren’t I?” He’s got a smile of his own gracing his features, all charm and pointy fangs. “You need foreplay? I’ve put on lube just now.”

“No,” you utter. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“It’ll still hurt… Even with the lube.” Another kiss to your shoulder, his hips are already meeting yours so that he can align himself with your dripping cunt despite the warning. He’s so impatient to get inside you, after all. “I’m, mm… I’m bigger than usual.”

He says it like it’s a bad thing.

But you’re already buzzing with anticipation; heart racing and fingers gripping the pillow as you feel his cockhead prod at your sopping hole. He’s leaking pre-cum, throbbing and pushing against you and spreading gooey lube everywhere. Waiting for you to say the magic words. “I-I can take it.” I think.

“Good enough for me.”

And it’s true: you can take it. Although just barely.

Every inch that he sinks into you now gives you a stretch that is almost unbearable to endure. His cock is big; fat – it makes you cry. Girthy and thick, you can feel the vein on its underside throbbing inside you as he keeps pushing, pushing, pushing. Slowly and cautiously, his ears are pressing flat against his head again and his tail goes limp from how hard he’s concentrating to make you comfortable and to not go fucking berserk.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck… Baby,” he whines. Your pussy is literally drooling. Sucking him in, despite that he’s overtaking your capacity so very fast. “You feel s’good, baby. We-... We’ve still got a bit left but we’re almost there.”

Almost? It feels like he’s in your throat already. Like he’s fucking impaled you on his dick, you’re already salivating onto your pillow, with your eyes crossed and your brain numb. You’re breathing hard; panting underneath him. Sweat oozes out of every pore on your body from the effort you’re both putting into making this work. You’re still so small underneath him, so fragile that it makes him nervous. Doesn’t make him stop, of course, but the nerves are enough to make him chew on his lip. 

“Goddammit,” you whisper, screwing your eyes shut. His size is gruelling – it’s literally rearranging your insides. “Y-You’re so big, Ki.”

“I’m sorry.” Genuine.

“Too big, baby.” Your breath jumps and stammers as he bottoms out and groans at the wet smack! The mewl you let out right after makes his ears twitch.

“Ah, I’m so sorry.”

He’s apologetic, sweetly kissing your shoulder and the side of your sweaty neck from how bad he feels for making you hurt. But he can still smell the absurd amounts of dopamine coursing your blood. Can smell the merest hints of oxytocin as well. You’re into this as much as he is.

Your bodies are pressing against one another to become one; your back is arching and his hips are dipping in just to be as close as is humanly possible. Limbs entwine, mouths open and close in needy gasps. Even your skin is tightening and hardening as he starts to throb inside your fucking womb.

“I took you in,” you mumble dazedly. “Took you in… All the way.”

“You’re such a good lil’ mate, baby,” he whispers in reply. “Gonna breed you so good as a reward, okay?”

You’re looking at each other the moment your head whips to the side. The eye contact is so intense that it makes your pussy clench around his goddamn monster cock. “Y-Yeah?”

“Mhmm, yeah.” He sucks in a sharp breath at the sensation; hissing through his teeth, making you glance at the sharp incisors. “Gonna give you so many pups... I can’t wait to hold ‘em. Our babies.”

His words warm your soul, not just your heart. You’re a hot mess; all sloppy from the drool and tears he’s making you spill, but it feels so good. Your boyfriend fills you up in a way nobody else ever could, because they’re just people and he’s a species of his own. 

A species that stretches your velvet walls to make room for even more cock. That makes you spurt milky slick and gush all over that same dick as it starts to thrust in and out of your warmth, forcing you to moan out the sickest of profanities. 

Fuck, you can feel every drag of his girth. Can feel him in your gut whenever he sinks back in, in, in. 

Time turns non-existent as he screws you, and not once does he exit you completely. He’s relentless at staying inside you for eons at a time, yes, even when his pace picks up and turns so harsh that you feel like he’ll snap you into two. Even as you start to literally sob into the pillow, and he repeatedly keeps kissing your cervix with that fat cockhead of his in answer. Even when your moans turn into sounds only a fucked-out slut could produce. 

He’s fucking you like an animal, even if it’s slow and passionate instead of violent and rough.

“Gonna–...” Your voice is so high-pitched that it makes his ears slant, “Soon, gonna cum real soon…!”

“Yeah, I can smell it,” he grunts, panting quick and hard. “You’re all oxytocin, baby. C’mon, gush.”

“Tryin’-!” Jaw slack, your mouth hangs open as he hits the sweetspot and makes you squeal mid-sentence instead.

“That’s it, pretty. Spill.” He just can’t stop, the way you clamp down on him is too good for words. “Fuck yourself on my dick, c’mon… Just. Like. That.”

You have no clue how he does it, but he somehow manages to make you cum twice in a row. Reaching one peak before heading right towards the other; everything feels so sensitive and tender, raw. You’re on the verge of fainting, or on the cusp of crying – you, yourself, don’t even know which one it is at this point.

And in the midst of all of that, his claws dig into your hips. His teeth find home in your neck and taste blood. Fangs dipped in crimson, he goes absolutely berserk as he brands you. His hand is covering the entire side of your face as he forces you to look at him. To really look at him.

“You’re mine,” he says, voice so deep that it turns you breathless. “All mine. No other man will ever be able to have you, d’you get that?”

You’re nodding fervently, looking like a doll; like a stupid fucking bimbo. “Y-Yeah, I-I got it.”

And he’s absolutely feral; possessive. All messy and wild, his dark hair is sticking to his forehead from all the sweat. He’s staring at you so deeply that your soul is branded with the same yellow as his eyes are before he slams his mouth against your own and kisses you like he’ll never get another chance to do so again. 

You can taste the iron on his tongue; cut your own on one of his fangs, and make him all the more hot and bothered as red spills all over his mouth cavity.

He’ll break you like this. The smell and taste of your blood are to blame, no wonder he didn’t say anything.

Your eyes are closed as you kiss, and so are his. You’re both attempting to focus better on the intensifying sensations whilst your tongues twirl around each other and the strings of saliva break and connect. Every time your lips brush, it sparks electricity in your core. He’s literally twitching inside you; all warm and big. And ready. So ready.

“You’re gonna take my knot and make me a daddy, right?” His whisper sends a chill through you as he grabs you and pulls you even closer. Your body is covered in markings of his teeth and claws; you’re going to ache all over in the morning. But it’s worth it when he licks the shell of your ear and hushes, “Gonna keep being a good lil’ mate for me, yeah?”

So this is how he gets when he wants to breed you for real. You can’t believe he’s had the self-control to pull out every single time you’ve had sex for nearly seven months, when he fucks like this. “Yeah,” you answer breathlessly. “Go-Gonna be a good mate, Kiba…! Gonna take your knot.”

Shit, hearing his name during sex is his weak spot. It makes him want to fuck you into the goddamn mattress until there’s nothing left of you to fuck – as if he isn’t doing that already. “Say it again.”

“Gonna take your knot, Ki-... I-I promise!” You’re struggling to breathe properly, holy fuck. “Gonna be a good mate…!”

“Gotta turn you around… Lemme see ‘em heart eyes.” He’s so close. It needs to happen now; his dick is starting to throb and you need to settle into a position that’s more comfortable before it’s too late.

Still, you whine when he pulls out, and you swear that you can feel him getting stuck between your walls for just the briefest moment before that lewd, squelching noise of his dick parting with your pussy sounds out. And then he’s manhandling you into position again; forcing you into something more decent and vanilla with such ease that you’d think he’s mulled this scenario over in his head a million times before.

And then you’re sobbing his name out when he fills you back up in one ruthless swing again and coaxes the third orgasm out of you. As he just stretches you to the brink of pain again and makes you take it with clenched teeth and teary eyes.

“Fuck, fi-fill me up…! Fill me up, please, please, please…”

Your belly is bulging with his dick, and you’re all oxytocin – delicious, mouth-watering oxytocin – as you begin gushing; leaking warm juices of pleasure until your head is lolling back into the pillow and you’re nearly incoherent. 

He’s licking the sweat from your neck, biting on your skin and kissing you sloppily as he just keeps rutting, fucking, screwing. Your pussy is sucking him in no matter how much he bullies it. It’s as if it can’t get enough of him and that big dick of his. Just keeps on demanding that wet, rough pat, pat, pat!

He can nearly feel its fucking heartbeat on his dick.

“Fu-Fuck, baby… God-fucking-damn.” Kiba is stuttering – fucking stuttering as your fingers find his ears and begin to stroke whilst tugging on his hair. As lightning surges through his veins and he sinks into place and just spills everything he’s got the moment you cry out his name. As he gets stuck inside you and the knot is forced into place. 

The fucking knot. He can feel you clenching around it; walls fluttering like the goddamn butterflies in his stomach as he paints them white with his warm seed. It’s better than anything he’s imagined. He’s fucked you so many times before, but taking you while he’s in this form is not just a delight, but a dream come true. He’s the luckiest man to ever walk the face of the earth. Utterly blessed.

Not even a droplet of cum is leaking out of you; you’re fused together that tightly.

It takes you both long moments to compose yourselves. You spend the passing minutes just bathing in the sticky afterglow and listening to each other’s hearts. You’ve never felt closer to each other. As if your very souls have mended and become one, the feeling is inexplicable.

“Oh, my,” you mumble through shallow breaths at some point, scrubbing both hands over your face. You’re simply exhausted, he’s hit you like a tidal wave. Has taken away the ground beneath your feet, leading you to a higher place. You just can’t seem to bring yourself back, no matter how hard you try. Especially because he’s still inside you. And because of the fact that he’s going to stay like that for a long while. “That was–... A lot.”

“I know,” he says, resting his forehead against your shoulder. His ear flutters the moment your sharp exhale brushes it when you chuckle. “Fuck, I’m sorry; I was so rough… I tried not to be, but some part of me just–...” He pauses, looking up at you underneath thick lashes. “I’m sorry, baby, okay? I’ll answer any questions you have now, since we, well… Have the time, hah.”

“It’s okay, we’ll do that in the morning when I can think straight again.” You’re pleasantly surprised at how tender and protective he is over you already. Nearly purring above you whilst drinking up your approval and inhaling your scent, he reminds you more of a kitty than a wolf. “I do have one question, though.”

“Shoot.”

“Is all of this,” you gesture all over him, “the reason why you like doggy so much?”

The stare he gives you in answer is so deadpan that it’s hard not to laugh.

“Whaaat?” Caressing his face, you squish both of his cheeks until his lips purse. “What’re you so grumpy for, huh? T’was just a question…”

He’s fighting back a smile of his own as he says, “I wanna break up.”

“Hah!” You snort, the sound derisive. “Turning me into a single mother already?”

A beat of silence passes between you again as he presses his chin to your chest.

“I really hope it’ll stick.” The competitive glint that appears in his eyes when he looks up at you just screams Kiba now. “I wanna give you a mini-me first try.”

“Oh?” You smile, all naughty-like whilst wiggling your brows. “Whatever happened to the kid inheriting my half of the gene pool as well?”

“Well, if it’s a boy, he can have my good looks and your bad taste in music,” he mumbles, chuckling. “And if it’s a girl, she can be a badass like me, and have your shitty cooking skills.”

“Idiot, shitty cooking skills aren’t even hereditary! And it’s not like you’re Gordon Ramsay, or anything…” You’re laughing now, flicking his ear as punishment. “If we weren’t stuck together, I would have beaten your ass by now.”

“You can try it in about,” he says, checking the alarm clock on your nightstand, “an hour, or so. And just so you know, I’ll fold you. Pregnant or not.”

“Yeah?” The smirk that ghosts over your lips is so pretty that it makes his heart jump. “You gonna bite me all over again?”

“You bet.” He’s kissing you right on the mouth as he whispers, “But only ‘cause I love you so much.”

“You know… It’s a good thing you’re a furry and not something nasty, like a zombie or someth– Ouch!” You flinch when he sinks his teeth into your shoulder as punishment, “Okay, okay; I’m sorry for calling you a furry! I won’t do it anymore, promise!”

Kiba is all eye rolls and exasperated sighs at your endless jabs.

“Call me that shit again, and I’ll bite your nose off.”

[covetyou]

y2k

moodboard and fic inspo by @psychedelic-ink main masterlist

rating: Teen (this is an 18+ blog) warnings: fluff, Joel and Sarah being domestic and cute af, swearing, Sarah being a little shit. No outbreak. word count: 876 summary: a morning in the Miller Household with our fave resident Girl Dad and his Daughter (who is a little shit affectionately).

A/N: @psychedelic-ink is having a cute lil joel miller birthday bash and i requested a silly y2k moodboard in honour of the occasion. This spawned from my brain before I could stop it. Happy Birthday, JM!

if my boss asks, i've been working super hard for the last hour and not writing this.

