#so on and so fourth i really do have a whole list of things i know i'd be liked more for doing but don't wanna

[egg-emperor]

everyday I think of the list of things I could do to make my blog appealing to more Eggman fans and the fandom as a whole but I just keep doing what I do with my weird funny little niche with one of the most unpopular versions of the character in the fandom because it makes me the happiest. all the super specific things I'm into posting might not be the most popular or preferred by people but I'm having fun and I really appreciate those that support me in it

[madschiavelique]

𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

summary : after the mission, all you can think about is Miguel, up to the point where you can't sleep because of all your thoughts. so you go to the strength and conditioning centre to try and exhaust yourself. but miguel pays you a visit there, and the training takes another turn...

content warnings : mentions of blood, (if there are any others please do tell so i can add them !), reader is obsessed, no use of y/n word count : 3,9k

note : this is dedicated to the beautiful @gollygothgal , with tension and hot miguel hehe. here's the 2nd part of the miguel 3shot thingy ! i hope you'll enjoy it. i am currently thinking about opening up requests for miguel, so if anyone has got a juicy idea they'd like to see written, don't hesitate to send it !! <33

chapters' list : 1 - lovebite 2 - late night training 3 - unexpected mission (nsfw) 4 - shameless (nsfw)

One punch.

He did it to help you, nothing more, there was nothing behind it, nothing unprofessional, nothing at all.

Two punches.

No, nothing, not even when you pulled on his hair and the moan in his throat vibrated into the bullet that was lodged in your flesh.

Three punches, the bag rocks.

Surely you're not the first person he's done this to, right? Dealing with this kind of wound in the middle of a mission must have been part of his daily routine after all.

Fourth punch, the impact spreads across the knuckles of your hand.

What if it wasn't? What if he'd deliberately decided to give you the special treatment of losing his time on the mission to take care of you?

Fifth blow, you were breathing hard. You stood back, your hands aching as they sponged your sweaty forehead with their backs.

It had only been a week since the last mission, and all you could think about was Miguel. Every five minutes the whole thing would start up in your head, sometimes so strongly that you felt it defined you. The spadassin of your logic kept chasing your imagination brazenly, it was trying to foam hollow ideas about him.

Was this scene really intimate? Or in your cruel lack of physical and sentimental affection had you simply imagined meanings for certain gestures that were pure delusion?

After the mission, while the anomalies were being properly stored, you went to the infirmary. There, you were asked questions that were still stuck in your head.

"What's that bite?" they asked about the two incisions Miguel had left in your skin, "and why is it all blue here? There's more ruptured blood than there should be..."

Apparently, the nurses had very rarely seen incisions of this kind on the bodies of other spider men or women, the only cases so far being on Miguel himself. The news had a strange effect on you. As for the clouds of bruises Miguel had left around the impact, the mere sight of them turned you into a red poppy.

So Miguel had never bitten anyone else on a mission to administer his painkiller... nope, let's not jump to conclusions!

Maybe gunshot wounds just weren't frequent on missions, haematomas or cuts were commonplace here.

After that, you were brought together with the others to report back. You hadn't been much help to the mission, apart from freeing Miguel from that foam. And after that? Too little contact and far too many thoughts.

The few times you saw Miguel, you only had time to say hello before he went about his business. The few words he'd say were "How's your wound?", and then he'd be off, busier than a minister.

And every day, as if you were watching the sky for a shooting star, you hoped. You hoped for a twinkle, a smile, just the possibility that your eyes might meet.

And every night, you would go over and over these tiny things that seemed gigantic in the eyes of your heart. And tonight, the same thing.

It was the hour when memories flood back, just when sleep goes on strike. You were trying to sleep, but you were tossing and turning, your mind replaying the whole scene like a power-point with multiple explanations attached to the images.

Just an focus, on the too pale clichés of a love story, on the state of mind of a woman without an alibi who dreams every night of a man whose existence you didn't even know existed until recently. Just a focus, for a little wink of survival, for all the fools, the love-sick, for all the victims of romanticism. Just a little wink, a focus.

You were tired of this perpetual propensity of your thoughts to redirect themselves to Miguel. There was nothing you could do, it was like trying to stop the sun from rising and setting. Because even with adamantine force, you can't stop the natural from happening.

You're more insignificant than the dust under his fingernails, you thought. Pull yourself together! Miguel has to look after a company of at least seven hundred people like you.

And it was true, Miguel had much better things to do than have anything other than a professional relationship with you.

You huffed and puffed in bed, sleep really not coming, so you put on your everyday clothes, prioritising comfort, and headed for the Strength and Conditioning centre.

If sleep didn't come, you'd wake it yourself. And so you found yourself boxing a sandbag. And honestly? It was harder than what you'd seen in the movies. Or at least, you felt some pain in your fingers as you punched, knowing full well that something was wrong, but not knowing what. The job of Spider Man wasn't new to you, but you had to admit that when it came to hand-to-hand combat, you missed some of the basics.

You glanced down at your hands, their knuckles reddened, and for a few seconds you remembered the ridiculously large size of Miguel's hand resting on your waist, then how it had felt when he had held your thigh in place, and you could have sworn that at that moment his claws had come out, sharper than a quarter of a strawberry.

If only it were possible for your mind to go on holiday, just to get away from the real Miguel City that had settled in your mind a little too quickly. You let out a grunt of frustration.

But your hair stood on end for a second - someone had just come into the room.

"What's wrong?"

You immediately turned your head towards the entrance, Miguel coming towards you. Your heart skipped a beat and you froze. For pity's sake, was this a dream?

The terrible thing about this mental affliction was that, although you visualised him more often than you should because you found that you spent less time with him, when the time came for you to interact as you would have dreamt of, the image of his red eyes went straight to the edge of your heart and you had the sudden feeling that you wanted to leave immediately.

If you come at any moment, I'll never know what time to dress my heart. Perhaps it was the extent of your desire that made you feel ashamed, and for fear that he would see it, hear it, feel it, you preferred to leave. But you stood your ground, giving yourself a mental slap in the face to pull yourself together as he came within a reasonable distance of you. There weren't enough moments with him, so you were going to make the most of them.

Your eyes widened slightly, because you'd never seen Miguel in normal clothes before. A hoodie with cut-off sleeves and loose jogging bottoms, simple and relaxed, but how could Miguel be relaxed? After all, he was Miguel.

He didn't look upset, which was a first. You were so used to seeing him frustrated, with that invariable weariness that accompanies him everywhere. On the other hand however, he was looking at you quizzically, and it was only then that you remembered that he had asked you a question.

"Oh, um," you said, resting the side of your fist on the bag, "I've never fought a war this tough, and to think that my enemy is just a sandbag," you smiled.

A sneer stretched his cheek, the thin crack between his lips letting a flash of light shine on his faintly glistening canines, and for a moment the image of them tracing your thigh came back to mind. It had left its mark on your mind, like a stain, and it won't wash off, no matter how hard you scrub your mind.

But a frown settled on his forehead, his eyes lowered to your fist.

"Hmm..." he said simply, crossing his arms over his chest.

You had to stop yourself squinting at them and keeping your eyes on his.

"Show me how you hit," he said.

You bit the inside of your cheek. Training with other spider-men and women was something you were comfortable with, the pressure was off, everyone learned a little from each other without judgement. But training in front of Miguel? The bar had been raised, the pressure of the stare oozing seriousness and criticism weighed on your shoulders.

Timidly then, you stepped away from the bag, and struck a blow with little confidence.

He nodded, the same retentive tt-tt being heard.

"Your fingers are in the wrong place," he raised his to show you, and as you mimicked his pose, he moved closer to you and took your hand to place your fingers correctly.

It was the first time you'd felt his hands naked against yours. They were far from soft, but they were warm, callused by time and effort. It seemed to you that he could lock your fist in his hand with ease, and the vision of his hands rearranging yours gave you the impression that every bit of skin he touched lit up and sparkled with little stars.

It must be that you couldn't mithridate your desires for him, your body and your thoughts returning to the charge to drink it all in, to take any crumb of his presence and his touch that you could get.

His annoyance seemed to return for a moment, his knuckles running over your reddened and cracked joints. He blew out a breath, and the frown disappeared.

"There, try it again", he said, barely moving away.

You came down from your little cloud and struck again. You were almost tempted to disturb your fingers again if it meant he'd put them back into place.

"Keep going," he said, taking a step forward and starting to circle around you.

You swallowed, continuing the task, taking great care not to look too ridiculous. You punched a few more times, Miguel having made an arc and stopped on your other side.

"Your posture is not right," he remarked, and you shivered as his hand came to rest on your waist.

Sliding gently over your belly, applying a minimum of force to better guide you to perfect your posture. You felt his hand come up and pull slightly on your shoulder, putting your arm back in a more favourable position at the same time.

"You need to find a balance in your body when you strike; if you put everything you have into your fist, the rest can be used too easily against you" he said, his tone calm.

But it was a little too complicated to follow his instructions now, especially when you felt his breath landing on your ear and the back of your neck. Every brush of his fingers and skin against yours made your cheeks flush and gave you a real peony look.

His other hand came to rest on your hip, on that famous protruding angle of the pelvic bone, to reorientate your body. You inhaled sharply, but tried not to make it too noticeable. All that was missing was...

"Is everything all right? Your heart rate seems to have increased."

... the same question as last time. This time, there's no way to pretend you're worried about your team-mates who are on a mission. So what's the excuse this time?

"I ate a cereal bar before I came here, must be the sugar, no doubt."

Wow. Beautiful. Brilliant. Fantastic.

You crossed your fingers that Miguel didn't pay any more attention.

"Hm," he exhaled, "just spread your legs a little... there you go, like that," he said as his hand lingered lightly on your waist before moving away from you again. "Show me," he asked, confident that his modifications to your position would prove useful in your training.

Already more confident, you began to strike again. And after half a dozen blows, you turned to him, a satisfied smile adoring his face.

"Much better," he said. He raised his hand to the level of his head, index and middle fingers together, wiggling them, indicating for you to move forward as he stepped back slightly, "Now, show me how you'd do it in real life."

Wait, was he really offering you combat training? The great Miguel O'Hara, who had no time but for the great multi-dimensional organisation of spider-men and spider-women, had just offered you training?

Hesitantly, you moved forward.

"So you want me to fight? With... you?" you asked.

"Who else," he replied, opening his arms to encompass the room, completely empty apart from you two.

"I'm going to get crushed," you smiled as you reached him.

"I'll do my worst," he offered, raising an eyebrow.

"Are you trying to make a fool of me?"

"No, otherwise I'd let you destroy your hands on the bag a bit more," he said, pointing at them, "you'll have to remember to put some ice on it.

Touché.

You felt a little guilty for taking up his free time, he who must have had so little leisure, so few opportunities to settle down without having to worry about anything. But at the same time, what did you have to feel guilty about, when it was he himself who had offered to help you? After all, it was he who had come to you. Was it simple pity then? No, let's not think about personal sabotage, let's just enjoy it.

"Come on, show me how you do it, I'll do it with one hand behind my back if you prefer." He says, not even pretending to get into a fighting stance.

"What an egalitarian spirit," you say, your voice coming out with a half-sigh, half-laugh.

Coming from one of the most capable and experienced Spider-Men in the society, how could you not shudder at the thought of fighting him?

So you positioned yourself, trying as best you could to put in place the investments he had just taught you. The thought of disappointing him was gnawing at the back of your mind.

Once you found your position sufficiently adequate, you dived towards him. With a move that seemed as simple as that, he dodged by leaning to the side while placing his foot against your ankle, so you fell pitifully to the ground.

Well, it wasn't going to be any fun after all.

"Remember what I told you," he said, coming towards you, holding out his hand, "if you put everything you have in your fist, the rest can be used against you too easily.

You looked at him for a moment, his brown eyes slightly crinkled by his little smile. Your cheeks warmed as you took his hand to stand up.

"Do it again," he said.

You breathed in, trying to concentrate and not think about the fact that you'd had more physical and vocal interaction with the object of all your thoughts in the last few minutes than you'd had in a week.

So you tried to balance your strength in your body, and came back to the charge, but you tried a surprise. You knew he'd probably see it coming a mile away, but why not try? So you gave him the impression that you were attacking him from your left, when at the last moment you deflected to the right.

And then you punched him in the cheek. The impact surprised you both, and Miguel took a meagre step backwards, bringing his hand to his cheek with eyes wide with surprise.

"Shit shit shit! I'm so sorry! Are you okay?" you moved towards him in a panic, as if to check him out.

You'd just punched Miguel O'Hara in the cheek. But then, just as you were expecting to be shouted at and slammed into a wall in the next few seconds, he smiled, and the smile became a soft laugh.

You looked at him, completely stunned by his reaction. No anger, no exasperation, no threats or insults in Spanish, just a little laugh.

"That's much better," he said. "Don't worry, I can handle punches, but I recognize this is a correct hit."

You fluttered your eyelashes a few times in surprise before just puffing out your nose, a little laugh taking hold of you as well.

"Come on, let's get on with it" he said, this time getting into a fighting stance. He sweated authority, while you sweated... period.

You nodded in agreement, and the two of you began a battle of successive dodges and punches that went wide. He was holding back, you could feel it. He didn't strike a single blow, just tiny smacks with the back of his hand. So you thought for a moment, you were going to surprise him like he had surprised you with his kick. Could you take down a man the size and width of a fridge? Doubtful, but nothing ventured, nothing gained.

It's as if, in the middle of the nettles, you'd found a patch of grass where you could put your foot down without stinging yourself. So you placed your leg correctly behind his knee, which surprisingly succeeded in throwing him off balance, and just as he was about to fall with a small stranglehold of his voice, his hand grabbed your wrist and dragged you down.

The shock was less, because you had fallen onto Miguel himself and his body had been used as a landing mattress. Out of breath, and not exactly aware of the situation you were in, you placed your hands on the ground on either side of his body to at least straighten yours and not crush him, your back bent like a wilting flower.

"Hey, is everything all right?"

Miguel grunted slightly, his eyelids reopening. Your breath caught in your throat as you realised the position you were in, and especially how close you were. Your faces only a few centimetres apart, your breaths colliding.

"Mhm," he said simply, "you did well, I must admit."

And as the simple feeling of victory took your heart by storm, Miguel grabbed you by the waist with both hands and rolled you onto your side, reversing your positions with lightning speed.

"But you're going to have to keep practising," he smirked, one of his hands separating from your waist to rest on the ground next to your head.

And your strength turned to water. Your gaze scanned his, and you wished you could see your own eyes just to know how much they betrayed you, especially when they inevitably drifted to his lips. You didn't need to lie to yourself, you wanted to, they looked so soft... It was the sensation of his thumb making a single, simple circular movement on your stomach that brought you out of your reverie on his lips, regaining his eyes.

"Distracted?" he asked, his eyes a little darker than before.

Sure enough, you had metamorphosed into a big red tomato. So your reflex was to bring both hands up to your face to hide it.

"Uh huh," Miguel prevented, removing his hand from your waist to move your hands away from your face, getting even closer. "What's there to hide, hum?"

His eyes seemed very observant of what was being said in yours, and you wondered if he could see all the emotions rumbling in your heart. You could feel the strands of his hair tickling your forehead and cheeks. The tension was so heavy and pervasive that you could have cut it with a knife.

"My desires," you whispered as an answer, clearing your throat and moistening your lips, your eyes moving tirelessly from his to his lips.

You gasp, the closeness between the two of you acting as a veritable truth serum.

"Tell me about them," he murmured.

You bit the inside of your lip, breathing softly. The inner battle was powerful. To remain silent and regret, or to say something and hope? What if it all stopped? What if it bothered him so much that he couldn't look at you any other way than uncomfortable? And what if... what if... And if I don't try anything, I'll never know.

"A... A kiss," you managed to say.

"A kiss?" he repeated, as if testing the taste of that word in his mouth. "Tell me, where."

You squirmed slightly, perhaps you'd be more successful in speaking your thoughts with your eyes closed? But when you shut them for a moment, you felt his nose brush against yours, his thumb on your hip again making circular movements.

"Where?" he asked again, both of you reduced to whispers. Still hearing no answer, he moved to kiss your forehead, "there?", but you shook your head. Then he kissed the top of your eyelid, "there?", and went on to kiss your cheek, "there?", his voice barely a whisper.

He brushed against your nose again, his lips barely grazing the corner of yours.

His eyes had a tender sparkle as he kissed them tenderly. His lips tasted of wood and rain, pulling back : "There?”

"Yes," you sighed, your eyelids half-closed, "there". You moistened your lips.

"I think I heard you wrong," he murmured. "Say it again."

