#this is the mos words I've written in ages

[freelancearsonist]

Whole

Steve Harrington x fem!Reader

Rated MA for the most long-winded poetic smut i've ever written jfc 🤦‍♀️ slow burn fluff with a couple sprinkles of angst for flavor, reader uses fem pronouns and is described as having female parts, it's dirty y'all but at least they use protection

7,470 Words

A/N: you all know my mo by now i disappear for a year and then come back and lay down some god damned PORN. this fic is no exception to the rule. @shakespeareanwannabe requested this back in july and she literally just asked for a cute moment between steve and dustin, sorry you got 6k words more than you bargained for 😂 but also thank you for betaing and the constant validation you're the best ily 🖤

Steve’s not sure how it even worked.

He can still remember the look on Robin’s face when you agreed, how she was speechless for almost ten minutes because she couldn’t process what had just happened.

Steve’s reaction was about the same as hers, in all honesty. He’s gotten so used to striking out that asking people out has become something of a game to him. He knows he’ll get a no, and he knows Robin will laugh her ass off at him. But what can he say? He likes putting a smile on his best friend’s face.

Needless to say, you’ve shaken him. In the best possible way. Because your answer was three letters instead of two.

And now, he's a little bit in over his head.

Or, to be more accurate, a lot in over his head.

It seems like it’s been ages since he’s gone on a date, even though it’s only been a few months at most. He feels lost, like he’s completely unlearned everything he ever knew about girls.

He hates it, despises it with every fiber of his own being, but he also knows it’s true; he needs advice. And although he’ll never admit it to the little shithead’s face, there’s no one better he can think of going to than his very own protege. Who better to remind him of his own prowess than the person who learned everything they know from him?

One look at Dustin’s smug little face and Steve almost regrets it. Almost.

“Just can’t stay away, can you?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve rolls his eyes and gives the younger boy a little shove, camouflaging it with an affectionate pat on the back. “This is strictly business, Henderson.”

“Oh, is it now?” The younger boy’s voice takes on a smug tone as he folds his fingers together and leans back in his chair. “Well then, why don’t you have a seat? Step into my office.”

Steve rolls his eyes and slides into the booth, shooting a smile and a “thank you” to the kind waitress who delivers two milkshakes to their table.

Dustin takes his time and makes a meal of unwrapping his straw, feeding off of Steve’s clear impatience Steve’s fingers tap against the table, reminding himself that patience is necessary when you come to someone for a favor. It’s just that it’s Dustin, and Dustin knows exactly how to get under the older boy’s skin in the most annoying-yet-oddly-endearing fashion.

“So…” Dustin finally says after a lengthy sip of strawberry milkshake. “What brings you so humbly to me?”

“I’ve got a date.”

And Dustin, the little bastard–he laughs. A deep, rumbling belly laugh, so pure and unfiltered that the three other occupied tables in the diner pause their conversations to get a look at the boy clutching his sides.

Steve’s a little embarrassed by the attention, but even more embarrassed that Dustin’s reaction is so genuine. The fact that the idea of him having a date is so laughable is a bit of a punch to the gut. It hasn’t really been that long, has it?

When Dustin’s laughter finally dies down he realizes Steve’s face is completely serious, and it makes him giggle even more.

“Wait, you’re actually serious? Who on earth did you manage to pull?”

Steve’s nearly bashful as he says your name, and even more bashful when Dustin’s jaw visibly drops.

“No fucking way. I’d believe anyone else, but her? She’s like… hotter than Phoebe Cates. There’s no way you wouldn’t strike out with her.”

Steve’s immediately on the defensive. Is it really so hard to believe that he, former king of Hawkins High, could pull the most gorgeous girl in town?

But that’s just it. There’s really no one like you, not in his eyes. He’s admired you since freshman year and never once even tried with you because he knew he wasn’t worthy. You were always in the background–a beautiful, kind, smart, funny girl just out of his reach. Part of the reason he even asked you out was because he was so sure he would strike out. In the end, losing his confidence was exactly what he needed to pull the girl of his dreams.

And that’s why there’s so much riding on this. You’ve always been his biggest “what if”, the girl he wonders about when thinking that maybe not trying has been holding him back. And apparently, it has.

“Look, I don’t even know how it happened, okay? But she said yes, and… and I really don’t want to blow it.”

“Well duh. You’ll have to leave town if you blow it with her, you know that, right? If she doesn’t think you’re worth it, no one else in this town ever will again.”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of!” Steve groans, slouching down so far in the booth that Dustin can just barely see his poor, overwhelmed face.

“Steve, listen…” Dustin’s voice takes on an almost fatherly quality, an omniscient tone that gives off the illusion of great hidden knowledge. He gets like this sometimes, and Steve’s not always sure that it is just an illusion. “Don’t let this go to your head, but you’re, like, one of the coolest guys I know. If she doesn’t like you… that’s her problem, not yours. Okay?”

Steve straightens in his seat, a little shocked to hear such kind words from a friend that he’s used to being mercilessly teased by.

“No, no, no, it’s going to your head. I take it all back. Forget I said anything.” Dustin’s hearty giggle makes Steve smile as he sets a wad of bills on the table and slides out of the booth.

“You’re not so bad Henderson, you know that?” He gives the younger boy’s full head of curls an affectionate ruffle. “Thanks, kid. I’ll radio later.”

Not that Steve didn’t have total faith in his young protege, but it’s still a relief that the pep talk turned out to be exactly what he needed to hear. Dustin’s right, after all. Steve’s worked hard to become the man he’s always wanted to be. He may not be dripping charisma or sex appeal the way he used to, but he’s much more comfortable in his own skin. That’s what counts, right?

And you really are his dream girl. The opportunity to take you out tonight, even if it ends up being your first and only date together, is an honor. He’s much less focused now on all the ways he could screw up, hyper-fixated on putting the effort in to make this the best night of your life.

That effort comes out in the carefully selected suit jacket he dons over his white button-up, the extra spritz of cologne, the careful touch-up shave to vanquish his five o’clock shadow, the extra ten minutes using the perfect amount of product in his hair so that it stays in place yet is still soft to the touch.

By the time he gets to Enzo’s (half an hour early, mind), he’s practically vibrating with nerves and anticipation. He’s never been much of an overthinker, but he sure is tonight. Is this place too much for the first date? Would you rather do something lowkey, like catch a movie or go for a walk in the park? He has to remind himself a couple of times that you agreed to this, that you wouldn’t have said yes if you weren’t interested in the arrangement.

To say he’s prepared for this is putting it lightly. He’s run through every possible scenario in his mind, gone over conversation starters and questions he wants to ask you over and over again until he knows exactly how he wants to phrase each thing.

And still, nothing could prepare him for when you walk through the door.

He has to physically restrain his jaw from dropping because in the moment he sees you, every well-planned thought and all etiquette is flushed down the proverbial pipes. You’re nothing short of breathtaking in a dress that hugs all the right curves and shows just enough cleavage to have him imagining what else there might be to see. Your hair is pinned back out of your face, eyes framed by just the slightest bit of makeup to make the color of your irises pop. He swears he’s never seen a shade quite like them. It’s like you move in slow motion as you approach him–he sees the entrance of the smoking hot love interest in every romantic comedy, complete with smoke and fireworks, as you move towards the table.

And then some sense of decorum returns to his addled brain, and he quickly shoots up so he can pull out your chair for you like a proper gentleman. He catches just the slightest whiff of your perfume, and he’s a goner. He’s ready to sign his life away to you, to yank his own heart out of his chest to offer to your careful hands.

He has to give his head a shake to compose himself before he goes any further off the deep end. No one’s ever thoroughly shaken him the way you have, and it’s been a matter of thirty seconds. It’s almost intimidating, the effect you have on him.

“You look… incredible,” he fumbles as he takes his seat across from you. “I mean, you always do, but… wow.”

The shy giggle you emit tugs at a heartstring he didn’t even know he had.

“Thank you,” you tell him with a genuine smile. “You clean up very well yourself.”

“I do like to put in some effort every once in a while.” He flashes the most charming smile he can muster, and just like that he’s back. His resolve to impress you is reinforced tenfold. You’ve shaken him, and it’s such an unfamiliar feeling that he’s practically bumbling. He wants to shake you just as badly.

The food’s delicious, and the conversation’s even better. He has a track record for taking out a more–for lack of a better term–bimbo-y type, and that’s definitely not you. You’re smart, you’re witty, but you don’t make him feel like an idiot. He’s so taken with you that he doesn’t even notice that three hours have passed until he looks around the room and notices that every table is now empty and bussed.

The waiter delivers the check, and Steve notices you gnawing on your lip.

“What’s on your mind?” He asks, trying not to be too prying.

“I don’t want this to be over yet.”

Steve smiles. He’s got you; hook, line, and sinker. He’s never been so sure of anything, and that surprises him. He’s used to dates who are easy to read and even easier to take home, and those aren’t the impressions you’ve been giving him. To know that you’re feeling exactly what he’s feeling is a huge confidence boost.

“I don’t either.”

Your hand is so small compared to his. That’s all he can think about as he strolls next to you, his fingers intertwined with yours. He’s always considered hand-holding to be child’s play, it’s never excited him before the way it does in this moment with you.

It’s pitch black in the park and he can hear the overlapping chirping of summer cicadas and grasshoppers, the perfect background noise now that the conversation has died down. It’s less about getting to know each other at this point and more just basking in each other’s presence, prolonging the inevitable because neither one of you can bear to call it a night when it’s been such a good few hours.

You’re shocked, to say the very least. Steve certainly has a reputation, and it’s not for being a romantic. Yet everything tonight has flown in the face of all the rumors you’ve been hearing since junior high. You figured he’d be a fun fling, and probably only one night at that–you’d made your peace with the idea. To find that he’s kind, considerate, funny, and can match your intellect and quick wit… it’s a very pleasant surprise. And that’s what has you out well past a decent hour, giddy over simply holding his hand like you’re a damned school girl all over again.

“I should probably let you go home,” Steve sighs wistfully. He hates to be the one to bring it up, but you’re on your fifth lap around the park and about to circle back to where your car is parked so now seems the best time.

You’re chewing your lip again, a thoughtful habit that makes his heart pound just a little bit harder.

Here’s the thing: you’re really not the bold type. You act confident, sure, but in practice it’s a lot more difficult for you. So no one’s more surprised than you are when you say, “You could come home with me. If you want.”

Steve’s definitely shocked, too. Less shocked at your proposition and more at the fact that he’s tempted to decline. Because no matter how much he’s been running through the back of his mind what you might look like under that gorgeous dress, he doesn’t want this to end there. For the first time in his life, he wants to find more meaning than sex out of a relationship. He doesn’t want to take you home and never see you again. He wants to take you out again, and again, and again, and again after that. He sees a future, for once, that doesn’t look dim and hopeless. That fact alone scares the shit out of him.

He realizes he’s waited way too long to reply and fumbles for an answer. “Of course I want to. I’d be an idiot not to. But…”

You chew that cursed bottom lip of yours again, and Steve has to focus on the obvious cue you’re giving him rather than the fact that he wants to be the next set of teeth around that lip.

He stops in his tracks, gently pulling on your hand to face him so he can take your other hand in his free one. “It’s not a bad but. I mean, I’m going to go home kicking myself for saying no because I really honestly do want to… well, y’know. But… I want to do this right with you. I want to take you out again. I want to get to know you and see where this goes. I can’t… I don’t want this to end tonight.”

He’s eternally grateful for how dark it is as he feels a flush consume his face. He can’t remember a time he’s been so honest and open, especially on a first date; but the look on your face tells him he’s done something right.

“Okay,” you tell him, squeezing his hands in yours. “You… honestly have no clue how nice it is to hear that.”

“Of course,” he continues, “if you just want me for my body, no hard feelings.”

You laugh at that, genuinely laugh, and Steve thinks it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

“No,” you reassure him. “No, I… I wanna see where this goes, too.”

You’re stopped only a few paces from your car, and Steve knows with a twist of his gut that this is the end of the night. It makes his gut turn with disappointment, but also with anticipation of when he’ll see you next. Already, his mind is flooding with ideas of where he can take you and what you’ll do together.

You drop one of his hands so you can walk but keep a tight grip on the other until you get to your driver’s side door, hesitating outside because you’re still not ready for this to be over. It takes every ounce of restraint he has not to kiss you, unsure of if that would be moving too fast.

Thankfully, you make the call yourself. Leaning up on your toes, hands against his chest for balance, you press your lips against his and he has to summon every mite of strength not to moan. No one’s ever tasted so sweet, molded against him so perfectly. His hands drift from your shoulders down your arms, coming to rest on your waist as he pulls you just a little bit closer. It’s a fight of will not to overstep, to break off the kiss before it can become too heated. His mind is spinning by the time you break away. He’s aching for more, and he hopes you are too. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight, Steve.”

Your sweet voice replays in his mind all night, long after you’ve gotten into your car and driven away, long after he’s returned to his own vehicle and pulled the radio out from under the driver’s seat to check in with Dustin, long after he arrives home and soaks in a cold shower for longer than he probably should. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get your voice out of his head, and he couldn’t be any less upset about it.

He practically counts down the minutes until he sees you again. This time, he has a little less restraint. He greets you with a kiss–a sweet peck and a hand on your waist that leaves you aching for even more.

It’s a movie this time, a chance to enjoy each other’s company on a night you’re both too tired from working to engage in heavy conversation and getting to know each other further.

It starts with sharing popcorn, then holding hands, then somewhere along the way the film is completely forgotten in favor of your lips meeting his. His breath grows heavy as his hands hold your face, committing you to memory while resisting the urge to explore further. Your hands, meanwhile, are firmly on his thighs, gripping tightly to keep yourself steady as you do everything you can to keep yourself from crawling into his lap.

He whispers your name, and your grip on him tightens.

“W-we shouldn’t…” he murmurs, then gives up on the futile attempt at finishing his sentence so that he can pull you even deeper into the kiss as his tongue sweeps across your bottom lip.

It takes everything in him not to moan when your lips eagerly part to accept him.

Needless to say, once the credits start rolling you’re both more than a little hot under the collar.

“Let me buy you dinner,” Steve suggests as he woefully unwinds himself from you. Declining doesn’t even flicker through your mind as a possibility.

It’s not Enzo’s this time, but it doesn’t have to be. He could set a soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of you at this point and you’d still thank him for it. This time around, you’re not really as interested in the cuisine as you are just simply getting through this meal to what’s next. Because what’s next is all you’ve been thinking about since you walked through the doors the night of that very first date and saw Steve Harrington wearing a blazer for you. It’s a level of effort he’s definitely not known for–in fact, he’s built a reputation for putting in so little effort that it nearly made your jaw drop to see him trying. And it certainly made your heart skip a beat.

But then again, the Steve before you carelessly wolfing down his bacon cheeseburger seems very different from the Steve you knew in high school, even if you didn’t know that iteration as intimately as this one. That one was cool, collected, snarky and pompous and maddeningly desirable.