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Joel sat at the kitchen counter, nursing his morning coffee. It was a clear day, the heat of summer dwindling now that October was approaching. He relished these quiet moments in the mornings, just him and his world inside that house, safe and sound.

Even after 15 years though, the silence never lasted long. He was glad for it - he dreaded to think how quickly the days of silence would come and how much he would long for the noise.

As expected, footsteps thundered down the stairs.

One day that kid's goin' to bring this fuckin' house down.

"Hey Dad," Sarah says breathlessly as she sidles up to Joel. She's hiding something behind her back, and Joel well knows that look on her face by know. She's been up to something.

"Mornin' kid," he smiles. Whatever she's up to he doesn't care, seeing the best thing he ever did every morning always put a smile on his face. "What you got there?"

"I got something to show you," she bites her lip. "I made it."

Joel's heart wants to burst out of his chest. As a kid, he was always being gifted little drawings and creations - pictures of them in their house, a deranged looking cat with too many legs (a sign from Sarah that she really wanted a pet kitty - he wishes he could've said yes to her, but his allergies would never let it happen), a paper mache lump of something she'd made and painted. He kept it, but he still didn't know what it was. My babies first abstract art he'd joked at the time. It had been years since she'd made anything for him, she was more into playing with friends and sports than arts and crafts with her old man these days.

"Alright then, let's see it," he turns to face his daughter as she pulls her laptop from behind her back. It was a birthday gift this summer, and she was rarely off the damn thing - she said it made homework easier than having to use the family desktop computer, but he still didn't quite believe she didn't just use to to talk to her friends until the early hours of the morning. Still, he could never say no or be mad at her for much of anything for too long.

"And you ain't takin' that to school."

Sarah rolls her eyes. "I'm not. Look."

She points to the screen.

"I was up all night making it for you - Happy Birthday, Dad!"

It's... well. It's something else. Pictures of him (he recognized one as a picture she had taken 5 years ago) and the two of them together, all interspersed with a collection of other images he wasn't familiar with but somehow seemed to match. Joel's stomach dropped with it - if this is what his baby girl was into, maybe she'd changed more as a teen than he thought. Still, she'd made it for him. It was special.

"I... it's..." Joel was getting genuinely choked up. He didn't care what it was. He just loved that she made it for him.

"Don't you love it?" she prods his arm, grinning like a maniac.

"I do." And he did.

"The color pallette is so cute right, and this picture is my favorite." She points to a picture in the middle from a 4th of July last year - Her and Joel had gone to a neighbors house to celebrate. There'd been a bonfire. "I put filters on everything to make it more pink. It really gels it all together, don't you think?"

It was one of his favorites too. Even with... all the pink.

"It is uh, real pink, yeah," Joel says, scratching his neck. "It your new favorite color or somethin'? We need to paint your room again?"

Sarah's face drops. "I - I thought it was your favorite color, Dad." She looks devastated.

Joel is dumbstruck. What does he say. He flounders, stuttering, trying to find the words.

Suddenly, Sarah's face breaks into a shit eating grin big enough to rival Tommy's.

"I'm just fucking with you dad."

Joel's eyes snap to hers, a warning, and amusement, flashing across his face.

She holds her hands up in surrender. "Messing! I'm just messing with you."

"Well, I love it anyway. Even if you are just messin' with me," he kisses her temple and pushes her toward the door. "C'mon, lets get goin' or you're goin' to be late, and so am I."

Sarah rolls her eyes, gathers her school bag and heads for the door with Joel in tow. They both head for his truck, starting their day the same way they always do - together.

Joel stops before he reaches his truck, placing a large hand on the hood and looking over to his daughter. His - how did he get so lucky.

"Hey kid... can you send me that picture when you get home from school?"

Sarah smiles. It was a silly joke, but she's glad he loves it too. "Sure thing, Dad."

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[dreamescapeswriting]

Kinktober ~ Day 20 ~ Face Sitting ~ SCB [M]

⤜WORD COUNT: 1.2K

⤜PAIRING: Changbin x Fem!Reader

⤜GENRE: smut, minors dni. Oral - female reieving, strong langue, explicit smut,

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - October 2022

⤜MASTERLIST

It had been far too long since Changbin had come to see you or that you had even gone over to the dorms and you were beginning to worry that there was something that you had done wrong. The two of you would usually hang out all of the time, even if he was busy with work you would just sit with him inside of the studio in peaceful silence. 

You walked into the small studio to find him sitting at his desk, headphones on and working away on the laptop in front of him. Usually, this would be an amazing sight to see but not tonight. The two of you were supposed to be asleep together at home since he had promised to spend the night at yours tonight. It was on the way home from JYPE and he'd been promising to do this for the last week only he'd been a no-show. After calling Hyunjin to check Changbin hadn't gone home you'd come straight to the studio to find your boyfriend.

You'd been planning a night of complete and utter seduction with one another, you'd worn his favourite underwear set on you and even cooked his favourite meal which was now all packed up for leftovers.

"Hey, I was just going to text you." He said with a cheerful smile, he glanced down at the time, the smile wiped away from his lips as he realised it was later than he had expected it to be. Since it was almost 2 in the morning.

"You didn't come over, you told me you were going to." You mumbled, trying not to seem as annoyed as you were at him but you couldn't help it. It had been almost four weeks since you'd had any kind of action and you were beginning to feel as though he didn't want to be with you. 

Didn't he want to spend time with you anymore?

"Haven't you missed me as much as I've missed you?" You quizzed the hurt in your voice making Changbin shut his laptop within seconds and look at you. The last thing he would want was for you to feel as though he didn't want to be with you. He was hopelessly in love with you and he was going to do everything to prove to you he had missed you too.

"Come and sit on my face, let me show you how much I missed you." He told you as he smirked, sitting down on the sofa that was inside of the studio and waiting for you but you didn't move. You didn't dare move. Sit on his face?

"I'm serious, come and sit on my face." He ordered before you began to scramble over to him, lifting up your dress and looking down at him as you hovered above him. There was something inside of you that made you not want to lower yourself down onto him.

"I said sit, not hover," He grumbled, hooking his arms around your waist and bringing you down onto his face as you let out a surprised gasp. There was something strangely embarrassing about this position even if the two of you had been dating for almost two years now.

"Changbin, I could hurt you." You mumbled mortified at the fact your pussy was right above his face for him to see, sure he'd seen it plenty of times before but this felt completely different. The two of you had been intimate plenty of times before but there was something about riding his face that suddenly made you as anxious as a virgin about everything. 

"Shh baby, you won't hurt me." He cooed as he slowly beagn to drag his tongue rthrough your folds, your head span at the sudden touch you were getting from him. It had been far too long and you completely bucked against his tongue,

"Good girl, lower yourself," He ordered as you let out a small whine, slowly lowering yourself down against his tongue as he began to slide over you. Lapping up every part of you that he could, even biting down softly on your clit as you let out a loud moan. God this was far hotter than it needed to be, the door was ajar but neither of you cared if someone walked in. Changbin had missed the taste of you and he wasn't going to let you go, people be damned

"Taste like heaven." he moaned out as he continued to hold you tightly down on top of him, sucking on your labia as if it was his last meal while you let out strangled moans of his name.

"Changbin!" You cried out, gripping onto the back of the sofa as you began to rock your hips in time with his tongue. 

"That's baby, let everyone know who makes you feel this good," He told you as he pushed his tongue deep inside of you with preciseness. Your whole body stilled at the new sensation and you clenched around his tongue, screaming his name out. You were almost sure that you were going to alert everyone inside of the building about what the two of you were doing but it didn't seem to bother Changbin.

"Shit! U-Ugh fuck! Changbin...Changbin!" You cried out, your hands struggling to keep the grip you had on the sofa, your whole body felt as though it was on fire and your hands were shaking. Your thighs were burning from the way you were trying to keep yourself up and Changbin pulled away from your clit for a second,

"Fuck I missed the taste of you," He spoke with so much hunger in his voice your whole body shuddered as he kept you closer to him. You squirmed a little as he began to massage your clit with his fingers, moving at a pace he knew you adored.

"You're not going anywhere until you cum all over my tongue princess," He told you before his mouth went back to work on you again. You wriggled above him as his fingers worked on your clit and his tongue - fuck his tongue was pushed inside of you as you moaned out his name louder than before. You knew you were getting close thanks to the burning in the pit of your stomach. 

"Changbin, please! I-I'm close! I'm close!" You alerted him, gripping onto his hands and you could have sworn he got rougher with you when you tried to move away from him. There was no way he was going to miss you cumming around him when he had missed you far too much.

Rubbing against your faster and harder as you moaned out at him, his tongue delve in and out of you as you trembled around him, your mind going blank as you gave into the pleasure he was giving to you. 

"Cum for me," He moaned against your clit, sending vibrations throughout your entire body as you gripped onto the sofa once more. Your toes curled, and your head went light as you closed your eyes finally giving into that feeling that made you scream. Riding his face as you rode out your high, waves of pleasure crashing over your body as you cried his name out loud enough for all to hear.

"Don't tell me I didn't miss you," Changbin smirked as you climbed off him and onto the space beside him on the sofa, you panted heavily and whimpered. 

"S-Sorry...I just missed you," You mumbled as he pulled you to rest on his lap, 

"I promise once this album is out...I'll take us both away, somewhere far so I don't have to have my phone." He promised, taking out his pinky and locking it with yours.

Tagline: @chiisaiblog​ @hanasonmi​ @sw33tnight​ @taestannie​ @army24--7​ @acciocriativity​ @scarletemeterio​ @kimahnjung98​ @halesandy​ @aerastus​ @ethereallino​ @itmehc​ @heeseunger24​ @laylasbunbunny​ @critssq​ @lenfilms​ @btsiguess-kpop​ @joonghands​

[chikkou]

ok i was waiting until my laptop got here to finally tell all the bullshit thats happened in the last like. 5 months lol. cause its a lot to type

im gonna put it all under the cut so no one has to read if they dont want. its a LONG fucking story.

tl;dr:

ok so for basic background, for the last two years or so, i was living with a roommate in connecticut. the roommate was my (now former) best friend since middle school. in july of this year his behavior totally shifted, and he started picking fights with me out of nowhere, told our high school friends a bunch of straight up lies abt me to make me look like a horrible roommate & person, and just generally became a two-faced dickhead. in the end, it turned out to all be excuses to justify his decision to move out (unofficially, name was still on the lease) so that he could live with his boyfriends and not pay any bills. at the time i was really devastated by this bc i felt totally betrayed by this person i had been close to since i was 12/13, but frankly after everything else that happened i barely fucking think about it now LMAO. this is set dressing more than anything else

so anyway, i had been living alone since about august, that was the last time i saw him in person. i wasnt handling the situation well because i had spoken to my high school friend and found out the extent to which hed tried to paint me as a slovenly, horrible roommate, to the point of telling actual lies about really dumb stuff (which didnt work btw - my friends, god bless them, were more concerned about my mental health than anything and thought i was going down a depression spiral, which my former friend told them he was helping me through. they believed me right away once we finally did talk). all that is to say, i was going kind of crazy lol, and i decided to go back home in october just for a short while, to recharge my batteries and all.

i was gone for a couple of weeks, not very long. i felt MUCH better after being with my family & friends in person, as i felt pretty isolated from everyone (my hometown is in new york, i was only 2 hours away by train but scheduling times to visit was sort of a hassle, so i only did it once every couple months). my grandfather and mom dropped me off at my apartment in early november, we were very lighthearted and discussing my next steps, since my shithead friend had been behind on rent more than 5 times (i always paid my half on time) and i was facing eviction because of it. we get to my apartment, i go to open the door, and it wont open. not that its locked, it just straight up WONT open. my grandpa tried to ram the door with his shoulder, and nothing. hes a strong ass dude, and this door wouldnt budge for anything.

my mom managed to get the kitchen window open and climb in that way, and it took both her and my grandpa pulling/pushing at the same time to force the door open. i wont even dress this up: there was mold. fucking. everywhere. on the floor, on the walls, all over everything i owned. i have pictures (had to take them for insurance) and im not even going to show them because they are beyond fucking disgusting. everything i owned was soaked in water and mold, and i do literally mean EVERYTHING. it was very warm in there too, like the temperature of a swamp. i was in a haze after that. i just remember sobbing, like genuinely heartbroken sobbing, as i wandered around looking at everything that was ruined. my mom & grandpa had to go and get maintenance because i was just utterly useless, and they were equally horrified & said they'd never seen anything like it.