You swallowed, trying to raise your head to kiss him again, but understanding your tactics, he buried his face closer to your neck, his lips brushing your ear.

"Say it again."

A shiver ran through you as his breath spread a wave of heat down your neck, straightening slightly to face you again.

"Kiss me, again."

And he came to kiss you once more, softly, dark and silent as the night. His hand ran down your body, up your side and over your back to push a little more of your body against his. Your hands came to rest on his cheek and back, your fingers snaking through his hair, nails lightly grazing his skull.

A moan bubbling up his throat reverberated on your lips, just like on the mission.

" If only you wouldn't make me want you..." he whispered between kisses, his mouth growing a little hungrier as his fangs nibbled lightly at the skin of your lip.

He came to kiss your jaw, your neck, drinking in your skin, breaths of ease escaping from your lips.

But suddenly, a small cluster of orange pixels appeared not far from your heads.

"Miguel we got a- oh hi there!" said Layla in a tone that was a mixture of playfulness and surprise.

You immediately turned your head to the side to avoid her, your cheeks flushing red. Your heart was pounding in your chest like a bird trying to get out of its cage.

"Go away Layla," he said though, his hand coming to take your chin, his eyes half closed, kissing you again.

"But Miguel it's-"

"It's very important for your future that you don't finish your sentence," Miguel growled as he moved from your mouth to your throat again, letting his canines lightly trace along your pulse line.

"And the situation is just as important for all our futures," Layla insisted.

Miguel grunted, sighing, and murmured softly:

"I'm sorry."

You kissed his cheek and he raised his eyebrows.

"It's okay."

He kissed your lips quickly.

"This is not over," he warned, sitting up and helping you to your feet. "Go and sleep now." Looking at your hand in his, he added: "And take care of this," pointing to your knuckles.

You nodded as he began to walk away.

"Oh yeah, Miguel has been keeping an eye on you!" said Layla, a small smile wrinkling her nose.

"What?" you asked, confused.

"Layla ?" Miguel called dangerously.

"Okay okay gotta go, goodnight!" she said, vanishing into thin air to come and stand next to Miguel.

The two of them left the room, and you looked at the exit.

What had just happened?

next part >> unexpected mission (nsfw)

[creative-caramel-coffee]

Left Behind and Bleeding

Summary: you’ve been feeling forgotten all week when your period shows up you just want to curl up and hide. Will your girlfriends look after you this time?

TW: Angst, periods, being forgotten, anxiety, feeling left out, abandonment issues, self-doubt, mentions of drug use, teasing

Words: 1.2K

A/n: it’s that time of the month when I hit you with another period fic lol. Sorry it’s a bit short. Also … I may be projecting again … maybe hehe.

It had been a bad few days to say the least. To start off you had plans to hang out with Natasha, but she got given a last-minute mission, so you had to postpone. Which would have been fine on its own, but it seemed yo have sparked a pattern.

All week people had been cancelling on you, having some reason or another that seemed valid at the time but looking back made you overthink.

Wanda had some people she needed to visit, and you understood. But everyone seemed to be prioritising other things. Even your mother wasn’t answering your calls. Leading you to believe she was either dead or ignoring you.

On the fourth day of having nobody to hang out with in the usually very busy tower, you were getting fed up.

Your mind had been trying to spin a story that everyone simply didn’t like you. That they would rather hang out with other people and that you really didn’t have anyone in your corner.

Of course, you had been fighting the notion for days now, but it was getting harder to ignore as people continued to have bigger, better things to do without you.

Nat had gotten back from her mission and had immediately gone to do some training and after you caught her watching a movie with Clint. You had moped around your room all afternoon, feeling like you were a B-list avenger at best.

Your mind had convinced you that nobody cared and so you had spent the afternoon crying alone in your room.

When dinner came, it seemed everyone had returned. Something you had not been counting on, so your eyes were still red and puffy when Jarvis announced dinner.

In a panic you threw on some sunglasses in an attempt to keep the others from finding out.

Yet it had simply orchestrated a point of teasing for the whole meal. Everyone wanted to know why you were wearing them, but you kept your head down and tried to seem cheerful.

Sam was trying to convince people that you must have been high, while wanda could practically hear your loud thoughts from the other end of the table. Her and Nat exchanged expressions when you got up from the meal not even halfway through.

Feeling awful you almost cried when you got back to your room to discover your period had started.

Life seemed to be throwing more than a few curveballs at you, it was throwing the full field.

You stuck in a pad and threw on some warm pjs before crawling under the covers and letting a few tears fall while your breathing evened out.

Wanda had finished her dinner around the same time as Natasha had so, they had met up in the kitchen while washing their dishes.

“Wanda?” Nat asked from where she was drying her plate off.

“Yeah?” Wanda asked, her hands covered in suds.

Nat chewed her lip for a second before carefully selecting her words. “Was there … anyone off with Y/n these last few days?” Nat asked.

“I don’t know why?” Wanda said and Nat frowned.

“What do you mean ‘I don’t know’ werent you here?” Nat said.

“No? I told you I was visiting friends for a few days.” Wanda said.

“Oh my god.” Nat said feeling bad. “Did we both ditch her for a week?”

“No? I mean surely, she had the others to hang out with. Right?” Wanda said.

“Jarvis?” Nat called to the ceiling.

“Yes, Ms Romanoff what can I do for you?” The AI responded.

“Who in the past week has cancelled plans with Y/n?” Nat asked.

“In the past week I believe each of the avengers have been either ‘too busy’ or had ‘other plans’ to spend time with Ms L/n.” Jarvis said.

“Oh god.” Wanda said. “Jarvis? What has Y/n been doing this past week?”

“Ms L/n has spent most of her time in her room. Either sleeping or crying. She also has been avoiding everyone for the last half of the week.” Jarvis said and Wanda and Natasha’s hearts broke.

“We are the worst girlfriends ever.” Wanda said feeling awful.

“We should go check on her.” Nat agreed and the two of them headed for the lift.

When they stood outside your bedroom door Natasha hesitated for a second.

“What if she doesn’t want to see us?” Nat asked.

“Im sure she will, it’s Y/n. She may be sad but her hearts still twenty-four carat.” Wanda said and Nat nodded and knocked.

When no response came, she gently opened the door. Making out a Y/n shaped lump in the bed she entered and quietly walked over to your side.

Wanda took note of the chocolate wrappers on your bedside table and the hot water bottle you had cuddled up to.

You had seemingly used your powers to heat up the water-bottle and your brow was creased in pain.

“Nat?” Wanda said and Natasha nodded.

“I see.” She said.

Wanda sighed and slipped into bed behind you. Gently playing with your hair as Nat went to search for some pain medicine for you, knowing that you wouldn’t have taken any yet.

Wanda rubbed slow circles on your back and brushed a hand onto your cheek.

“Y/n baby, can you open your eyes for me my love?” Wanda asked softy. You let out a small whimper and Wanda’s heart melted.

“Wands?” You asked in a small voice.

“Yes, baby its me.” She said pressing a featherlight kiss to your cheekbone.

“Hurts.” You said softly and she nodded.

“Natty’s gone to get you some medicine.” Wanda said just as Natasha walked back in with some pills and a glass of water.

“Here you go my sweet girl.” Nat said as wanda helped sit you up, leaning into her side.

Nat passed you the medicine and you took it without protest, telling both girls just how bad you were really feeling.

“I’m sorry we weren’t here my love.” Nat said brushing a curl from your cheek.

“That’s ok. You had important things to do.” You mumbled into Wanda’s chest where you had buried your face.

“Baby girl, nothings more important than you.” Wanda said stroking your hair.

“Why don’t we put on a movie, and you can try and get some sleep ok?” Nat said gently and you nodded, shuffling over to make room for her on the bed.

Wanda used her magic to open the small mini fridge in the room and floated a pint of your favourite icecream and three spoons over.

“I got this for you before I left my love.” Wanda said with a smile passing you a spoon.

Natasha slipped in beside you and Wanda, passing you the remote you put on an episode of Parks and Recreation as you began to eat some icecream and cuddle.

After a few spoonfuls Nat stole the container, Afterall you have been making a mess. There was even icecream on your nose which wanda softly kissed away, making you giggle as you begun doze in the presence of your two amazing girlfriends.

[straylightdream]

what am I missing?

act ten: “Just promise me I’ll still get time with you.”

feat: bang chan x f.reader, seo changbin x f.reader, han jisung x f.reader

↳ in your mid to late twenties you’re left wondering if you missed your sexual awakening. With a the help of friends you start to really find yourself.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: for the story as a whole angst, a little fluff, body image issues, and self doubt, cussing all smut warnings listed below for what is in this story.

series masterlist

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

𝐚𝐧: what is everyone thinking about each of the boys so far?

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: just angst for this chapter but for other chapters: nipple play, clit and vaginal fingering, lots of dry humping and some dirty talk. for the story as a whole, oral (fem & male receiving), piv, unprotected sex, groping, threesome, use or traffic light system, choking, and spanking, the mc calls herself a slut more warning to come. Soft but dominant jisung, kinda sub reader for jisung. Being tied up during sex.

Anyway you look at it, things between you and the boys are different. They still treat you the same when you’re all together. But there is something about the fact that they have all seen you naked and been with you in the most intimate way that makes you feel different.

You’re working a shift with Chan for the first time in a very long time. He’s been so busy with his studio job he barely ever picks up shifts waiting tables. You’re over this shift and you can’t wait to be off. Sitting on the curb in back behind your restaurant. You’re taking your time trying to have a moment away from your crowded restaurant. The door opens and moments later Chan sits down next to you.

“Why haven’t we quit tonight?” He groans, leaning against you.

“I don’t know but I’m over this shift. All the customers are assholes and on top of that Mingyu and Yuqi working are together in section two,” even though it’s been a while seeing them together makes you feel awkward.

“Forget about Mingyu.”

“It’s a little hard when I know he’s seen me naked.”

“I mean I’ve seen you naked too,” he smiles.

“Except you didn’t basically dump me right after for another girl,” you can still picture Mingyu's face as he tells you about Yuqi. The feeling of him rejecting you still burns.

“Well if you want maybe we can have a date night like did with Jisung and maybe you know-“

“Is this your way of asking me to have sex with you?” You can’t help but tease him. You know Chan would never use you just to hook up.

“I would like to have a little date night. We don’t even have to sex,” you look over at him and notice he’s already blushing.

“I would really like that,” you can’t help but smile.

“Good, I liked being able to spend time with you.” He reaches down, lacing his fingers with yours.

“Just so you know I haven’t told either of the boys details about what happened between us.” You say. He pauses as he pulls away from you.

“I want what happens between us to be private.” There is a gentle look in his eyes. You hope he always looks at you this way.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to share this with the boys.” He says.

He reaches down, lacing his fingers with yours. You rest your head on his shoulder. “Did you want to go to that diner on fourth street we used to go to when we would study tonight after we’re off?” This little diner has always been a place you loved spending time at.

“Just the two of us?” He asked.

“Yes, just the two of us.”

“I need to go back in and finish the last two hours of this hell shift,” you sigh, pulling away from him.

He stands up and grabs your hand before you can walk away. He rests his hand gently on your cheek. You can’t tell if he’s going to kiss you but you desperately want him too.

“Chan?”

“Yes?”

“Are you teasing me or are you going to kiss me?”

“Am I allowed to kiss you?” The way he smiles at you is enough to give you butterflies.

“Absolutely.”

This isn’t some heated searing kiss. The feeling of his lips on yours makes you feel like you’re home. Reaching up, you rest your hand on his chest. You could stay in this moment forever.

“Good luck in there,” he says softly as he pulls away.

The rest of your shift luckily went by quickly. You barely had to see Mingyu or Yuqi which helped a lot. You walked outside to find Chan leaning against his car waiting for you. “I almost quit as I was walking out,” Chan says.

“I think I almost quit every shift.”

“Let’s go get food,” he says.

Luckily you walked the short distance to your work today so you don’t have to worry about leaving your car at work. Chan drives you both to the diner that’s only ten minutes away. Walking into the quiet diner you sit in a booth in the back where you often used to sit. It’s after midnight and there aren’t many people here. Sitting in this familiar diner you miss the long nights you would spend in here studying with Chan.

You look up from your menu to find him watching you. You already know what you want to eat so you aren’t sure why you even looked at the menu. You’ve always gotten the same thing to eat here.

“Strawberry waffle?” He smiles.

“Of course.”

Nights like this remind you how Chan has always brought you a sense of comfort. He knows everything he could possibly know about you and he always goes out of his way to make you happy.

The waitress comes over and takes your order and before she can leave Chan orders you both a hot coco just like you used to drink while studying.

She comes back, handing you each a warm glass of hot cocoa with whip cream on it. You sit there sipping on the hot beverage as you start to relax after your long night at work. You can tell Chan is silently studying each of your movements.

“Does this count as a date?” You can’t help but wonder, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Do you want this to be a date?” He raises his eyebrow as he studies you.

“Chan, don’t answer my question with a question.”

“I would like to think this is a date,” he reaches across the table, taking your hand in his. He slowly drags his thumb across your knuckles. “I like spending time with you.”

“I like spending time with you too,” you watch him as he gently traces your skin.

“I remember the first time I met you. There was just something about being around you that made me happy. You felt like sunshine on a rainy day.” You suddenly feel speechless. He's never said anything like this before. You know you’ve always been special to him, but he’s never said anything like this before.

“Chan, I need you in my life.”

“Don’t worry baby I’m not going anywhere,” he lifts your hand and presses a gentle kiss to the top of your delicate skin.

“I’m sorry if I’m hurting you by spending time with the boys,” you can’t bring yourself to say their names right now or mention that you’re having sex with them.

“I’m okay. I’ll always be okay,” he presses another kiss to the top of your hand. You wanted to believe he was telling the truth but something deep down inside of you knew Chan wasn’t telling the truth.

“Just promise me I’ll still get time with you. I might not be wild in bed like Jisung, but I promise I can make you feel good.”

“Chan, I don't need you to be wild. I would do it again with you in a heartbeat. You made me feel so confident and so wanted.”

“It’s not hard to make you feel wanted, when I want you.” He gives you that gentle smile as his cheeks lightly blush. For a moment you forget you’re in a diner past midnight. The only thing your brain can focus on is your best friend who is sitting across from you.

“I want you too,” you say. You wished this table wasn’t separating you, because you desperately want to kiss him.

Before he can respond the waitress comes over and sets your food down on the table. You don’t eat for a long moment, you just watch Chan wondering what is going through his mind.

“You should eat while it’s hot,” he says.

“Chan?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I go over to your house tonight?” You don’t want him to drop you off after this. You want to spend the night curled up next to him.

“Absolutely.”

Regarding my taglist: I’m tagging so many people like 300+ people and the the amount of reblogs and interactions I’m getting compared to my taglist make me quite sad. I kindly ask if you request to be tagged that you interact with my writing. It takes me a really long time to make sure I tag everyone. Im going to start removing silent readers and blank blogs to make tagging easier. If anyone wants to be added to this stories taglist I have decided to close it for now. I can’t add anymore people unfortunately. Im really asking for interaction if I’m spending the time to tag you.

Thank you to anyone who has been replaying to the post and reblogging them.

[avastrasposts]

The Pilot and his girl ch. 1 - TLoU AU

Frankie Morales meets the love of his life and starts creating a new life for himself, her and his little daughter. But things are about to change in ways no one could've imagined with the outbreak of the cordyceps infection.

Series Master List

The idea of putting the guys from Triple Frontier in to The Last of Us was a random thought I had a few weeks ago. I really wanted to explore what Frankie Morales would do, who he would turn into, if he had to experience the outbreak, fighting to protect himself and those he loves in a whole new way.

I'm having so much fun writing it and I really hope you'll enjoy reading it! The first hints of TLoU pops up in chapter 9.

No age gap, our reader and Frankie are the same age, no use of Y/N, no physical descriptions.

Edit: Making this easier to navigate - Chapter 2

Frankie’s at the corner of the bar, his back to the wall, as she walks in. The boys, Pope, Ben and Will, are arguing about some finer point of something or other, he’s not really paying attention anymore, so he’s the only one who notices her. A bachelorette party tumbles through the door first, the bride to be wearing a tall plastic tiara on her head, and her friends trailing behind, all wearing Friends themed t-shirts that say “The one where Lizzy marries Steve”, cackling loudly and making “wooohoooo” noises. The boys immediately turn and check out the girls but one look at how far gone they all are, this is probably the only bar in town that will still serve them at this level of intoxication, they turn back to their conversation. 

She’s trailing behind her friends, coming in after the others and just about hiding the t-shirt under her jean jacket, looking a lot more sober than the rest of the hen party.