This Steve, your Steve, is nearly an exact foil. Much less cocky, a little less confident but more self-assured in the ways that actually hold meaning, less worried about what the people around him are observing of him than what you’re observing of him. He seems happier, more carefree, more eager to please others than simply himself. He’s grown so much in such a short amount of time, and you feel proud just for having the honor to witness it. Significantly more proud to be on the receiving end of his affections now that they hold the kind of value you’ve always wished they would.

He looks up and notices you staring at him while lost in thought, a small smile spreading across his lips as your eyes quickly dart away.

“What’s on your mind?” He questions as he licks a stray bit of ketchup from his thumb.

“Just… happy I’m here. With you.” It brings heat to your cheeks to admit it, but you don’t want him to go unappreciated in this moment.

It’s the right thing to say, because his smile grows even wider. “I’m happy too,” he admits. “I… I’ve wanted to ask you out for a while. Could never work up the courage, I guess.”

“Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington was intimidated by me?” You say it with a mock gasp, but your shock is more genuine than you give off. Never in a million years would you have thought that he, the man who could have whoever he wanted, would be worried over you saying no to him. It’s almost comical, especially considering the way you practically threw yourself at him on your first date. Of course then, you had no clue how much he’d developed as a person. You’re almost ashamed of your behavior now, as if you might’ve inadvertently been taking advantage of the new and improved Steve who isn’t just into you for a hookup.

He shrugs, nearly bashful at your teasing. “Never figured I was good enough for you. So I didn’t bother to try.”

You’re genuinely curious now, leaning in a little closer and brushing your fingers against his hand resting atop the diner counter. “What made you change your mind?”

“Honestly? I was so sure you’d say no that I asked just to give Robin a chuckle. She loves watching me get shot down.”

That makes you frown, and he’s quick to backtrack. “I wanted to! I just… I’ve had a bad track record lately. And you’re… you’re you. You’re the last person I should be worthy of.”

His eyes are quick to avert from your gaze, bottom lip tugged between his teeth as he contemplates whether he’s said too much.

“Steve…” you properly grab his hand now in the hopes that it’ll bring his eyes back to you, and it works. “You’re the only person I’ve deemed worthy in a long time, honestly.”

Steve Harrington is scaldingly warm. It’s one of many sensations forcing your mind into overdrive as he lays you delicately across the backseat of his beemer, one hand cushioning the back of your head while simultaneously deepening the already heated kiss and the other balancing his weight to lean over you in the cramped space without completely crushing you.

Your fingers tangle themselves into his soft brown locks, tugging ever-so-slightly as his tongue slips between your parted lips. He’s an eager explorer and you’re more than happy to let him take the lead, to show you all the skill you’ve heard so many whispers about.

You let out an involuntary moan as he wedges himself even closer to you, his body heat soaking through all the layers of clothing between the two of you and warming you all the way to your very bones.

You’re practically aching, ready to beg, and he knows it the second you wrap your legs around his waist in an attempt to get him even closer. If there’s one thing Steve Harrington’s good at, it’s assessing your needs. He pulls away just the slightest bit to adjust his position so he can get closer, wedging a knee between your legs to press right against your core, and it makes you jolt back against the car door at the same time his head hits the roof just a bit too hard.

You both pause for a moment, the reality of your situation hitting you simultaneously, and then you’re laughing. It’s light and edged with unresolved want, but it’s enough to fracture the tension of the moment.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Shouldn’t have gotten so carried away. This isn’t how I want to do this.”

“No?”

“No. You deserve way better than this old beater,” he chuckles, then leans down to kiss you. This kiss is lighter, no longer edged with tension and lust. He kisses you just to kiss you–there’s no end goal to it this time.

“What could be better than a BMW?” You tease lightly, trying to reassure him that you’re less disappointed than you really feel.

“You know. Something romantic. A proper bed, rose petals, maybe a few candles…”

“I don’t need all that,” you try to tell him.

“I think I do,” he admits. And that’s enough to pull you back, to remind you that you need to be patient and grateful that he values you so much as to want to do this whole thing properly. That his affection is something to be cherished, not taken for granted.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean to be pushy.”

“Please don’t apologize.” He hesitates to untangle himself from you, even though he knows he needs to. “I want this just as bad. I just… I need it to be right.”

“As long as I have you, it’ll be right,” you reassure. “I hope you know that.”

He presses his lips to yours again, a slow and passionate kiss that he hopes communicates every bit of adoration he feels for you in this moment.