i managed to save some items that were irreplaceable (journals, notebooks, etc) and whatever clothes werent utterly soaked in mold. all of my cookware, my books, my laptop & desktop (i cried the hardest when i saw the desktop) - it was all ruined. we found out later that the water boiler in my apartment had a catastrophic failure while i was gone, which caused it to constantly send water back through the pipes, empty, and refill itself. my bedroom was directly above the boiler downstairs, so it got the most significant amount of damage. all told, i lost like 95% of the things i owned. it is possible that i could have saved more, but the amount of mold in that apartment made it a genuine safety hazard for me to even be in there, so i had very limited time to grab what i could. the cruelest irony of all that? my shithead ex-friend's room, which was on the other side of the hallway, was pretty much untouched. he lost absolutely nothing lol.

so immediately, i had to leave the state. i moved back to ny with my family. my mother - who had a stroke last year following a diagnosis of an exceedingly rare neurological disorder, AND had two separate brain surgeries to improve her quality of life - was in the process of getting evicted. the landlord didnt give a fuck about any of my moms situation, not her being disabled, not her being widowed, not her having 3 kids under the age of 18 to care for - he just wanted her out so he could increase the cost of rent on our house. at the same time as all this was going on, i got saddled with a $600 electric bill (likely caused by the water heater's malfunction), which neither insurance nor the apartment would pay, so it came out of my pocket. in addition, i found out in december that i was also getting laid off.

we had nowhere to go and couldnt afford to live anywhere in the tri-state area. we had no choice but to move somewhere much cheaper, and since my mom already had a friend living in a mid-atlantic state, we chose to move there. the eviction went through in january and we had less than 2 weeks to pack all our shit, find a place to live, and get the fuck out. needless to say, we were not successful lol.

we stayed in my grandparents 1 bedroom apartment for about a week, then all of us drove down together to stay with my moms friend in her 3 bedroom apartment (she has 5 kids, 3 of whom live in the apartment). my moms apartment, which was supposed to have been ready by january 31st, still had people actively living there. the property manager kept promising us it would be next week for the entire month of february, to the point that my mom got fed up and chose to rent a small house instead. the reality of being essentially homeless for that time was beyond horrifying, and having anywhere between 8-10 people in that house (my cousin also moved with us, but he stayed in a hotel for the first week) was more taxing than i can express.

but things have gotten a lot better since then. i also found a cute little house to rent just up the road from my moms, and its very cheap for its size. i still havent found a job yet, but thanks to what was essentially the liquidation of everything i owned, ill be ok for a couple months more. im slowly but surely repurchasing all the things i lost and trying to acclimate to the new environment. things are still not totally stable right now, but they are slowing down, and at this point thats all i can really ask for lol.

so yeah. if u were wondering why i suddenly stopped posting after literal years of posting every day, thats why LMAO

[shuadotcom]

Crush on You | HJS

❄ Summary: Joshua hates the idea of you being all alone for winter break so he wants to surprise you.

❄ Pairing: Joshua x GN!Reader

❄ Genres & AUs: Fluff, friends to lovers au, college au

❄ Rating: PG

❄ Warnings: None just Joshua being the sweetest

❄ Words: 3.3k

❄ Note: First fic of 2023! Big thank you to @toikiii​ for reading this over for me! This is an old fic of mine that I’ve been meaning to get around to rewriting when I was feeling especially soft. My brain simply would not rest and I literally couldn’t work on any other wip until I got some of these Joshua feelings out. The swiftness at which he shot up my bias list since last year is unfair because I didn’t ask to be this down bad for him, yet here I am.

I told myself I’d start working on my Seventeen wips in the new year and here we are - soft hours for Joshua are open forever!

Being broke during winter break sucks. Being broke during winter break and alone sucks even more. Being broke during winter break and being alone and being in a whole different country sucks the most.

You plan on buying your plane ticket to go home for the break early on. You tell yourself over and over again that you’re going to get it months ahead of time. Of course what you plan and what actually happens are two different things.

September is when you’re going to get the round-trip ticket. If you get it out of the way three months in advance, you won’t have to worry about doing anything last minute or having to pay more as the day grows closer. You have the money in your account and as soon as you finish your homework for the week, you’ll sit down, get the ticket, and plan the trip.

Unfortunately, you make the fatal mistake of allowing all of your friends to squeeze into your dorm room to celebrate the coming weekend. Thanks to the half-full bottle of soju that spilled all over your laptop, you learn two things that day; one is to never let a group of college boys drink excessive amounts of alcohol in your dorm room. The second thing is to never let a drunk Kwon Soonyoung anywhere near your expensive things ever again. Ever.

October rolls around and after buying a new computer and making sure Soonyoung knows that he’s indebted to you for basically the rest of his life, you’re back to saving up again. That’s short-lived though when you leave your backpack, which just so happens to have most of your textbooks in it, on the train.

This time you mostly blame Seungkwan. There’s a new restaurant opening in Gangnam that he really wants to try and everyone else is either busy or doesn’t want to go. He has to bribe you with a free meal, but you ultimately agree.

The problem is, he gets so caught up in trying things and gushing over the food that you miss your train back to campus, meaning you’ll likely be late for curfew. He pays the bill and the two of you sprint to the train to catch the next one. Once you reach your stop, you have to push through the abnormally crowded train passengers to get out, and in the process, your backpack is forgotten on the seat you and Seungkwan shared and you don’t realize that your bag isn’t slung over either of your shoulders until the train is long gone. While, yes you blame the incident on your forgetfulness, Seungkwan had told you that he'd carry your backpack and then didn’t so it’s still partially his fault.

November is your fault, which you can admit. Dragging along as many of your thirteen closest friends as will go with you to a SHINee pop-up shop in Busan means more planning and money than you account for. At the time all you have on your mind is getting your hands on as many limited edition fan items as possible, but once you’re faced with the double-digit number in your bank account, irresponsibility and guilt settle heavily on your shoulders.

December brings on tests and projects almost nonstop which barely leaves enough time for you to sleep and eat, so your mind is on school and school alone. You’ve seen the holiday decorations and heard plenty of people talking about the upcoming break, but your homework takes precedence over anything else.

After months of excuse after excuse, and you simply forgetting, here you are now; alone while all of your friends have already gone home for break, most of them only having to hop on a train to get there. Barely anyone is on campus at all and the few students that did stay back are unfamiliar to you so you choose the solitude of your own room for the next week.

Your family doesn’t have the funds to get you a ticket, so your financial irresponsibility is your problem and yours alone. Of course, your friends offer to pay for your ticket home, which when you decline, their next suggestion is to let you go home with one of them, but you turn them all down on that offer too. You want them to enjoy their time with their families and not have to worry about their foreign friend tagging awkwardly along.

You regret your decision just a little bit as you trek through the freshly fallen snow to the bus stop. The fact that the school's cafeteria would be closed with most of the staff gone, hadn't occurred to you either, which is why you found yourself in the small tteokbokki place about fifteen minutes away from school on New Year’s eve.

You’re in the middle of grumpily stuffing your face full of rice cakes when your phone rings on the table. After glancing at the contact name and photo, you quickly swallow the food in your mouth before swiping your finger across the screen to answer the phone.

“Yeah?”

“Is that any way to greet your lovely friend?” A chuckle comes through the line making you scoff while simultaneously trying to ignore your rapid heartbeat.

“You're Joshua, you don't count.”

“Are you saying if I was Jihoon or Jeonghan you would've answered nicer?!” He gasps in faux offense.

“I don't know, maybe. Neither of them has hit me in the face with a door you know,” you taunt, trying not to laugh. You’ll never let him live down the fact that your first time meeting was due to him accidentally smacking you in the face with the door to your shared math class.

“How long are you gonna keep bringing that up?! I said I was sorry!” Joshua lets out a deep sigh and you can practically hear him sulking over the phone. “Anyway, where are you?”

“Tteokbokki,” you simply answer, not needing to explain where since he’ll know “Why?”

“Go back to your room.”

“What?”

“I sent you something and you have to hurry back, like, now.”

“Bu-”

“I'm serious you have to go now. I’ll time you and if you aren't there in less than twenty minutes, I'm sending it back.”

“You can’t just unsend a mailed gift!”

The sound of the dial tone is his reply.

You usually aren’t one to listen to people demanding you to do things. You can admit to being pretty stubborn and petty at times and you can proudly say no if you didn't want to do something.

Well, unless the one telling you what to do was Joshua Hong.

You did a flawless job (in your opinion) of hiding the fact that you’ve, more or less, fallen for one of your best friends. All of your male friends were handsome and fun to be around, but there is something about Joshua that you can’t put your finger on, but it makes you feel so many things for him. His sweet smiles always make your heart practically beat out of your chest. His laughter makes you weak in the knees; the sound is like your favorite song. Anytime you sit close to him, you find yourself daydreaming of being more than friends, the urge to hold his hand always at the forefront of your mind.

Obviously, you haven’t told a single soul about this and you plan to keep it that way. The last thing you need is to disrupt the dynamic of your newfound family with a silly little crush, but you still can’t help the giddy feeling you get around him or the way that you tend to do nearly anything he asks of you.

Today is no expectation as you promptly stand up, throw away your trash, and beeline out of the restaurant and to the bus stop to go back to campus.

With your boots caked in snow, palms sweaty, and breathing labored from fast-walking to get here, you’re back at your building and rushing into your room. Upon stepping inside, you instantly note that it looks different than the way you left it.

Your walls, which are usually covered in posters, now have sparkly, silver stars hanging haphazardly around the room. There’s a string of blinking fairy lights hung up on the ceiling, a few feet above your head and there’s a candle burning that smells strongly of sugar cookies. Sitting on your desk is a small artificial Christmas tree complete with rainbow-blinking lights and a little gold star on the top. Your eyes only scan these things briefly before they land on the man sitting cross-legged in the middle of your bed. His phone is next to him, playing a soft R&B song that you can’t name, but it sounds nice. He’s wearing a red and white sweater and a glittery ‘Happy New Year’ headband. Joshua’s wide, bright smile completes the ensemble.

“Surprise!” Joshua bounces off your bed and throws his arms in the air.

You’re still standing in the doorway, unsure of what to even say. A jumble of things runs through your mind, but the only thing you manage to get out is, “How'd you even get those lights on the ceiling? You’re not that tall.”

Joshua throws his head back and laughs in response. “I show up here when I'm supposed to be at home and turn your room into what looks like the holidays threw up in it, and that's what you say to me?”

As if a switch is flipped, you snap out of your daze and kick your soggy shoes off, tossing your coat on the back of your desk chair and plopping down on the edge of your bed.

“Okay then, why are you not in California and how did you do this?” You try your best not to sound as giddy as you feel and ignore the somersaults your stomach is doing under your sweater.

“Well, as you know I did go home.”

“Yes, we all facetimed for Christmas I’m aware.”

“Don’t interrupt!” He playfully scolds, and it makes your face heat up. “As I was saying, I went home, but I was still thinking about you here alone and I just couldn’t stop imagining you sitting here with no one to celebrate any of the holidays with and I hated it. So, I bought a plane ticket and got back here this morning to surprise you. I actually didn’t know if you’d be in your room or not, but when I came by you were already gone so I let myself in and decided this was a better surprise than showing up with the decorations in my arms and making you put them up with me. Worked pretty well I'd say.” Joshua pats himself on the back and admires his work with a pleased grin.

“Okay… but why?”

“Why what?” Joshua sits on the bed next to you, your body going rigid. You try to create some distance between the two of you, the usual butterflies in your stomach going insane.

“Why did you go through the trouble of setting all of this up and leaving your family? During the holidays of all time.”

Joshua's face is suddenly serious as he turns towards you. “Because I know you. I know when you're unhappy, even when you try and hide it. You've been unhappy all month and I could tell. When you’re sad about something you get weirdly quiet all the time, whether you notice or not. You also get more agitated than usual and you stare off into space a lot.” He scoots closer to you ever so carefully. “We've known each other for two years so I've had plenty of time to pick up little things about you. I probably know more about you than you think.” Joshua shrugs and glances away from you. His tone has been casual, but you don’t miss the blush that spreads over his face.

“So… you ditched your family early to come back to school during break and spent your time and money on decorations for my room because you wanted me to not be unhappy?”

“Well, I mean you're my friend, obviously.” His face is still turned away from you, but the strain in his voice is noticeable. Seeing Joshua act so flustered gives you a boost of unexpected confidence, so you decide to see how far you can push this conversation. Admitting that you have a crush on him terrifies you to no end, but maybe you can gauge his feelings.

“But I'm also friends with Mingyu and Chan and they didn't go out of their way to do this for me.”

“Yeah, but they're not clever enough to think of doing this. And they're also nowhere near as nice as I am.”