Frankie can’t help but stare, the way the black jeans are hugging her curves makes his heart rate pick up, but when she pushes her hand through her hair and smiles at her friends it feels like it stops in his chest, pausing a second before racing again. He swallows, tugging at his cap, pulling it down deeper over his eyes as he tries to look without staring. She glances around the room as her friends occupy one of the large booths next to the jukebox and start a giggling argument about what songs to play first. Somehow her eyes catch his and he feels heat creeping up his throat as he quickly looks away, down at his drink, over at Pope, anywhere but at her.

…

Against your will you’ve been talked into ending your friend’s bachelorette party at a local dive bar in a part of town you and your friends usually don’t hang out in. Your usual hang out had refused to serve your friends, seeing as they certainly were about four tequila shots too far gone, and you’d been ready to call it a night then. Bachelorette parties weren’t even really your thing but as Lizzy was the last of your friends to marry, apart from yourself, you couldn’t really back out when she begged you to come. So after failing to get into three clubs, Lizzy had bribed the bouncer to tell her of a bar that would let them in and he’d told them to try The Outback Bar across town. 

So here you are, pushing open the door to a place that was decorated to look like something out of a Crocodile Dundee set while your friends squealed over the stuffed plush kangaroo by the jukebox. The bar is half empty, mainly regulars scattered around the place, some playing pool at the back. This neighborhood isn’t exactly the best so you scan the place for any potential troublemakers but one of the booths is filled with three middle aged ladies sipping on some sort of cocktails and it makes you feel a bit more calm. How bad could a place be if a group looking like local high school librarians were drinking at it? 

At the bar you spot four guys involved in an animated conversation. Well, three of them are, the fourth one is looking at your but ducks his head the second you catch his eye, his hand shooting up to rub his neck under a mop of dark curls that stick out under his cap. His eyes are shaded but you can make out his curved nose and nervous smile as he glances over at his friends, still rubbing his neck before his hand slides down and rubs his patchy beard instead. He quickly shoots a glance your way and you feel like you’ve been burnt when your eyes meet just for a second, his face softens into a quick smile before he drops his gaze again. Before you can help yourself you smile back and you hope he saw it before he looked away. Smiling at random men in bars was dangerous business but this man had such a sweet, soft smile that he’d pulled a smile in return from you before you’d even realised what was happening. 

Your friends call you over to the booth and then order you to the bar for a pitcher of beer and tequila shots, deciding you’re the only one sober enough to order for the table. You shake your head and laugh at their loud demands for more liquor but you decide a pitcher of beer won’t do much damage this late in the game anyway. 

The bartender is busy serving another patron so you lean on the counter and try to sneak looks at the man at the other end. The bar is a big rectangular shape, wrapping around the open shelving system in the middle and it lets you peek through the opening towards the four friends at the opposite corner. Two of them are blonde and blue eyed, similar enough looking to be brothers, and both conventionally handsome, you know your friends would be all over them. The third man has shorter dark hair and even at this distance you can see the grey around his temples. He’s handsome and something about him tells you he’s probably very aware of how good he looks. He’s waving his hands around, trying to make some animated point to the blonde guys, as they both laugh and shake their heads. 

The fourth man, the one with the cap, seems to be listening with only half an ear as he tilts the liquid in his glass around the rim. Out of the corner of your eye you try to get a closer look at him. His hair is curling around his ears as well as around his neck, and as he smiles at something his friend says you see a dimple in his cheek, his eyes crinkling at the corners as the smile all but transforms his face into something warm and soft. He’s got a scruffy looking beard over his jaw and chin but a thicker moustache that seems to be trimmed just above his top lip. The cap that’s pulled down securely on his head is well worn and beaten and it seems to be a permanent fixture on his head the way he tugs on it every now and then. You can’t help but wonder if he’s hiding a bald patch under there but his dark curls are thick even when he swipes the cap off his head, smooths them down and pulls it on again. 

As Frankie tugs again on his cap he looks over the bar towards the booth the bachelorette party has occupied but he can’t see her. Quickly he scans the bar and feels heat shoot through him as he meets her eyes through the bottles and shelves. This time he doesn’t duck his head straight away, her eyes hold on to him as she gives him a smile before dropping her own gaze to the drinks menu in her hand, still smiling. He keeps watching her, unable to pull his eyes away, and when she lifts her eyes towards him again he feels his lips pull up in a smile that he can’t even seem to control. This woman is gorgeous and she’s looking at him with a smile so sweet he’s losing his breath. Before he knows what he’s doing he lifts his hand from his glass and gives her a quick wave. 

The movement draws Pope’s attention and he’s immediately looking over Frankie’s shoulder, trying to see who his friend is waving at. Catching sight of her Pope exclaims; 

“Damn, Frankie, she’s cute, go talk to her, man!” 

“Shut the fuck up, Pope, dammit.” Frankie sighs as he sees her look away. The bartender has come to take her order and she starts talking to him. 

“I’m serious, Fish, she’s into you, go talk to her, get her number. If you don’t I wi..ll.” Pope makes a show of standing up from the stool and Frankie grabs his shoulder and pulls him down again while Pope laughs at his friend’s awkward glance back at the woman. Ben and Will have also turned, craning their necks to see what the fuss is about and Ben gives a low whistle as he sees her leaning on the bar. 

“Pope’s right, Fish, go talk to her, she’s hot!” 

“Na, na, I changed my mind,” Pope laughs, slapping Frankie’s shoulder. “Frankie here will run headlong into enemy territory with his balls out, but what he doesn’t have the guts for, is to talk to someone like her.” 

“Just shut up, Pope, seriously,” Frankie grumbles as he downs the last of his drink and pushes it across the counter. 

“I’ll bet anything you don’t have the cojones to go over there and get her number, buddy.” Pope grins, enjoying riling his friend up as a red flush creeps up over his throat. 

Frankie glances over at her again, she’s waiting on her order at the bar. As he looks her eyes flick to him again and when she meets his gaze she stays locked on him for a second before she looks down at the counter, a shy smile creeping across her face. No doubt she noticed how all of them now seem to be focused on her. 

“Ok, Pope, what’ll it be, what do I get if I get her number?” 

“A hundred bucks, I’ll give you a hundred bucks because that’s how certain I am that you don’t have the balls to ask for her number.”

“You’re on.” Frankie says as he slides off the stool, “You’re gonna pay for my first date with her.” 

...

You can tell you’re suddenly the topic of conversation among the friends on the corner and heat is creeping up your cheeks as you feel four pairs of eyes on you. You glance over again, looking for the man with the cap and when your eyes meet him you can’t help but smile again. 

The bartender brings you the pitcher of beer you ordered, no tequila shots, and two baskets of fries. You pay and start grabbing the order and throw a quick glance over at the corner again but this time the man with the cap isn’t there. 

“Hi, sorry, do you maybe wanna hand with that?” 

You suddenly hear a low voice behind you and you turn to see the man with the cap standing in front of you, a shy smile on his face, his hands stuck deep in his jeans pockets. 

“Yeah, sure, that would be great, thanks,” you return his shy smile as he grabs the pitcher and the tower of glasses from you. You take the fries and lead the two of you over to your friends’ booth. They all cheer as you arrive, immediately grabbing the food and drinks. You turn back to the bar, two large jugs of water are waiting for you on the counter and the man follows you back. 

“Thanks for that” you smile at him and he gives you another shy one back. 

“I’m Frankie, Francisco Morales,” he says, his hand seemingly by its own accord shooting up to rub the back of his neck while you give him your name. His smile widens as you lean on the bar counter, not grabbing the water straight away and he mirrors your action, putting his arm on the counter and standing close enough for you to smell his body wash and the warm cotton of his t-shirt that’s stretched tight across his broad shoulders. The dimple is back and you notice how he’s got small bald patches in his scruffy beard that’s dappled with grey in places. 

“So, bachelorette party, huh?” he asks and nods his head towards your friends who are now toasting in beer and howling along to “I want it that way” by The Backstreet Boys on the jukebox.  

“Yeah, I’m the designated “get them all home in one piece” person tonight,” you sigh with a crooked smile at them. “They are a bit too wasted to still be drinking but you know…” you shrug your shoulders and give Frankie a grin, “been there, done that too.” 

“Got the t-shirt,” he smirks, lifting the edge of your jean jacket with his finger tips to show off the “The one where Lizzy marries Steve” t-shirt you’re sporting under it. 

“To add to my collection,” you reply, laughing as you look down at the print. “I think this is the 8th one. Lizzy is the last one to be married. The couple from the first one has already gotten divorced and remarried so we’re getting through them.” 

“Any of them yours?” Frankie asks and you notice how he’s frowning his forehead, his brow knotting as he looks at you as if he’s nervous for the answer. 

“No, none of them mine,” you can’t help but smile, his face is adorable as his expression drops into a shy smile. His dark brown eyes are very expressive, crinkling again at the corners as he steps a little bit closer to you, giving the busboy room to collect the glasses from the bar behind him. The music from the jukebox suddenly turns off as the softer lights of the bar are replaced by harsher bright lights. 

“Closing time!” the bartender calls from behind the bar as your friends boo and jeer, sinking the last of their beers. “I’m taking these fries to go!” you hear Lizzy slur and you cringe inwardly as Frankie glances over at them. 

“So, seeing as I’m running out of time,” Frankie begins, still standing close enough for you to feel the heat coming off of him, “I wanna ask for your number, maybe?”

“You’ve got to earn that privilege, Frankie,” you look up at him. “I don’t usually give my number out to guys I’ve just met at random bars on Saturday nights.” 

“Yeah, no, I get that, probably a smart strategy too,” he falters. “I would’ve bought you a drink first and maybe we could’ve talked a bit more but you know, I didn’t want to not ask anyway.” He scratches at his beard absentmindedly and shoots a quick glance over his shoulder at his friends who are all eagerly still watching the conversation. “Maybe we can catch up here sometime, do you ever come by this place?” he asks. 

“This is my first time here, it’s really on the wrong side of town for me,” you admit, starting to regret not giving him your number but old habits are hard to shake, not giving out your number to random guys being one of them. 

“Oh, ok, I get it.” Frankie looks down and scuffs the toe of his boot on the bar’s skirting board before looking over at his friends again. “I should just go then, get them home too.” 

He starts to move away as you see his dark haired friend make a gesture as if he’s rubbing imaginary money between his thumb and fingers while smiling at the two blonde guys. 

“Did your friend make a bet with you about getting my number?” you ask him, suddenly putting two and two together. 

“Yeah, kinda, it wasn’t serious or anything, he was just, just, kinda pushing me to work up the nerve to come over and talk to you.” Frankie stutters slightly and your heart contracts as his hand shoots up to rub the back of his neck again, his dark curls becoming ever more unruly with each pass of his hand across them. 

You suddenly feel arms wrap around you from behind and a wave of perfume and tequila washes over you. Lizzy is giggling in your ear, tugging you away from Frankie. “Sorry, lover boy,” she squeals, “She’s mine tonight!” 

You shoot Frankie an apologetic look as Lizzy pulls you over to the booth where the exasperated bartender is trying to convince your friends that it’s time to leave. Frankie gives you a small wave before stuffing his hands in his pockets and turning back to his friends. You turn to the tasks of gathering your friends together and calling for an Uber to get you all home safe.  

...

As you leave the bar with the bachelorette party, getting them out the door is like herding cats, you spot Frankie and his friends making their way across the parking lot. Frankie’s got his back to you but you can still make him out, his unruly curls sticking out from under his cap, backlit by the flood lights in the lot. A smile suddenly creeps across your face and you call out to him. 

“Frankie, wait up!” 

He turns as you make your way towards him, and his friends all turn too, immediately breaking out in wide grins. The dark haired one gives Frankie a quick shove as to motion him towards you and Frankie picks up his feet. You meet him halfway across the lot. 

“Give me your phone,” you say and hold out your hand towards him. 

“Why?” he says with a confused look, but he still fumbles in his back pocket to pull out an old iPhone with a cracked screen. 

“Let me win that bet for you,” you grin as he taps in the pass code and hands you the phone. 

Frankie’s confused look changes into a wide grin as you add yourself as a new contact in his phone and hit “save” before handing it back to him. 

“Make sure your friend pays up what he owes you now,” you smile before turning back to your friends who are yelling at you to hurry the fuck up as the Uber you ordered pulls up to the curb.

As you walk back across the lot you suddenly hear Frankie’s fast footsteps approaching from behind. Turning back towards him you stop as he puts his hand on your arm, his calloused fingers are dry and warm against your bare skin, his grip gentle, just resting against you. 

“Does that mean I can call you too?” he asks, his dark eyes barely visible under his cap, but you can see the shyness from before returning. 

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” you smile before reaching up and pressing your lips to the bare patch in his beard, giving him a quick kiss. Behind him you can hear his friends whoop loudly and cheer, someone yells, “Go, Fish!” and when you pull back from Frankie a blush is creeping up his throat, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck as he grins. You smile again and pull away from him, letting his hand slip down along your arm before his hand gives your fingers a small squeeze and lets you go. Turning back to your friends, who are still yelling at you to get a move on, you hide an even bigger smile. As you quickly make your way over to the waiting Uber you feel butterflies flutter in the pit of your stomach. The light scratch of Frankie’s beard still on your lips and his warm hand imprinted on your arm. 

…

Later that night, or early morning more like, your phone pings as you're brushing your teeth, getting ready for bed. It’s a number that’s not saved in your phone but as you pick it up you have a good feeling about who it might be from. 

“hope i didnt wake you. just wanted to give you my number too so you didnt think i wasnt serious and only did it for the bet. sleep well.”

As you read the message your phone pings again and you tap to the new message.

“sorry, it’s frankie, i forgot to say”

You can practically hear his voice through the message, see his frown as he curses himself for forgetting to sign off with his name in the first message and it makes you smile, thinking of how his brow had knitted together as he first talked to you in the bar, that soft, shy look under the peak of his cap.  

Quickly you save his number as a new contact in your phone and reply to him. 

“Hi Frankie, you didn’t wake me, I’m still up :) Thanks for your number. Did your friend pay up?”

You finish brushing your teeth as you watch the three dots move, indicating that Frankie is typing a reply.

“ye he did, although he’s not convinced you didn’t give me a fake number so i guess i have to show him this to prove it.” 

You smile to yourself as you type, moving towards your bed. 

“I guess I have to keep it clean then.”

Frankie’s reply comes quickly this time. 

“that line alone is going to get me into trouble…” 

You giggle to yourself as you tuck yourself in, holding your phone up as Frankie keeps typing. 

“so i have all my winnings to spend and its only fair that I share them with you. can I maybe take you out someday?” 

“I’d like that, call me tomorrow and we can maybe work something out?”

Frankie’s reply is almost instant. 

“i will, sleep well, hermosa”

“Hermosa?”

“beautiful“

“You’re making me blush… Sleep well, Frankie”

You feel yourself grinning like a fool as you put your phone on your bedside table and close your eyes. Trying to not let your mind run away with you, you squash down an excited little squeal as you burrow yourself into the pillow.

[yersina]

a linguist* plays chants of sennaar (pt 1)

*i studied linguistics for four years and concurrently did three years of sociolinguistics research, but i'm not currently employed in a linguistics-related field.

[pt 2] [pt 3] [pt 4] [pt 5]

thought i'd have some fun breaking down the languages in cos and stretch my rarely used linguistics muscles in the process! disclaimer: can't promise that i'll have any insights that a layperson wouldn't have, this is kinda just me thinking through the grammar of the language out loud haha.

this post covers the first language and will contain spoilers! it also assumes that you know what each of the symbols means already.

so the three glyphs from the devotee's language that you get introduced to right off the bat already tells me a lot: it's a pictographic logography (real life example: chinese characters), which is probably a good place to start for people who are new to language deciphering (also, none of these languages are spoken so an alphabet would be pointless lol). a logography is a writing system that represents whole words/concepts with a single character, as opposed to representing the sounds that the words make (like alphabets or syllabaries). i haven't completely finished the game yet (most of the way through the fourth language), but i'm p sure 1) all of the languages are logographies and 2) the devotee's language is the most true-to-life with its pictograms.

with these three words we can also begin to establish a pattern--verbs most likely have a line on the bottom, which holds true for the rest of the characters. i think the only exception to this rule is the character for "greeting", which is also used as the verb "salute" later in the game (an interesting choice (considering etymologies for greetings in irl languages), but it makes sense when your language is only 40 words lol). other patterns include the curved line for tools, the semi-open box for structures/locations, and the half-circle with the line for things relating to sight (which amusingly is also the overall game symbol for examining something). (not gonna include things like "man" and "music" and "plant" in this list cause they're defined in game.) i do think it's kind of fun that they introduced "i/me" and "you" before they introduced "man"—it validates that you'll find patterns haha.