“It’ll be perfect. I swear,” he vows. You’ve never believed anything more whole-heartedly than you do this promise. 

~~~

“Wait, you’re telling me that you literally had her under you and you stopped?” Robin’s halfway through chewing a mouthful of popcorn and the absolute carnage inside her agape mouth makes Steve give her a light shove.

“It’s not polite to talk with your mouth full, y’know.”

“It’s not polite to blue-ball either!” She shoots back in utter disbelief.

“How do you think I felt? I was this close,” he holds his thumb and index finger barely millimeters apart, “to sealing the deal.”

She just shakes her head. “You, Steve Harrington, are a genuine, bonafide idiot.”

She’s not telling him anything he doesn’t know. It’s been three days since the aborted fling in the backseat of his car, and he’s barely thought of anything else. Especially since you’ve been away from home both of the past nights when he’s called. He’s starting to worry you’ve gotten the wrong impression, that he’s not interested or that he’s toying with you. It’s the exact opposite. He wants nothing more than to know you in the most intimate way he can know you. But he needs it to be flawless. He needs it to be well thought-out and precisely planned, the most romantic event in the history of copulation. He won’t settle for anything less, not with you. You deserve perfection, and he won’t give you anything less.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he tries to explain. “I want to more than anything. But if you’re gonna go to town on a goddess, you need to do some worshiping, y’know? I don’t feel like I’ve done enough.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you hear this admission. You weren’t sure what to expect–worried that maybe visiting him at work was an overstep–but hearing him call you a goddess certainly wasn’t on your radar.

“You’ve done more than enough, Steve.”

The sound of your voice makes Steve jump and whirl around, oblivious to Robin’s sly smirk and mumbled excuse of needing to attend to something in the back room.

“H-hey!” He squeaks, then clears his throat in an attempt to get his tone back to its normal octave. “What… what’re you doing here?”

“Oh, just came to pick up a tape,” you tease. “But mostly I came to see you.”

“Me?” He takes a moment to ground himself, loosening his too-tight grip on the counter. “I mean… I tried to call you last night. And the night before?”

Your brow furrows. “Really? I didn’t get your message.”

Because he didn’t leave one. He clears his throat and says, “I just figured you were busy.”

“Oh, well, I volunteer at the animal shelter on Wednesdays, and last night was my friend’s 21st birthday. I’m sorry I missed you, though.”

He can tell that you’re really remorseful, and it makes his heart squeeze in his chest a little bit. He plays it off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “No, it’s fine, it’s… are you free tonight?”

You giggle at the abrupt redirect, but he’s played directly into your hand.

“Yeah, actually. I was hoping maybe you could help me pick out something for us to watch tonight? If you’re free too, that is.”

His dark eyes blink slowly, wondering if you’re aware of the implication behind your completely innocent words. You. Him. A movie. Alone. It’s enough to make his head spin. 

“I’ve never been freer.”

Conveniently, you’ve come in close enough to the end of his shift that by the time you’re done combing through Family Video’s vast selection for the perfect film to use as background noise, Steve’s ready to clock out. And since you walked over after finishing your own shift at the local dollar store up the street, it works out perfectly that he can give you a ride straight to his place.

You only glance in the backseat once, but it’s enough to get your mind churning. Remembering the feeling of him, of what could’ve been. Anticipating what will be.

“Parents home?” You ask as he pulls into his driveway and parks, trying to sound casual and utterly failing.

“Nope,” he answers easily. “Took a detour to Cabo on their way home from Hawaii.”

“Sounds glamorous. You opted out?”

“I’d rather be here in Hawkins with you than on a beach alone anyday.”

He must know the effect his words have on you. Surely he can hear the way your heart picks up pace as he looks at you with those dark, affectionate eyes.

“So… this is home.” He waves a hand around the entrance hall like it’s a shabby nightmare, not the grandest house you’ve ever been in.

“I’m starting to understand why they used to call you King Steve.”

He’s almost embarrassed at the mention of that old high school nickname. “Trust me, this isn’t why.”

“Well, a palace does befit you,” you tell him with a smirk.

“Stop, you’re gonna make me blush.” The wink he shoots you makes your gut erupt with butterflies, a sensation that would normally make you a little uncomfortable. With Steve, you’d take the butterflies all day long.

He gives you a cursory and oversimplified tour of the ground floor before leading you upstairs, and suddenly he’s sheepish. It’s been a few moons since he shared his room with a girl, so the nerves are justified. But that’s too simple an explanation. You’re not a girl. You’re his dream, his muse, his–to re-quote himself–goddess. No one he’s ever cared about more has stood where you’re standing, and it terrifies him.

He hides it well, though, busying himself with making a comfortable nest for you in his bed before setting up the television set on the dresser against the far wall. If ever there was a time to regain his confidence, it’s now. He curses whatever god there is that he feels like a fumbling virgin in this moment when nothing is even happening, when just the anticipation is enough to make his hands tremble.

There’s no more stalling once you’re comfortable and the tape is set to play. His heart pounds to the steady and frantic rhythm of one of those heavy rock songs Dustin listens to now as he sits next to you, hands itching to take a hold of you but also eager not to move too fast.

Almost as if you can sense his hesitation, you reach over and take his hand. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

And so he does, and the second his lips slot to yours all the worry and anxiety is gone. He’s Steve Harrington, and he knows what he’s doing. You’re you, and he’s wanted this for so long. After years of being lost, he deserves to finally find the love he’s been looking for. He’s never been so sure of anything as he is, in this moment of initial clarity, that he’s in love with you.

He can’t say it, not yet. He’s sure it’s too soon, and the last thing he wants is to scare you off. But he’s determined to prove it to you, and the only way besides words is action.

He can handle action.

There’s no more restraint or hesitation behind his touch. This is it, this is what you’ve both been waiting for. There’s no way in hell he’s not going to deliver now. He’s desperate for you, and it shows in the heavy way his hands drag along your curves whilst committing you to memory; the way his tongue languidly swipes across your bottom lip; the way he shifts effortlessly to hover over you even while deepening the kiss.

He’s overwhelming every single sense of yours in such a sudden fashion, and you wouldn’t want it any other way. Especially not when his hips meet yours in a deliciously slow grind and you finally get your first little taste of what’s to come.

He keens at the little breathless whimpers that leave your mouth, reading every single signal you provide him with and accommodating each. Moaning? He continues what he’s doing, intensifying if deemed necessary. Whining? He adds something, because he knows it’s hard to use your words when you’re wanting so badly. Squirming? He pays attention to the direction of your movement and pulls away or presses closer depending on necessity. It’s down to science for him; he only really cared about extracurriculars in school anyway, and this was certainly his favorite.

But then he comes to his senses–while he doesn’t pull away completely, he needs to clear his mind and he does so by letting up a bit, allowing the kiss to become languid and the heat to extinguish a bit. It only makes you whine more, and Steve curses his damned formula. You shouldn’t be part of an equation. You’re everything he’s ever wanted, and every aspect of your relationship so far has been a new experience for him. He needs this particular activity to be different too. No formulas or calculations. Just you and him and whatever happens naturally.

Clearly you can hear the cogs in his mind turning. You pull away with a concerned look on your face and ask, “what’s on your mind?”

Now’s not the time to hide anything from you, he reasons with himself. He wants to be authentic with you, and part of that means telling the truth, even if it’s not something particularly comfortable.

“I’m… falling into a routine. And I don’t want to,” he admits. He sighs and leans back, one hand dragging through his shaggy and disheveled hair, sure that he’s going to ruin the mood if he carries on like this. But he refuses to back away from the truth now. “This… it’s always been like…. Like a series of checkpoints. Boxes to check, y’know? Kiss you, take your clothes off, make you come, fuck you, say goodnight. And I don’t want… I can’t let it be like that with you. I need this to be… real. Not just some list to cross shit off of. I don’t–”

Steve takes a long, shaky breath before he can ramble on anymore. Never has someone so thoroughly gotten under his skin. He’s never felt so insecure, so unsure. It’s terrifying. The most terrifying part of it all, though, is that he likes it. He loves the feeling of the unfamiliarity, of doing this right. In a way, it’s almost like he’s doing all of this for the first time all over again. You’re his first date, first kiss, first time. All because he’s changed so drastically, because he’s not even remotely the same person he was just a year or two ago.

Your hands are so gentle as you cup his face, tenderly forcing his eyes to meet yours.

“Steve… we don’t have to do this, not if you’re not ready. I want to be with you, not just for this, but for everything. Everything that comes with you… that’s what I want. There’s no pressure. I would wait a hundred years for you to be ready so long as I could still have you.”

Steve’s breath shakes a little as he comprehends the gravity of your words. There’s nothing he can say that can properly convey the gratitude he holds for your words, so he says nothing at all.

In his silence, you continue. “You’re more than a body, you know that, right? You’re funny, and kind, and smart. Yes, smart, don’t look at me like that. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted to be close to. I just… I want to spend time with you. I want to watch stupid movies and eat diner food until we get sick and laugh at your stupid jokes… and maybe make love with you, sure, but that’s pretty low on the list as long as I just get to be with you.”

He doesn’t notice the tears until it’s too late–by the time you’re wiping them from the apples of his cheeks it’s far too late to take them back or hide them. With anyone else, he would be angry; at himself, for allowing himself to be so vulnerable. For allowing himself to be so emotional. With you, though… with you, his emotions make him feel strong. 

For the first time since you walked into his life, he’s not scared of losing you.

“I love you,” he tells you. His voice is firm, as fierce as the kiss he presses to your mouth, as powerful as the waves of emotion vibrating through his very soul. “I love you so much.”

He barely gives you a chance to reply, as keen as he is on physically proving his love to you through myriad passionate kisses that leave you breathless. But when you finally get the chance to use your voice after a barrage of kisses that start to trail down your neck, you whisper, “I love you too.”

Four words, and they’re all he needs to quell every worry or fear he’s had over doing this relationship properly with you. Why should he have to worry, after all, when he’s already succeeded? 

“I love you,” he whispers as he trails down your neck and to your chest, leaving tender love bites on the tops of your breasts once he’s properly liberated you from your shirt.

“I love you,” he mumbles through sucking a mark a few inches north of your navel.

“I love you,” he murmurs when his lips meet your waistband. His fingers make quick work of your pants as he scatters kisses over your stomach, unable to part his mouth from your skin for even a moment.

“I love you,” he affirms as his mouth meets your hot and waiting core.

There’s no more checklist. Because this isn’t simply sex, as it always has been for him in the past. This is love-making: the kind of sappy shit they talk about in all those Hallmark movies that he rolls his eyes at the sight of. It’s like losing his virginity all over again.

He understands the old adage of “the other half” now. You’ve ripped him to shreds and sewed him back together with strands of yourself. The end result is better than the original ever could’ve even dreamed to be. He’s sure he couldn’t possibly live without you now, that losing you would be like ripping out fresh and unhealed stitches.

You’re not sure how long he camps out between your trembling thighs, but it’s long enough for you to lose count of the number of times he pulls you apart–first with his languid tongue; then his long, curved fingers; then a combination of the two. It’s like he loses himself completely in your pleasure, not a single thought in his head except what he can do to bring you to the edge again, and again, and again.

You’re trembling with oversensitivity by the time his own needs overtakes his desperation to unravel you. So out of it that you feel drunk, like Steve’s laced you with absolute bliss so pure you can barely stand it.

You’re hardly present enough to appreciate the adonis before you when he finally undoes his own jeans, and that’s a damned shame because he’s so damned pretty. Long and thick, flushed at the girthy tip from his hitherto unacknowledged arousal. His lean thighs are pure muscle, and the dark thatch of hair that trails south from his navel makes your mouth water. He’s everything you dreamed he’d be and so much more.

“Steve…” You don’t know what else you can possibly say. All you can do is vainly hope that one whine of his name can convey all of the heat, frustration, tension, and above all longing, swirling through your head in the moment.

He breaks from his lustful reverie for a moment to smile as he leans in for another heated kiss; you think it’s safe to say you’ve gotten your point across.

He slows from his mania for a few moments, lips tender as they explore against yours once more. These kisses are languid, slow, yet no less heated. Even now, he’s trying to prove his love to you. As if you could somehow not believe him after everything that’s happened, every small moment you’ve spent with him witnessing how hard he’s trying for you.

Somewhere in between kisses he manages to wrestle a condom out of his nightstand, miraculously without ever breaking from your lips.

Now is where you cut in, finally fading out of your over-pleasured fugue and back to reality. You take the little foil packet from his hands and tear it open, eager for this small chance to finally get a hand or two on him.

He lets out the most gorgeous noise you’ve ever heard as you roll the rubber down his length; a deep, earthy, diaphragmatic moan just from the simple touch of your hand. You want to touch him even more, to wrest out more of those sounds from him; to see what other undiscovered responses you can pull from him as you pleasure him. But you know that now, he needs to set the pace. He believes he has something to prove, and you’re more than happy to let him prove it. There will be plenty of other opportunities to have him completely at your mercy, anyway.

There’s no way to describe the feeling as he slides into you. It’s more than bliss, more than euphoria, more than earth-shattering toe-curling mind-altering pleasure. It’s nothing more than feeling whole. Of never knowing you were missing a part of yourself until it’s suddenly returned to you. Of never knowing what home felt like until this exact moment.

Maybe it’s overdramatic. Maybe it’s outlandish and outrageous and a million other adjectives to feel something so overpowering and overwhelming from such a seemingly simple physical act. But in this moment, you know you’ve never felt anything as right as being connected to Steve in this way.

His lips hardly leave yours while he rolls his hips against you, easily finding the perfect angle to make your breath hitch and your hands scrabble for purpose.

It admittedly doesn’t last long, but it doesn’t have to. Once you start to tighten and pulse around him, he’s a goner–deep purposeful thrusts turning to hard, arrhythmic plunges in desperate search of release.

You’re still shaking from your high when he slowly pulls out of you. He keeps you close, arms linked around your waist and dragging you to lay on his chest as he flops back against the pillows. 

You’re not sure how long you lay like that, with Steve whispering sweet nothings into your hair and pressing absentminded kisses to your face. All you can really focus on is one all-consuming, life-changing fact.

“I love you, Steve Harrington.”

“I love you too,” he whispers back. He kisses you again, just a simple peck on your lips, and you know that he’s telling the truth. It’s an eternal truth: one that can’t be changed or altered in any way. Steve Harrington loves you with every fibre of his being, and he will for the rest of his life–even if you’re both blissfully unaware of it for now.

THE END

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[valkyyriia]

A Study in Green

Words: 2915

CW: Fingering, Artistic Liberties with History | NSFW

Pairing: Arthur Conan Doyle / Female-Bodied Reader

Prompt: Abandoned Mansion (caution!)

Notes: This is I think the third time I've ever written smut, so please bear with me. I also thought the title was rather cliche, but I liked it, so... I also think I got a little carried away. Whoops. And Mo, if you read this - I remembered that comment I left you on your fic about the Paris Green and MC freaking out and it immediately came to mind when I rolled this prompt with my dice.

Crossposted on Ao3 here.

Banners/dividers by @natimiles.

For @xxsycamore's event, Sexy Ikemen Summer!

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” You asked, eyeing the abandoned building with suspicion. It appeared to have been an older, late-eighteenth century mansion. Ivy crept up the crumbling mortar like grasping tendrils, giving it a foreboding look. 

“It’ll be fine, luv,” Arthur said, a cheeky grin on his face. “A little urban exploration never hurt anyone.” 

“I would like to see the evidence to back up that stateme-” You were cut off by Arthur tugging you close and kissing you sweetly.

“Come now. I swore to protect you, didn’t I?” He tapped your nose with a gloved finger. “That includes the dangers of uninhabited, derelict places and all the things that go bump in the dark. You have absolutely nothing to fear as long as I am here with you, okay?” 

You exhaled shakily and offered a weak smile. “Okay.” 

“Besides,” Arthur added. “You do make a rather adorable damsel in distress.” 

You stuck your tongue out at him, and he laughed, taking your hand and leading you inside. 

One thing you had never quite gotten used to in this era was the sticky heat and lack of air conditioning. Even though the climate wasn’t too different from what you were used to, the fashion of the day was much more stifling. The summer sun was currently high in the air, beating oppressive rays down on the building. Fortunately, the mansion was still in reasonably good repair; the roof was intact everywhere except the far left wing, where the walls had collapsed in on themselves. It offered some protection from the heat, paltry though it was.