“What about Wonwoo? He's pretty smart. And Seungcheol is actually the sweetest man I've ever met. If anyone would've planned all of this, it would've been him,” you say matter-of-factly.

Joshua finally turns to look at you then, clearly offended.

“What do you mean?! I’m very sweet! How about that time I brought you all of your homework and let you copy my lecture notes that whole week you were sick! And the time last year that I surprised you with EXID tickets for your birthday! And let us not forget all the food I’ve made and bought you when you have cravings! I’m so nice I don't know how you stand it! Seungcheol sucks." He puffs out his cheeks and crosses his arms, a pout forming on his perfect lips.

You have to turn your head and change the giggle you nearly let out into a cough.

“Well yeah, but Seungcheol always compliments me. He also makes sure that when he gets coffee for himself before our Tuesday morning class, that he brings me a caramel latte since he knows it’s my favorite. You've never brought me anything before our class.”

Joshua’s brown eyes stare into yours as you talk, his jaw clenching in annoyance, but you keep talking. “Oh! And he always holds doors open for me. Let's not forget what happened the last time you and a door were anywhere near me.”

“Not this again -” He groans out through gritted teeth.

“And, Seungcheol also makes sure any restaurants we go have plenty of nut-free options for my allergy and -” Joshua grabs your waist, tugging you forward and sending you falling against his chest. When you look up at him and your eyes meet, he hesitates for only a second before bringing his lips to meet yours.

He moves his hands up to cup your face and turns his head, aligning your lips at a better angle. Your fingers grip the front of his sweater, hands bunching up the fabric.

Kissing Joshua Hong is only something that you dream about and keep to yourself, but this moment, right now with him, is better than any scenario your brain has conjured up on its own.

The two of you lose track of time, nothing mattering except how soft Joshua’s lips are and how good he smells, and how warm his hands on you are.

It isn’t until you need to breathe do both of you pull back slowly, neither of you really wanting to do so. Once your eyes flutter open, they widen, the realization of what just happened hitting you. Joshua on the other hand looks much more relaxed - relieved even.

“I can’t believe you kissed me,” you breathe out, almost in a whisper, afraid that if you’re too loud you’ll wake up from what you’re still convinced may be a dream.

“I can’t believe you kissed me back.” The two of you share a quiet laugh.

“Is that why you came back to do all of this for me?”

Joshua gives you a look that very much feels like a non-verbal ‘duh!’ “I thought it was obvious honestly. I’ve wanted to kiss you since I first met you.”

“With my bloody nose and all, huh?”

His pretty face twists in agony at your teasing. “You’re going to make me apologize for the rest of my life about the door huh?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Our kids are going to ask how we met and you’re going to tell them that their father nearly knocked you out and had to rush you to the campus infirmary and how for the rest of the day I stalked you around school to make sure you didn’t randomly pass out because I gave you brain damage.”

You chuckle at his dramatics, telling your heart to stop trying to leap out of your chest at the idea of kids and a future with Joshua. You’ve been more than friends for less than an hour at least - you have got to calm down.

“Oh, before I forget, no more talking about Seungcheol like that anymore, okay? And I'm going to tell him not to bring you lattes in the morning because I'm going to do it.”

“But your classes on Tuesdays don’t start until eleven.”

“Guess I'll just have to get up early and meet you then. I’m going to be nicer than Seungcheol can ever hope to be. You’re mine now so no one can be nicer to you than me.”

“Whatever you say, Shua.” You roll your eyes at him, fighting back a giddy smile.

“Good. Now that that's settled, let’s pack a bag for you.” Joshua hops off of the bed and drags your suitcase out from under your bed.

“What? Why?”

“You wouldn’t let me buy you a plane ticket back home, so you're coming home with me,” he says as he bounds over to your closet. Just as you open your mouth to object, he puts a hand up. “You're not going to spend the rest of the break here alone. I got a round-trip ticket for myself and one for you too. The flight leaves tomorrow morning, so we should get your stuff ready now.”

Crossing your arms, you watch him casually look through your clothes. “And what if I didn’t like you back? You didn’t even know that I felt the same way about you.”

He only shrugs. “Honestly? I didn’t plan that far ahead. I just wanted to get to you so you weren’t lonely anymore and I’d figure it out from there.” He emerges with an armful of your sweaters, beginning to neatly fold them and set them in your open suitcase. “But now I don’t have to vanish off the face of the planet due to embarrassment and a broken heart which is good because I told my parents I was bringing you back. My mom is super excited to meet you.”

The thought of going home with your friends was awkward to you which is why you turned everyone down. The thought of going home with your used-to-be-friend-who-is-now-your-boyfriend makes you just as nervous, if not more, but even so, you don’t object as you join Joshua in packing your things and set your bag by your door for the morning.

The two of you spend the rest of the night cuddling, something you never want to stop doing with him as long as you live. When the countdown to midnight starts, you watch on your laptop as a new station counts down and as soon as midnight hits, Joshua’s pulling you into another kiss, this one just as magical as the first.

Your lips are still tingling when he pulls away and rests his forehead against yours.

“Happy New Year, Y/n.”

“Happy New Year, Shua.”

Sleep comes next for both of you, Joshua mentioning that the flight is pretty early and that you need your rest before dealing with the chaos of the airport. He rambles a little as you fall asleep, going on about wanting to take you to all his favorite places back home. Just hearing the excitement in his voice helps you decide that maybe visiting his family wouldn't be so bad. Especially if he keeps kissing you the way he does and looking at you with those soft, sparkling eyes. Hell, if he asked you to fly to the moon with him right now, you’ll likely say yes without a second thought and not regret a single thing. Not as long as you’re with him.

[lintujoki]

Today I was given to understand that I might be thinking about the wrong things. Perhaps I spend a lot of time on negative aspects and break down because of this. I want to try to start thinking differently, and I want to start by saying that it's been a little over a year since my feelings for Morgott began to open up. I decided to make today the day from which to start counting down.

Therefore, today I want to tell you why I LOVE Morgott

I found out about him at the end of last summer (then he was still Margit for me). Since Elden Ring was my first soulslike after Sekiro, the battle with Margit was remembered very vividly (he notably kicked me away). I had an interest in him and I spent the next week trying to figure out why he was either Margit or Morgott.

And this is his first positive feature

- He is MYSTERIOUS and arouses interest in himself!

Closer to autumn, I had a move to a new home and now I had to live on my own. I wasn't nervous about it, but somewhere on the subconscious level, such a change of situation was perceived as stress anyway (especially since I love my mom very much and was afraid that she would miss me). A period of change is always accompanied by temporary instability, and in those moments, thoughts about Morgott helped me. He is very big, strong and adult, and by his very appearance he seemed to symbolize stability, security and tranquility. This is even confirmed by his story, because he was able to protect Leyndell and ruled it for centuries. Thinking about him made me feel less lonely in my new home, I felt protected and calm

Therefore

- He gives protection and patronage

Life in the new home began with small problems: autumn came and it got colder, and I had problems with heating. More precisely, it was not there at all. The region in which I live is not very happy with the warmth, so by October I was already walking around the house in woolen clothes. To make it more fun for me, I started thinking that Morgott is obviously warm, because he is big, fluffy and can hug with his hands and warm. After that, my first sketch with him appeared: on it I sit with a laptop and watch a video with LilAggy's speedrun of all the bosses of the Elden Ring, and Morgott warms me and asks why he just stands inside the game and does not attack, to which I calmly answer that the streamer used a bug. This doodle was seen a year later by my close friend, and no one else. It's funny, pleases me and evokes fond memories, but I'm embarrassed to share it because it is... unsuccessful (if someone becomes interested, I can share it in private messages, just please do not judge strictly ahah)

Therefore, I say that

- It will always be warmer with Morgott!

I have problems with feeling insecure, I constantly feel defenseless. When this feeling starts to torment me too much, I imagine that Morgott is near and I feel calmer. I see in him a force that will not be directed against me, but with which he can protect me.

- He's strong!

Plus, thanks to him, I myself wanted to become stronger physically, and my stereotypes began to collapse, as I began to adjust myself that I was not weak, I could become strong and no longer be a victim and not feel like it

Therefore

- He's inspiring!

My perception of appearance has changed thanks to him. Since his appearance is quite peculiar, I had to get used to it, find more opportunities to see him. At some point I began to notice that I liked his facial features, big shoulders and long (very long) arms, his rough fingers and disheveled hair. And, of course, I love his tail. At the same time, all other aspects of his appearance were accepted by me and now look ordinary. Therefore, I can say that

- He teaches you to see more and teaches you to accept the features of appearance

When I feel bad mentally, in almost all cases it is the thought of Morgott or the opportunity to look at him that helps to cheer me up

- He can cheer you up in difficult times

Even after so much time, it is interesting to reflect on him, analyze, putting together aspects of his personality, like a mosaic. And after all, this is one of the main things that he has so sunk into my soul

- He is a multi-complex personality

The epic itself began at the moment when I read about him "He loved not in return, for he was never loved, but nevertheless, love it he did."

I think many people know the feeling that after that they wanted to show him what it means to be loved. In addition, I have been thinking for a long time about what it would be like to love unrequited, and could I love someone unrequited, but continue to take care of this person, because I know that this would make him happier and help him live better. And then I fell in love with him.

- He showed that sometimes even love, from which it is impossible to get reciprocity, can make you happier

The most interesting thing is that Leyndell, closely associated with him, is a place where it is always autumn, and the main development of my feelings also happened in autumn. Now, a year later, I began to rejoice, seeing that the trees turn yellow and orange, and the leaves fall off and cover the ground

- Thanks to him, autumn has become even more romantic!

The attached sketches are also about a year or more, you can see from them how my headcannons have changed over time

Finally I want to say a wish:

Love Morgott and don't think about the bad🌻🍁🍂

[morrisxn02]

IC TASK IV - INTERROGATIONS III

CHARACTERS Edward Morrison FBI AGENT#1 FBI AGENT#2 SCENE Traditional professor's office space. Wooden panels on all sides, a window directly opposite the audience, overlooking the Ogden campus and purple-pink, twilight skies. A large wooden table in the middle with three chairs, two on the left, and one on the right. On top of the desk is a laptop, a tape recorder, a lamp, and some stationary i.e. a notebook, some pens and pencils, et cetera.). Enter Edward, looking tired, with dark circles around the eyes. He greets the two FBI Agents with handshakes and hangs his trench coat on the chair.

FBI AGENT #1–

Good afternoon, Mr. Morrison.

EDWARD–

(taking the seat across from the agents, dropping his messenger bag on the floor) Good afternoon.

FBI AGENT #2–

Please note that this interview is being recorded.

EDWARD nods as though it is obvious.

FBI AGENT #2–

For the record, please state your full name, age, and relationship with the victim.

EDWARD–

With Greer.

FBI AGENT #1 looks at FBI AGENT #2 shooting him a knowing look as though she had advised him about something before the interrogation.

EDWARD–

Edward Rufus Morrison, twenty-one, brother.

FBI AGENT #1–

Mr. Morrison, I am sure you are aware that there have been developments to your sister’s case…

EDWARD–

(interrupting FBI AGENT #1) Which still haven’t been properly disclosed to either me or my sister.

FBI AGENT #1–

Mr. Morrison, at present, we are not allowed to disclose any information pertaining to the investigation of your sister’s potential murder.

EDWARD–

Yes, I've heard that a thousand times. And yet I still don’t know why the course of the investigation has been changed.

FBI AGENT #1–

Unfortunately, that is confidential information at the moment.

EDWARD–

So, you’ve just decided she was murdered? And didn’t tell anyone why?

FBI AGENT #1–

Mr. Morrison, your parents have been duly contacted by the FBI. Legally, they are the only people outside of the organization who are required to be informed of any news on the case. I’m going to ask you to calm down and stick to the questions.

EDWARD–

(raising his voice) Well, Greer was on seen. On campus. She’s alive.

FBI AGENTS stare at each other, confused. There is a short moment of tense silence, as Edward glares at them.  

FBI AGENT #1–

(uncertain) You saw her? When?

EDWARD–

(lowering his tone, voice still somewhat resigned) I didn’t see her. Jesse did. Jesse Hart and Milo Navarro.

FBI AGENT #1–

They told you this? When?

EDWARD–

Jesse told me a few days ago. It happened on the night of the power outage. October 1st, last year.

FBI AGENT #2–

That was over a year ago. Why did you not report it?

EDWARD–

(snaps) He just told me. Didn’t you hear what I said?

FBI AGENT #1–

Mr. Morrison, please lower your voice.

EDWARD–

(complying slightly) Greer was seen and you don’t even know about it.

FBI AGENT #1–

We will look into it.

EDWARD–

I’m sure you will.