(while writing the prev paragraph, it finally hit me that the symbol for "key" is open-tool. isn't that cool!)

i did notice at one point in the game that there was a devotee word that was cut off in one of the stone carvings that looked like it might have been the equivalent for "fortress"--it was the room radical with the two opposing arrows from the word for "warrior". although it's not validated by the game's automatic translation function, it does seem to be evidence that the language elements are fairly flexible and recombinable!

this language is SVO (subject verb object), like english, which again is a choice that makes sense in terms of easing people in. it uses reduplication with nouns to indicate plurality, which as far as i can tell is unique amongst the languages in this game. there's no tense markers, which is common to all the languages in this game (again, as far as i can tell without having encountered the last language yet). given how simple the languages in the game need to be, i'm not surprised that there aren't really auxiliary verbs or indications of infinitives either.

questions that still remain unanswered: - "dead/death", "seek", and "find" all have dots that don't show up in the other characters. not sure why that's the case. could be a representation of something metaphysical? - the character for "go/pass" has a "room" radical on the right side and something else on the left side. wonder if that was intentional

[blouisparadise]

Today we have the fourth part of our hurt/comfort rec list for you! There are tons of amazing fics on this list that we hope you'll show some love to. If you missed the previous parts, you can find part one here, part two here, and part three here. If you enjoy our rec lists, please be sure to like and reblog this post to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Wanna Feel the Edges Start to Burn | Explicit | 6,111 words

Harry gives him a gentle smile. “Feeling a little bit better?” Louis nods tentatively. “I think so yeah. Thank you so much for being so kind, but you really didn’t need to do this.” He lifts his unfortunately still shaky hand and runs it haphazardly through his hair. “It was just a spilled tea, I totally overreacted. I’m a bit embarrassed to be honest.” Harry scoffs. “Are you kidding me? Don’t be. I saw the whole thing, that guy was way out of line. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Louis gives him what he’s sure is a watery smile. “Erm thank you. I wouldn’t normally admit this to a stranger, but you’ve already seen me cry today so what the hell?” He forces himself to let out a weak laugh. “The thing is, my period is due any day now and sometimes the birth control pills make my emotions go a little haywire. I think that’s what happened.”

2) To Love Without Reason | Explicit | 8,894 words

“Come on in, soldier,” Louis pats Harry’s chest and walks away, leaving Harry to follow behind. Harry stands in the living room, looking around at Louis’ dwelling. Family pictures placed high on a shelf, certificates of Louis’ practice, and other trinkets that make Harry entirely too nostalgic. “I have to warn you,” Louis says as he puts the kettle on, the water droplets from his hair trickling down the golden skin of his back. “The door jams if you lock it so you'll have to leave it ajar.” Harry acknowledges with a soft hum, too entranced by Louis’ glistening skin to form a coherent reply.

3) Wanna Do Nothing With You | Explicit | 9,606 words

The accident happens in the stupidest way possible. One minute Louis is demonstrating a skateboard trick he’d just learned for Lottie, the next he’s waking up in a hospital. He’s told that he wasn’t unconscious the entire ride, but he has absolutely no recollection of it. One second he’s fucking around in his own garden and the next he’s being assaulted with the strong sterile scent of a hospital. So. There’s that.

4) Let Me Be Your Good Night | Explicit | 10,520 words

Louis goes on a shit Valentines date and Harry's the cute waiter who takes him home

5) For The Love Of Biscuits | Mature | 16,574 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

The thing about hybrids is that their animal instincts make them jumpy. And quite often lends them to being owned. Harry Styles wasn't looking to purchase a half-breed. But sometimes things just happen. And owning a fox/human hybrid was something that happened.

6) Works Like A Charm | Explicit | 18,088 words

Ever since Louis joined the team in fifth year, a few facts have become set in stone. One: Louis is the best chaser in Hogwarts. Two: Harry is the best beater in Hogwarts. Three: They do not get along. So it’s really unfair of Liam to think that forcing them to spend time together as Louis recovers from his injury will make them the best of friends. The last thing Louis would do is get along with that git.

7) Soup Of The Day | Explicit | 19,958 words

It had been the single minded goal for them since college and seemed simple enough. 1. Study hard. 2. Open their dream restaurant. 3. Take the culinary world by storm. What could possibly go wrong?

8) Under The Rain Or Under The Snow | Explicit | 20,667 words

Christmas AU where they broke up a month ago but Harry shows up at Louis’ childhood home for the holidays. Louis didn’t tell his mum about their breakup so staying with them is not ideal. Harry stays.

9) Heart Eyes | Explicit | 21,467 words

Harry is a dedicated sentinel with a strong aversion to demons, and Louis is the lovesick incubus who will go to any lengths to win Harry's heart.

10) It Was All By Design (‘Cause I’m A Mastermind) | Explicit | 21,986 words

“You can’t be serious. You think I would be so awful to work for - you would rather quit?” “Don’t be all high and mighty about it,” Harry scoffs. “Surely you would do the same.” “I’m not being high and mighty. It’s called being professional.” “Really?” Harry pushes. “You’d work diligently under me with no complaints? You’d do whatever I asked of you?” “That would be my job, so yeah.” Harry shakes his head. “I’d work you so fucking hard,” he says slowly, “that you’d have to quit.”

11) Thrown To The Wolves | Explicit | 21,681 words

Louis is a human living in the Styles' wolf pack who can't stop getting into trouble, and Harry is the soon-to-be alpha who thinks keeping Louis at arm's length is the safest option.

12) Letters To June | Mature | 41,150 words

It's 1915, Europe is in the middle of the Great War. Omega Louis decides to join the Letter Home Project to become someone’s penfriend. Through this he meets a lovely soldier who hasn't got anyone else to send a letter to. Along with his letter, comes a picture of the most handsome alpha Louis has ever seen.

13) Catch Me If I Fall | Explicit | 47,099 words

Lovers when on the stage but bitter rivals as soon as they step off, Harry and Louis have butted heads from the moment they first met. Locked in a stalemate that they hope to ride out until graduation, things take a turn when Harry learns that Louis is hiding a secret.

14) As We Are | Explicit | 48,268 words

Louis doesn't think much when he's asked to meet up with the alpha of the pack two hours from his own - he figures it's business as usual. But Harry Styles is anything but usual.

15) Once Burnt, Twice Shy | Explicit | 52,644 words

Louis and Harry are polar opposites in every way. Where Louis is a bestselling author from the city, Harry is a small-town firefighter who’s never left his home. Where Louis is spontaneous and spirited, Harry is introverted and calm, never straying from routine. When an ill-fated accident and an exceptionally intelligent tabby bring them together, they are forced to confront their pasts and forge a better beginning for themselves. Will sparks fly, or will it all go up in flames?

16) Of Lost Things | Explicit | 57,890 words

Louis comes with a familiarity Harry has never felt with anyone else before. After their fateful meeting, their chemistry became undeniable, and soon after, Harry had felt like he hit the jackpot when it came to finding the person he would spend the rest of his life with. But all relationships come with their own unique problems, and Harry soon realizes that their relationship is no different. When their problems go from unordinary to nearly bizarre in nature, he takes it upon himself to find an answer to their troubles. What he stumbles upon are terrifying coincidences between his and Louis’ story, and the ill-fated mythological couple, Orpheus and Eury. But it’s all they are; just coincidences, ones that feel as frighteningly familiar as Louis. Except… what if none of this is a coincidence? What if everything Harry has always seen as fiction is true, and myth—or rather, history, is about to repeat itself?

17) Sink Into Your Sunlight | Explicit | 79,562 words

In the grand scheme of things Louis did believe in love, what he didn’t believe was that he would ever find it in his life time for himself. Low and behold he would find it with someone he didn’t anticipate, now it was just a matter of having it work out the way he dreamed of.

18) Invisible String | Explicit | 84,726 words

Louis swears on his life that that man came out of literal nowhere and he thanks each lucky star for having good breaks in his car. This strange alpha also happens to be the most beautiful being Louis has laid his eyes on. For some unknown reason, the omega feels safe around the alpha. It might seem strange, but you can't always explain why or how things are the way they are. All you can really be sure of is that they happen for a reason. There's a higher power (call it what you want) that knows better and definitely knows more than you do.

19) Wind Beneath My Wings | Explicit | 93,131 words

As an omega carer that works at a rescue and rehabilitation centre for feral alphas and omegas, Louis has experienced all sides of ferality. So Harry- a cold, near mute, non-receptive alpha- was a challenging case for everyone at Phoenix Rehab Centre. Louis wasn’t expecting to feel drawn towards an aloof Harry, or to form a slow bond with him. He certainly was not expecting for his entire life to change in unforeseen ways.

20) You Were My Because | Explicit | 109,089 words

Note: Please be sure to read the tags and any warnings.

Louis has battled the demons of his past for years now and has little hope of finding happiness for himself. Especially now that a school reunion is taking place and the memories of his school days are suddenly coming back with full force. But after rain always comes sunshine, in Louis’ case in the form of his old schoolmate Harry. A story about healing, friendship, finding trust and love.

21) Drops of Jupiter | Mature | 121,826 words

In a small, sleepy town ruled by prejudice, Louis Tomlinson runs his grandmothers shop for the occult. He finds comfort in his tarot cards, his friends, and a dog that he doesn't have room for. He thought the worst he'd have to deal with would be bigotry, until a new sheriff arrives with a headstrong little girl that's impossible not to fall in love with. But what happens when a string of break-ins leads to a brutal attack, and the towns' darling is murdered right under their Sunday hats? A murder that just so happens to bear the same modus operandi as similar homicides in neighbouring states. Has the killer been circling Virginia, or is he a local of Lavender Hills? And what will Louis do when the charming Sheriff Styles starts to suspect him of such a heinous crime?

22) Sewn Into You | Explicit | 167,485 words | Sequel

Harry Styles thinks soulmates are a fairytale, or in other words-a lie. He has no interest in entertaining anything that has anything to do with the very name that had been etched along his collarbone since his eighteenth birthday. Louis Tomlinson won't be answering to another alpha for the rest of his life if he can help it. Fuck happy endings, his soul mate can choke on it. Problem is, Harry needs a personal assistant to save his family's business, Louis needs the cash to officially move off of his childhood best-friend's couch. They can manage. Surely, nothing will go wrong.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[the-smut-analyst]

Making Characters That Make Sense

Walk-through character template & "how to" guide for writing complex, original protagonists.

If you google "character templates for writing", you'll get a lot of very basic examples that read like a grocery list: eye colour, hair colour, skin colour, positive traits, negative traits, etc.

And sure, filling out this kind of template isn't completely useless - but it's also not particularly useful, either. Choosing whether your protagonist has blue eyes or green eyes isn't going to determine whether readers connect with them or not.

Instead, I prefer to use the below template:

There's some fairly left-of-centre categories here, so in this blog post I'll be creating a character from scratch to demonstrate what each section means and how to use the template effectively.

Primary Goal & Raison D'Être

Fantasy Romance is having a bit of a tournament-to-the-death moment right now, with Hunger Games-inspired stories like Fourth Wing, Throne of Glass, The Savior's Champion, and The Serpent and the Wings of Night in high demand - so that's what we're going to work with in today's blog post.

The story premise and primary goal of the protagonist are almost always interconnected. In this case, the story premise is a tournament to the death - and the character's main goal is to win that tournament, obviously.

But where there's room for some originality is in the raison d'être. This loosely translates to "reason for being" or "purpose". It's the why of it.

For example: what motivated this character to risk their life by entering such a tournament in the first place?

It is sometimes helpful to look at similar stories when thinking about this category. Not so you can copy their protagonist's motivations - but so you can do something different.

The whole selfless-self-sacrifice thing, for example - that's done. At least in relation to this particular sub-genre. We can do better for our hypothetical Maera Mystfang character.

Actually, let's really turn the trope on its head and make her raison d'être incredibly self-centred.

Already, this is character is shaping up to be something a little bit different within the niche of tournaments to the death. Which goes to show how putting a little bit of thought can go a long way, even with something as simple as identifying your character's initial purpose.

Primary Obstacle

Every protagonist needs a goal - and every goal needs an obstacle. This is what gives the story some tension and keeps readers turning the page.

An obvious choice of obstacle for this hypothetical character, since we're dealing with a fantasy romance, would be that Maera starts to develop feelings for one of her fellow competitors.

This concept has definitely been done, but that's okay. Not every section of this list has to break the mould. Tropes exist for a reason and it is totally okay to lean into them sometimes.

However, just for funsies, I'm going to try and put a slightly different spin on this one too.

Instead of the obvious "I love one of the people I'm meant to kill", let's make Maera's (previously dormant) conscience be the problem. Her reasons for entering the tournament may have been self-motivated, but as she gets to know her fellow competitors - admires some of them, even - she starts to second guess those reasons.

Core Traits

A lot of character templates will divide personality traits into positives and negatives - but I don't think this is particularly helpful. It is far too one dimensional - not to mention unrealistic. The key components of someone's personality aren't usually so black and white.

In fact, most core traits are both good and bad at the same time - it just depends on the context.

Instead of being wholly positive or negative, try to think of three core character traits that can serve as two sides of the same coin, with both positive and negative implications to each.

For Maera, I've given her these core traits:

Self-reliant;

Rebellious; and

Good-humoured.

Her self-reliance means that she is incredibly capable - but it's also the cause of her selfishness. She's always had to look after herself, so she expects others to do the same.

Her rebellious attitude means she isn't willing to accept the status quo. But at times she is also a rebel without a cause, causing trouble just for the fun of it.

Her good sense of humour means she is fun to be around, but she also tends to not take things as seriously as she should.

Thinking of core traits in this multi-faceted way not only adds realistic complexity, but it also sets you up well for showcasing character development and growth throughout the story.

Fatal Flaw & Character Arc / Growth

You've probably read negative reviews that throw around terms like "Mary Sue" or "Gary Stu". People tend to be over-zealous with these terms, especially for Mary Sue, but the gist of it is that the character in question is "too perfect".

They're the chosen one, they're good at everything, all the boys like them, etc.

Some characters can get away with this just fine. Look at Aragorn. He's the ultimate Gary Stu but I still swoon every time he opens those damn doors. You know the scene I'm talking about.

Ooft.

But for the most part, you want to incorporate a fatal flaw into your protagonists - because this is what gives them room to grow.

And, no. "I was born to be King but I don't wanna" does not count as a fatal flaw.

Instead, think bigger. Think worse. Think about where your character starts versus where you want them to end up. Think about how you want the events of the narrative to change their world view - or even their initial goal.

For Maera, her fatal flaw is pretty obvious, given her initial motivations for entering the tournament. Similarly, her growth/arc is linked to her primary obstacle, which is developing a conscious.

Her journey throughout this hypothetical story might be learning to appreciate how her past shaped her, while also acknowledging that there are things she can do to ensure others don't have to go through what she did. By being shown acts of kindness, she learns to appreciate their value.

First Impression

Now that we've covered all the "big picture" stuff, let's get into some of the smaller details that give your character some texture.

The first impression category is a hypothetical exercise where you image how your character might appear to a room full of strangers. In dual, multi, or omniscient POVs, you might even get the opportunity to include this impression somewhere in the story.

But even for first-person narratives, it is still worth thinking about, because it will help to inform how other characters interact and respond to your protagonist (at least at first).

For Maera, I've written this first impression as: a fun person to have a few drinks with - so long as you keep a close eye on your wallet.

From this description, we can guess that Maera probably likes to have a good time, but also comes across as untrustworthy. Whether that impression is deserved or not is up to you, as the author, to decide.

There's also a lot of deeper directions you can take this first impression category, too. Like if most people react to Maera this way, but one particular character doesn't, then your readers are going to sit up and pay extra attention during that interaction. Especially when that person reacting atypically is the future love interest.

Spirit Animal

Ah, this one is a fun one!

I always encourage my authors to assign a "spirit animal" to their characters - especially when they're doing multi-POV.

There are two main reasons for this:

It will allow you to assign some very distinct adjectives and verbs with that particular character; and

It is an opportunity to flesh out some additional character traits beyond the core traits.

For Maera, I've chosen "spider" because she is solitary by nature, opportunistic, and patient.

But, more than that, I also like the idea of Maera being the kind of person who knows how to watch and wait. While her first impression might be "here for the good times", her joking façade is actually a mask she wears while carefully observing others.