Arthur had, true to his word, faithfully stuck by your side. The vampire hardly even let go of your hand, giving you something to anchor yourself to. You were grateful for his considerate nature. 

The sunlight shining through the cracked stained glass windows cast glittering constellations on the dusty wood of the parlor floor. Furniture draped in age-stained cream cloth was positioned in key places around the room. If it weren’t for the thick layer of dust and the obvious smell of decaying wood, you would almost think the owners were just out on vacation. 

Arthur had done some amount of research on the building before bringing you here, aided by le Comte and his connections. As it turns out, the owners of this mansion had fled to America twenty or so odd years ago due to some sort of legal trouble. The Crown had seized the mansion to repay the family’s debts and it had remained uninhabited since. According to Comte, the left wing collapse happened a few months after the Crown took over the property, and they hadn’t tried to renovate or rebuild the structure. Ultimately, other than the left side, the mansion should have been perfectly safe - within reason for an abandoned building - for a first-time urban explorer. 

He grinned. “Look at this,” Arthur said, using your joined hands to point at the desk in the corner of the room. It was neatly organized, a couple of books stacked on the side. A half-written letter lay on the workspace. A quill pen sat in a long-since-dried inkwell, the bottom of it stained black with India ink. “They really were in a hurry,” Arthur commented, pulling his tortoiseshell glasses from his pocket and setting them on his nose. “Let’s see…”

He blew gently on the surface, scattering the dust. Your eyes watered and you cough into your elbow. “Sorry,” Arthur murmured, rubbing your back lightly as he looked at the letter. 

“To my love,

“I hope the day comes when I can see you again. Father says we must leave in order to stay out of prison, and I dread leaving you behind. I had desperately dreamed of the day I would make you my wife, but I fear we must place those plans on hold for now. Wait for me, my love. I will return for you.

“Forever yours,”

And then nothing. There was no signature. You frowned. “The poor dears.. I hope he was able to stay in contact. Or at least let her know what happened.” 

Arthur studied the paper intensely for a moment, before looking at the books next to it. “I can’t imagine she wouldn’t know what happened. These kinds of things are rather big gossip in the upper echelons of society.” The hand on your back moved to your waist and pulled you closer to him. “Her family likely refused any further contact with him or his family after they left. Even if he continued to write to her, she probably never saw any of those letters.” 

“That’s so sad,” you said, leaning into him. “It sounds like he really loved her.” 

“If he loved her half as much as I love you, he must have loved her a lot,” Arthur replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “If you would like, luv, we can maybe try to deliver this letter to its intended recipient. There’s probably some other correspondence between the two stashed somewhere here, if we look for it.”

You looked up at him in surprise. He had a kind smile on his lips, but his eyes were serious. If it were something you wished to do, he would make it happen somehow. “I would, but,” you started to say. “What if it opens up old wounds? What if she’s moved on and this just brings it back up?” You sighed and laid your head against Arthur’s shoulder once more. He ran his thumb up and down your waist in soothing motions. “I don’t want to make things worse.” 

“Even if she has moved on, it could give her closure,” Arthur pointed out. “But you are right; it could cause more trouble for them. Maybe we should leave it here?”

You mulled it over for a moment. “If I were in her shoes.. And you had moved away for some reason against your will, I don’t think I could really move on. Even if I was forced to marry someone else. I love you too much to ever forget you.” 

Arthur was silent for a moment. “Then we should do everything we can to make sure it’s delivered. Even if it is twenty-something years late,” he said, voice quiet and somewhat choked. You went to move away and look up at him, but Arthur’s hand kept your head against his neck. His free arm wrapped around you and he held you firmly to his body. You gave up fighting him, and just locked your arms around his neck. “Thank you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

Arthur finally let go and stepped away from you, looking around the room once more. “Let’s see if we can find out who the lucky lady is, yeah? The game, my dear, is on!” 

The two of you went looking around the parlor for any other correspondence between the pair. Coming up empty handed there, you moved to other rooms. Normally Arthur would have been able to make an educated deduction on which room likely belonged to the author, but with the state of disrepair the house was in it was much more difficult. Or at least, that’s what Arthur said - but you suspected he just wanted an excuse to lead you around the house by the hand for a little longer. Not that you’d complain about that.

The two of you looked inside a bedroom suite on the second floor. The door creaked open, revealing a lavish room, covered in linens matching those in the parlor. A thick layer of dust coated the room as it did everywhere else in the house. You carefully stepped over to another desk, this one facing the window that overlooked the long-overgrown lawn. Spread across it were several letters in varying states of completion. Some were well-worn, clearly having been read over multiple times. Those ones appeared to have a different author than the one found downstairs. 

“Alyssa Bloodwell,” Arthur murmured. “That name doesn’t ring any bells for me, but Daddy Dearest knows just about everyone worth knowing among Europe’s elite. We can ask him when we get back. For now, though…” Arthur turned to you, a devilish smile on his lips.

“Arthur,” you warned him to no avail. He quickly stepped forward and grabbed you by the hips. Your arms snaked around his neck automatically. 

He grinned. “What is it, oh darling love of mine?” He gave you an innocent peck on the lips. 

“Oh, don’t even start, Arthur,” you protested, but made no motion to step out of his embrace. His lips moved to the side of your face and you reflexively tilted your head to give him access. “We can’t - not here.” 

“Says who?” Arthur murmured seductively, nibbling at the shell of your ear. “It’s not like there’s anyone here to stop us.” He walked you backwards to a sturdy chest of draws against the far wall, and easily lifted you up onto it. “You’ve been looking positively delectable all day. I can’t help myself from wanting a taste.” He leaned in and kissed you more insistently, his fingers dancing around the ribbon at the collar of your blouse. 

“You are incorrigible,” You responded weakly, already returning his kiss. 

“But you like it, don’t you?” Arthur replied, grazing your earlobe with his fangs. “You dirty little thing.” He ghosted his lips down the side of your neck, pressing a kiss right over your pulse point, before mouthing the spot and sucking hard. You cried out at the sharp pain of it. 

Arthur ran his thumb over the red blooming there. “Beautiful,” he said. “I would bite you, but then I’d have to carry you back to grab a carriage.” He ran his tongue down the column of your throat, his fingers gently setting the ribbon to the side and dragging the top of your blouse down. His other hand slid up your skirt, the thumb running back and forth over the flesh of your inner thigh. “And I really don’t want to have to explain that one to the constable,” Arthur whispered, his breath coming out in puffs against your collarbone.

The drag of his sharp fangs against the skin of your chest combined with Arthur’s fingers moving higher underneath your skirt caused your breath to hitch. His gloved hand pressed gently against your clothed sex, applying a small bit of pressure through your underwear. You let out a soft whine at the contact. He rubbed his fingers back and forth between your thighs while leaving love bites all over your exposed chest. 

His lips kissed back up your throat, and he pulled away to look at you. Smirking, he pulled his hand from between your thighs and took the glove in between his teeth. Arthur slowly, teasingly, pulled it off of his hand, the now bare appendage returning to its former place between your legs.

“Arthur,” you whimpered as he slid the material of your panties aside. He dragged his fingers back and forth through the wetness gathering there, circling the sensitive nub at the apex of your thighs. 

You threw your head back, a low keening sound escaping your lips as he continued to swirl his fingers between your legs. Arthur shot out his other hand to catch the back of your head.

“Look at me,” he murmured. You bit your lip but did as he asked, and he smiled. “Good girl.” 

Arthur’s thumb brushed against your lips and then he leaned in for a deep kiss. “You’re so cute when you come undone under my fingers like this,” he purred. “You’re normally so put together.” You probably were a sight to behold right now - skirt hiked up to your hips, blouse untied and loosely draped under your cleavage, chest heaving  - you were the very image of debauchery. 

Arthur leaned back in for another kiss, his tongue moving against yours in time with his fingers as they pushed inside of you. 

Your gaze drifted up, suddenly settling on the walls of the room. Your eyes widened and you broke the kiss. “Arthur,” you breathed, voice scratchy. “Is it just me or is that wallpaper green?” 

Arthur groaned and he pulled away with a discontent sigh, his lips forming a frown. “It is, and quite a lovely shade of it. But I don’t see how the color of the wallpaper is more important than my hand.” His fingers deftly continued their work, and you bit back a groan. “Unless you are unsatisfied, and want something more?”

“Because,” you breathed, trying to ignore Arthur’s actions and failing miserably. “Green pigments from around this time period are made of arsenic. It’s poison.” Your thighs trembled as he pleasured you. You were so close-

-and then Arthur suddenly stopped and looked at you, bewildered. You whined at the loss of stimulation. “Really?” He looked away from you, his gaze flitting all around the room that was blanketed in peeling green wallpaper. Arthur’s cobalt gaze met yours again, a light panic to his eyes. “And they didn’t know this?” 

“No! The paint was invented sometime in the early nineteenth century and fell out of use during the mid nineteenth century because people were getting sick,” you sighed, the ache in your belly slowly subsiding, leaving you feeling uncomfortable and wanting for more. “It was later used as a pesticide, until they realized that was dangerous, too.” You were somewhat regretting your choice to stop Arthur at this moment. Curse your brain for being safety-conscious even with an incredibly attractive man between your legs, who wanted nothing more than to bring you pleasure.

Arthur sighed, pressing a kiss to your lips. “We should probably continue this elsewhere, then,” he conceded, removing his hands from your thighs. You shuddered at the loss of contact and watched as he lifted his slick-covered hand to his mouth, sucking on the fingers. The lewd sight sent another flare of smoldering heat right to your belly. “When we get back home, you’re going to have to make up for leaving me hanging like this. I hope you’re ready for the consequences of your actions.”

Bonus:

After speaking with Comte about what you discovered while exploring (trespassing), you and Arthur found yourselves standing outside of a beautiful, well-kept mansion in the Parisian countryside. As you approached the gate, a butler, who was trimming roses nearby, placed his garden shears down and stepped over.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle, Monsieur,” he greeted. “How can I help you?” 

“Is there an Alyssa Bloodwell at this residence?” You asked.

The butler frowned. “Madame Bloodwell does live here, yes, but we were not advised of any visitors today. Was she expecting you?”

“Not exactly,” you replied. Arthur then pulled a time-worn letter out of his pocket and showed it to the butler, explaining, “I shan’t go into the specifics on how, but we came across this letter and believe its intended recipient is your mistress. We simply wish it to go where it belongs.” 

The butler looked at the letter for a moment before nodding. “If you will, follow me,” he said and led you both into the mansion’s entryway, and from there to the parlor. “Please wait here, mademoiselle, monsieur. I will inform Madame Bloodwell of your visit and we shall proceed from there.” 

After a few minutes of waiting, you looked up to see a woman in her late thirties descending the stairwell. “I am Madame Alyssa Bloodwell. I was informed you had correspondence intended for me?” she asked. 

You curtsied and Arthur handed over the letter. She took it, eyeing it, and her hand dropped to her chest. “Where did you get this?” she said, breathless. 

“We recently came into possession of it,” Arthur said, smoothly avoiding giving the details. “We did some detective work, and determined you were the recipient.” 

Lady Bloodwell walked over to an armchair on uncertain legs and sunk down into it. “Louis,” she murmured. “I haven’t heard from him in twenty four years.” Her fingers caressed the fraying edges of the paper. “His family had been found to be embezzling money from one of the royal artisans and was disgraced. They fled Paris in the middle of the night and caught a ship to America. My parents forbade mention of him and the betrothal was called off. I ended up marrying a local lord, but.. I never did stop wondering what happened to him.” 

You smiled sadly at her. “I’m sorry that we didn’t come bearing current news, but I’m glad we could at least bring you the letter. It’s obvious how much he loved you.” 

“Thank you, cherie,” she said. “Please, is there anything I can do to repay you for doing me this kindness?” 

You began to decline, but Arthur cut in. “If you don’t mind, could you answer a question for us as payment?“

She inclined her head. 

“Did you ever move on?” Arthur asked, a serious look on his face. 

Madame Bloodwell shook her head. “I love my husband,” she began. “But no. Louis was - is - special to me. I never stopped loving him, and I doubt I will stop until the last breath leaves my lungs.” She looked between you and Arthur, a content smile on her face. “I see such a resemblance between you two and myself and Louis. Monsieur, whatever you do, don’t ever lose her.”

Arthur looked straight at you and squeezed your hand. “I won’t.” 

Taglist: @natimiles

[dobbysnotsureaboutthis]

Intro/ Rules - ask box open!

About me

Age: 20, Phone number: 1-800-IloveAlastor

Rules/ Expectations

After thinking for a bit, I’ve decided that I will accept asks (I've bolded/ color-changed the main points, for those of you who don't want to read the whole thing)

Rule number 1! Is that minors don’t get to participate here 

I’ll only accept Alastor x reader (fem or gender neutral) asks…because that’s what I made the blog for 🤣

I won’t be able to answer all the asks, and my post schedule depends on life… I’ll have to try and see just how slow I am lol 

Topics that are an automatic rejection: 

Pedophilia, vomit/ pee/ scat, Beastiality (like actual animals, not mah deer man he’s fine he’s a furry)

Unreasonable cruelty - I choose to write a longer disclaimer because violence/ cruelty can still be an enjoyable part of fiction for many. This is an Alastor x reader blog so there’s bound to be some bloody stuff going on, but there is a line I’ll draw; which isn’t a straightforward “I’ll never write this”. Ex: I won’t write about Alastor raping the reader and the reader obviously suffering. But dubious consent and the reader enjoying it is ok since this is fiction and we have insight into the character’s mind. It all depends on how it's written. Metaphorically, is it a painting where, despite the image's subject being gory, it is depicted in such a way that it might be considered beautiful? Or is it a crudely scribbled image of some woman being brutally torn apart (which only serves to please a select group of perverts and has no artistic value)? How clear is it that the audience is not supposed to become the art but enjoy it from a distance? It can be difficult to write a good line between the two. Also the more socially deviant the topic, the higher I’d need to make the word count to not have it appear as some barbaric quickie of a moral crime scene… and for that, I need 1. Time, 2. The fucking inspiration

Creative writing (aka writing outside of school) is all very new to me, so keep that in mind lol

I am trying to remain fairly anonymous, so feel free to ask or comment anything but don’t get TOO close 🖤😈💩

Ask away!

Taglist: @angeldustharmony, @littlebluefishtail, @cryssyd, @reath-solia, @speedycoffeedelight, @mo-0-o , @wendds , @yui-onnero , @alastor-fann , @sweetsaladpainterranch

[newhope8]

🐱🐾Comfort from Kitty💕🫂♾️

Here's a random idea I had. This post is inspired by the following two comments. ⬇️ And incidentally enough, this post is dedicated to @vanillacupcakefrosting & @moonlightndaydreams.

Please, if you truly are under the age of 18, don't read this story I've written. When fanfic creators (authors or artists) say, "Minors, Do Not Interact" (MDNI)", there's usually some damn good reasons why. If you decide to read, I ask that you please make note of the below-mentioned content warnings (C/W). ⬇️

C/W • 🔞❌⚠️ gentle ass play // fingering (anal) :: f-receiving; breast & nipple play; period Shark Week foreplay in general; hand job :: m-receiving; light breeding marking, tho no p-v happens, since fem::y/n is on her period; Minho is briefly mentioned as the y/n's BF (boyfriend), tho he can be referred to however you want >>fiancee, husband, sibling's best friend, your S.O. {significant other}, etc...<<; some cum play; spit play (f-receiving); use of pet names :: reader calls herself "Mommy" & her boyfriend "Kitten"; gentle degradation ... if you squint, i guess; mild praise kink (m-receiving); nursing & tit suckling kink (male pov); graphic mentions of male & female anatomy and bodily fluids; graphic language ... 🔞❌⚠️

Pairing • Minho & female y/n reader 👩🏻‍🤝‍👨🏼💗💙

Relationship Status • Comfortable, experienced, safe, loving, judgement-free 🫂❤️‍🩹

Synopsis • Your boyfriend (Minho) comforts you during your period.

If I've missed anything in the warnings, please let me know. 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

My a/n (author note) thoughts throughout & at the end of this fic will appear in small purple font; you'll see. 🥰💜👍🏻 Just random ramblings that I wanted to write down/ make note of in that particular moment ...

This little story is just for fun & perhaps some relief from life's worries. Please take it as such. It's not serious, nor designed to replicate the mannerisms of any one Kpop celebrity irl.

Despite you being on your period (or, as some refer to it, "Shark Week" 🦈), you're still horny and desperate for Minho to ease your aches and pains in some very adult ways. 😏🔥💦