FBI AGENT #1–

Mr. Morrison, this is new information to us, I’m sure you understand. It’s been over a year since she was last seen.  It is very unlikely this will change the course of the investigation… For now, this is the best we can do.

EDWARD rolls his eyes and shakes his head, heaving an annoyed sigh.

FBI AGENT #2–

Now, could you please detail your relationship with your sister.

EDWARD–

We were close.

FBI AGENT #1–

(annoyed) Can you elaborate further, please?

EDWARD–

We were close. We were together often. We were in the same social circles. Is that good enough?

FBI AGENT #1 nods, not bothering to disguise an eye roll.

FBI AGENT #2–

Mr. Morrison, did you have any reason to suspect Greer Morrison was dead before this news came to light?

EDWARD–

She. Isn’t. Dead.

FBI AGENT #2–

So, no…?

EDWARD–

No. Obviously not.

FBI AGENT #2–

And, besides the alleged sighting, are you aware of any information about Greer Morrison that has come to light in the past year that you haven’t shared?

EDWARD–

(pauses) (looks out the window) No. I don’t think so.

FBI AGENT  #2–

Have you witnessed anything suspicious on campus over the past year and a half?

EDWARD–

Aside from the two deaths, the mysterious fire, the campus-wide power-outage, and the arrest? Not that I can recall, no.

FBI AGENT #2 holds back a chuckle.

FBI AGENT #2–

You mentioned the fire at the Commons… Were you inside or near the building when the fire started?

EDWARD–

Yes. I was inside the building with everyone else.

FBI AGENT #2–

Do you know why some students were there when they should’ve been at the Commencement Gala?

EDWARD–

Maybe just to get away from our parents… I don’t know.

FBI AGENT #1–

Your colleague, Samantha Jiménez was arrested that night. I understand that you two shared a few classes. Can you detail your relationship with Miss Jiménez?

EDWARD–

We are– (he cleans his throat) were friends. We did a few of projects together every now and then.

FBI AGENT #1–

Ms. Jiménez’s attorneys work in a law firm managed by Mrs. Talia Rivera, your godmother’s wife. They are defending her pro-bono. Do you happen to know what led them to pick up Ms. Jiiménez’s case?

EDWARD–

(shaking his head) Media coverage, maybe. Everything surrounding Greer’s disappearance has been dealt with as much sensationalism as possible.

FBI AGENT #1–

(crossing his hands on the table) Right... So you have nothing to do with how they arrived at her case?

EDWARD–

I might have mentioned it to Talia in passing…

AGENTS exchange a glance.

FBI AGENT #2–

Another classmate of yours, Ms. Ida Clarke, sadly passed away the night of the fire. Were you two close?

EDWARD–

No. We talked, sometimes. In social gatherings, mostly. But I wouldn’t say we were friends.

FBI AGENT #2–

And where were you when her body was found?

EDWARD–

On the second floor of the Commons. Talking to Ollie Inoue. When someone yelled from the ground floor, we parted ways to see what it was.

FBI AGENT #2–

Very well. (nods and takes notes)

FBI AGENT #1–

Since you mentioned the deaths of Ms. Clarke and Ms. Klein, would you care to elaborate on your relationship with Penelope Klein, if there was any?

EDWARD–

There wasn't, I didn’t like her very much.

FBI AGENT #1–

Why?

EDWARD–

I don’t know. She was just... sort of a sycophant?

FBI AGENT #2–

And what about your sister… Was she close to her?

EDWARD–

(sighing) Not really. I think Penelope Klein always though she could be like Greer. She always had a sort of competitive aura when it came to Greer. (shifting in his seat) I mean, I don’t need to tell you that Greer has always been popular. Everyone loves her. Penny seemed to think that she could be like her… Like, after Greer disappeared I feel like she tried to become the next Greer. (pauses) I’m rambling. Forgive me.

FBI AGENT #2–

No, the more insight the better.

FBI AGENT #1–

Do you remember what you were doing when Penelope Klein was found at the chalet?

EDWARD–

I was asleep. There was a black-out and she started bossing everyone around to try and get the light back on. I didn’t want to help her because, again, I didn’t really like her and I hate being bossed around, so I just went back to the bedroom.

FBI AGENT #1 nods.

FBI AGENT #1–

Finally, Mr. Morrison, before we let you go… Over the past year, have you gotten any anonymous messages?

EDWARD–

(after a long, tense pause) Of course I have. My sister is missing… I get prank calls all the time.

FBI AGENT #2–

We mean threatening ones? Or with… leading information?

EDWARD–

(picking at his nails under the table) It’s hard to tell what is truth and what isn’t at this point, but nothing I would consider particularly relevant.

FBI AGENTS exchange a worried glance.

EDWARD–

(shaking his head hurriedly, stumbling over  words) I’ve deleted everything. I think someone’s just trying to tease me.

FBI AGENT #1–

(skeptically) Well, if you notice anything strange, don’t hesitate to report it.

EDWARD nods.

FBI AGENT #2–

(closing notebook, stopping the recording) This is everything. You’re free to go. Thank you for collaborating.

FBI AGENT #1–

And we’ll promise that we will look into this sighting you’ve mentioned.

EDWARD–

(gathering his things, getting up) Okay. Thank you.

Exit EDWARD.

End of scene.

[thegodthief]

When I saw the length of entries in The Memoirs of Papalo Palo were considerable in yesterday's updates, I realized that AO3 would probably be a better home for the project. (That and I don't have any backups of it.) This morning I created the new work and copied all twenty-seven entries as chapters to an ongoing work.

Image Caption: "Language: English Words: 28,903 Chapters: 27/?"

Two-thirds of those words were written yesterday, over the course of the day as I played FFXIV on the desktop and had a text editor on the laptop to write the posts as I went.

I am stunned.

I am crying.

The idea of Papalo Palo came about as a "You know what would be fucked up make a good story? What if...", and the main points of the story unwound into the past from there. As I started playing the Lalafell character, Dter encouraged me to start writing a memoir of the character for others to enjoy and so I could stop telling her the story as I went. Sure. Why not? It would make good typing practice, anyway.

Papalo Palo reached CNJ 30 in one day without any help of gear, buffs, or hacks. FFXIV has been reworked to get new players to the end times end game as quickly as possible, after all. When I got the white mage job stone on him is when I realized that the story of Papalo Palo was going to be much bigger than just something for me to kick around. I created the side-blog, told no one of what I was doing, and threw everything in the wind.

Y'all know I'm still stalled on Book Two. It has been over a year since I last posted a new chapter, and the draft sits there and mocks me for my hubris. Y'all know that I have been in a bad way since October of last year. I have felt that I didn't have anything in me anymore. I couldn't make anything. I couldn't do anything other than put one foot in front of the other. I felt like I was only existing to serve other people and that there was nothing left in me that could create joy, much less share it.

Book One was a NaNoWriMo project gone good that I published in 2020. It is also over 100,000 words. At the time, I had the hubris to think that I could duplicate that for five more books in a series that I never intended to create from the jump, but the characters in Book One kept begging me to keep it going.

I fell down a lot in 2021. And in 2022. I barely remembered myself in 2023. Then I fell apart completely in October of 2023, and it has taken until a few weeks ago for me to consider that maybe I should make an effort at continuing to live.

And through all of these dark times, I would stare at the draft and no words would flow. I felt like my skill was dead, and that I was rotting from the inside out.

"I have all these words stuck in me, and they are rotting."

The Memoirs of Papalo Palo was an attempt to see if I could write anything again. If no one knew who was behind the character, then there would be no expectations of quality or quantity. Papalo could write a few paragraphs of observation or pour out his heart to flood the page in grief. No one would care.

No one would care if Papalo wrote something every day or in weekend spurts. It's a fanfic after all, and fanfic writers are notoriously inconsistent with timing.

Today, after I finished copying everything to AO3, I permitted myself the arrogance of looking at the total word count. To be honest, I was expecting no more than 10k for the entire work to date. Not... that.

I'm still crying.

I still have in me to write. I can make the words flow. I can take the thoughts of a character and put it down in a way that others can read, that others can feel.

I'm not worthless. Not yet.

I'm going to continue with The Memoirs of Papalo Palo and post the entries here and on AO3. And maybe, I'll be able to face the draft of Book Two fix that thrice-fucked opening chapter, and get Melissa on her way again.

We'll see how I fare in the light of the Crystal.

[nanowrimo]

Back to School: Interview with Sarah Lile, Young Writers Program Educator

NaNoWriMo’s Young Writers Program helps over 85,000 kids, teens, teachers, and families set creative goals and tell stories they care about. We asked some of our amazing YWP educators to share how they take on the NaNoWriMo challenge in their classroom. Today’s advice comes from Sarah, a middle school ELA teacher in Richmond, Virginia.

Q: What grade/ age level do you work with? What type of NaNoWriMo group is it (whole class, club, homeschool, elective, etc.)?

A: Whole classes, grades 6-8

Q: How long have you been doing NaNoWriMo with your students?

A: Since 2019

Q: How do you structure the entire project (for example, do you start prepping in October and write in November, do you have kids work on it all year, etc.)?

A: We don't do much prep and I always regret it. Students use class time to write throughout November. Some students already have an idea of what they'd like to write, others are pantsers like me!

Q: What does a normal NaNoWriMo day look like for your students?

A: Arrive to class and settle in, open laptops and begin feverishly typing!

Q: How do you set and manage word-count goals?

A: I allow students to set their own goals, though I've started to require no less than 7,000 words.

Q: How do you manage grading? Do you grade?

A: I ask students to submit an excerpt of their novel each week and post them on the wall in the classroom. This helps with accountability and sharing.

Q: How do you approach revision/ publishing (if at all)?

A: I don't grade their novels, instead they revise an excerpt for a grade and a public reading.

Q: Any NaNoWriMo tips or tricks to share with other educators? Hard-won lessons? Ah-ha moments?

A: Every year I wish we had done more prep.

It's more fun when I write WITH them.

Students really like it when I read their work, so the excerpts are key.

My writers always hit a wall at some point, but I trust the process (and tell them to just keep typing) and the NaNoWriMo tools and they always get through it! They are natural-born storytellers.

Q: Have you ever run into resistance from your administration about doing NaNoWriMo, and if so, how did you manage it? What do you say to people who don’t see the point of having students write novels? 

A: Thankfully, no. I do send the Common Core standards to parents and admin so they see how this aligns.

Q: What are the most meaningful things you or your students take away from the project? What's your best NaNoWriMo memory?

A: That they CAN DO IT! The first class that participated set their own goals and wrote feverishly every class period and during the weekends. One student was out of town for the last couple days, sick in a hotel bed, and stayed up to meet her goal. Her parents were absolutely amazed at her commitment.

Q: Anything else you'd like to add?

A: In order for this to really work, students need to write everyday. It's hard to keep momentum over weekends and especially over a week-long Thanksgiving break. I'd love advice on how to keep students writing at these times—maybe set short term word count goals?

Sarah is a middle school ELA teacher at Sabot School in Richmond, Virginia, a progressive Reggio-Inspired school for children ages 2-14. She is a wife, mother, dog-mom, writer, food-lover, and amateur potter.

[mysoftboybensolo]

New Information on Freddy's part, David Friedkin, in "Masters of the Air"

While researching for my upcoming David x Audrey fic, I came across some new information from Family Search, and I thought I might share. If you want to look at these for yourself, I would recommend looking at them on a desktop or laptop, but if you are on your phone or your eye sight is not that good, not to worry, I am going to give you a good summery of what is here. David's page (x) Audrey's page (x), and my original post about the pair (x), which I recommend you read because I will refer to this post.

So, I was trying to figure out what their religions were, since one site says David is from Russian Jewish parents, while another says just Russian. Audrey’s religion is some denomination of Christianity, because she was seeking an annulment, which is something only Christians are able to do. But before I get to the clarification on David’s religion, let’s look at what Audrey’s page provides. There is a form that is called “United States Census, 1930”, and we see that she has a brother who is three years older than her, and that her parents are natives of New York, where she grew up.

David had the same form, showing he had a younger brother who is seven years younger than him, and we get more information his parents. They came from a village in Russia called Gormel, and the population at the time they would have left was 55% made up of Jews, which confirms his Jewish background. We know that at the age of 18, he was single and seemed like he was still living with his parents, not unusual given that it was a norm back then. His page also has a form that is called “California County Birth and Death Records” which again, confirms he died on October 16th, 1976.