For example:

Her words were laced with venom. She crawled her way across the rooftop. At some point, weaving lies had become more of a past time that a necessity. Her thoughts were a tangled mess. She didn't bother to conceal her predatory gaze. Inch by cautious inch, she crept forward. Her sanity was already hanging by a thread. If there was one thing she knew how to do, it was spin a good story - truth be damned.

I've never outright compared Maera to a spider in these examples, nor have I made it blatantly obvious that that's what I'm doing. But by peppering these kinds or words throughout the story, I'll be able to subtly create a very distinct kind of impression for her character.

For comparison's sake, let's assign "cat" to the love interest. Examples of possible words to consider in this instance might be:

He clawed his way through the bushes. "What are you doing?" he hissed. The comment had some bite to it, that was for sure. He slunk away into the darkness. His still, unwavering focus was unnerving. He prowled towards her. In a few quick, agile steps, he'd made it across the parapet. He yawned and stretched out beside her.

Of course, not every single word you use in association with a character needs to be related to their spirit animal. But keeping a certain type of animal in mind - and finding opportunities to throw in some subtle messaging through language choice - can be beneficial on so many levels.

It helps to distinguish your characters from one another through the kind of language you use to describe them - but it's also just really, really fun way to add some bonus texture to your characters. Giving your readers some little easter eggs like this is never a bad thing.

Love Language

If you're unfamiliar with the concept of the five basic love languages, then here's a quick visual overview:

Love languages aren't a consideration that's specific to romance. They're important for friendships and familial relationships too.

Because thinking about what your protagonist values most in love is going to tell you a lot about who they are. Especially when you take the question deeper and think about why this is something they value.

For Maera, I've chosen "Acts of Service" because this ties in quite well to her character arc.

In terms of Maera's why, I could easily go with "because this was how she was shown love as a child" - and this is a good enough option most of the time. However, since her love language is very much tied into growing out of her fatal flaw, then I actually want to do the opposite.

Maera winds up valuing acts of service because this is something she craved - and wasn't given - as a child. She had to do things the hard way instead. Hence why she ends up appreciating the kindness of others so much. Such generosity is new to her - and precious.

Conflict Response

This is potentially one of the most overlooked character components. Conflict and tension is central to story telling, yet there is so little attention given to creating authentic, original responses to conflict.

The way I see it, there are three main considerations in regards to conflict response:

How your character reacts in the moment;

The unhealthy methods they use to deal with the aftermath; and

The healthy methods they use (or discover) to self-sooth.

When faced with conflict, Maera's immediate reaction is to antagonise. She doesn't like to back down and enjoys creating trouble.

However, in the aftermath, the conflict affects her more than she lets on. She stews on it - and her solution to that is to get drunk until she can forget about it completely.

But even though she sometimes forgets it, Maera has a more healthy coping mechanism at her disposal. When she is surrounded by nature - in the forest, by the sea, whatever - it calms her.

In addition to identifying your protagonist's various responses to conflict, it is also helpful to think about why. Again, this is a great opportunity to insert something unique into their character backstory.

With Maera, for example, let's think about why she finds nature so soothing. Perhaps, amidst a very bleak childhood, one of her fondest memories is of picking grapes in a vineyard.

Perhaps the elderly woman who owned the vineyard was very rude and abrupt - but also quite kind to Maera in her own way. Maybe she would sometimes stitch up Maera's clothes or feed Maera a hearty, meaty dinner - even though she didn't have to.

If you're struggling to think of a real, tangible, unique memory such as this - then it's always helpful to go back to the old classic of write what you know. Think of a real life moment or memory - something that's stuck with you, no matter how simple - then adapt it to your character.

To create this vineyard example, I simply drew on my experience of picking strawberries with my Nonna after school.

Mentor / Idol

I could write an entire thesis on mentors. Or, more specifically, the "death of the mentor" trope - both in its literal and metaphorical interpretations.

But, for the sake of brevity, let's save that sh*t for another time and focus on what's important for a basic (yet complex) character template. And that is:

The Formative Mentor (past); and

Transformative Mentor (present).

The formative mentor (or idol) is someone who influenced your character prior to the events of the novel. Sometimes they're a character the reader will meet, or other times, they're long gone before the novel even begins.

The transformative mentor is a much looser term. It doesn't necessarily have to be a traditional mentor character, but rather it is a character who heavily influences or changes your protagonist throughout the events of the novel.

For Maera, I want her earliest idol to be a random female sell-sword who she crossed paths with. Prior to meeting this sell-sword, Maera was living without hope for a future, surviving on scraps and petty crime.

But after seeing an independent and moderately wealthy sell-sword in her local tavern, Maera got a glimpse into the kind of life that might be possible if she learned to fight. With the right kind of skills, she might be able to earn some decent money for a change - and travel the world.

This is an example of how "mentors" don't always have to be a wise wizard who oversees your protagonist's training and education. Young minds are impressionable - and even distant figures can have a lasting impact.

Just look at all the women who cite Legally Blonde as the reason why they were drawn to law. Elle Woods wasn't even real - but for plenty of young girls, she made an impact.

Similarly, your protagonist's "present" mentor or idol doesn't necessarily have to be a wise wizard either. It can simply be someone who motivates them to change their world view or strive to be better.

In romance, it is more than acceptable to have the present mentor coincide with the love interest - especially in standalone enemies-to-lovers. I know this seems counter-intuitive, since the word "mentor" implies a power imbalance, but it makes more sense if you readjust your definition of mentor to be "inspires change".

However, for Maera, I kind of like the idea of pairing her up with a love interest who shares some of her flaws. I vibe with the idea of making him a bit self-interested too, although for different reasons.

So in her example, I've listed the present mentor as a selfless secondary character. The way I would envision this going is Maera and the love interest team up early on - but somewhere along the way a secondary character saves them both. They're both heavily influenced by this character before this character sacrifices themselves. The aftermath of this incident rattles both Maera and her love interest, and serves as the spark for growth.

I hope you found this template - and very long explanation - useful!

[pentacentric]

I probably think way too much about how very little Sam knew about Mary. How John and Dean gave him almost nothing, to the point that she wasn't even really like a ghost shadowing his life, more like the story of one overheard in bits and pieces over the years. And yet, his whole life from when he can first remember—every bit of motivation or guilt, every point of pride or shame—is built around his mother, this person he isn't allowed to know.

I've written a lot of bits and pieces about it before, but never a standalone. This is actually an excerpt from a longer story, but I modified it some and I think it works on its own, hopefully (he knows about hunting already but that's really the only canon difference).

..........................

When Sam's in fourth grade, and has to write a page about his favorite memory, he asks for Dean's help. All he can seem to dredge up at the moment is just too weird or too farfetched. Things that say far too much about the way they live for a teacher to read.

So he asks Dean what he would write about.

After some teasing about his best memories being of all the times Sam's embarrassed himself (and a well-aimed pink rubber eraser hitting him between the eyes) Dean quiets down and turns thoughtful.

"Well, I dunno what my most favorite memory would be, really. I guess…" He bites his lip, chews on it for a second, gaze directed absently into the distance. "I think it would prob'ly be my first memories? It musta been, like, when I was three and four maybe. They're…of Mom."

"Oh." Sam's chest gets a little tight. He speaks quietly, cautiously. Dean—Dean and Dad both—they don't talk about her much. Sam's seen her picture, the one that Dad keeps in his journal, a few times, but he knows so little about her. Just that she was pretty (beautiful), with a smile that reminds of him of Dean's and wavy blonde hair. "What was she—what are they like?"

Dean smiles, maybe a little sad, but it's more than that. Warm, wistful; gaze still unfocused and distant. "Mostly…happy. Like…bright. She'd sing to me a lot, and, like, I didn't know the songs back then, but, when I hear 'em now, I can hear her voice singing them. Beatles, Beach Boys, Simon and Garfunkel, um…Peter, Paul, and Mary, maybe…" Dean chuffs out a laugh. "I remember Puff the Magic Dragon, at least…I think I even remember Dad teasin' her about how she better sing me some real music, too, not just sissy crap, but, I dunno, maybe I made that up."

Dean pauses, that bittersweet expression on his face, still, and Sam doesn't want him to get lost in it. He also doesn't want to miss this opportunity, if he can help it.

"I dunno. He'd say somethin' like that." Dean spares him half a smile, still somewhere else in his head. "What…what else do you remember? What'd you guys do together?"

"Well, not a whole lot. I guess mostly just the normal stuff you do with a little kid. Like legos, I remember we'd build castles an' fortresses and stuff. I wanted her to build me a car but we didn't have enough black bricks, so she made me a little boat instead. Dad said it looked like a bathtub." He smiles. "Um, she'd dance with me, sometimes. To the radio. Make lunch—I mostly remember sandwiches and Mac n' Cheese. I'd sit in that little seat in the cart when she went to the grocery store, and she'd ask me what was on the list and I'd pretend I could read it and make up dumb stuff."

The silence is longer this time. Sam breathes out, carefully. "What kinda stuff?"

"I dunno. Just silly things, like 'elephant steaks!' Or 'a unicorn!' Or 'poop n' rhubarb pie!'"

"Gross." Sam wrinkles his nose.

Dean grins at that. "I think you're, like, the only kid ever who never found poop and fart jokes funny."

"'Cause they're not."

When Dean laughs, muttering little weirdo, Sam looks around for something harmless to throw at him, pouts.

"Don't worry, Sammy, if anyone wonders why you're so weird I'll just tell them it's 'cause you still poop your pants, and you're kinda sensitive about it an' all."

"Dean."

Sam decides that his pencil is perfectly fine to throw after all and, as a concession, doesn't aim it at his head. Dean grins, not seeming too annoyed by the assault, so Sam decides to push his luck.

"Did Mom think it was funny? Your lists?"

Dean's melancholy little smile is back. "Yeah…yeah, I think she did. She'd always laugh, anyways. An' she had the best laugh. I'd make up stuff that just got more and more ridiculous just so I could keep watchin' her laugh." He sighs, shrugs. "Anyways, yeah…that's Mom. That's what I remember."

It gets quiet after that, and Sam can see Dean's face starting to shutter over as he withdraws. It's rare for Sam to get to see his brother so open and unguarded any more. Over the last few years, Dean's started to change; Sam can tell. Still fun, still charming, still affectionate, at least with Sam (mostly when there's no one else around to catch him being so uncool). But, even though they're not always alike—Dean doesn't usually brood, rarely explodes, and he never gets that kind of burning cold John does when he's focused on something—sometimes now he kinda reminds Sam of Dad. He's been more closed off, the way Dad can be, his deeper emotions pushed farther away, out of Sam's reach. Doesn't show when things get to him, like he used to.

It's actually kind of lonely, sometimes.

"So, what are you gonna write about, Sammy?"

When Sam shrugs, Dean suggests the time they ran out of gas on a back road in central Florida. They'd only walked two miles before an Oscar Myer Wienermobile came barreling down the road, seemingly out of nowhere, and gave them a lift to and from the closest gas station (still a good eight miles away). Sam counters with the night in Montana that Dad got so drunk he started fighting with the motel owner about yetis (Dad coming down hard on the side of 'hoax'). They ended up getting kicked out at two am after Dad had cut down the guy’s “Bigfoot Crossing” sign with an axe. They toss back and forth increasingly ridiculous ideas until they're both laughing so hard they're in literal tears. When John comes back, they can't even stop long enough to answer what's so funny. Dad just smiles, bemused and fond, and shakes his head before heading off to shower.

Sam thinks maybe he can add this afternoon to his Good Memories pile.

In the end, he waits until that evening, before bed, and easily fills up a page-and-a-half about the time, last summer, when Dad was on a hunt out west and he and Dean had spent all afternoon exploring tidal pools in Yaquina Head, Oregon, marveling at the tiny little aquatic worlds they found. He invents an older teenage cousin that tagged along so the teacher won't question why two young kids spent the day alone in a national park.

He gets an A.

From then on, Sam keeps his eyes out in thrift stores for cassettes from the bands Dean mentioned; pockets them when he can to listen to later on the beat-up Walkman knock-off Dean stole for him for his sixth birthday. He likes a lot of it, but he's careful about what he keeps; only his favorites. He stashes them in the bottom of his school bag, in the hollowed-out book that Bobby showed him how to make last year, on a rainy day when Sam got bored with watching old Westerns.

For some reason, he doesn't want Dean to know about them. Doesn't want him to feel like Sam's trying to take something away from him. So he slips them in when he's sitting in the back of the Impala alone, on long trips, and closes his eyes. Lets the albums pour into his ears over the headphones; shuts the rest of the world out. Sgt Pepper's. Pet Sounds. Bookends. He tries to imagine his mom, Mary, singing the songs to him, in a sunny kitchen.

But he can never really pull together a complete image of her; just bits and pieces, blurred-together impressions: yellow hair, the smiling face from the picture (looking kind of flat, like a mask), a flowered dress he'd seen in a shop window. And he doesn't know what her voice sounded like, so it kind of just ends up being a composite of the voices of some of his favorite teachers (along with the mother of a classmate back in Indiana who drove him home once when she spotted him waiting for the rain to stop under the playground slide).

So he gives up on trying to picture her, and, instead, just tries to sink into the music, sees if he can feel what she was feeling when she listened to it. Imagines the conversations they might have: which songs would be her favorites, why she would have liked them, where she was the first time she heard them playing.

When he hears those songs on the radio now, or over the speakers in a restaurant, it makes him feel kind of happy and sad at the same time.

They remind him of her.

(Except for America—for some reason, that one makes him think of Dean.)

[daydreaming-of-doctor-who]

Hi! I love your writing!! I was wondering if there was any way I could get a headcanons list with Four, Six and Eight and a romantic companion reader 'stealing' their iconic clothes, like Four's scarf or Six and Eight's coats? Thank you!!

A/N: I'm always down for comfy things like this! Who wouldn't want to do this? XD I may have had a little too much fun with this one.

Headcanons of Romantic Companion Reader 'stealing' the Doctor's (4, 6 & 8's) iconic clothing items:

Fourth Doctor:

You can't help yourself. The Doctor has taken off his iconic long scarf and left it right there, all alone. Surely he won't mind if you use it for yourself, only for a little bit?

It's soft, as you wrap it around your neck, practically smelling the Jelly Babies from it. Yep, it smells exactly like him.

It really is comforting, especially just knowing it is his.

There's a certain feeling of power that comes with it too. You can't help but start imitating him, maybe strutting around a bit, not noticing he has been watching you with curiosity and amusement from the door the whole time.

There is a wide grin on his face, and you suddenly feel embarassed.

Four only comes up towards you, patting your head, and then wrapping you up nice and snug in his scarf himself.

"If you wanted to wear it, you could have just asked, Y/N."

I mean, just imagine when you want his attention, you just yank on his scarf and it stops him in his tracks. You can just quite literally pull him towards you and he can't escape.

Sixth Doctor:

The Doctor takes off his coat so he can work on some TARDIS maintenance without getting it dirty or ruined. Your eyes keep glancing at the iconic multicolored piece of fashion.

Then you find yourself slowly taking the coat while he isn't looking, sneaking it on. Wow...it's still warm. It feels as though he's wrapped his arms around you and enveloped you in a hug.

It even smells like him, giving you a strange sense of calm.

However, the coat is definetly too big for you, but it makes it all the better.

You hear the Doctor clear his throat, looking to see him glancing up at you knowingly. You've been caught.

He stands up and you stay still, cheeks red. However, he surprises you by glancing you over.

"It clearly doesn't fit you size wise, but it looks just as fabulous on you, my dear Y/N. I may just have to get one made for you."

"But I like yours."

"Then you can borrow it whenever."

Eighth Doctor:

Oh my. Ever the gentlemen, honestly. You really don't need to 'steal' his coat from him. He'll gladly give it to you whenever you need it, even if you think you don't.

Whether it's rain, or shine, or snow, he just automatically pops it off and covers you in it.

But you like to use it as a security blanket of sorts, especially for anxiety or just bad days.

Eight is always coming in, seeing you cuddled up with it, or sleeping with it, sending a heartfelt grin to his face.

However, there are times when you get bold and brave enough to just say: "I'm taking your coat, now!" as you proceed to pull it off him.

He doesn't mind. If anything, it touches his hearts knowing you want a little piece of him with you.

[kitthepurplepotato]

Chapter 19 - Cards against humanity.

Part 2 of Winter Wonderland!

Summary: The gang makes it to the cabins. Izuku and Y/N tries out the fluffy rug in front of the fireplace. The heroes play Cards Against Humanity (MHA version) while drunk. Things get out of hand really quickly.