He would totally respect your wishes and leave your pussy untouched, no matter what type of feminine hygiene product you're using (whether it's an internal product or external one). Ladies, we all know what these are. 👍🏻 Minho may ask you to strip to your underwear, panties stay on (you're on your monthly cycle, remember 🩸🩸🩸🩸), yet he leaves you to decide if the bra stays or goes. Your pussy is throbbing, not entirely from being horny, yet from weird period cramps (am I the only one who's felt/ experienced this...??!!), so you're silently thankful your nether region is remaining covered. This weird throbbing has your tits starting to poke against your bra & if you weren't expelling a crimson river from between your folds, you would've sworn a few drops of Minho's favorite dessert had left your pussy hole. Yup, that's right. Your boyfriend's favorite thing to lick up is the cream your body generates. 🫦👅💦💦💦 Doesn't matter if it's pre-orgasm (pre-cum), during cumming or post-orgasm ("the little death" moment), he likes it all. And tells you he does, every chance he can get.

He sees you start to lay back on the bed next to him, yet his brows furrow when he sees you sit back up. Can't stand this fucking tit-choking bra any longer, you gripe to yourself. Reaching behind you, your fingers struggle to undo the clasp. After a moment, Minho hears you exclaim a satisfactory Ah-HA! as you successfully unclip the offending undergarment and fling it to the far corner of your bedroom. Minho fills his dick start to swell at your words. Desperate for some relief of his own, he turns over onto his stomach to press his groin into the mattress. This is a mistake for him, since he feels himself soak right through his undies, no doubt leaving a delicious little stain of his very own on your bed linens.

Turning his head to one side, time goes in slow motion for him. He watches as you lay back once again, twisting your hips to get settled a bit more comfortably, your tits finally free of your bra and poking out in the air. Without his permission, his mouth emits a small arousing gurgling noise, which does not escape your notice. Somebody's going to get to feel really good in just a minute, you think to yourself. 😏💦

Minho feels himself soil his undies completely as he watches the skin around your tits pebble up from the cold air in your bedroom. He cannot wait any longer for you and swiftly gets up from the bed to strip himself off completely. You prop yourself up on your elbows and watch with wide eyes as his dick flops free from his underwear and begins to steadily ooze your own favorite dessert from its tip. 💦💦💦💦🍆 Squeezing your legs together, not entirely to ease the period aches down there, your breath stops as he hops back on the bed and lays down on his side facing you.

He asks you next if he can suckle on your tits. He already knows this is one of your favorite foreplay activities (whether you're on your period or not) and the thought of tasting your full tits, made even fuller with increased hormone levels from your monthly cycle, has him pressing his soaked dick into your hip and leaking all over your leg. (Idk about anyone else, yet when I'm on my period, my boobs do feel like they swell slightly. For reference, I am a 36B bra size irl.) Whimpering out a strained yes in reply, you raise your arms above your head and move your shoulders from side to side to get fully comfy and as sunk into the mattress as you can.

Minho lets himself rub his dick in an up-down motion against your hip a few times before leaning over and taking your right tit in his mouth. Your tits are always sensitive when you're aroused (periodness or no) and the feeling of having your twin peaches 🍑🍑 in full-access-mode for him has you emitting small moans that go in time with the lazy suckling motions of his tongue.

Feeling your favorite dessert start to dribble down your right thigh and leg (Minho's cream), you are suddenly just as desperate to feel him as he is to be suckling on you. Moving your right arm down from above your head, you reach down to his dick with your right hand and lightly start to tickle the base of his shaft. Minho's lips break from your right tit and he nuzzles his nose in between your boobs while he freely emits unabashed moans, groans and whimpers at the feel of your hand being able to freely slide up and down, oh so slowly, along his shaft. There is only one person in the entire world his dick belongs to (other than himself, lol); that one person is you.

He continues to nuzzle his nose in between your boobs as you gently begin to massage him. His right hand comes up to ghost over your stomach and he blindly reaches for your left tit. You're just about to move your left hand to help him find what he's looking for, yet that isn't necessary. Thank goodness, you muse to yourself, for my left nipple had been screaming in agony for some attention since Minho stripped off his undies.

You feel your hand get even more saturated than it already is from Minho's precum. Gently wriggling your hand out from between your bodies, despite his adorable whimpers of protesting disappointment, you bring your hand up to your face and begin licking your entire hand clean. Yup, that's right ... you're having your dessert before your main meal. 😈👅🥵💦 Whoever said you couldn't indulge in dessert first if you wanted to was being ridiculous for no reason.

Minho notices you cleaning your hand off and you feel him start to rut a bit harder into your right hip as his lips regain purchase on your right nipple. Minho, baby ... please ... PLEASE, you moan. For the love of all that's holy and sacred in this world, look to my other tit with your lips. Do you really want any future children I may give you to only have 1 nipple to suckle from? Or are you going to be selfish and just keep both of Mommy's titties for yourself?

You hear your him mumble and groan around your right tit, still so engrossed in nursing from you. Laughing softly to yourself at his behavior, you reach your left hand over and gently tug on his hair, forcing his head up and away from your chest. Baby, why did you do that, he whimper-cries, giving you the sweetest set of doe eyes you've ever seen.

Because Mommy's left nip is sad, you answer. It needs love too.

Here, let me see it, Minho huffs out. He props himself up on his elbows just enough so he can move his head over to your left breast.

Hold my other tit, please, you whisper-whimper to him. It just needs you to hold it while you nurse from the other one.

You slowly bring Minho's left hand up to cup your right breast. He follows your directions dutifully, cradling your boob in his slightly larger hand, yet not squeezing it at all. You begin to moan in earnest when, in the very next instant, you feel his lips attach to your left tit, but not before you watch as he lets a healthy stream of his drool dribble onto your left nipple. His spit beads for a split second on the very tip of your left tit, before it glides down over the swell of the breast itself. Your breath just about ceases completely while you watch him hover his perfect mouth over your drenched tit. His breath comes in short, staccato bursts, similar to the slightly faster rhythm his hips have begun to make against your hip.

Giggling to yourself, you run your hands up & down your boyfriend's shoulders, getting temporarily lost in the lustful yet overall loving gaze he fixes on your boobs. He alternates looking at your twin peaches and your eyes. His eyes suddenly fill with an emotion you cannot put into words and you feel a rather hard lump of tears lodge right in the middle of your throat. You think to yourself that it's partially due to your monthly hormones, which are in full force atm. Indeed, you feel a strong urge to get up and use the restroom (lol, tmi perhaps). Yet, it's something else too, something else entirely. You return your boyfriend's gaze and see his eyes sparkling with tears for you, through his natural manly lust for your body. You get fully shipwrecked in his gaze and feel tears finish beading up along your lashes and starting to trickle down your cheeks. 🥹

Baby, what is it? What's wrong, you hear him ask you. You cannot answer him right away, so you turn your head to one side and bury one half of your face in your pillow. You feel hiccups start to build in your chest, yet force them down. Now is not the time to hiccup in your boyfriend's face, you silently giggle to yourself. Not that Minho would care. He loves every part of you, every part of your very essence. Even the silly & embarrassing noises your body makes on its own, for whatever reason. It's all music to his ears, he loves it all.

Baby, I need you to answer me. Are you ok? You hear him ask you again. You feel one of his hands come up to your left breast, gently wiping off the spit he'd left there mere moments before. His other hand goes to your tummy, which you feel to suddenly start clenching with one of the most painful period cramps you've experienced. He rubs his hand back and forth over your twisting uterus, and peppers the softest kisses 💋 all over your face. He isn't licking up your tears, just kissing you softly.

You force yourself to focus on the movements of his hands and lips on your body, instead of on the nauseating pain that continues to pull through your feminine parts. The uterine cramps start to ease for a moment and you feel yourself start to go soft with relief.

Are you ok, baby? He asks you for a third time. His hands still completely, and you can tell he's not going to continue further until you answer him. You slowly move your head to face him, because you feel the onset of a massive migraine headache starting to form. 😣 Reaching your hands up to either side of his face, it's now your turn to gently wipe up his tears.

Yes, my Leebit, I'm fine. Just letting your love heal me, I guess. It overflows from my heart every time for you and ... and ... You suddenly cannot continue speaking, so you turn your head to the other side and start to cry in earnest. Your shoulders start to shake a tiny bit and you feel Minho reach both his arms under your shoulders to pull you close to his chest. You burrow into his embrace and let the rest of the bodily aches dissipate as you feel his warmth seep into each pore of your skin. You haven't forgotten about Minho's other "concern", for it's still pressed against your hip, its tip is quite wet and very hard. 💦🍆 Before gently pulling away from him, you take a moment to marvel at his self control and respect for your emotions in general. He's not been rutting into you at all this entire time, he's been completely still. His dick has only twitched maybe once, it's almost as if he's told himself to stop until you're settled and calm again.

You watch as his eyes flutter closed & a few more tears trickle down the apples of his cheeks. Your thumbs ghost over his eyelids, using kitten-feather-soft touches to soothe away his tears. Minho leans his face into one of your hands, moving his head barely back & forth. He continues to nuzzle against your hand in this way, until you suddenly feel a sharp pain stab through your gut.

Ahhhh, oh fuck, ahhhhh, you moan out. Your hands fly away from Minho's face, pressing as hard as you can in a downward motion on your lower stomach, right where your uterus is. The period cramp is so bad, your back arches slightly off the bed and you screw your eyes shut.

You feel Minho shift slightly in the bed next to you, not leaving your side. He adjusts himself so you have a little more space to move, yet he's still just as close to you as before. It's ok, baby, I'm right here & I'm not going anywhere. Just breathe, ok? you hear him whisper to you.

Through the renewed fog of pain & nausea that threatens to overtake you, you feel his hands settle in place over yours, helping you to press down on your stomach further. Every female is different with her body & how she experiences period cramps, yet pressing down on your uterus is one of the movements that works best for you to ease the aches in the immediate moment. And Minho instinctually knows this.

He leans over your face & kisses your forehead before placing one, single, solitary, loving kiss on your left tit. He doesn't even suckle on it, just kisses it once and moves his mouth away to lay his head on your chest.

Then, as quickly as the pain makes an appearance, you feel your uterus relaxing again and the aches naturally subside. You shift your shoulders from side to side, signaling you want to get up. Minho, baby, I love being your body pillow, yet I really need to pee & change my feminine item out, you say to him. You have been in a healthy & steady relationship with your boyfriend for several years and always feel like you can talk quite openly with him about anything and everything. Yes, I said anything and everything; this includes every little aspect of women's feminine hygiene and gynecological health. So telling him you need to change your pad or tampon is nothing he hasn't heard before. He's a confident man & has the balls to be mature enough to handle such talk in a respectful manner. Some men are fucking babies when it comes to being respectful of a woman's health, yet there are others who aren't this way. They may seem like they're few & far between, yet they are out there ... I promise. 💕🫂🙏🏻

Minho, come on, baby, you huff out a laugh as he nuzzles his nose in between your boobs one last time. I really REALLY need to use the restroom.

You're just so soft and delectable, you hear him mumble into your skin as he moves to sit up in bed.

How the fuck am I soft when I feel so dirty and gross? you ask him.

Because you're you & perfect just the way you are, he answers. I cannot see you being any other way & I wouldn't have you any other way.

Aww, fuck, Minho baby ... I'm going to cry all over again! you moan out, looking at him with more tears in your eyes. Your heart melts even further than it already has as you sit up, scooting closer to him on the bed, and rubbing your nose in the crook of his neck. Despite feeling overall icky from your period, you're still somewhat horny and cannot resist scenting your boyfriend, just a little. 😉

Minho recognizes your signature move with this & you feel his body stiffen slightly. From the corner of your eye, you see his hands move down gradually to his rock-hard dick, which is now steadily oozing the most delicious-looking precum you've seen from him in a while. Its color is a shade of milky white, semi-clear ... the most beautiful you've seen from his cockhead in a while. Your pussy starts to throb with genuine arousal this time, not just residual period cramps. You are suddenly desperate to taste him and this thought has your pussy leaking his cream all over your folds. Your only regret is that because it's the first evening of your Shark Week, your pussy and folds are 100% off limits to him for the next few days ... at least until the heaviest flow has passed.

Baby, what are you doing? you mumble into Minho's neck. What are you doing, you ask again ... giggling at how Minho has suddenly decided to mirror your movements.

Loving you, what does it look like ... he whimpers back. His hands press down harder on his dick and he begins to leave little love bites and nibbles along the juncture of your neck & shoulder.

Are you trying to mark me? you giggle back, with a breathy moan of your own. Minho baby, I really have to pee. Making a more concerted effort to move away from him this time, or else you really will have a crimson accident in your bed, you gently push on his shoulders to get him to detach his mouth from your neck.

Nooo, he whines out. And to keep you in place, he bites down a bit harder, effectively pinning you to the spot for a few more seconds.

Ah, fuuuuuucccccckkkkkk, baby ... Minho ... NOOO, you whine back. Despite your almost having an accident, you push your tits against his bare chest and reach your hands up to tangle in his hair.

He feels your tits on the broad muscles of his chest and reaches a hand up to fondle your left nipple, not forgetting he left off mid-massage of it to check on you. You notice his hand is soaked and you suddenly moan out rather loudly as he lets himself start to push his groin into your side again ... this time in earnest. Your Kitty is determined to feel good and you're going to help him get there. But first, your bathroom stop ... for the only type of bodily fluids you prefer to clean off your sheets is your & his cum. Not pee, not barf, not period blood ... just delicious cum. That's all.

Using what little willpower you feel you still possess, you tangle your fingers in his hair and pull up with intention. His mouth leaves your neck with a quiet squelch and he looks at you with a half blown out expression on his face. His hand stays latched around your left tit, so you quickly detach this part of him from you too.

Baby, he whines at you. He tries to scoot closer again but this time, you're quicker. Scrambling off the bed, you stand up and point a finger at him. I have to pee, baby. Don't you remember what week it is for me?

Yes, I remember, it's just, it's just ... I need Mommy's titties and this ..., he whimpers, gesturing to his painfully hard dick.

My titties will be right back, you chuckle. I will feel better after just a moment. 🧻🚽🩸 Yet in the meantime, you continue, coming up to the foot of the bed and pointing your finger at him again. Lay back for me, and spread your legs. Arms above your head ... and do NOT fucking touch yourself until I get back. Mommy will help you out momentarily.

Will you, truly? he asks. He quickly moves into position as you've directed him to and the sight just about has you doubling over and feeling dizzy. Sweat gives a glistening sheen all over his body and his entire shaft is coated in the only moisture you're even remotely interested in getting nutrition from. Minho's muscular arms are above his head and he grips onto the headboard for support. He tries to keep his hips still, yet the sight of you staring him down, dressed as you are (topless, with just your favorite comfort pair of cotton panties on), has him involuntarily bucking his hips up just a bit.

Yes baby kitty, most truly. I promise, you reply to him. Turning on your heels before you can have another moment of hormonal weakness, you dash into the en-suite bathroom you both share, firmly shutting the door behind you.

You make your way over to your section of the spacious bathroom. Rummaging around in one of your many storage compartments, you hastily feel around for one of your favorite overnight pads in your period supply drawer. Your hand lands on the all-too-familiar wrapper of the pad and when you withdraw it from the box, you see a small post-it note stuck to it.

Sitting down on the toilet, you quickly dispose of your hygiene trash in the small trash can and relieve yourself. Bending over at the waist, you press both hands into your stomach as hard as you can and emit a silent moan, or as silent as you feel you can be under the circumstances. Your uterus is hell-bent bound and determined that you're not going to have much relief from it tonight. It's going to make sure you're aware it's there, at all times, no matter what. You're just glad you're sitting on the toilet, instead of standing up or sitting down. Giving birth to small jellyfish 🩸🩸🩸 during the first few days is always fun, isn't it, ladies? 🫣😣🥴😮‍💨 (For those biologically born with a vagina, you know what I mean & are the only people who will ever understand. For those that weren't {no matter how you orientate/ identify}, take note :: it literally feels like a small glob of jellyfish leaving your pussy hole. I'm not kidding. Periods are a necessary part of life & still not normalized as much as they should be, I think. No disrespect towards anyone/ everyone is beautiful, I'm simply telling things from my perspective as a woman who bleeds each month.)

While you wait for the feeling to pass, you look at the small post-it note you've found stuck to the pad. Un-sticking the note from the pad's wrapper, you unfold it and open it to reveal a short love-note from Minho! 🥹😻😭🤧💌🎀 Blinking back tears, you try to remember any recent interaction when he'd have an excuse to go into some of your more personal drawers in the bathroom. It suddenly dawns on you that just a week ago, you did ask him to pick up some extra pads for you while he'd stopped at the convenience store on his way home from work. You sent him a photo of the packaging of your favorite kind (ladies ... if you haven't tried pads by the brand called Honey Pot, you may be missing out; seriously -- give their pads and liners a try if you use said-products; Idk if they make tampons or not ...) & he came back with 2 packages, plus a baggie of your favorite chocolates & 2 cans of your favorite energy drink.