The thing that got me excited was seeing their marriage certificate, which is under both of their names. It was little hard to read, so I’ll help you guys out. Under their names, it shows where it was that they were living at the time in LA, and the little scribble between the address and her name is “Beverly Hills”. Below that they write in their race and their “age at last birthday”; under David’s it says “33”, which makes sense since he was born on March 8th, and under Audrey’s says she was “22” when they were married. It’s strange that some site, like IMdB claims her birthday is January 15th, 1914, and that she was born in Kansas City, Missouri, which is clearly information on her husband rather than her, since she was from Buffalo, NY, and clearly not born in 1914.

It also states what their occupations were at the time; David has written “1st Lt. AUS” which means he was a 1st Lieutenant in the “Army of the United States” at the time he was married, and going even further, has been in the army for at least 2 years, as one doesn’t usually earn the title until they are 18-24 months into service.  Audrey was an actress at the time, that I did know from the website, but what was not clear was where she was working from, and she states that she is under contract with Paramount Pictures, which is a neat factoid to know.

The interesting thing here is their status at the time they were married. Audrey’s says that she was divorced, but on this site (x), it says her first husband, Arthur Hightower, had died before the annulment had finalized. So, I think what happened was that the annulment had went through and then not long after, he died. And since the only options were “Single, Widowed, Divorced”, she technically had to say she was divorced. Under David’s name, this was brand new information to me, says that he was once married before. This was unusual considering that on his wiki and IMdB page, it doesn’t say he had been married before Audrey. So, this is what I think may have happened, and it's just pure speculation; just like Audrey, he had married young, but unlike hers, it ended as soon as it began, and was such a tiny blimp in his history that it wasn’t even mentioned anywhere else. And just to the right of this, you can see that they were each other’s “2nd marriage”.

Further down, you can see that their witness was Audrey’s mother, which is funny because when I was writing that scene, I had Viola here as their witness before knowing that. Again, this makes sense, as Viola had traveled with Audrey to Hollywood and they were living together. Also, I had this revelation when revisiting the sites, that their first son, Gregory, is a reunion baby. He was born on May 23rd, 1946, and WW2 ended on September 2, 1945, nine months apart. Coincidence? 🤨

Is it a bit much for a fanfic? Maybe, but given that a 9-part series is coming out with this figure in it for however long played by an actor of whom many people are watching this series for, inquiring minds are going to want to know this story.

Tagging: @freddycarterus @purpleyin

[asofspades]

So this year I finally had to get a laptop after basically a decade of using hand me down laptops that barely worked, it was time plus I'm on my 3rd master degree and my old laptop had screen issues and also couldn't update past windows 8.1 which made everything overly complicated.

Now, I've been thinking about getting either a tablet or a graphic tablet for a while so I can start doing digital art as well, seeing as I just got a 500€ laptop because I needed it for college and work getting an iPad or something similar is kind of out for the question.

However, my brother just informed me he's getting a new upgraded PC for himself this Christmas, not because his doesn't work but because he's a PC gamer and kind of needs more memory but his old one can't be upgraded anymore, and he told me he's going to let me have his old PC once he has the one one, which means I now can get myself a graphic tablet that I can plug into the PC. Like, I could get it and use my laptop but I honestly don't want to fill it with too much stuff since I want it to last a good while for work/college.

And now I'm happy, and also having things like this planned helps a lit because we're 7 people in my house and Christmas traditions where I live include children thinking all gifts are brought by Santa and the Three Wise Old Men and my sister's are still at the age where they believe in that so gifts have to be kept a secret between the 5 adults in the house and thus have to be purchased early, around late October/early November so everything arrives before Christmas and we have time to wrap everything up while they're still at school.

And also, since I only wanted to get a videogame, four mangas and a book this Christmas (remember we have two different festive days where we open presents and the second one is supposed to be the one where the most gifts are received) asking for something else that's more pricey helps me avoid my parents buying me things I probably don't want/need/like just because they feel I'm getting the least stuff after my Grandpa (he's almost 90, he gets like socks and a book or two, and depending on the year maybe some slippers or a new pijama). Plus, my brother usually gets like super expensive stuff because he cares less about spending my parents money than I do apparently, we're talking high end padel rackets, high end padel shoes, some expensive shirts or t-shirts, mechanic keyboards, expensive gaming headphones and a gaming microphone, last year he got an iPhone as well. That sometimes makes my parents realise that I've been buying my own Xmas gifts for like 2 years because they always want to limit prices for me, like, I'm sorry I want to get 5 books and 4 manga volumes for Christmas and hardbacks are 20€ upwards(?).

Anyways, I'm super happy because I've been doing some research and there's some good graphic tablets for people who don't work exclusively on digital for really good prices under 100€.

[wetthandss]

The Creature that Opened the Door

(parody creepypasta)

It is a dark night on October the 31th, 2023. The darkness that fell across the land on this night was no ordinary darkness. This was a darkness that was all-encompassing, with the ability to absorb all light that dares stray within it, where the tall, looming street lamps watching over the lifeless street, streaked with roadkill and dried blood, would flicker as if shivering from the cold, cold absence. The cowardly moon was non-existent, hiding from the horror that would be inflicted onto our unexpecting world. Never before in human history was there a night akin to this one. This was an event, an event for the darkest terror that will show its bare body to humanity to prove that fear is more real than we thought. It was a darkness that now makes the very lights in my room flicker, as I sit here and type in an adrenaline-fueled craze to you, creepypastaforums.net, in what could very well be my last moments, as one of these nameless terrors has come for me. 

Before I can even speak of the unknowable grotesquerie intruding  so rudely upon my typically safe and comfortable existence, I must tell you the full story that has lead up to this point, of I, in my Pikachu™ pyjamas, a character from the Pokémon franchise by Game Freak Incorporated and Nintendo Company, Limited, cowering on my grey bed sheets surrounded by a fortress of grey pillows and tented within my grey blanket, typing frantically on my HP Laptop 15-dy2xxx. The panic in my heart is so great that I’m afraid that the fear contained within the electrical currents of my fingers as I slam them onto the beige metallic keys will pass deep into the system, such that I may overload the 11th Gen Intel(R) Core(TM) i5-1135G7 @ 2.40GHz, 2401 Mhz, 4 Core(s), 8 Logical Processor(s), and cut my desperate and urgent message to the people of this forum short. It is my greatest hope that this does not occur before I can retrieve your aid, so I will write with the utmost brevity and in the most economical nature I can muster. 

You may wonder why this is my first route of attaining help, so I give you this; I come to you only because I truly believe that you, the internet creepypasta community, will believe my story. You, who are accustomed to reading fictional stories like this on a daily basis, I assure you this is no fiction. What you are reading is very very non-fiction, and the current events that will transpire in the rest of this post are in fact happening to me at this very moment. If you are reading this… Please continue reading to the very end. I request your help immediately with these very pressing matters, threatening my very life with death; or worse. However, to truly help me with my dire plight, the context of the day must be established. 

This morning was a morning like any other. At eight o’clock ante meridiem, central standard time, I awoke from a pleasant dream. In that morning’s episode of wistful sleep-fantasy, I was farming oversized pieces of candy corn in a wide, flat and halloween-coloured field. Upon waking, I reflected on what this could mean, as I am a believer that dreams are the transporters of messages from our subconscious to our conscious selves (Criticise me in the comments all you want, I do not care and will block with impunity). I believe that I had this dream due to my affinity for the Halloween season, which with today being the day of October 31st, has reached its climax after much anticipation. Ever since I was but a wee babe toddling in the streets, I have loved the holiday known as Halloween. Being not just socially allowed but encouraged to dress in a thin plastic mockery of my favourite fictional characters such as Batman™ from DC Comics, Incorporated and Bumblebee™ from the Transformers™ franchise owned by Hasbro, Incorporated. Now, at the age of eight, my interest in Halloween has not dampened. I consider it my favourite holiday, and over the years the joy of the season has only increased exponentially.. 

After waking up from the dream, a slow process that took around 20.2 minutes before I was able to rip my lethargic body off from the grey bed sheets, wearing my signature Pikachu™ pyjamas of course. I drank the goblet of water waiting for me at my bedside desk and stood up. I took in the familiar sights, sounds, and smells around me. My black glass desk was exactly where I left it last night, against the wall and at the corner of my bed, where I set my various items that I make use of while lying in bed at night, such as my water goblet, my books, and this very laptop that I write this urgent message to you on. I do a lot of my professional work at this desk, and it has served me very well over the years. My tall cupboards were set against the far wall, containing my favourite paraphernalia from various children’s toy franchises and video game memorabilia. The most notable of these assorted models was my LEGO™ collection, which I am quite proud of. It contains many models of my own making, such as a giant clam with an engine on its shell or my masterpiece, a cool aeroplane flame decal on its sides. 

A second, larger desk sits across my bed, set against the wall opposite my bed. Taking up the entire surface of the desk at its top is a glass terrarium, the comfortable warm home of my beloved pet lizard, Bad Omen, who needed his terrarium’s light turned on each and every morning. I glided deftly to the terrarium, and reached behind to flip the small lightswitch that activates his heat lamps, which brings beautiful light and warmth to his utopian little world. As I leaned forward, I noticed something very wrong with Bad Omen. While usually he would be lying there, poking his head out from the small rock-like dome he enjoys slumbering within, his angry eyes closed shut until his very own personal sunrise, now he was lying with his entire body out of his rock-like dome, and lying on his back rather than his belly. His eyes were wide open and hyperrealistic, which is actually considerably normal considering he is in fact a real lizard, and for the rest of the circumstances surrounding the orientation of this poor lizard, and for whom I must repeat again his name is Bad Omen, and whose eyes were bleeding profusely, having already filled a few millimetres of the tank. The blood continued to pour out, I thought it must have been going on for hours before my waking. I screamed and pulled away from the tank, beginning to wail for my loss. 

My dear mummy heard my cries, and swiftly rushed into my room to check up on me and investigate  why I was screaming. The first thing she saw as she came into the room was my wide open mouth, my uvula undulating with the force of my screams, big stupid infant tears streaming down my face from my wavering and watery pathetic eyes, bloodshot from the raw emotion pouring through them. The second thing my mother saw was that which my nimble index finger was pointing towards across the room, to Bad Omen’s terrarium, where he lay dead in a pool of crimson. She, too, could not help but scream at the sight, but her senses caught up with her and she ran from my room to get her forklift. She drove down the hallway and into my room, and used it to lift the terrarium up and transport it from my room. As the sight of my dead pet left me, I stopped crying, and as my mother came back to my room she held me, comforted me and let me breastfeed from her teat. I quickly calmed down, and wiped the remaining fat tears from my eyes with the yellow sleeve of my Pikachu™ pyjamas. My mother patted me on the head and promised me an excellent breakfast, which she had just finished and laid out on the dining room table. 

I followed my mother out for breakfast. She was not lying, my mother had indeed constructed a magnificent feast, which was laid out expertly on the table. The blue and white floral tablecloth was spread out smoothly, the gorgeous background for a banquet of Honey Smacks™ cereal (property of Kellanova) and a tall goblet of orange juice. I sat at my end of the table, and waited for my mother to seat herself at the other end. For five minutes I waited, drooling from my eager and hungry mouth as she walked to the other, very far end of the dining table. The thought of my freshly deceased pet left my mind as the chemical smell of the cereal wafted into my nose, my olfactory senses overloaded with the smell of 40.4 grams of sugar. My mother sat down across from me, shooting off her flare to signal me to begin eating. The next 4 minutes were spent consuming the cereal and juice, which I enjoyed immensely. This was my standard Monday breakfast. I also did not have school today, nor would I have school until Wednesday, which is tomorrow days away at the time that I am writing this dire warning to you, but I am afraid that I may not survive to the next day, as the beast, whatever it may be, whatever combination of horrors the universe has in its utter cruelty hath given to me, is at my door. It is however of the utmost importance that I continue to tell you the sequence of events that lead to the present moment, so that you may aid me, or, if the worst comes to pass, not make the same mistakes as me. 

After I had finished breakfast, my mother walked back to my end of the table and wiped my chin, specked with milk and orange juice, with a tissue. She shot the tissue into the trash can as if she were a professional basketball player throwing a professional basketball into a professional basketball hoop. This amused me, I found it humorous to treat a waste object such as a used tissue as if it were a sports ball. I giggled joyously, and my mother reciprocated the emotion, giggling to herself. It was a grand sight to see her smiling. These days, in the cold autumn in my hometown of somewhere in the northeastern United States, the clouds grey the skies for weeks at a time, the sun taking a vacation from its work upon the world and leaving many of us to fall into a spiral of grey-triggered depression and melancholy. This affected my mother annually, who had enough on her plate. She had a very busy day job as a waitress in a local cafe, and as a drive-thru manager in a local McDonald’s™ franchise, and as a delivery driver for Amazon™, and as a barista in a local coffee shop, and as a baker in a local bakery, and as a preschool teacher in the local preschool. Her mood had, I admit, rubbed off on me as well, but now that the long weekend was sinking in I was made happy, despite the fright and grief of the morning. 