Warnings: Swear words, suggestive, drinking, drunk shenanigans, absolutely vile Cards Against Humanity cards so please, be aware that this chapter contains a lot of uhm… stuff. 16 +

First Chapter Master List KO-FI page

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“I won, motherfuckers!” Katsuki yells victoriously as he makes it to the top of the mountain with Eijirou in his tail. Needless to say, everyone is in pieces; there’s so much panting going on, Rody is meters behind everyone, actually hyperventilating, you, Kyouka and Izuku are somewhere in the middle but only because Izuku gave you a piggy back ride (with black whip because he’s a good boy and he knows his limits.)

“I’m never… going camping with… heroes… ever again.” Rody pants, his legs shaking like a leaf.

“Who asked you to run with us, huh?” Katsuki retorts with a devilish smirk. “Know your place, weakling!”

“I thought… we are done … hating each other?!” Rody pants.

“This is how he loves, Rody.” Kirishima sighs.

“Jesus, stop fucking talking and sit the fuck down for a second, do you want to die or something?!” Katsuki yells with a red face, from embarrassment or just from the cold, no one will ever know.

The view is absolutely stunning up here; you can see the whole city underneath, the fairy lights connected to the street lights are sparkling happily, the snowflakes are massive but their flow is quite sparse at the moment so you can see everything perfectly as the snow doesn’t obstruct the view too much. Up on the mountain where you are standing right now, the snow is fresh and crisp, completely untouched except for the few imprints of your own shoes, the cabins are also covered in white, fairly lights attached to every single one of them, all sparkling in different colors to make the cabins distinguishable (probably in case someone gets too drunk to remember which cabin they rented. Haha).

“I’m sure I don’t really need to tell you who stays with who but I will do it anyway.” Shouto speaks up as well, clearly excited to be able to do his usual shenanigans. “First cabin: Hitoshi, Denki and Kyouka.” Kyouka and Denki cheers happily. Hitoshi looks… a little bit gobsmacked.

“You guys are getting the bigger cabin which has three separate rooms, so you can sleep alone if you need privacy or you can just use the massive master bedroom and have a sleepover!” Rody chimes in, picking up on the grumpy vibes coming from the lilac haired man.

“Oh, Rody! Do you mind sharing the other big cabin with us?” Yaomomo smiles.

“Yeah, that’s perfect for me!”

“With that said.” Shouto continues. “Momo, Rody and I will share the second cabin. Tamaki and Mirio will get the third one, Katsuki and Eijirou the fourth, which has a massive common space apparently, and Izuku and Y/N are getting the last cabin.”

“If there are any invisible individuals hiding in a bushes, please speak up now. The cabins will be locked overnight and it’s freezing outside.” Yaomomo adds, looking around with clear suspicion.

“Hagakure is not here.” Kyouka speaks up. “I personally asked if she would like to come but she’s away on a mission in America.”

“Splendid.” Momo mutters. “Please make sure to take some pictures for the people who couldn’t make it today. They might not be here in person but let’s make them feel included by sending them selfies and pictures of the place.”

“There’s no reception up here but there is wi-fi in the cabins! Don’t ask how they made that happen, but… yeah.” Rody scratches the back of his head sheepishly.

“Okay, so...” Momo continues. “This is where we usually give warnings, but seeing your faces, I think there is no need to do this today. But please, drink responsibly and don’t do stupid things. Only go outside in groups during the night.”

“Don’t go into the attached onsen while drunk. Trust me, it doesn’t end well if you do.” Rody chimes in, embarrassed. “Hot water and alcohol are a really bad combination.”

“Thank you for your helpful input, Rody! I’m glad to have another reasonable person in this group!”

“You guys know he only knows that because he fucking tried, right?” Katsuki mutters, rolling his eyes aggressively.

“That’s a fair point. But he learnt his lesson!” Mirio, the symbol of positivity adds.

“Hey, can you do something about that rainbow coming out of your ass? It hurts my eyes.” Katsuki makes a snarky comment, trying his best to sound menacing but he can barely hide his smile.

“Stop looking at my juicy peach then!” Mirio turns away, showing off his indeed juicy butt to the “audience” by bending over. The whole gang roars.

“Is this another gay thing I don’t understand?” Shouto asks his girlfriend with a bamboozled look on his face.

“I think it’s just a Mirio thing, to be absolutely honest.” Momo giggles with a fond look on her face. “Let’s go, guys!” She yells once more and everyone makes their way towards their respective cabin.

Izuku takes your hand in his and pulls you towards the cabin excitedly; you go without a single retort.

~•🥦•~

“This is so cute!” You yell excitedly right as you go through the main door.

This cabin looks so homey it makes you want to cry. Everything is wood and it’s just how you imagined it in your daydreams; there is a massive, cosy sofa full of blankets, almost the size of a normal living room, yellow fairy lights everywhere on the ceiling. There is a massive fireplace built into the wall, heat emanating from the fire that the staff has started before you arrived, filling the room with warmth and that lovely scent of burning wood.

“The fluffy rug!” Izuku points at the pure white rug by the fireplace exitedly. “It has a fluffy rug!” He doesn’t even let you put your backpack down before he pulls you towards it with childish glee.

“Izuku, we only have half an hour!”

“Shut up, wifey.”

“Izuku, what the hell?!” You giggle to yourself, given up on resisting quite quickly; Izuku takes that as a win and pulls you into his lap, slowly taking the backpack off your shoulders. He throws it on the massive sofa with the help of black whip, then lies down on the fluffy rug with you on top of him. Huh. This position is quite… uhm… suggestive. Huh, take a few deep breaths, will ya?!

You look down to see Izuku’s face and damn, that was a mistake; his hair is splayed out on the rug, his pine green hair even brighter in the sunlight coming in from the massive windows behind him; his face is pink from the cold, his eyes full of wonder as he looks up at you. You can’t help but lower yourself down, leaning on your elbows so you can look into those emerald eyes with nothing but love.

“Hi.” You mutter, your eyes slowly moving down to his puffy lips.

“Kiss me.”

That’s all it took to loose your composure. One sentence.

You kiss him with all you’ve got while Izuku’s hands snake inside your coat and your shirt and the touch sets your whole body ablaze; you slowly open Izuku’s own coat to be able to touch him properly, you hate all these layers, it’s way too hot in here, way too much for your little heart to take in, knowing it can’t go anywhere right now, but you can’t stop, you just can’t, his scent is so addicting, that citrusy pine, that hint of wood and sweat, it’s so Izuku…

You make a small whimper when you feel Izuku’s tongue dancing with yours while he pulls you closer and closer until every single one of your body parts touch.

“Calm down.” You mutter to him (and to yourself), your actions saying the opposite as you deepen the kiss even more. You’ll never get used to being able to this, to kiss the man of your dreams. Needless to say the half an hour passes before you can even put your stuff down properly; you can’t stop enjoying each other on the fluffy rug, probably smelly from all the sweat because heavily kissing in five layers of clothing is the stupidest thing you two could have done right before Katsuki’s grill party. Both of you start laughing as your alarm goes off.

“Well, uhm… should we roll in the snow for a few minutes before we go?” You snicker with your nose in Izuku’s neck.

“Should we just skip it and uhm… continue this?” Izuku retorts back. You can’t help but giggle once again.

“Do you want to die a slow, torturous death?”

“I’m quite sure I’ll be beaten to pulp the second we go through that door while looking like this anyway.”

“Fair point. Let’s go.” You try to pull yourself up but Izuku is not having it.

“One more kiss.”

… you got there half an hour late. I know, shocking.

~•🥦•~

“Today we are playing… drum beats please…” Denki’s body is about to burst from all the energy. Katsuki, still busy plating the food, stops for a second and beats on his thighs. “Thank you! We are playing… cards against humanity!”

The whole gang yells “NOOOOOOOO!”. Except for Denki and Katsuki. They look fucking thrilled.

“And I thought today will be easy.” Momo sighs exasperatedly.

“I want to go home.” Tamaki mutters to Mirio who only smiles at him.

“Okay guys, you don’t need to play if you don’t want to!” Denki retreats. “You guys can be the judges! So who’s playing?”

“Fuck yes!” Katsuki yells.

“I’m in!” Kirishima also joins.

“Hmm…” Izuku mutters then his smile changes into a shit-eating grin. “Fuck yeah.”

“Oh my god, Izuku swore! Hell yeah, man!”

You swear you see some electricity crackling around Denki. Bro must me really excited.

“I think I want to try this game.” Shouto mutters as well.

“Amajiki and I will play together if that’s okay!” Mirio chimes in; bless him, he’s such a sweetheart for trying to keep the shy man in the loop without him being in the centre of attention, knowing way too much that he would probably shit himself if he’d need to read the cards out loud in front of all these people.

Momo, Rody, you and Hitoshi became the judges of the game. You have a feeling this will be a lot of fun.

~•🥦•~

“What would Granma find disturbing, yet oddly charming?” Rody reads out the question loud, buzzing from energy. “Come on, don’t disappoint me.”

The players are already laughing their ass off as they look through their cards. Rody collects the cards and can barely stop laughing.

“All Might’s massive thighs on your face. Wow. Kinky.”

“Shigaraki’s five hundred broken fingers.” Hitoshi reads the next one. “Wow. That’s a good one.”

“Deku’s Big, weird eyes.” You giggle as you read the next card. “That was Katsuki’s. Hundred percent.”

“Oh my god, I really don’t want to read this…. Hawk’s out of control blowjob parties.” Momo’s whole face flushes. The whole gang roars.

“Fat Gum’s soft belly. Awww!”

“Communism. This card is so dry it must have come from Shouto.”

“Fuck you, Rody.”

“Rude.”

~•🥦•~

“Bonus features include never-before-seen footage of…” Momo reads the next question.

This game is getting out of hand already.

“A severed horse penis being hurled at a politician. Okay who the fuck was that?” You giggle to yourself.

“Who the fuck do you think?” Katsuki replies with a shit eating grin.

“A sad, old man. Is that supposed to be an All Might reference?”

“You can NOT just call All Might a sad old man!” Izuku gawks, offended. Everyone ignores him.

“Wigs made of executed LOV members. That’s… wow.”

“All for One riding a baby horse. I need to see that.”

~•🥦•~

“You need to sit here and think about…” You read out the next question. The boys look more and more drunk as the game goes. Izuku is giggling to himself like an idiot the whole time and it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Stabbing a guy in the eye with an arrow, pulling it out and shooting another guy with it.”

Everyone looks at Katsuki. It’s just so obvious that it’s him.

“Casually suggesting a threesome. Someone needs to get laid.” Rody comments and Kyouka grins like an idiot.

“Throwing your dad into a dumpster and yelling “who’s the daddy now?”” You can’t help but literally snort out loudly at this one. “Okay, I don’t even care about the rest, this one wins.”

“It was me.” Shouto admits and the whole gang gawks at him.

“Damn, I’m impressed.” Even Katsuki can’t help but comment on this one.

“Momo says I have daddy issues.” He mumbles back with a straight face, his cheeks blushed from the alcohol.

Half of the team ends up on the floor, dying.

Kaminari resigns from the game and stays on the floor for the rest of the night.

~•🥦•~

“This year, I’m going to dedicate 100% of my energy to:” Hitoshi reads the card and takes one of the answer cards into his hand. “A Nomu wearing a tiny raincoat and booties. Okay, that’s quite disturbing but kinda cute.”

“You are cute.” Kaminari giggles, still on the floor, completely wasted. An exasperated sigh leaves Hitoshi’s mouth.

“You always talk nonsense when you are drunk.”

“You are cute though. Don’t sell yourself short buddy!” Rody smiles at the purple haired man who flushes aggressively.

“He can’t sell himself short. He’s tall.” Kaminari mutters and goes back to sleep. Your tummy hurts so much from all the laughing but you can’t help but laugh once again.

“Worshipping Stain’s right ear hole.” Momo snort sat this one. “This game has no filter.”

“Sucking Dynamight’s dick until it explodes.” You read the next card, flushing like a virgin.

“I like this game.” Katsuki laughs proudly. “The creator has a good taste.”

“Oh my god, Katsuki.” Eijirou giggles next him with an incredulous look on his face.

“What?” Katsuki retorts. “Feels nice to be appreciated!”

“Time to stop drinking, Kats. Your soft side is coming out.”

“Whatever.”

“Licking shoes.” Everyone looks at Shouto. Shouto just shrugs.

~•🥦•~

“Last round because you all had too much to drink.” Rody reprimands, looking at the pile of people on the floor. The only ones still paying are Mirio, Katsuki, Shouto and Izuku. Tamaki is still sober but he decided to sit in the corner, right next to the pile of people to “keep an eye on them”. It’s absolutely hilarious. You can’t help but take a picture of it. Hitoshi looks like he’s ready to kill as he stares at Denki and Kyouka snuggled up on the floor, right next to the fireplace. No one comments on it. They are too terrified of drunk Hitoshi to do so. “Who’s hot and smelly and about to die?”

“A fucked up alien fish from the deep.” You read the first card.

“All for one’s hope for a “better” future. Damn.” Rody laughs.

“Red Riot’s popularity.” At that, Katsuki smirks right at his drunk fiancé who gives him a side glare for being an asshole. “Oi, it was a joke, you are literally the hottest man walking on Earth.”

When Momo reads the last card, she almost chokes on their saliva.

“We have a winner, guys.” She smirks and shows the card to the rest of the team.

The card simply says…

“Endevour.”

“Jesus fuck, I’m dying.” Katsuki laughs like a maniac, reading out the card out loud. Even Kaminari wakes up to the loud laughter that seems to never end. Izuku is literally crying at this point.

“Oh my god, I will burn in hell for laughing at this but… I can’t stop!”

“Izuku, take a deep breath!” You whine, still laughing your ass off.

“One extra round?” Katsuki smirks at the his friends and he completely ignores the group’s loud “NOOOOOO!” And takes a card from the pile. It’s a two card one, this time. “Okay fuckers, let’s take 5 more extra cards and let’s have some fun with it.” Katsuki gives the card to you to read it out loud.

“Dying from - something - is painless, but I would still prefer -something-. Three, two, one, go!”

This time, everyone reads their own cards out loud because the drunk idiots forgot how to play this game. It’s only Katsuki, Shouto and Mirio in the game now, Izuku laughed so much he made himself sick and now he’s resting in your lap, trying not to throw up. He’s so silly sometimes, honestly.

“They say dying from a tiny dick is painless, but I would still prefer sex with a blindfold.” Katsuki smirks, clearly proud of his own creation.

“Not today, babe.” Kirishima mumbles from the floor and that’s when the whole team roars. Katsuki looks like he’s about to explode.

“They say dying from shame is painless but I would still prefer another war with All for One.” Mirio reads his own answer with a massive smile on his face.

“Damn.”

“They say dying from a firm tofu is painless, but I would still prefer choking on pro hero Deku’s humongous dick.” Shouto KILLS everyone with his his answer. At least half of the gang has tears in their eyes.

Izuku chokes on his own saliva then laughs for a few minutes with his hands on his belly and… runs to the toilet to throw up.

“Emotional damage.” Hitoshi mumbles, smiling like an idiot.

Shouto somehow wins the game. His reward is one of Kaminari’s concoctions that was left on the kitchen counter. Shouto joins Izuku in the toilet a few minutes later.

“Why can’t you guys party like normal people?” Momo sighs, already sobered up.

“Why can’t you pull that stick out of your ass and relax for once?”

“Oh, you mean this one?” Momo creates a random stick from her lower back instead of her tummy, making the whole gang roar once again. It really looked like she just took that out of her ass, bless her creativity for that.

“Katsuki, I can’t laugh anymore. I’m in agony.” Eijirou whimpers on the floor, completely, utterly done with life. You must admit, he looks extremely hot, disheveled like that. Like damn, that guy is a fucking snack. Good job, Katsuki. Good fucking job.

Okay, you definitely had way too much to drink today.

“I’ll get Izu-Izu from the toilet.” You mutter as you stand up from the sofa.

“I’ll take the three bozos home then come back for Shouto.” Momo sighs as he makes his way towards the pile of people on the floor.

“I’ll help!” Tamaki SMILES at her and the whole team gawks. “What? I had fun. And Denki gave me his drink to finish.”

“Oh no, he’s been tainted with the Denki juice.” Hitoshi mumbles. Tamaki answers by growing a potato on his arm. “Huh. I guess there was vodka in it.”

Needless to say, NO ONE makes it home after that. At least the floor is nice and warm, thanks to the lovely fireplace in the wall. Katsuki doesn’t even look surprised, he just throws a bunch of blankets on everyone and lies down next to Eijirou, giggling to himself happily.

“Best party ever.”