You involuntary emit a hiccup & swipe a hand across your eyes, in a poor attempt to dry your tears. Realizing this effort is futile, you reach for a handful of toilet paper to blow your nose, hoping Minho doesn't hear you being emotional in the bathroom. 🤧🫣 Straining your ears to hear, all "appears" quiet from the sanctuary of your & his shared bedroom.

Rubbing one hand absentmindedly over your stomach, you hold his note in your other hand & begin to read.

To my dearest baby, You are so very beautiful in each & every way. Don't let anyone ever tell you different. Thank you for being mine. Hugs & kisses, ~~your Kitty 🐱🐾😘 (P.S. I hope these are the right pads.)

You bend over in half again, your chin is resting on your knees. You cry for real this time, not caring two fucks if Minho hears you. The amount of love from such simple words never fails to take your breath away & you feel your heart swell with love for your boyfriend. Usually, such a note would only ever make you smile softly to yourself ... at best! Yet for some reason, his words tug on your heartstrings more than you realize. You chalk this up to your emotions being all over the place in recent days, not just due to pre-PMS periodness symptoms. From your parents' apartment lease being renewed for another year, to your dad's job being topsy-turvy/ toxic workplace, to your own unsuccessful attempts at finding employment and having a large amount of credit card debt {a large amount to you, tho maybe small to others...}, you haven't been able to discern if you've been coming or going.

You take a short, stuttering breath, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth. You don't feel like you're going to throw up, not really, yet a wave of period-nausea sweeps over you all the same. You press Minho's little note to the side of your face and take several more deep, cleansing breaths. You instantly have his words memorized & you let the love he's conveyed sweep over you, grounding you back to earth and quelling your racing heart.

Placing the note carefully in the re-stocked basket where you keep your pads (for safe-keeping 💌), you finish up your business & clean yourself up the best you can. You look behind you on the lid of the toilet's tank & find Minho has also replenished your favorite flushable wipes. A new package sits there & what would you know ... it's your favorite brand! You didn't even ask him to get these, yet he went and bought them anyway. 🥹

You let yourself quietly cry some more as you wash your hands with your favorite lavender hand soap. Drying your hands on your favorite hand towel that hangs on a small towel rack above the toilet, you pick up the pack of wipes and shake your head. Holding the wipes in one hand, you reach for your Vicks-scented tissues with the other & pull one out of the box. Blowing your nose 2 times in a row (Minho can for sure hear this noise of yours), you close your eyes and breathe in-out again. {Everyone, whatever you do ... do not DO NOT wipe your eyes with Vicks-scented tissues!!!!!! 🫣🫣🫣 They are quite strong and for your nose only!! They may irritate your eyes and no one wants that.}

Walking swiftly to the bathroom door, wipes in hand, you flick off the light and leave the door ajar behind you. The sight that greets you when you re-enter the bedroom has your boobs swelling even more and your tits poking out at full attention.

Minho is laying on his side, facing towards you. He has one hand resting under his head and his other hand is laying casually on his hip. He's still very much naked. His dick is still just as rock-hard as it was before and lays out before him on the bed linens, oozing and looking like the most delicious popsicle you've ever tasted. 🍆🍭💦🥵

I guess it's a good thing I brought these out with me, you say to him, coming to a stop by the side of the bed, right where he's laying.

Why is that, my lovely?

You're making a mess & I'm going to have to clean up your puddle. Look what you've done, naughty Kitty, you say, pointing to the very wet & noticeable stain his precum has made from where his dick has been resting against the sheet.

Kitty is sorry, you hear your boyfriend mumble. Can Mommy clean me up?

Yes, Mommy is more than happy to do that for you, you answer. But first, I need you to feel something out for me, you continue cryptically. Walking the 2 steps over to the bedside table, you set the wipes down and move to sit cross-legged on the bed next to Minho.

What is it? he asks you, sitting up to face you properly.

Well, it's 2 things really.

What is it? he asks again, cutely wringing his hands in child-like anticipation.

Being just as desperate for relief as Minho's dick no doubt is, you decide to get right into it. First, I need you to get your hand nice and wet for me with your precum. Then, I need you to feel how clean I've got my ass for you, with that same hand, you tell him.

Minho's eyes almost pop out of his head at your words. He instinctually spreads his legs on either side of you and begins fisting his swollen cock, spreading already copious amounts of cream all over himself and his hand.

Mommy, really?! REALLY??!! he asks you again.

Yes, Kitty, really. Now, be a good boy & let me see your hand.

Minho sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and reluctantly removes his hand from his thoroughly soaked dick. His hand is positively glistening and some of his precum drips down his hand and onto his forearm. Yup, he's that wet already (& there's not a bottle of lube in sight). 💦💦💦🥵🥵🥵

Grasping his wrist in your left hand, you jerk his wet hand towards your face, not that you need further inspection of his efforts. Oh, such a good Kitty for me, you purr at him. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his dick twitch slightly at your praising words. You have an innate sense for being able to tell how close your boyfriend is to actually cumming and you correctly surmise that he's more than close.

I need to make sure your hand is the right amount of wet for my asshole, Kitten. And the only way I want to do that right now is this, you coo at him. Before he has a chance to respond, you suck his soaked pointer finger into your mouth and lick it clean.

Minho lets out another strangled gasp and barely manages to stutter out, Kitten needs to feel how clean Mommy's asshole is for him, PLEASE!!! Yet you hear him and promptly pull his finger from between your lips with a loud & lewd pop.

Go ahead & make me cum, Minho, you whine. And for fuck's sake, please fucking hurry. I may be on my period, yet I'm so close! 💦😭

I'm close too, y/n, he croaks out. Turn around for me then.

As fast as you can on your rather lumpy bed, you turn around and present your ass end to Minho. You hear him give his cock a few more slick pumps, making sure all of his fingers are thoroughly coated. You then feel as he presses his dick up against your ass, though he makes no move whatever to push himself inside in any way.

Gonna feel your sweet little hole now, Mommy, he coos back at you. Dipping both his hands past the back waistband of your panties, he quickly spreads your ass cheeks apart so he can dip one hand down your crack to finger your asshole.

You quickly stabilize yourself on your hands and knees & in the next second, you feel Minho's middle finger circle your rim, tapping on the outer edges of your hole once ... twice ... three times. You feel your orgasm approaching & you screw your eyes shut and forcefully bite your bottom lip between your teeth to stave off the feeling, at least until your boyfriend gets a finger in you. One solitary finger, that's all your ass needs. Just one, for fuck's sake! 💦💦💦👆🏻💦💦💦 Then he pushes his finger in, all in one go. The moan that leaves your mouth is more than pornographic.

AH, FUUUUUUCCCCKKKK, MINHO KITTEN, AHHHHHHH, you holler out. I'm so fucking close! 😭💦💦💦😭🫴🏻🫴🏻🫴🏻

Baby, don't say that! I haven't even gotten in a second finger. How can you be this close to cum---, Minho's words are cut off as he feels your asshole clench so hard around his middle finger, it's all he can do to keep himself from creaming against the backside of your panties.

I'M CUMMING, you moan out, more or less finishing his sentence for him. Again, you chalk it up to monthly hormones, a rise in estrogen or whatever else (in addition to natural horniness) that's surging through your system to cause you to cum so quickly. Your cunt spasms around nothing and you're not worried if you accidentally pee yourself, since you're wearing a slightly thicker pad. (Even when you're not on your period, you don't mind feeling your squirt-slick drenching your panties & thighs afterward, yet if it's anything to do with pee, that's a no-go for you. And Minho knows this about you too.)

Kitten, your hole is so beautiful, he croaks out from behind you. Leaning over your shoulder, he puts his lips right next to your ear 👂🏻🗣 & hoarsely stutters out, Need your hand around my dick ... like yesterday. He gives your fluttering asshole a few more loving pumps in-out in-out with his finger, then withdraws his drenched digit.

Flopping back onto the bed behind you, you hear him moan again. Turning back around just as quickly as before, you direct him to lean up against the headboard of the bed. He hastily complies, then makes the cutest set of grabby hands for you, that you've ever seen. 🥹👐🏻 You settle next to him, your left thigh pressing up against his left thigh, you're sat facing him.

Left tit, I need it, he whines. Tears have beaded up at the corners of his eyes and one drop does in fact trickle down his cheek. 💧

Here, Kitten, it's right here, you whisper. You adjust yourself, cupping your left breast in your hand and presenting it to him. He leans forward, whispers a barely audible I love you to you, then attaches his lips around your left nipple.

You gently & softly run your fingers through his hair as he begins to suckle. Humming one of his favorite songs (☀️You Are My Sunshine☀️), you look down and watch as he open-mouth suckles on your tit, then re-attaches his lips to your breast. It makes your eyes tear up and a few drops fall into his hair as you watch him leave the sweetest kitten licks ever around your nipple, gently pushing and pulling your left breast as he nurses and kneeding the other one with his hands. Minho doesn't notice your latest batch of tears, yet he does hear you quietly humming the song and moans along with you, still suckling you the entire time.

All too soon, you end the song after just one verse. Minho is still very much absorbed in nursing from you, so you decide this is the perfect opportunity to reach down & touch his dick. What you feel has you practically salivating 🥵🥵🥵💦💦💦 :: his dick is rock-hard, very hot, and very swollen. You take a gentle, yet firm-enough hold on his shaft and begin sliding your hand up and down, up and down, up and down. 🫳🏻🫳🏻🫳🏻💦💦💦🍆🫴🏻🫴🏻🫴🏻 He moans around your breast, temporarily detaching his lips from your left nipple, and buries his face in between your boobs.

Wanting to return the favor & check in on him as he's already done with you, you kiss the crown of his head and ask, Is my kitten ok?

Yes, Mommy, your Kitten is just fine.

Is Kitten close?

Yes, Mommy, your Kitten is so fucking close. Please ...

Please what?

Please, Kitten wants to cum for you! Minho whines out.

Aww, Minho baby, I love you too, you coo at him. 🥹 Speaking around the lump of emotional tears in your throat is beginning to take its toll on you, so your next statement is your last audible one for the time being.

Does Kitten want to suckle Mommy's tit while he cums for her? you ask.

YES, PLEASE. I am so wet and hard for you! Minho whine-cries.

Kissing Minho on the top of his head again, you again cradle your left breast in your hand and guide him to your chest. His lips waste no time in re-attaching themselves and he begins to suckle harder than before. Reaching back down with your other hand to his dick, you grasp a bit firmer and begin pumping him off in earnest. He barely makes it 3 more passes of your hand before he's biting your nipple in another "somewhat gentle" mating mark and suddenly your hand is coated in your favorite dessert of all time.

AHHHHH FUCK, KITTEN IS CUMMING, he whines for you. Jerking and pulsating in your hand, you keep kissing the top of his head as his lips leave your well-sated left nipple and he again buries his face in between your boobs.

Your hand does go completely still the instant you feel him start to cum for you. You know he's over-stimulated, just as you were yourself, so you don't want to make him uncomfortable or anything like that. There's a time and place for being over-stimmed sexually, yet now is not one of them.

His hips eventually stutter and stop moving completely as his body winds itself down from his orgasmic high. He keeps moving his nose up and down between your boobs, scenting you even though you both are spent from your orgasms.

Kitten loves you so much, he whispers as he lays back on the bed, gently pulling you with him. Neither of you mind one bit about being partially covered with cum and sweat. What's more important in this split second is cuddling and laying close to one another.

I love you too, my Minho, you whisper back. So, so much. 🥹🥹🥹

As you feel yourself drifting off to sleep, the last thought to cross your mind is how lucky you are to have such a loving & attentive boyfriend. Your heart is full, your body sated to its fullest extent, your period cramps non-existent now & your mind happily spinning with a few random thoughts on how your next encounter with him might go.

a/n • What did you think, my fellow fanfic lovelies? 🥰 Did you like this little story? This was spur-of-the-moment, I wrote it over the span of just 2 days, which is a personal best for me. I hope I did justice to some of the themes in the 2 comments I listed at the beginning of this post. This is also the first fanfic of my own I've written & posted on here! 💜😍 This comfort story is also the first concerted effort I've made to write anything since August of last year, 2023. And while this is a fic where the main character is on her period in the story, at the time of me posting this I am not on my period, lol. 😄🙌🏻

p.s. • If you liked this story, please re-blog to share it and give me credit. 🙏🏻 While I do not have copyrights on my writings (either on here or AO3), just know that if you plagiarize something of mine {or someone else's}, Karma will come back to bite you in the fucking ass with a vengeance. 😎 No matter how someone identifies themselves, Karens aren't called Karens for no reason. You really wouldn't want to be marked as a KAREN, would you? 🤔 Didn't think so. 😌

@itsseohannbin @channieandhisgoonsquad @frenchkisstheabyss @queenmea604 @minnieprincess85 @moonlightndaydreams

[sequinsmile-x]

Home - Chapter Four

Revenge - (re·​venge: Noun.)

The action of hurting or harming someone in return for an injury or wrong suffered at their hands.

She'd been comfortable and safe for so long that she'd allowed herself how to forget how it felt to be afraid.

A sequel to The Way Home

-x-

Hi friends!

Look at that, two chapters in two weeks after a month of nothing.

This chapter is causing me great anxiety and is one of the reasons I put off updating for so long. It's one of the most dramatic/intense things I've written since the early WTB days and I hope I've done it justice. So, please let me know what you think - yelling is appropriate and acceptable.

-x-

Words: 2.5k

A full list of warnings can be found on the Series Master List.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She drops her phone. 

She’s barely outside the jailhouse as she tries to dig it out of her purse but in her desperation she drops it, growling in frustration as she watches it skip across the sidewalk. She chases it and picks it up, her hand shaking as she does so, her glee that her phone wasn’t shattered fleeting. She dials Aaron’s number, anxiety bubbling in her stomach as she listens to the phone ringing, her nausea threatening to overwhelm her. 

“Come on honey,” she says outloud to herself, her teeth pulling at the skin of her lower lip as she paces back and forth in front of the jailhouse, “Please pick up.”

It feels like an age before she hears his voice, and it’s enough to instantly calm her down, the fear Ian had purposely instilled in her fading. 

“Sweetheart?”

“Hi,”  she says, clearing her throat in a futile attempt to hide the shake in it, “Hi, I just got out.” 

There’s some movement on the other end of the line and she can picture him stepping away from Eleanor in case she wanted to talk about something neither of them wanted the little girl to overhear. Her innocence, the way she only saw light in the world, was precious to both of them. They knew it wouldn’t last forever, that they couldn’t protect her from everything her whole life, but they wanted to hold on to it for as long as they could. 

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” She laughs, shaking her head at herself as she sits down on a bench, blowing out a breath, “I don’t know,” she corrects herself, honest in a way she could only ever be with him, “That was…I don’t know.” 

She hated that Ian had been able to shake her even now, that he still had some power over her after so many years. She’d left quickly after his not-so-subtle implication that Foyet was after Aaron, walking out of the jail half convinced she’d call to find something had already happened, that her going to visit Ian had all been part of some plan she knew logically he was not capable of. But she knew Foyet was capable of it, she knew that from the news coverage of his crimes and from being married to the man who had prosecuted him, and maybe Ian’s time sharing a cell, and a common enemy, with him had changed him. 

Aaron had spent weeks looking at crime scene photos of Foyet’s victims, the worst he’d seen in his career so far, and familiarising himself with his MO in the lead-up to the trial. She knew it all too, a byproduct of wanting to support her husband in the way he’d always supported her during her harder cases when she was still a social worker. All of her fear since the prison break so far had been narrowed to the knowledge that Ian was free, nightmares and memories of a time she’d rather forget clouding her mind so it was all she could think about. Now she had seen Ian locked up, chained to the table she’d across him from, her mind had cleared enough for her to have the capacity for the other side of it. 

Foyet was out there somewhere, and he hated Aaron, his threats against him that had him removed from the courtroom in his own trial coming back to her all at once. 

“What did he say to you, Em?” He asks, his concern clear. She considers telling him. Considers sharing the load because she knows it will ease some of the pain in her chest, but she stops herself. Aaron was worried anyway, already having half convinced himself he’d put his family in danger by doing nothing other than his job. 

She couldn’t make it worse. She refused to do that to him. Ian had been messing with her, she was sure of it, and, as Aaron kept assuring her, every cop in the country had Foyet’s picture. He’d be caught sooner rather than later. 

“Nothing,” she says, “Nothing worth repeating right now anyway,” she blows out a steady breath, “Can I speak to Ellie?”

It’s an attempt to change the direction of the conversation and they both know it, but she knows he will have heard the catch in her throat as she said their daughter’s name. The fact that Ian knew about her, that he knew her name still made her blood run cold. She’d tell Aaron about that part later, well aware she wouldn’t be able to get any sleep until he knew, until he could reassure her that Ian couldn’t get anywhere near Eleanor. 