This would soon change to the worst once again as the day would progress. Despite not having to attend school that day, I still had a mountainous pile of homework to do, arranged in a stack of paper. Dozens of sheets of coloured construction paper waiting for me to stain them with foul-smelling markers, listing my favourite foods, people, and testing my knowledge of some basic verbs of the English language, which I am quickly becoming highly proficient in. This stack of papers assigned to me was based at the floor, and was constructed upwards so far that it towered over my head. I was not intimidated. Gracefully I reached up, my feet erecting themselves onto their tippy-toes, and took with great precision a single sheet of orange paper from the very top. As I turned the paper over, to my horror, there were no fun educational instructions on its face, but a charcoal drawing of some horrid obscure creature resembling a dog with eyes lined down its neck. Disgusted and frustrated I crumpled the paper in my fists, deducing that my homework must have been sabotaged by a fellow classmate or perhaps my mother trying to play one of her classic “Halloween tricks”. 

As I stole another sheet of thick, sharp paper, green this time, from the peak of the sensitive mountain, an avalanche was compelled by gravity and the slight force of my pull to collapse onto me. I toppled to the ground in shock. As the papers flew about me and floated to the floor, I saw that there was that very same shadowy canine monster pressed upon each and every paper, my homework was no longer. I was severely perturbed. I gathered up the papers and threw them into the dark, rank pit of the trash bin. Good riddance to these abominable things. I set out to interrogate my mother about these papers, but she granted me no answers, insisting that I had vandalised my own homework. I took her to the trash bin to demonstrate that the homework had been replaced by the black scrawls, but I was utterly flabbergasted when I discovered that the papers, all but none, had disappeared. My mother chastised me for distracting her as she was just heading out of the house to work, and I felt a hot wash of shame flow through my body as I considered her words. Was I losing my mind? Had it all been a hallucination, inspired by the tragedy of my poor sweet pet Bad Omen’s death in the night? I shoved the thoughts from my head, and instead reflected on a newfound triumph. There is no homework, so I am free to do whatever I please for the rest of the day! 

I decided I wanted to play some video games on my Apple iPad™. My favourite video games at this time are Minecraft Pocket Edition™, Roblox™, and Skibidi Toilet Attackers (Season 15), a classic from the old internet. I ran gleefully to my room and slammed my door behind me, and threw myself onto the large blue bean bag resting limp in the corner of my room. My iPad™ is left beside it, for my own convenience. I pick it up and turn it on, then I navigate, using my fingers on the smooth touch-screen display, to find the Minecraft™ application. Upon finding the desired application, I pressed my finger to its icon, a signal to the domesticated machine in my hands that there is something that I want, that it can and will provide me. It understands, and obeys like a whipped horse. Minecraft™ opens to its title screen. Nothing was amiss so far, however, you will soon see where things went so tremendously awry. I pressed the “single player” button, and found my existing Minecraft™ world. 

You see, in Minecraft, players explore a blocky, procedurally generated, three-dimensional world with virtually infinite terrain. Players can discover and extract raw materials, craft tools and items, and build structures, earthworks, and machines. Depending on their chosen game mode, players can fight hostile mobs, as well as cooperate with or compete against other players in the same world. Game modes include a survival mode (in which players must acquire resources to build in the world and maintain health) and a creative mode (in which players have unlimited resources and access to flight). The game's large community also offers a wide variety of user-generated content, such as modifications, servers, skins, texture packs, and custom maps, which add new game mechanics and possibilities. 

I was not playing with any of these modifications, but my own personal world, which I have been constructing for two years now. Upon entering my world, I appear in the game-world exactly where I had left off last time, as expected. I had just finished harvesting my crops, a 9x9 plot of wheat with the block in the centre replaced with water to keep the plants growing quickly. The wheat was in my inventory, a space that contains all the items that I pick up during the course of the game, but there was something… Off about it. My eagle-like eyes picked up on the subtle difference in the pixel art sprite of the “wheat” item. I wondered to myself if this was an update, or small patch that had been made to the game while I was gone. I brought the screen closer to my inquisitive eyes and peered at the wheat sprite. There was indeed something different. It was animated, with a swarm of small dark pixels that resembled bugs seeming to crawl all over the bundle of wheat. I was confused, but thought that perhaps this was part of some Halloween update, as the Minecraft™ developers have been known to do in the past, which may add some unexpected and creepy features and minor changes to the game to fit the theme of the Halloween season. 

At this, I was excited. However, when I attempted to craft my wheat into bread, by placing three wheat in a horizontal row on the 3x3 crafting grid on the crafting table, the bread came out looking mouldy and gross much like the other Minecraft™ item known as a poisonous potato. This I also assumed was part of the update, but as I brought the bread into my inventory I saw the name of the item, dread filled my heart. It was not named “bread”. It was named “Narrator, you have been CURSED”. I screamed and threw my iPad™ across the room. How did the game know my name was Narrator? Nowhere did I feed the machine this information, even the parental controls on the device do not reference mine or my mother’s real name anywhere. The traitorous device shattered into 1 million pieces upon colliding with my metal bed frame. I was not distressed by its violent demise. No longer did I ever want to look at the thing. I left the sharp metal and glass shards dispersed on the multi coloured shag carpet. I had no spoons left for the terrifying happenings and goings on of the day. I simply required a short rest. I decided to take a nap in my bed. 

I hastily climbed right into it, and pulled myself under my thick grey blankets. I realised now that I was still wearing my pyjamas from last night. They were a comfort object for me, as I have had them for a long time, since I was but a babe, an infant as it were. When I was a red squirming infant, my mother bestowed upon me these pyjamas, but due to an ordering mixup they were far too large for my infantile size, so I eagerly awaited my entire youth to grow taller, wider, fatter, so that I could one day fit within the yellow frame of the itchy fabric. On my eighth birthday, just last year, I was able to fit the pyjamas on. It was the happiest day of my life. I will someday outgrow it, the wrists will some day get tighter, the hood will pull shorter, but for now, I was in a blissful realm of cosplay completion that I could enjoy for two years more or so. I drifted off to sleep, and began a dream taking place in the Pokémon world, with myself placed in the role of the Pokémon trainer. 

I was in the hometown of the main character of the franchise, Ash Ketchum, in the small settlement of Palette town in the Kanto region (Of the Pokémon world, not real world Japan). My mother had just slimily kissed me on the forehead and sent me on my way to Professor Oak’s house to acquire and battle Pokémon creatures, and begin my long, adventurous Pokémon journey, where I would travel the land and collect gym badges from skilled Pokémon trainers. Upon arriving at Professor Oak’s house and laboratory, just across the street, I saw that the windows were blackened. I peeked inside. What I saw changed the nice, lighthearted dream into a cruel nightmare. Professor Oak had one of these Pokémon creatures, resembling an orange salamander with a flame-tipped tail, named Charmander, on a surgeon’s table, an audience of note-taking laboratory assistants surrounding him on bleachers. The lights in the room were off, save just a few bright white pointed spotlights beaming down on the Professor and the vivisected Pokémon. The Charmander looks towards the door as I peek in, and whispers, exasperated; “Char…” (as Pokémon are known to make vocalisations that sound similar to their names, and it is an open question in the Pokémon universe whether the Pokémon are named after their vocalisations or if it is the other way around. On one hand, it would be quite the strange implication if the Pokémon, especially wild ones, were privy to the names that humans give them, and conformed to speaking that name repetitively, even communicating with each other using that name. On the other hand, the existence of Pokémon such as Mr. Mime, who speaks his own name “Mr. Mime”, is even weirder to some, as well as many Pokémon names being a sort of pun or portmanteau representing the theming of a particular Pokémon). 

Professor Oak looks up at me and pulls his surgical mask down, and the smile on his face was indescribable. It was wide enough to reach the ears, and tall enough to make his nose non-existent. Half of his entire face was taken by the grin. He had no teeth, but disgusting gross revolting nasty yucky icky gross gums, and a short stubby blunt pink gross narsty tongue. His maw was a black hole, whatever entered, even light was lost, annihilated. He brought up the Charmander from the table and, pleading and squirming, it was thrown into his mouth, where it disappeared entirely. He pointed at me and laughed a ghastly (no relation to the Pokémon™) laugh, unlike anything I have heard before. It reminded me immediately of the iconic Kefka laugh from Final Fantasy 6™ and infamous for its use in the Sonic.EXE creepypasta. The indescribable horrible laugh sounded something like “woopwoopwoopwoop”. I snope awake from the nightmare. 

My Pikachu™ pyjamas were drenched with sweat, filled to the brim, making me resemble an inflated version of this Pokémon™. As I let my full-frontal zipper down, the sweat flowed out like a waterfall, soaking my bed with the foul yellow fluid. I ran out of my room, a grave mistake in my compromised clothing situation. My mother had brought my friend Aiden from school to our house. I completely forgot we had a playdate today, and there I was, naked down to my underwear, Pikachu™ pyjamas wrapped around my ankles, soaked in sweat, shocked eyes of a prey animal caught by a predator. My hair instantly turned white from fear. Aiden and my mother stared at me for a moment too long for my heart to bear, and then began pointing and laughed at me, just like Professor Oak in the nightmare. My mind broke, I defecated in my pants and ran back down the hallway. It seemed endless to me now, I felt that I could never escape the ever-increasing volume of the laughter, it became deafening in my ears. I ran back into my room and slammed the door just in time for my eardrums to avoid rupture, pushing up my sick gamer chair against the doorknob so that no one, or no thing, could come in. I ran and threw my soiled underpants into the laundry hamper. 

Majestically avoiding the broken glass from the iPad™, I shot under my bed, lying flat and heaving heavy huffing breaths. The sweat that had soaked into my bed earlier dripped onto me, puddling on the floor. My entire body was wet, like I was spelunking in a flooding cave. That embarrassing mistake, which on any other day would be one that could be laughed off and forgotten, today, I felt was the end of it all. By stepping out into the kitchen I had really sealed my fate. The moment that bleak thought sank into my mind the bedframe collapsed, strained by the weight of the sweat soaked into the mattress. My mattress fell onto me, a large wet sponge crushing me under water weight. I felt that I was again an infant being born, but instead of a warm loving parent to welcome me into the world there is instead a cold, dead mattress and a wet carpeted floor covered in broken glass. I heard banging at my door, two pairs of fists; my mother and Aiden. Adrenaline pumping through my eight-year-old body, I squirmed and squeezed my way out from inside the womb of polyurethane foam and came out screaming, glass shards ripping into my skin, just like the day I was born. The knocking on my door stopped in an instant. For a moment I thought that I should perhaps unblock the door and take a small peek out into the hallway. I did not do that though. Instead, I decided to play with my LEGO™s. 

I pulled the container containing my many thousands of LEGO™s out from the drawer. They were of many shapes and colours, made up of dozens of disassembled sets. I only kept a few complete at a time, which I displayed on my cupboards. The rest were doomed to be separated into disparate pieces until I built up the determination to pick through my vast collection one piece at a time and put them together very slowly. I decided to forgo preset instructions and construct an item out of my own imagination, which I believe to be grand and beautiful. I decided that I was going to construct a frog. As I began putting pieces together, I soon noticed that the entire house had been completely quiet. If my friend Aiden and my mother were home, especially if they had become scary monsters, surely there would be some noise. As soon as I thought this, as if responding to my thoughts, a large banging sound began pounding out from the kitchen. I started, my hackles raised and noxious chemical fluid began leaking from the glands in my evapatoria, coating my thoracic exoskeleton. 

As I took a panicked look around my room, I noticed something horrible. My LEGO™s were scattered all across the carpet along with the broken glass. They were everywhere, a random scattered arrangement with many blending into my carpet. My room had become a minefield. Panic began to sink in. If I for some reason had to move across my room very quickly, I would not be able to get across my floor without stepping on one of these devices of podiatric torture. I breathed out a sigh of relief that nothing so urgent was presently occurring, but was forced to suck the sigh back in when the banging from the kitchen began to move. It did not move down the hallway, or into another room of the house, no, no. The banging moved underneath the house, I heard the strikes of spooky feets against the metal of the air ducts and the bending of HVAC tubes. The air register in my room began to reek a foul odour, overpowering my own. The sound was travelling through the air conditioning system coming full speed straight towards my room. 