… to be continued!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

TL: @garfieldthomas @porusuniverse @stickygumchewer @sixxze @mily-moo @aei-sedai-moiraine @aymasakusa @katsuari @kenzie-deadly @shiviwrites07 @lukerycyja-reblogs @cloroxisadelectabletreat @coffeent @kisskissshutmydoor @bobcar1 @yazminetrahan @cringefan @ronimacaroni77 @themultifandomgirl @dangerousluv1 @emperatris-rinaka @shotos-angelic-whore @angelsdemonsmonsters @norvacaine @rei165 @unofficialmuilover @yao-ai @happydragonfrog @eeerreehhh @vinivave @alyss-eiz @sleepisfortheweakpooh

[ashleysmessyjourney]

22 Months Messing Challenge Update

Okay, so today I learned that 1 cup of coffee helps move things along and helps make me do my thang in my diaper. However, adding a glass of cranberry juice throws my tummy into overdrive and totally clears me out in a way that I don’t like. You ever feel like you totally clear yourself out then your body is like, “Go back to the potty right now cuz you’re gonna poo right now!” twenty minutes later?

Guess how many diapers I went through because of that? Four. Four diapers because each time I thought I was good. I waited in my third diaper after messing to make sure that I was as empty as I could be, then changed. I’ll give you one guess as to what happened next.

Since I have sensitive skin, I used gobs of Desitin rash cream down there so I could practice staying messy for longer and longer periods of time. I want to be able to tolerate being messy for a bit longer than I’m comfortable with because there may be situations in the future that keep me from changing as soon as possible.

I’ve started making notes of places that have bathrooms that are “safe” for me to change in, saving a long list of places on my phone with Google Maps for my local area. I wear plastic panties every time I go out if I’m anticipating a messy accident. Even then, I sometimes wear one just to be safe. Feeling safe, and using things to help me feel safe, have been really helpful in this challenge because it gives me the peace of mind to keep pushing forward. It’s been almost two years and I have not given up.

I know I need to get over myself and stop worrying about changing a messy diaper in public but it’s so nerve-wracking. It’s scary; just as scary as it was getting over changing a wet diaper in public. However, I’ve been searching for single room bathrooms where only one person can be inside at a time. Changing a messy diaper in a stall would just suck and be so scary.

I went out to a local Mexican restaurant with my parents last week. I’ve always loved eating nachos, especially if they’re drenched in queso. I’ve been eating them less and less as of late because I have a near-immediate negative reaction to them now. Yes, I know I’m stupid for eating them but I can’t help it sometimes; I just have a need to eat nachos. After we had finished eating dinner, my stomach was twisting itself into a knot so tight that I knew I was going to make a mess in minutes. With my home so far away, I was glad when they got up to go. I scurried back to my car with a slight waddle, praying that I would be able to make it home in time so I could mess in the safety of my home.

I didn’t make it.

It’s been getting really hard to hold #2 these last several months because I’ve conditioned myself to let my body take care of its needs. It’s what the diaper is for, after all, and I no longer view messing as a negative thing. I was able to make it to the fourth stop light from home before I tried to pass a little gas. I think you can guess what happened. Since I felt so much relief from letting some out, and since the light was still red, I lifted my butt off of the seat and pushed as hard as I could. The relief came almost immediately, though my stomach still churned like it was telling me I wasn’t done yet. I winced as I sat down in the hot mess, trying to keep it from squishing up front where my sensitive bits are. It wasn’t the solid kind of mess that I prefer; it was the complete opposite. 

I will admit that the sheer helplessness of the whole situation was a huge turn on. Being unable to keep myself from using my diaper like that, even though I fought hard and valiantly, was all useless in the end. My body knows that I’ve been wearing diapers for so long that it just knows by now that it can do whatever it wants and I’m fine with that.

I showed up to my home with a very full diaper. Thankfully, I had worn a pair of plastic panties, so I wasn’t smelling anything at all. I was super grateful that I didn’t notice any of my neighbors out and about; I would have avoided them like the plague at all costs if they came near me.

Lastly, I've been considering doing challenges to lessen my time since I have so much time left. I'm thinking about doing erotic hypnosis tracks that'll help keep me going in pursuit of my messing goals. Some may include messing on a trigger word, messing at night, and more. I'm still looking around. I was thinking listening twice would take off a week's worth of time and once the effect has taken permanent hold, I'd take off a month's worth of time. I want to keep this challenge fun and interesting.  

If you’d like to keep this challenge going, you can send me gifts to add time onto the timer. Check the pinned post for how much time stuff adds.

Wishlist

Thanks for reading!

Current Ending Time: April 11, 2026 (2 years, 10 months more!)

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius x fem!reader

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (see full series list here)

1993

"Alright, guys, have a good evening," you say to your fourth-years as they pick up their bags and start to head for the exit. You've just started to pack up your own things and head down to your room when there's a voice behind you.

"Uh, Professor?"

You turn, finding Harry standing there. You smile and nod at him and he pulls a scrap of parchment out of his pocket, holding it out to you.

He glances at his classmates leaving, some of which look back at him curiously. "One of the other teachers told me to give this to you."

That's odd. Usually the teachers would just send it themselves.

You take it anyway. "Thanks, Harry. Have a good night."

He leaves, catching up Ron and Hermione who had been waiting for him, and you lean back against your desk, unfolding the parchment.

Your heart leaps when you recognise the messy, sprawled handwriting.

My love,

I'm flying north immediately. Harry told me about his scar, I presume he told you too, and I have heard far too many strange rumours to ignore it. I need to talk to you and Harry.

I miss you so much it hurts. There isn't a day that goes by where I don't think of you. Please stay safe and I'll be in touch soon. Remember how much I love you.

Yours,

Sirius

What about Harry's scar? He didn't tell you anything. So much for your whole getting-your godson-to-trust-and-confide-in-you plan.

You can practically hear Sirius' voice dripping from the page. The letter is short and looks rushed, he must've been in quite a hurry. Your stomach constricts with worry — he's completely putting himself in danger by coming here.

Whatever Harry told him, it clearly worried Sirius. Worried him enough to risk his safety to come north just to speak to Harry. And to you, too.

You ought to ask Harry what this is all about.

You read over the letter a few more times, a smile on your face, before you tidy up and start down the stairs, heading for bed.

The next morning, you wake bright and early, hoping to catch Harry at morning breakfast. To your luck, you do. He's sitting at the Gryffindor table with Ron and Hermione. As you approach, you notice him having heated words with Hermione, but they suddenly stop when they see you.

"Morning," you greet. "Harry, can I speak to you when you're finished? If you have time before your first class, of course."

He nods, immediately standing up, exchanging wary glances with his friends.

"You're not in trouble, Harry. You look like you're expecting me to expel you or something," you reassure with a chuckle and he loosens up slightly, following you out of the Hall. You lead him down the corridor until you find one that's empty and where you won't be heard.

Involuntarily, your eyes flick up to Harry's scar, and he notices, pulling his hair down to cover it up.

You sigh, lowering your voice. "Harry, that letter you gave me last night...Sirius said he's coming north because of something to do with your scar. What happened?"

Harry glances away from you, shrugging, before putting on an awkward smile. "Oh, it was nothing, really. I just, er, imagined it was hurting...bit stupid now, to be honest."

Your eyes widen. "Your scar was hurting?"

"Like I said, I imagined it — "

"An unlikely thing to imagine, Harry," you tut, unimpressed. You think for a moment, racking your brains as to what could have possibly caused a scar to be painful. "And it was just out of the blue? There was nothing that could have caused it?"

Harry blinks at you.

"Yup, very random."

He's lying. It's as plain to you as the nose on his face. "I'm not that thick, Harry, I can tell you're lying."

His eyes widen, like he didn't expect you to call him out on his lie and he raises his hands yo in defense. "Honestly, you don't have to worry about me. And Sirius doesn't have to either, it's nothing really. Honest."

You just sigh, shaking your head and shrugging. "I'll worry about you regardless, Harry, for as long as you have to go to Professor Snape's classes. And, y'know, 'cause it's my job. Sirius and I will always worry about you." You shuffle on your feet, thinking of what you should do. "But...if you're really that unwilling to tell me, I'll let you off. Just — just tell me everything you hear from him, won't you? Who knows what that fool will do next..."

Harry chuckles, nodding.

"Alright, off you go. Time for class," you say, glancing down at your watch. You pat his shoulder and he hurries off back to the Hall to find Ron and Hermione.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

You find yourself standing outside the castle, watching as students file down into the courtyard in single-file lines. Minerva leads her Gryffindors, throwing orders out left, right and centre.

"Weasley, straighten your hat," she barks at Ron. "Miss Patil, take that ridiculous thing out of your hair."

Parvati Patil scowls and removes a large ornamental butterfly from the end of her plait. Aw. You thought it was pretty.

All the students are shivering, shifting from foot to foot in anticipation as they await the arrival of the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Minerva makes her way over to you, still casting a watchful eye over her house.

"I wish they would hurry up," she says quietly to you. "I fear Colin Creevey will not be able to stay still for too much longer."

You glance past her at Colin, who is practically shaking with excitement. He keeps glancing back at Harry behind him, grinning widely. Colin is quite a sweet lad, actually. He's very keen to learn and you like that about him. He's very enthusiastic in your class, even if he does have trouble discerning between Astronomy and Astrology.

"I share his excitement, honestly," you reply. "Who knows what we're in for?"

Down the line, Dumbledore speaks up. “Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!”

Many students ask 'Where?', eagerly scouring the area for any sign of the French school's arrival.

"There!"

Something large hurtles through the dark sky towards the castle, growing bigger as it gets closer.

"It's a dragon!" One first-year student, Melanie Mills, yells. She looks to have completely lost it.

"Don't be stupid...it's a flying house!" Dennis Creevey cries.

You share a look with Minerva, returning your gaze to the approaching shape. To your surprise, Dennis isn't actually that far off. You see a giant, powder-blue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a large house, soaring towards you. It's pulled by a dozen majestic, winged horses, beating their wings as they glide through the air.

The enormous horses skid to a stop right in front of the first-years, who all rear back skittishly. The door to the grand carriage opens and a boy in pale blue robes jumps down from the carriage, bends forward and fumbles with something for a moment on the carriage floor before unfolding a set of gold steps.

You watch in shock as the largest woman you've ever seen steps out of the carriage. She's so tall all thoughts in your head genuinely just melt into pure shock. Bloody hell, she looks bigger than Hagrid. She's dressed from head to toe in black satin, and many magnificent opals gleam at her throat and on her large fingers. She's quite beautiful, but you just can't get over the sheer fact that she's about three times your height.

Dumbledore starts to clap loudly, and the students follow his lead. You clap, open-mouthed as you continue to stare at this incredible woman. Minerva elbows you and jolts you out of your stupor.

A graceful smile settles on the woman's face as she walks forward towards Dumbledore, extending a bejewelled hand out to him. Dumbledore barely has to bend to kiss it.

"My dear Madame Maxime," he says. "Welcome to Hogwarts."

"Dumbly-dorr," Madame Maxime says. "I 'ope I find you well?"

"In excellent form, I thank you," he replies.

“My pupils,” says Madame Maxime, waving one of her enormous hands carelessly behind her.

You now notice about a dozen boys and girls, all looking to be in their late teens, emerging from the carriage and moving to stand behind Madame Maxime. They're shivering, dressed only in their fine silk robes and without any cloaks. They stare up at Hogwarts with apprehensive expressions, glancing around at the students curiously.

"'As Karkaroff arrived yet?" Madame Maxime asks.

"He should be here any moment," says Dumbledore. "Would you like to wait here and greet him or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?"

"Warm up, I think," says Madame Maxime. "But ze 'orses — "

"Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them," says Dumbledore, "the moment he has returned from dealing with a slight situation that has arisen with some of his other — er — charges."

You're sure that means Hagrid's current muse: blast-ended skrewts. Nasty buggers, they are. You're glad you're not a student taking that class.

"My steeds require — er — forceful 'andling," Madame Maxime tells him, looking as though she doubts whether any Care of Magical Creatures teacher at Hogwarts could be up to the job. "Zey are very strong..."

"I assure you that Hagrid will be well up to the job," says Dumbledore, smiling.

"Very well. "Madame Maxime bows slightly. "Will you please inform zis 'Agrid zat ze 'orses drink only single-malt whiskey?"

"It will be attended to," assures Dumbledore, also bowing.

"Come," Madame Maxime says imperiously to her students, and the Hogwarts crowd parts to allow her and her students to pass up the stone steps.

The students continue to stand in waiting, their teeth chattering with the cold. Quiet murmurs sweep through the group and Madame Maxime's horses snort and stamp at the ground.

"How long are we gonna have to wait?" Sprout says from your left. "I'm so hungry I could eat a horse."

"Don't say that to Madame Maxime," you mutter quietly and Sprout chuckles.

Then, you hear a distant rumbling and rippling of water.

"The lake!" Lee Jordan yells. "Look at it!"

The Black Lake, usually calm and serene, seems far from it at this moment in time. Some disturbance is taking place deep inside. Bubbles form at the surface, waves crash onto the muddy banks, and you squint as a small whirlpool begins to form in its centre...

Slowly, magnificently, a ship rises out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. You're impressed at the sheer size of the ship, which has an interesting...skeletal look about it. It's misty and dim, looking like it was just plucked from a silent crypt.

The ship nears the bank, and with a great thud a plank is thrown down onto the ground. People start disembarking, and you notice that as they get closer and closer, they appear to be wearing heavy coats of some kind of matted fur. The man who leads them is wearing a different fur cloak to the rest, this one is far more sleek and silver, like his hair.

"Dumbledore!" he calls heartily as he walks up the slope. "How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?"

"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff," Dumbledore replies.

Karkaroff is quite a tall and thin man, not unlike Dumbledore, with short white hair and a goatee that ends in a twisted curl. When he reaches Dumbledore, he reaches out and shakes his hand with both of his own.

"Dear old Hogwarts," he says, looking up at the castle and smiling. It's not a true smile, you notice, it doesn't reach his eyes. It's dishonest. "How good it is to be here, how good...Viktor, come along, into the warmth...you don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold."

A young man steps forward towards Karkaroff, and when the light from the castle windows hit him you realise that it's none other than Viktor Krum, the Quidditch player. Several of the students let out gasps as the sight of him. Ron looks like he's about to faint.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

Time passes and the Goblet of Fire has been left in the Great Hall, where occasionally, someone puts their name forward for the Triwizard Tournament — among them Fred and George Weasley, of course, who decided to employ a cheap Ageing Potion to swindle the Age Line. It did not work out as they planned. They ended up in the hospital wing with two long, silvery beards sprouting from their chins.

Sirius would have loved this. All the excitement and bravado of the Tournament, everything about it. You can picture himself and James putting their names into the goblet, walking away with smug smirks.

You miss him. You miss him so much. Every day you worry about him, hoping that he hasn't gotten himself killed since you last heard from him. It's tough.

One night you can't sleep, mind rampant with thoughts of Sirius, so you go up the Tower to sit and watch the stars like you usually do. To your disappointment, it's too cloudy of a night for you to see much and you decide to just go for a walk around the castle instead. Dubh joins you, jumping into your arms and clinging to your shirt, purring contentedly.

It's perfectly quiet in the empty corridors, silent but for the soft echo of your slippers sliding over the stone. The paintings are all still and sleeping. Some of them are snoring. You know this castle like the back of your hand. At this point, you probably know it better than your own home. You've spent so many days here, countless times have you passed through these same hallways, at all times of the day.

You stroke Dubh's head lovingly, gently scratching behind her ears. You'd be lost without her, really. She's the best company you could ask for.

You near the Great Hall and that's when you hear a muffled bang. You stop walking immediately, furrowing your brows and trying to listen for more. Perhaps it was just your imagination.

Bang!

No, you definitely heard it that time. It's quiet, but not quiet enough, and it's coming from the Hall. Your heart starts to beat a little faster, and you pull your wand from your pocket, edging closer to the double doors of the Great Hall. You slowly, apprehensively pull one open just a crack, and slip into the Hall.

Clunk, clunk, clunk.

Moody is approaching your end of the Hall, and when he looks up and sees you he stops dead in his tracks, good eye wide.

"Sir?" You say in confusion.

He doesn't respond.

"Is, uh, is everything alright? I heard noises..."

He grinds his teeth. "No, no. It's fine. What are you doing down here?"

You shrug. "I couldn't sleep, wanted to go for a walk. Why are you down here?"

"None of your business, girl," he snaps quickly, barely letting you finish your sentence before he's jumped in.

You swallow, glancing away from him, petting Dubh anxiously. "Right, yeah, okay."

He clunks his way over to you, and you brace yourself as he passes, glass eye fixed on you. Dubh hisses at him and you just worry that'll anger him even more.