“Of course sweetheart,” he says, and she can picture the soft smile on his face, the very same one their daughter had, and she feels some more of the tension in her chest caused by seeing the ghost of her past, the monster in all of her closets. “Princess, do you want to speak to Mommy?”

Emily smiles as she hears her daughter yell on the other end of the phone, her excitement clear. She listens as Aaron tells her to be careful, not to run in the house, and she waits as the phone is passed to the little girl.  

“Hi, Mommy.” 

Emily closes her eyes and wipes the tear that falls down her cheek away, “Hi sweet girl,” she replies, “Are you having fun with Daddy?” 

“We’re having mac and cheese for dinner and Daddy said I can watch any movie I want,” Eleanor says, speaking so quickly her words trip over each other, “Are you coming home?”

“Not until after you go to bed,” she says, not missing the quiet, and disappointed whine from the little girl as she demands to know why she won’t be home, “I’m going to Aunt Haley’s, but I’ll be there in the morning when you wake up.” 

The gasp of excitement down the phone makes Emily smile, “Can I come with you?” 

“Sorry baby, you need to stay home with Daddy, ok? But you’re seeing Aunt Haley tomorrow remember? She’s taking you to the zoo,” there's a murmur of excitement again, “Now pass the phone back to Daddy and I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Ok Mommy, I love you,” 

“I love you too,” she replies, “So much.”

There’s a shuffle over the line again and she waits, smiling as she listens to Aaron tell Eleanor to go wait in the living room. “If you wanted to come straight home I’m sure Haley would understand.”

She chuckles and she knows he’s right. If she called Haley and said she wanted a night curled up with Aaron and Eleanor she’d understand, and for a moment she considers it. She thinks about going home and sitting between her husband and her daughter as they watched what she was sure would be The Lion King for the thousandth time, reminding herself what she had now. That she was no longer the terrified, 21-year-old who convinced herself she had to be alone for the benefit of herself and the people around her. She knows Haley needs her though, that her break up had affected her more than she’d admit, and Emily could put aside her own needs for one night. 

“I know she would, but I’m going to go,” she says, standing up from the bench she’d settled on and walking towards the car, “I’m going to listen as she talks about how much her ex sucks, and then she’ll talk about how much she wants you to get me pregnant again and she’ll send me home to have sex with you.”

Aaron laughs, bright and loud and beautiful and she can’t help but join in, “I wonder if it should be weirder that my ex-girlfriend and mother of my son is so invested in us having another kid.”

In another world, she’s sure it would be, but she and Aaron had now been together longer than he and Haley had been. Haley was a friend to both of them as well as Jack’s mom and Eleanor’s godmother. Their lives intertwined in a way Emily was certain would never be unpicked. 

“Probably,” she says, climbing into the car, “I’ll text you when I’m on my way home later.”

“Have fun, sweetheart.”  

She smiles, relaxing at the thought of an evening with her best friend. “I will.” 

___

She goes to the store first. She picks up some snacks and the wine she knows Haley likes and gets distracted by all the baby items in the clothing section. She stands there, her fingers lingering on the soft material of the tiny onesies as she swallows down treacherous hope. There was a moment a couple of years ago when she insisted she couldn’t go through it again, the losses she’d experienced before she had Eleanor, and the stress she’d felt throughout her pregnancy, enough to scare her into convincing herself she didn’t want any more children. She’d packed up all of the newborn clothes and toys from when Eleanor was small and given them to Haley to donate to the hospital she worked at. Now they were trying again, the thought of having another child a happy one yet no less scary, she wishes she’d kept at least some of the tiny little clothes Eleanor had spent her first weeks and months of life wearing. 

As she gets back into her car she feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, a shiver going down her spine as she feels like she’s being watched. It reminds her of her college days, of how she saw Ian standing on every corner - even when he wasn’t actually there. She looks around and doesn’t see anyone, and she shakes her head at herself, shaking her head as she clips her seatbelt in place. 

“You’re losing it,” she mutters to herself before driving the short journey to Haley’s house. It was only two blocks from her own home, something that had been very convenient when Jack was small. Their split custody of the boy made easier by the short walk between both of his homes. It was one she did now frequently with Eleanor too, the little girl's hand in her own as she talked animatedly about whatever fun plans she had with her Aunt Haley that day. 

When she arrives Emily groans, wanting nothing more than a glass of wine and a moan with her best friend, although she knows Haley won’t allow her to have the former. She feels the day starting to catch up with her, the reality of sitting opposite the man who had tried to kill her weighing heavily on her shoulders. Something spending time with her best friend, followed by an evening with her husband, would no doubt ease.

She reaches into her pocket to pull out her keys, searching for the one for Haley’s front door on autopilot. She frowns as she steps onto the porch and spots that the front door is slightly ajar. She knocks a couple of times before pushing it further open so she can step inside.

“Haley?” She shouts into the quiet house, “Your front door is open,” she says as she closes it behind her, “You’re going to have to bribe me with baked goods not to tell Aaron, you know he’s a safety freak.” She steps further into the house, frowning again when she doesn’t get a response, “Haley?” 

She freezes, kept in place by the eerie quietness of Haley’s home. There was usually noise of some kind. Haley always played music or had the television on in the background, unable to stand the silence after living with her son for 18 years, even though Jack was away at college. 

It was too quiet. 

Emily feels dread start to spread through her veins, a sense of unease she can’t explain as she walks deeper into the house.

“Haley? I know you’re here, your car is in the driveway,” She hears a noise from the living room, a crash as something hits the ground and smashes into pieces. “Did you start on the wine early-”

She cuts herself off as she turns into the living room, her words fading as she sees the shattered vase she had bought Haley on the floor, the table it usually sat on askew, kicked out of place by the bare foot laying next to it.

The smell of iron hangs in the air, overpowering and bitter as it turns Emily’s stomach, forcing her to cover her mouth as she heaves, swallowing back bile as she’s frozen in place staring at her best friend laying on the floor. 

“Oh my god.” 

Haley is covered in blood, her torn shirt so stained with it that Emily couldn’t tell what colour it was supposed to be. She’s gasping, trying to draw in a breath that sounds painful and wet, her mouth open as she tries and fails to speak. It springs Emily into action. 

The blood on the hardwood floors, the same floors that convinced Haley to buy this house in the first place, is sticky against Emily’s jeans and hands as she hits the ground. It’s cold, just like Haley’s skin as Emily reaches out for her, drawing a groan from her friend as she cups her face. 

“You’re going to be ok,” Emily says, her voice firm, demanding, as if it was an instruction, not a wish, “You’re going to be fine,” she pulls her phone from her pocket, her hands shaking as she dials 911, “You’re taking Ellie to the zoo tomorrow, remember? She’s excited. You’re her favourite person.” 

She’s not even sure what she’s saying, the words escaping her without her meaning to. Knowing she’d say, that she’d do anything, to keep her friend conscious. Haley gasps as Emily presses her hands firmly onto her abdomen, cringing at the blood that is warm against her fingers. Tears spill onto her cheeks as Haley groans, the loudest sound she’d made so far. She feels Haley move, her hand, covered in blood, landing on top of hers, weakly squeezing as if trying to comfort her. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry - I don’t know what I’m doing,” she says desperately, shaking her head, waiting for 911 to connect, every second an eternity, “I only ever did infant first aid when I was having Ellie and they didn’t cover this, and our Greys Anatomy nights will only take me so far.”

The laugh that escapes her is weak, catching on a sob in her chest and it hurts. She feels Haley’s hand go slack and she turns to look at her, and her eyes lock with Haley’s empty, unseeing ones and she chokes on the sob lodged behind her sternum. 

“Haley.”

She hears a click in her ear.

“911, what’s your emergency?” 

-x-

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[nathaaaan]

I'm still on my break, totally not writing. Nope.

Anyway, I've had this idea for a while! Angel Anne, demon Sasha, and hooman Marcy. (I don't have a title either, so im open to recommendations)

I've written like 2k words... I mean, I didn't write 2k words, and I'm still trying to figure out what to do, so reader's input would be pretty great right about now. I've only allowed had a select few view my work, and to not spoil you, here's the gist of it;

Marcy dies, goes to the afterlife where she sees Anne and Sasha for the first time. They try to come to a verdict on where she should go, BUT before they can decide, Marcy wakes up and is back on Earth. Thanks to the strange effects of the afterlife, she can now see Anne and Sasha who are watching her every move.

That's like, all I've thought about.

Marcy's like, 16 or 17, and Anne and Sasha are millions of years old from where they're from cause time works differently, but they're like the same age as Marcy. Marcy is adopted by Andrias, a businessman and a scientist.

Anne and Sasha might have this weird love-hate rivalry going on tbf.

My brain can't, and won't think no mo.

[thebiscuiteternal]

got tagged by both @mostlikelytofangirl and @jaimebluesq, so i guess i'm not getting out of it.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

107, unless you were to count the chapters of the big archive separately, in which case 234 (oof).

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 706,507

3. What fandoms do you write for?

On my own wherewithal, I'm pretty entrenched in MDZS. But by request, I'll still write for MLP, Madoka Magica, (with some reluctance) Voltron, and others.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Including the archive feels like cheating to me, so just on standalone stories:

Cracked and Scratched, Not Broken - Super Danganronpa 2 - 581

Another Cute Animal Video - Tiger and Bunny - 536

The Puppetmaster Moves The War - Star Wars - 401

And One In the Cage - Mo Dao Zu Shi - 392

Finding Balance - Tiger and Bunny - 379

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I didn't used to when I first started on Ao3 (I did all the time on Livejournal), but I'm starting to be more open, especially if someone has a question about the characterization or worldbuilding.

6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

(scratches head) Good question. Probably... either All Your Sins on Display (Instead of Nie Mingjue, it's Nie Huaisang's death Jin Guangshan demands, and though Jin Guangyao goes through with it, he immediately regrets it, especially when Huaisang's unwitting ghost appears) or Broken-Down Fairytale (Tarvek and Anevka Sturmvoraus dealing with her impending death as a result of their father's obsession with The Other).

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Mmmmh.... I dunno what the objectively happiest ending is, but the one that made me the happiest for the characters was Medical. Allura has her mom back, Coran's managed to reconnect with some old friends and is in a comfortable relationship with Shiro, and Zarkon's dead and the Empire is on the back foot.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I've had a few run-ins with the weird Huaisang hater that pops up every now and then, but nah, not really. I used to get more in my LJ days.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Not anymore. I was never particularly good at it and I mostly was just writing it for easy attention anyway. Best I leave it to those who actually have some skill.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I do occasionally if an idea nests long enough, but not nearly as often as I used to. Probably my oldest and weirdest one was in high school, when a friend and I did one of those "cram every role this person has played into a space station" plots and for some inexplicable reason we chose anime characters who'd been dubbed by Scott McNeil???

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes, ages and ages ago in Sonic the Hedgehog fandom. It didn't take me long to quit caring, the story was crap anyway.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

A few times. Spanish and Russian.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Ohohoho have I. So many back in my Marvel and Fullmetal Alchemist days.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Nuh-uh, I'm not falling into that trap.

15. What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Ha. Hahaha. Hahahahahahahahaha.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Worldbuilding, inter-character feelings.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Mostly over-planning an idea until it feels too big and complicated to finish. And fight scenes. My god I hate writing fight scenes, and it pisses me off that I usually end up having to do at least one in every long fic.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Hah. No. I do that bracketed or italicized shit instead because I know I will butcher any attempt and I'd rather not embarrass myself.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Sonic the Hedgehog was baby's first real internet fandom.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Whichever ones I've actually finished.

Uuuuhhhhh, I have no idea who's done this and who hasn't, so I'm gonna throw it at @tavina-writes, @gffa, @banahbanah, and @fountainstranger.

[yeonban]

Something that isn't touched on at all when it comes to Ango (at least from what I could tell during these past 8 years I've had him as a muse) is how he started working for the government at a very young age. We don't actually know the details nor much else about him, but we do know just enough from Oda reading his records in the Dark Era light novel to be able to make some important inferences. Now... I don't believe that everything written in Ango's PM records is the truth (no proper spy would ever make that kind of grave mistake), but I do believe that it's HALF the truth. The best lie is often fabricated from a truthful foundation, and it's way harder to prove that a lie is a lie if it's mixed in with some of the truth, especially if he's trying to lie to an insanely well-built network like the PM. SO! let's take every detail we got from Oda one by one and analyze it.

"Three years ago, Ango was headhunted by the Mafia and worked here as an assistant."

Truth. Ango was 22 when Oda said this, so "three years ago" means Ango was 19 when he "officially" joined the Port Mafia. He couldn't have fabricated this part because other members would've been able to tell there's something sketchy if the records said he joined three years ago but no one ever saw him until recently.

"Ango used to be a kind of hacker who bought and sold information. In the past, he drew out a scheme where he would work together with a gang to steal money from a corporation. Ango and his men basically swiped money right out of the Mafia’s pockets. Unsurprisingly, Ango was chased by hounds after that. Mentally exhausted and being fed misinformation, the gang grew suspicious of one another, leading to a shoot-out and their quick demise. Ango, on the other hand, continued to run."

Half-truth. The fact that Ango worked with this gang in the past is most likely true, and so is what he did for them (exchange of information, hacking, help with stealing money) BUT he didn't do it for personal gain nor for the gang. Just like the Port Mafia case, this was all part of the government's plan to make Ango reach who and what he needed to. Although it wasn't outright stated, we can figure out by ourselves that it was Ango's doing that got the gang to grow suspicious of each other (HE was the one to feed them misinformation while veiling it as the PM's doing, hence why they suspected each other aka a member of the gang) and the reason why the criminal gang was entirely eradicated while only Ango survived was because he knew what would happen beforehand as the person who sparked it all.

As for the government's goal, it was to take down a criminal gang while simultaneously ("coincidentally") getting Ango (one of their agents) into the Port Mafia's line of sight and invoking their ire just enough for him to be hunted down but not killed by them --- and then have Ango infiltrate the PM without raising suspicion. Everyone would understand why someone, especially a fellow criminal who's chased by the PM and held between a rock and a hard place, would prefer to join them rather than die a meaningless death, so no one had any motive nor palpable evidence to doubt Ango after that.

Also, "in the past" is very vague wording (Oda please...), but we do know that Ango spent 6 months ON THE RUN from the PM, so if we assume that his dealings with the gang only lasted a couple of months, that'd still be more or less a year of his undercover mission before he joined the PM, which means Ango was at least 18 years old when he was sent on this extremely lengthy mission, though he may have been even younger (16-17) if either 1) the gang's dealings took longer than a few months, or 2) he had to first spend time to get the gang's trust and/or perhaps even a reputation in the underworld as a great hacker to lure them in.

"[Ango] was able to figure out in advance where the Mafia’s tracking unit would be next, allowing him to simply escape their reach throughout Yokohama. No less than six months went by."

True... technically. Ango's ability is very useful for both hunting others down and for running from his own hunters, but even so I still think it's impossible for Ango to not have been caught for 6 entire months when, as Oda mentioned, the PM knows Yokohama's streets like the back of their hand. He'd have had to use his ability pretty much 24/7 to evade their surprise attacks in this case, which would have exhausted him way before the 6 months mark would've passed. That's why I'm pretty sure the government lent Ango a hand by hiding him from the PM, or at the very least told him when the PM would strike, where, and how.

"[Ango] was most likely somehow using the Mafia’s intelligence network in secret and leaking misinformation to confuse his enemies."

Half-truth. Ango was already a brilliant enough hacker by then to manage to get some information from the PM directly from under their nose, but I don't think he could've done it to such an extent without making use of other people, such as special division colleagues or members of the PM - either fellow spies or members who were simply easy to bribe.