I looked at the hazardous carpet, covered in high-quality plastic caltrops. I gulped a tennis ball sized gulp and with my superior and powerful survival instincts I dashed across the carpet. My feet stung as they were pierced a thousand times over by irregularly shaped blocks, I could not prepare myself for each step. My velvety foot pads, free of calluses and hardship, were being put to the test. After 87 gruelling, sprinting steps, I made it to my door just as something burst forth from my air vent. I grabbed my sick gamer chair and, with a single tear shed for another deep loss this day, I threw it behind me. I dared not even look back at the thing as it came out of the vent. I was in the hallway, and slammed my door. Something wet and large locomoted across my floor, and I heard a high, gruesome screech from what I assume was contact with the deadly traps on my floor. I took the chance to run down the hallway, entering my bathroom. I had planned to just escape my house, but I glanced through the bathroom window and decided completely against it. Outside the window was that perfect darkness of terror that I had mentioned before, do you remember? 

If you do not remember how bloodcurdling and malicious this darkness was, please go back to the beginning of this call for help for a quick refresher, then return here. I will provide a bookmark within the post (or .pdf if you are receiving a document form of this) so you can easily find this spot again, and know where to continue reading. As I do not have time to format this plea into a proper narrative style, such as including breaks between paragraphs or indents (EDIT: Yes I do but do not get me wrong I am still in immediate danger as I write this!), some readers may find it difficult to read, as it would appear as a single long block of text. This is something that I would most definitely consider if I had more time, but there is something jiggling my bedroom door-knob at this very moment about to enter my room, and the only choice I have is to very quickly write this for anyone in the creepypasta forums to aid me with this situation, either by calling the police (the parental control settings on my iPad forbid me from making phone calls, even emergency ones, and regardless it lies in a million pieces) or by giving me advice on what to do, on the small chance that this has happened to anyone else on these forums, which it couldn’t have had, because as you’ll see as you reread my first few passages in this post, something like this has never happened before. Like I said a moment ago, I will also be distributing this distress signal as a .pdf file, just in case it can reach someone outside of this forum who can help. Without further ado, please refresh yourself with the nature of this night (horror, grisly, generally bad) and return here when you are done.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for refreshing yourself with the context of the darkness outside. Now you can definitely see why I decided not to escape through my bathroom window because of that [adjective] darkness. I must hunker down within the confines of my bathroom, the shield of the bathtub which could deflect even the most tempestuous tornado would surely keep me safe against the hideosity which had recovered from its painful folly and was now chasing down the hallway. I could hear as it slid against the walls, what I could only assume were the falling of wet feet or the sloughing of moist flesh slapping against the ground as it advanced upon my position. It stopped right outside the bathroom door. I slammed the shower curtain shut, and it heard me, as when the curtain made its shrieking noise the monster began to slam against the average strength wooden bathroom door with the ferocity of a cleaner shrimp on the ectoparasites of a fish. It was only a matter of time before the door began to splinter and shatter. The bathtub was strong. The bathtub was an impregnable fortress. I was safe, and the curtain put the thing out of sight. But my mind kept racing. What was I to do now? Wait here until the sun comes up? I had nothing to keep me occupied, I would certainly die of boredom. I knew I had to do something to get rid of the monster. 

I grabbed the shower head from its handle and turned it towards the bathtub’s bottom. I turned the water on as hot as the boiler in the house could handle, and waited until it scalded my skin at the slightest touch, and the room had filled with steam. Readying the handle like an outlaw’s revolver in a wild western standoff, I put a hand on the shower curtain. The monster outside began clicking curiously and I felt its hot corpus nearing my fingers. As quickly as I could, and averting my eyes, I threw the shower curtains open and pulled up the shower head, spraying the near-boiling water onto the creature. It screamed as the noise burst my eardrums, and I heard no more after that. The room filled with so much steam that I could not see even if I did not avert my gaze, I felt that my lungs were being filled with a smooth sea. As the steam cleared, I looked, and the entity was no more. There was nothing but a heap of white viscera on the bathroom floor with the laundry. I almost yelled with victory and shut off the shower after spraying down the last few pulsating cuts of meat on the stained-red tile floor. I was truly safe now, as long as no other STRANGE BEINGS intercepted with my normal life. 

In the shower I cleaned my foul clothing and my own body (not boiling hot of course). After my shower and drying I cleaned the LE™GOs from my floor and got comfy into bed, turning on my laptop to peruse the internet. I noticed that my window blinds were open, so I reached over to close them. My keen hawk-like eyes caught something outside that glinted ever so slightly in the darkness. It was a tall figure, about 6 feet tall, that is, 1.8288 metres in the metric system, or if you are a photon, 1.933057524E-16 lightyears. It stood out in my front yard, and would be completely invisible in the perfect darkness were it not for the slight lighting of the front porch, whose electric lantern was flickering. The figure had an average build, but one thing stood out from its silhouette. A completely cubic head. In a flash it ran to my window, pressing its perfectly square face against it. A sticky green ooze slapped against the window glass and dripped down it slowly. I saw now what the cube resembled, it was a forward facing sticky piston from my favourite video game, Minecraft™! 

From my months of scouring the Minecraft Creepypasta Fandom Wiki, I recognised this entity immediately. I dare not even speak its name here, if you do your own research you will realise what I saw stalking me through my window. I scrum so hard and my peripheral nervous system fired off as if shot with a bullet. I fell off my bed in pain and terror. When I looked back up, the sticky piston monster was gone. Taking its place was a completely different fear, a blank white face on a tall tuxedo-wearing body. It was the Slenderman, but before I could process this change, its appearance morphed once again, it was now Jeff the Killer, now Freddy Fazbear, Lavender Town, SCP-173, the Creepy Smiler, the Grabber, Shadow the Hedgehog, and finally resting on a warped reflection of my own face. 

Worms and weird fishes crawled and swam around my head, emerging from the monster’s nose, and they began to eat away at my face. Its eyes, identical to my own beautiful brown eyes, rolled back in its head, revealing an EVIL version of my eyes on the other side. It did not have a mouth, instead just a small circular hole that hot air blew out from like a leaking steam pipe, fogging up the glass so quickly it looked like it had been snowing outside. I began to smell blood, and looked down at myself. I had fallen on the broken iPad™ glass, and my Pikachu™ pyjamas and skin were cut and penetrated at various small points once again. I did not even feel the pain past the adrenaline pumping through my veins, so I shook the broken glass off and got back in bed, hiding under my covers. I heard the shapeshifter outside slide against the window, walking away, the fallen leaves crunching under its feet. I heard the front door ripped straight off of its wrought iron hinges. It was thrown across the yard I believe, as I heard a loud heavy thud against the leaves and grass in the distance. The footsteps continued into my home, I heard them echo off the kitchen walls, distant, then nearer, nearer and down the hallway and to my door. 

In utter abject horror I realised the worst mistake I would make this entire night. I did not block the door with anything. I threw the blanket off of me, but it was far, far too late. It is here that I must switch to the present tense, as what happens from this point onwards is currently happening to me right now, as I have repeatedly mentioned throughout this post. The ornate gilded doorknob is beginning to slowly turn, I hear its exasperated, monstrous breath bouncing off of the wood of the door with such force, it’s as if it were exhaling a cloud of moths onto it. Please, if anyone sees this, please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please transfer 6000 robux into my roblox account at Wettest_Hands messages are open n links below shows you how 2 do it easy.  I think it is the only thing that can stop this monster. K thx bye

[astrangergivingthestrangewelcome]

For the ask game!

💕 What is your favorite fic that you’ve written?

🥳 Why did you start writing fanfic?

🦈 Which character is the toughest to write?

💕 there are different things I really like about a lot of my fics, but honestly it's Blood Wisdom. Even though I've written 71k (!!) more of the story since Blood Wisdom and I think grown as a writer a lot since then... it's Blood Wisdom. One of the reasons that I started to write Strange Wonders was because I just thought that the ending of Dracula was lackluster. It's fine, but it starts off this Very strong psychological drama between Jonathan and Dracula and the way it ends... You might as well have car chase music playing tbh. Dracula doesn't speak past October 3rd. He's a total non-character in his own climax. It's cool that Jonathan kills him, but you're not in Jonathan's head in anyway... I wanted to end it as a psychological drama between Jonathan and Dracula and it was just really really satisfying to me to write. You know when things are just going great and you're sitting at your laptop and it's like you're in an elevated state of being and your energy is up bc you're writing it and it's like you're in your story and you start to feel the emotions you're writing for your characters? That's really what it was like for me to write Jonathan and Dracula's last verbal exchange. Like there's a line in that story where Mina says that Jonathan left the study in an agitated state and went out for a walk after he wrote his ending, and I included that because I left my living room in an agitated state and took a walk after I wrote that scene as well. I had just the best time.

And even though I would say New Woman has really given me the most valuable practice at adaptational plotting, Blood Wisdom was really the first successful time I had to sit down with a plotting problem and figure out "hey, I need these story beats from this moment. What do I need to do to get myself there?" It was a big moment of proving to myself that I could do that sort of a thing, and even though the story was only under 30k at that point in time it meant a lot to me that I had written a longer story with a beginning, middle and end.

🥳 The year was 2010, I was 10 years old and was very guilty telling fanfiction.net that I was 13 years old so that I could read James and Sarah fan fiction for PBS's American Revolution cartoon Liberty's Kids... I decided I wanted to write James and Sarah fanfiction myself and spent an afternoon writing maybe a page before I accidentally deleted everything and never started again because I was so discouraged. The next fanfic I would write and actually publish would be a BBC Sherlock fic in 2016. 🤣

I think my reasons are the same as anyone else's really. I get inspired by fiction and want to fill in the gaps. While this is not true for all of the fanfiction that I've written, I definitely tend to write my best work when I want to see something happen in a story that I don't get to see.

🦈 I've only ever written one scene with Lucy in it but I don't think she'll prove very difficult to write for. The character that I struggled with the most was probably Van Helsing. I know that Uncommon Horrors and the Resilience of the Dawn were in fact supposed to be one fic, but I switched perspective because I was like God damn I can't be in his head 24/7 anymore this is killing me. Just in terms of doing a pastiche of how Stoker has him talk. It's all right when he's just saying dialogue, but when the entire description of everything, dialogue and thought and all that has to be in that style as well... it was challenging. But I do like some of the lines that I wrote as Van Helsing. I am moderately satisfied with the end product but a lot of blood sweat and tears came before it lol.

Thanks friend!

[icy-dark-star]

Since today is the start of October and with that the return of Kirb(y)tober, I want to look back at some of last years drawings.

Prompt: Kirby

The very first one! I wasn't quite sure about the kind of style I wanted to go for since it had to be simple enough that I could continue like that for an entire month and I had just recently switched from FireAlpaca to Krita making that entire month a learning experience. Didn't help either that this was the first time in over a year I actually focused on art after having been sick for a long while again. The only thing I knew I wanted is that all drawings should be in black and white (and I guess gray too) but I was pretty loose with that. Finally talking about the prompt, I just wanted a simple piece of Kirby and Dedede being friends. Resulting in this drawing of Dedede throwing Kirby in the air!

Prompt: Mirror World

For this one, I wanted to draw Kirby and Shadow Kirby being friends and the best way to do that is by drawing them pretending their favorite knights. The background is based on Amazing Mirror's main hub.

Prompt: Dimensional Rift

Oh hey it's my first time drawing that headcanon and I really should make more. As a GalactaDad liker I want to say this would be art for that but it isn't. I just can't imagine that a Galacta that is still in crystall prison limbo would try to be someones parental figure and similar can be said about Susie. Instead I personally call this GalactaUncle content and I like that.

Fun fact: this drawing crashed my laptop close to completion

Prompt: Forgotten Land

For this one I wanted to draw Leongar because I like his design. So I drew him with Kirby and Elfilin who are trying to fit in with the beast pack. I think Leongar Kirby looks pretty cute!

Prompt: Reaper Butterfly

An obvious choice for that prompt. I wanted to draw Morpho with a scyth because I had seen art of that before and it's really cool. Including my first and (so far) only time drawing them with a cape.

Prompt: Weapon

This wouldn't be a good post reclecting on last years Kirbtober without including a Dark Meta Knight drawing. Since the prompt was weapon the focuse is on his strange sword that split Kirby into four different colored Kirbys(Kirbies?) and painted it in thier colors respectivley.

Prompt: Alternate Universe

My first time drawing cape!Susie that I did not forget about in my cape!Susie compilation. I wasn't sure what to draw for this one but I used this as an opportunity to be a little selfindulgent. I don't have anything more to say beyond what I already wrote in the original post except capes and dragons are really cool!

Prompt: Soul Boss

A bit of a strange drawing but because I drew Forgo as one of my old childhood toys (weird spongey thing that grows in water that happend to have a similar color to Forgo) I like it a lot.

I'm really curious what kind of stuff I will draw this year and if it can be compared to last years drawings. The only thing I know is that I want the style to be similar to this one. Now onto drawing day one!