It's not long before he's left the Hall and you're still standing there, confused.

What the hell is going on?

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

You sit, once again, in the Great Hall. It's Halloween, so pumpkins and enchanted bats bob high in the room. Every student is watching the goblet closely, hoping it'll do something soon.

You glance down the staff table. You see Snape, who gives you a dirty look when he catches you and you scoff; Hagrid, who is eagerly chatting with Madame Maxime; Ludo Bagman, who is currently caught up in conversation with Minerva beside you; and Crouch, who could not look more uninterested and bored. What a lovely chap.

"Well, the goblet is ready to make its decision," Dumbledore announces, and several students look to each other excitedly. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them to please come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber" — he indicates the door behind your table — "where they will be receiving their first instructions."

He takes out his wand, quenching every candle in the room but for the ones in the pumpkins, plunging the Hall into semi-darkness. The mesmerising blue flame of the Goblet of Fire danced and captured everyone's attention, waiting with bated breath for its decision.

Any second now, you think.

You spotted Angelina Johnson putting her name in not too long ago, you hope it's her. Such a lovely girl. You'd heard too that Cedric Diggory also put his name in, and while you think he's also a great fit for Hogwarts champion, you'd like to see a woman lift that cup this year. A Gryffindor, too, that'd be nice.

Suddenly, the flame turns red and sparks begin to fly from it. Next moment, a tongue of flame shoots into the air and a piece of parchment flutters out of it. Everyone gasps.

Dumbledore deftly catches the piece of parchment. "The champion for Durmstrang..." he booms slowly, "will be Viktor Krum."

Loud cheering and applause sweeps through the Hall as Viktor Krum stands from the Slytherin table and approaches the staff table, passing down it.

"Bravo, Viktor!" Karkaroff booms loudly, clapping heartily and grinning at his student. "Knew you had it in you!"

The clapping and cheering dies down again and you return your focus to the goblet, its flames glowing red once more. Before you can even register it, a second piece of parchment fires into the air, propelled by the flames.

"The champion for Beauxbatons..." Dumbledore reads, "is Fleur Delacour!"

Fleur Delacour's face is bright and full of smiles as she excitedly heads up past your table to the raucous applause from the room, before she too disappears into the side chamber with Viktor Krum.

Silence falls and you can feel the added tension of this one: Hogwarts next. You don't even notice the way you lean further into the table, tapping your foot in anticipation as the Goblet of Fire finally turns red again, spitting out the last scrap of parchment into Dumbledore's waiting hands.

"The Hogwarts champion...is Cedric Diggory!"

This time, the applause is by far the loudest. Each and every Hufflepuff gets to their feet, clapping and cheering loudly as Cedric Diggory makes his way past them, grinning broadly. You clap enthusiastically and smile encouragingly at him as he passes you, following the other two champions into the chamber.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore calls happily as at last the celebration dies down. "Well, now we have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real — "

Dumbledore suddenly stops speaking, and you crane your neck to look and see what's stopped him.

The fire in the Goblet has turned red again. Sparks are flying out of it. A long flame suddenly shoots into the air, spitting out yet another piece of parchment.

As if automatically, Dumbledore reached out his hand to seize the parchment. He holds it out and stares at it, his expression unreadable. You stare at Dumbledore, wondering what's going on, but his face reveals absolutely nothing as he continues to study the parchment like there's some sort of unbreakable code written upon it.

He clears his throat.

"Harry Potter."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

→ all kinds of interaction are appreciated ♡

hello lovelies! I am so so sorry that this chapter took so long to get out, I actually changed it several times 😭 sometimes I forget that this IS a Sirius fic, and that everyone reading this has most likely seen the movies/read the books before and I don't need to write every scene straight from the book that doesn't directly affect the reader! anyways. sorry for my little rant, I love you all so much and thank you for your patience 🫶🫶

hugs and kisses for my amazing taglist loves: @wholelottalove05 @izuoyarmin @hyperspeedo @carpe00diem @jennifer0305 @idkman5335

[bidokja]

I was joking a while back that the actor they have playing KDJ for the orv movie was too handsome for him and a friend who's read orv was like "KDJ is actually secretly attractive!!" And I just felt my soul leave my body right then

SIGHS...

Okay. Buckle in. I'm gonna finally actually address and explain and theorize about this whole...thing.

I'm not gonna cite any exact chapters cause it's like 11:30 and I've got an 8 hour drive in the morning but I'll at least make an approximate reference to where certain things are mentioned. Also, this post is just my personal interpretation for a good bit of it, but it's an interpretation I feel very solid about, so do with that what you will. Moving on to the meat of things:

There is one (1) instance in the web novel that I know of which describes specific features of Kim Dokja (especially ones other people notice). This takes place when members of KimCom are trying to make Kim Dokja presentable to give his speech at the Industrial Complex (after it's been plopped down on Earth). This is when they start really paying attention and focusing on Kim Dokja's appearance since they're putting makeup on him; I still don't think they can interpret his whole face, but they can accurately pick out and retain more features than usual. If I remember correctly they reference him having long eyelashes, smooth skin, and soft hair. These features can be viewed as (stereotypically) attractive.

Certain parts of the fandom have taken this scene and run with it at a very surface level, without realizing (or without acknowledging at the very least) that this scene is not about how Kim Dokja looks. This is, in part, due to not realizing or acknowledging why Kim Dokja's face is "censored" in the first place, and what that censoring actually means. I think it's also possible that some people are assuming the censorship works like a physical phenomena rather than an altered perception.

I'll address that last point first. The censorship of Kim Dokja's features is not something as simple as a physical phenomena. It's not a bar or scribble or mosaic over his face. If that were true it'd be very obvious to anyone looking at him that his face is hidden. But his face is not hidden to people. They can look at him and see a face. If they concentrate on his eyes, they can see where he's looking. They know when he's frowning or grinning. They see a face loud and clear. But what face are they seeing? Because it's not really his, whatever they're seeing.

No one quite agrees on what he really looks like. And if they try and think about what he looks like, they can't recall. Or if they do, it's vague, or different each time. We notice these little details throughout the series. Basically, Kim Dokja's face is cognitively obscured. Something - likely the Fourth Wall, though I can't recall if this is ever stated outright - is interfering with everyone's ability to perceive him properly. This culminated in him feeling off to others; and since they don't even realize this is happening, they surmise that he is "ugly."

Moving on to the other point about what the censorship means: To be blunt, the censorship of his face is an allegory for his disconnect from the "story" (aka: real life, and the real people at his side). The lifting - however slight - of this censorship represents him becoming more and more a part of the "story" (aka: less disconnected from the life he is living and the people at his side). The censorship's existence and lifting can represent other things - like dissociation or depersonalization or, if you want to get really meta, the fact that he is all of our faces at once - but that's how I'd sum up the main premise of it. (The Fourth Wall is a larger part of the dissociation allegory, but that's for another post).

So you see, them noticing his individual features isn't about the features. It's not about the features! It doesn't matter at all which features got listed. Because they could describe any features whatsoever and it would not change the entire point of the scene. Because the point isn't what he looks like. The point is that they can truly and clearly see these features. For the first time. They are seeing parts of him for the first time. Re-read that sentence multiple times, literally and metaphorically. What does it mean to see someone as they are?

This is an extremely significant turning point dressed up as a dress-up scene.

---

P.S. / Additionally, I'm of the opinion that Kim Dokja is not handsome, and he is not ugly. He is not pretty, and he is not ghastly. Not attractive, nor unattractive. Kim Dokja isn't any of these things. More importantly, Kim Dokja can't be any of these things. The entire point of Kim Dokja is that you cannot pick him out of a crowd; he is the crowd. He's a reader. He's the reader. Why does he need to be handsome? Why must he be pretty? Why is him being attractive necessary or relevant? He doesn't, he doesn't, it's not. He is someone deeply deeply loved and irreplaceable to those around him, and someone who cannot even begin to recognize or accept that unless it's through a love letter masquerading as a story he can read. He is the crowd, a reader, the reader. He's you, he's me. He's every single one of us.

[angstywaifu]

The Lost Sister - Part 9

Synopsis: Xaden is known as an only child due to his sister who 'died' during the Rebellion. Little do they know she didn't die and has been so close this entire time.

Garrick Tavis x OC

A/N: From here on out you will see a few things pulled from the books. Especially moments where we have Garrick. Cause lets be honest we have some amazing moments from him where I can slot Ophelia into the scene. So there will be a mix of my stuff, and some dialogue from actual Fourth Wing with some tweaks to make it fit. We have some really good moments coming up, that I am so excited to show you guys to! As per usual requests are open for any one shot or scenarios you may want. And if you want to be on the tag list just let me know! The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist

All of our current squad make it up the gauntlet. And now we wait our turn for presentation. And of course Garrick is over seeing the squads before they walk in. He’d been at the top of the gauntlet when I’d climbed up, but he had been dealing with an issue of how Violet had gotten up the end of the gauntlet. I was actually impressed with her idea to use the rope and dagger. I knew Xaden had given her some guidance, but I knew he hadn't told her to do that. But it worked.

This was the closest I’d been to Garrick in a while as we all stood in a single line waiting to go in. Despite me somehow tying for first in Gauntlet time, we aren’t the first group to go in. Slowed down by Violets time. But at least we all made it.

Ahead of us is a clearing lined by dragons, lined up in their own formation. All close enough to pass judgement on us, as well as dispose of us quickly as we walk by.

”Let’s go Second Squad, you’re up next.” Garrick says sternly, beckoning us forward with a wave that makes the rebellion relic on his bared forearm gleam in the sunlight. “Into formation.”

Garrick’s tone is all business, he’s in full leadership mode. It’s one of the first times I had seen it and it reminds me a lot of Xaden’s style of leadership. But Garrick is more mission first, niceties last. And currently his mission is to prepare us for presentation. It is also one of the first times I’ve seen him in full uniform, usually opting to forego his jacket around the grounds. Which I don’t blame him with how warm its been. But winter is starting to set in, and its definitely a fair bit colder up here. I notice the line of patches on his uniform, show casing his as the Flame Section leader, and an abundance of patches advertising his skill with multiple weapons. I wasn’t sure how many patches there were, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there was only a small amount left he didn’t have. I notice daggers isn’t one of them.

We all get into formation as hot air rushes towards us again. Another cadet claimed. Garrick’s hazel eyes skim over our squad before landing on mine. “Hopefully Aetos has done his job.” His eyes flick to Violet at the mention of Dain. “So you know that it’s a straight walk down the meadow. I’d recommend staying at least seven feet apart -”

”In case one of us gets torched,” I hear Ridoc mutter a few places in front of me.

”Correct, Ridoc.” I can’t help but smirk at the slight sass in Garrick’s tone. “Cluster if you want, just know if a dragon finds disfavour with one of you, it’s likely to burn the whole lot to weed one out.” He warns us as he holds our gaze. “Also, remember you are not here to approach them, and if you do, you won’t be making it back to the dormitory tonight.”

”Can I ask a question?” A cadet whose name I can’t quite remember says from the front row.

Garrick nods, but I noticed the tick in his jaw. He’s annoyed. And honestly don’t blame him. I may not remember their name, but I know they annoy me. And have since day one.

”Third Squad, Tail Section of Fourth Wing already went through, and I talked to some of the cadets….”

”That’s not a question.” He states as he lifts his brows. I note another tick in his jaw as he places his hands on his hips. Definitely annoyed now.

”Right. It’s just that they said there’s a feathertail?”

“A f-feathertail?” Someone I think called Tynan sputters. “Who the hell would ever want to bond a feathertail?"

I feel most of our squad roll their eyes or shake their heads. I see Garrick restrain from doing the same.

”Professor Kaori never told us there would be a feathertail.” Sawyer says. “I know because I memorized every single dragon he showed us. All hundred of them.”

”Well, guess there’s a hundred and one now.” Garrick states sternly, clearly wanting to be rid of us and this job. “Relax, feathertails don’t bond. I can’t even remember the last time one has been seen outside the Vale. It’s probably just curious. You’re up. Stay on the path. You walk up, you wait for the entire squad, you walk back down. It really doesn’t get any easier than this from here on out, kids, so if you can’t follow these simple instructions, then you deserve whatever happens in there.”

Kids? We were barely three years younger than him. But with most of our squad not bearing rebellion marks, I could easily see why he would refer to us as kids. He turns and heads over to a path before the canyon wall where the dragons are perched. We follow, breaking away from the crowd of first years.

“They’re all yours.” Garrick says to the quadrants senior Wingleader. A woman I’ve only seen a few times in Battle Brief.

As Garrick turns to walk back, he locks eyes with me as his hand lightly brushes mine, setting my skin on fire where his touch lingers.

“Single file.” She says to us, drawing my eyes back to the front.

We all form a single line, I end up at the very back behind Rhiannon. With the final instructions of talk to each other, she steps aside revealing a dirt path that leads through the centre of the valley, and up ahead, sitting so perfectly still you would almost mistake them for statues are the dragons. We start to move, each of us leaving the suggested seven feet before following the cadet in front.

As I enter the valley the smell of sulphur is thick in the air, and I note multiple black patches on the path.

As instructed we talk amongst each other. But talk is a loose term. Its mostly bickering. Towards the end I nearly have a heart attack as two greens approach Violet. Then I remember the corset she told me about. The one made from the dragons of her sisters green dragon. They can probably smell it As we get towards the end, our squad is down to seven first years.

As we’re about to leave the area I feel something. An extra presence at the back of my mind. I turn around, trying to keep my eyes down as best I can as I look around. At the back amongst the trees I catch a glimpse of…. Was that white? No, dragons aren’t white. I know I saw white though. But I can’t have. Dragon’s aren’t white I tell myself again.

“Ophelia, you ok?” Violet calls from the exit.

I turn to see her looking at me, her eyes also scanning the area I was just looking at. Did she see it to?

“Yeah, just thought I saw something.” I say, trying to pass it off as casually I can.

She nods, seeming content with my answer. But the tall figure just inside the pathway stares at me as if they are not convinced. Garrick’s eyes are narrowed me in almost a glare. Luckily the next group walks up and I’m able to slip past him without him talking to me.

Part 10

@riorgail @going-through-shit @fw-gt @bbkissme99 @xceafh

[writingquestionsanswered]

I'm a newbie writer and something I struggle with is that my ideas are too big and I feel overwhelmed, and I never really had a short story idea that I liked. I'm already trying to consume short stories (written works and video fiction), so I wanted to know if you have other tips to develop small ideas, ideas better suited to short stories.

Newbie Writer Struggling to Write Short Fiction

Short fiction is a great way to practice writing, but if you struggle to come up with ideas, that doesn't help much. One thing that can help is to remember that short stories don't work like longer stories/novels. You're not developing a whole cast and world around a big conflict. Short stories are pictures within pictures.

If The Hunger Games was a short story, it would probably be Katniss waking up, walking through her district, hunting with Gale, and then Prim getting chosen in the Reaping. That would be the whole story. She was so fixated on the fear of herself or Gale getting chosen--which there was such high odds of happening because she'd put her name in so many times in exchange for food stamps--the last thing she ever expected was her sister being chosen. That's the twist... that's the point of the whole short story. If Twilight were a short story, it would probably start with Bella's first day at Forks High School, would follow her introduction to the Cullens, the weirdness with Edward as her crush slowly developed, and would probably end with her finding out he's a vampire. It could even go a little further to where they date, then Edward's brother almost kills her, and he breaks up with her in the middle of the woods--gone from her life as quickly as he got there.

If you're struggling to find short story ideas that you like, try looking for writing prompts. They're all over tumblr, you can find books filled with them, there are lists of them all over the web. Writing prompts can fire up your imagination without you having to pluck an entire idea out of the air. Another option is to do memoir-style short stories. Instead of trying to write something more elaborate, just take a notable experience you've had in life and... if you want, you can fictionalize it. For example, maybe you have a funny memory rooted in a friend's birthday party. Write about that. If you want to, you can even fictionalize it... what if it happened to someone else? What if the funny thing that happened was something different? What if the outcome was different?

The thing to remember is this: when you're writing short stories for writing practice, they don't have to be perfect or even good. You're not writing these for publication or sharing. You're writing these to learn how to craft sentences, write description, develop characters, and flesh out setting. The first time you take a lump of clay and try to make a bowl, it's not going to be amazing. Neither will the second, third, or fourth one. But as you master the basics, learn new methods, get better with tools and find new ones, your bowls will get better and better until they're something you can share. You have to let yourself make some misshapen and unappealing bowls if you want to learn to make nice ones. Writing works the same way. :)

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

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