The only thing we have left to figure out is how young Ango was when he started working for the government, but no matter how I look at it he definitely wasn't an adult - not by a long shot. If we assume Ango was 18 when this mission started, then we need to take into consideration how long his training as a spy must have taken.

Learning how to hack that well, learning how to falsify his very being and go undercover without arising any suspicions, learning how to get himself out of trouble (picking locks, various drugs etc) so on and so forth, takes years. Even if Ango was a genius in this regard, it'd still take him more than a year to learn everything he needs to know, so AT BEST Ango was 16 when he was first taken in by the government, but then again - he may have been even younger such as 12-15 (which I very much believe to have been the case) depending on the details of his dealings with the gang and whatever else he may have had to learn during his training period.

The reason why I believe Ango was younger than 16 when the government took him in (and I'm leaning more towards early teenagerhood (~13-14ish) is because I doubt the government would have let a newbie take on a mission as important as this one. What that means is that Ango must have already been through several missions and fulfilled them perfectly BEFORE he went onto the criminal gang-PM mission, or Taneda wouldn't have had the trust he did in him to let Ango go into the PM, then to Europe, then into Mimic. A freshly baked spy wouldn't have even been able to deal with the pressure of being a triple spy on their first mission the way Ango did, nor would the special division have trusted him to such a large extent without prior security measures, so it's likely that Ango had some, if not plenty, of experience as a spy from beforehand.

Then, if we assume he had ~2 years of experience, on top of the ~2-3 years of training, that'd be ~4-5 years spent under the government's care/gaze before he set out for the PM at 18. Meaning in this scenario Ango would've been 13-14 when his dealings with the government first began.

A lot of people see Ango as a backstabber and honestly. fair. bc he is one, but what not a lot of people realize is that this is all Ango knows (at least until buraiha showed him what friendship's also like). He's been molded by the government into one of its tools for "justice" for over a decade now, and considering how disgusted he seems with criminals at times, he may have either had parents who worked for the government & he inherited their disgust for crime, or he had a tragic childhood related in some way to crime that ultimately got him to believe so deeply in the necessity to uphold the state that he willingly puts himself in mortal danger 24/7 for his job, to the extent that he was even willing to betray his first and only friends ever (Oda and Dazai) in order to accomplish his mission.

[shrinkthisviolet]

morgan and barry and/or thallen and/or westhallen for the prompts ❝ hey, don't laugh at me! ❞, ❝ you can't possibly have thought that was funny. ❞, and/or ❝ i'm laughing because you're laughing! ❞ :)

Hiii sorry I've had a crazy couple days, but here this is!

Under the cut (especially for the second one, since that got long):

Barry & Morgan [childhood friends au]

In the canon Morgan AU, Morgan comes out to Caitlin first. But in the childhood friends AU, it goes a little differently!

(And for a little background...I haven't written this fic yet, but Barry and Morgan reunite when she's 13, and this takes place shortly after that)

“Sometimes I just feel…” “Different?” “Weird.” Morgan sighed. “You and Iris look at people and go, “oh, that guy’s hot.” “That girl’s hot.” “Look at his muscles.” And so on. But…me? I look at guys…or even girls…and think well yeah, their eyes are pretty or their face sure is symmetrical.” Barry laughed. “Hey, don’t laugh at me!” Morgan protested. “Barry, I’m actually worried here!” “Sorry, sorry.” He sobered. “Look, Mo…you’re 13. You gotta give it another couple years before you say for sure…because having crushes and stuff…it only just starts around your age. Some people are—“ “Late bloomers?” She guessed flatly. “Sometimes. Not always.” He sighed. “A word does come to mind, I’ll admit.” She perked up. “What is it?” “Hold on,” he cautioned, “I wasn’t kidding about it still being too early to say. Just…tell you what. You give it another couple years, and if your feelings don’t change…I’ll tell you what the word is, and you can do some reading and figure out if it fits you. Okay?” “Okay.” She beamed, hugging him. “Thanks, Bar.” He smiled. “Anytime, Mo.”

Westhallen (in an AU where Eddie lives!)

I was trying to write Thallen, but uh...this sorta got away from me 😅

“What’s on your mind, Bar?” Barry blushed at that, as he usually did when Eddie called him that “I, um…nothing, really. I just…this is nice.” Eddie laughed. “Ouch. Here I thought we were getting along and everything.” “Not that!” Barry protested. “I just mean…you’re alive, we’re all sitting around, and we’re all happy.” “And?” Iris prompted, nudging him again. “And…what?” “And you’re hiding something, Bartholomew.” “Hey!” Barry protested, while Iris and Eddie set off into giggles. “Uncalled for!” “Bartholomew,” Eddie repeated, laughing again. “It suits you. Dorky and adorable, just like you are.” “That is not—wait.” Barry blushed. “Did…did you just say…?” He’d heard that wrong, hadn’t he? Or interpreted that wrong? “Eddie,” Iris scolded, but strangely, she was smiling too. What's going on? “Hey, I’m trying to ease into it!” Eddie protested. “Unless you wanna ask?” “Ask…what?” Barry asked, frowning. “Barry,” Iris said slowly, “um…don’t take this the wrong way, and feel free to say no, but—” “—we were thinking,” Eddie said, “or…really I was, and then Iris was, so then we both were—” “—after Eddie said there were three people in this relationship, neither of us could stop thinking about it, really—” “Are you guys starting a band or something?” Eddie and Iris froze, stared at him, and then burst out laughing again. “Wh—hey!” Barry protested, though he started laughing too. “It’s not that funny!” “Then why are you laughing?” Iris protested, still fighting her own giggles. “I’m laughing because you’re laughing!” As they stopped laughing, Barry managed to finally quell his own laughs, huffing. “You can’t possibly have thought that was funny.” “You laughed too, Bar,” Eddie pointed out. “Because you two have infectious laughter! That’s not my fault!” “Okay!” Iris clapped her hands. “Look, I’m just gonna say it. Barry, are you in love with me?” Barry blushed to the roots of his hair. “I, um, well, that is…maybe? Yes?” “And with Eddie?” Iris prompted. At his hesitation, she added gently, “It’s okay if you are, you know. In love with either or both of us. We just wanna know.” Barry exhaled and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m in love with both of you. But I…I know you two are together. I get it. I’m…I’m not gonna get in the way, I swear.” “Oh for crying out loud!” Iris rolled her eyes, then leaned in and kissed him. And it was…amazing, really. He remembered kissing her at the waterfront, remembered how amazing that was…but that was rushed, and this was slow, full of love and passion. Barry blinked, glancing from her to Eddie. Eddie, for his part, didn’t look angry or upset at all. “Uh…?” “Do you mind if I kiss you too?” Eddie asked slowly. “I, um, sure? But Iris—“ “It’s okay,” Iris assured. “Go on.” So, reluctant though he was, Barry leaned forward and kissed Eddie. And that was something else. Barry felt the sparks there too, and it was…amazing. He’d never thought it would actually happen…and yet… “So…what’s going on?” He asked slowly. “What is this?” “Barry,” Iris said, grinning, “Eddie and I were wondering if you’d like to be in a throuple with us.” A th—oh!” Barry felt stupid for not realizing it before. “Oh, no wonder…that makes sense now. No wonder you laughed.” Iris laughed again. “In fairness, it’s…kind of a strange request. That’s why we were kinda nervous to ask.” “And we don’t have much experience with it,” Eddie added, squeezing his hand, “but…we’d like to try. With you, if you’re willing.” Barry squeezed both of their hands with a bright smile. “More than willing.”

I don't usually write Westhallen, but somehow this scene just demanded a throuple ending 😅

Also I'm still taking requests for this list if anyone else wants to send them!

prompt list!

Taglist (send an ask or DM to be added or removed):

@ocappreciationtag @arrthurpendragon @vexic929 @raith-way @thechaoticfanartist @ironverseocs

[ahundredtimesover]

omg i didn’t think you’d answer my ask HAJSHSJSKS cue the kilig feeling 🥰 everything i know about basketball, learned unwillingly cos of my kuyas and tatay who changed the channel whenever there was a san miguel/tnt/lakers ateneo game PLUS they made me watch slam dunk din so every time yoongi mentions that my eye twitches cos *war flashbacks to when i wanna watch my cartoons*

but i’ve come to terms with the trauma EME 😭 jk lang it actually helped when i started writing for my uni’s publication and covered basketball games. sa uaap, i’m also really a fan of admu kahit di ako atenista HAHAHHAJSKSJS and yes that doug kramer clutch—one of the highlights of the entire uaap tbvh. i can’t imagine witnessing that LIVE. iba na rin uaap ngayon eh. (and ph basketball in general. sad na wala na yung hype masyado which i’m not surprised at all given how problematic the players are like???? sighs. toxic masculinity ew—theory q lang naman tho)

your writing is AMAZING pls like i’m not even kidding. you’re seriously one of the best writers across all platforms bc you can truly see and feel the effort you put in making your stories and dare i say you also don’t make your audience feel dumb (i can make a whole other 10-page essay about this PLS pero wag muna) and respect them by creating all these nuanced and character-driven stories (which is SO hard to find). i’m rereading “a still day or a hurricane” as a law girlie now 🥺

i hope the stories never stop forming in your head and i hope you experience so many great things in life that will inspire you to continue writing for many years to come cos who says there’s an age limit in writing fanfics???? 🧐 but also don’t forget to take care of yourself, ate mimi (yie ate 🥹). stay hydrated in this god awful heat!!! baka dumalas ako sa inbox mo i’m SORRY

- coj 🩵

Hiii I am here! Late to reply but I'm here! And lolll a usual story! It often starts with the men haha. My dad was a huge fan, too, so our TV always had basketball on. But I've come to love the sport even as a spectator! Whereas you've come to use it as a journalist nakkssss 😌😌 hahaha but true. PH basketball is sooo different now. I think it's also the culture. I can't even keep up with the conferences and the players and stuff. Nice to know my UAAP heroes are thriving but it's just not the same.

As for your lovely words... THANK YOU. 🥹 I'm such a context person in that I like exploring the why's of people - why they do what they do and say what they say. It always comes from somewhere, and a lot of it is fear. It's such a human feeling, so is desire. But I love writing about love, too, and that itself is complicated and beautiful. And I know it's just fanfic but it's a way for me to kind of release all these reflections and insights into the world and I'm just happy you're able to connect with these very flawed fictional humans! There's a little of us in them for sure! 💕

Lol sometimes I wish the stories would stop bc I won't stop thinking about them! I literally have scenes and dialogues written up for stories that idk if I'll ever get to actually write but yeah, hopefully there's energy and inspiration to match the ideas. One day I’ll probably have a “scenes from stories I’ll never write” post 🥲🥲

Pls stay cool and hydrated! Be safe always! 💕💕

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

WIP Wednesday

I'm taking a bit of a break from Polyship week (I'd still like to write today's prompt 'soulmates' but I'll probably try to post it on the free day instead since I don't have a single word written for it) but it's still Wednesday, so I've got a little something! I don't know when I'll actually sit down to work on it next, but I have a bit of the next chapter of Technically A Cutsleeve started, so here's that. We're switching back to Mo Xuanyu's POV after having Jingyi's for a bit.

--//--

Cloud Recesses is precisely as Mo Xuanyu remembers it. He hasn’t stepped foot in Gusu in years, not since a discussion conference years ago when Mianmian was too sick to come and Zixuan had needed an advisor. But he can say with confidence that very very little has changed for the Lan seat of power since then.

They’re welcomed with all the proper pomp and circumstance befitting a visiting Sect Leader and his entourage, the occasion so unlike when any of their family — yes, even the Lan family — comes to visit them in Jinlintai. Meng Yao is at least there to join Qingheng-Jun in welcoming them, and he’s the one who shows them to their guest quarters rather than the high-ranking disciples who flank their Sect Leader for the welcome. It’s all very…stuffy. Very Lan, even the part when Meng Yao takes over, guides them away, and lets his father-in-law greet the next retinue. He’s even wearing Lan blue as he does for most special occasions, though Mo Xuanyu will allow he at least has small hints of Jin gold and Nie silver or green dispersed tastefully through trimmings or jewelry (and of course his vermillion mark sits squarely between his unmistakably Jin brows). He seems to take this duty seriously, since he acts all proper and Lan just like everyone else, unlike when he comes to Jinlintai and actually relaxes for a minute. 

It’s been less than a shichen and Mo Xuanyu’s skin is starting to crawl with the desire to stop all this stoic nonsense and act like they’re actually a family, damn it.

“You didn’t have to accompany me, Yu-didi,” Zixuan reminds him — gently, for him — once they’re safely ensconced in Zixuan’s quarters and Mo Xuanyu is free to pace back and forth with voluminous swishes of perfumed silk. “Why the sudden interest in discussion conferences anyway? You haven’t been to one outside of Jinlintai in ages.”

“Just felt like a change of scenery and you were already coming here anyway,” Mo Xuanyu shrugs, the lie smooth and easy in a way his oldest brother will never be able to accomplish (and that his second brother taught him how to do). “Besides, I need to annoy Uncle Lan, Xichen-gege said he’s working himself too hard again lately.”

Lan Xichen has, in fact, told him no such thing, but if there is anything Mo Xuanyu can rely on in this world it’s that Lan Qiren is perpetually in a state of overworking himself whilst reminding everyone else around him to properly balance their lives. Someone needs to cajole the old man into resting, and though Wei Wuxian is well placed to be that person he apparently doesn’t do it unless things get dire. Probably because he’s busy overworking himself too and is kind of shitty at recognizing it in anyone else. The longer Mo Xuanyu thinks about it, the more he’s able to almost convince himself that’s actually why he tagged along this time.

The true reason is, of course, a secret, one that literally no one but him knows. For his entire life, up until roughly two months ago, Mo Xuanyu has very loudly and very firmly declared that though he appreciates the male form, he has very little (or no) desire to appreciate it up close and personal — certainly not for any significant length of time. He’s considered it recently in an abstract sort of way, but nothing serious.

And then Lan Jingyi just had to tumble into Jinlintai and made a liar out of him. So rude! Though Mo Xuanyu had kept his distance as much as he could during the last week of the boys’ visit, it would’ve been ridiculously rude to ignore the boys when they’d gone out of their way to help him feel included, and considering the most vocal of the four of them in wanting him around had been Lan Jingyi…is it any wonder Mo Xuanyu had developed a crush?

[r0b0tb0y]

Ao3 wrapped odd numbers

ohohoho

How many words have you written this year?

Just under 44k. Not bad, all things considered.

What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

Eleven ways Cobb Vanth thought he was going to die (and how he didn't actually die), for sure. Good prose and my favourite concept.

What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

the glory of it all was lost on me, the first Cassian/Brasso on ao3 and very sparingly tagged.

If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most?

Two sets of lyrics: The National and (my usual go-to) Queens of the Stone Age.

Favorite pairing you wrote for this year?

Cassian/Brasso are fresh on my mind, and I hope we get lots more of them.

What work took you the longest to write?

Eleven Ways, but it was worth it.

What’s your longest work of the year?

Eleven Ways at 22k

What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

Nothing current! January is usually when the multichaps strike me.

Your favorite character to write this year?

Cobb Vanth - I never tried his POV much because he's such a minor character. The freedom of barely any canon to abide to was great, and I could flesh him out a bit (with help from generic cowboys and specific Raylan Givens) to do some really interesting stuff that most Star Wars characters couldn't. Our perfect paper cowboy.

What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

I want to do tons more Cassian/Brasso! I'm getting back into dincassian now that we have an Andor backstory, maybe something with droids

How many kudos in total did you get this year?

1000ish on the new fics. The Theory of Harmony did real well, as did all my earlier Cassian stuff.

Did you do any collaborative works this year?

Bright-Elen betaed and lovingly workshopped a bunch of them!

Did you receive any gifts this year?

The Hungry Ghosts comic series (!!!) by @its-not-a-pen and Care and Feeding (vampire Cassian hnnng) by @bright-elen

What do you listen to while writing?

I had some interesting shanties and blues songs on a playlist for The Keeper. Someone pointed out Orville Peck's 'Kalahari Down' was great for Eleven Ways and I really loved it. Obviously The National for glory. I have a tailormade Cassian playlist full of grunge, and found some general desert rock for dead lifeboats in the sun.

Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

By morning, the Marshal of Mos Pelgo was gone. The town moved on.

I'd never tried something like this, where I let the characters walk away and stay in the setting. It was one of those lines that ached because it's so bittersweet. I'd never truly wrapped my head around the West as a bygone era, always-already ending, until writing this. That moment in The Searchers and Shane where the haggard gunslinger drifts away to the next frontier and we're left in the dark. I've done a few stories before about how the protagonist needs to let go of a dying love before he can commit himself to a new one (Hanging the Moon did this with Poe and Leia) and this time it was Tatooine as a place, which I'd never felt inspired to write much about until TBOBF. Writing Cobb as an inelegant weapon from a less civilised age really brought it home for me.

[ariminiria]

I'm curious, but may I ask what the major issues of the Hobbit trilogy were, please?

ohhh boy I could go on for ages... in fact, I think I previously made a whole post about it, let me see if I can find it

okay I couldn't find the exact post, but the two I rbed below me are a couple reasons. but, I'm going to be visiting the discord for this one bc I know I've definitely ranted about it there

but first, I want to start out by addressing an attitude I've seen since Amazon's fanfiction came out. a lot of people have started to point to the Hobbit trilogy and say, "see! it wasn't so bad! aren't you grateful for them now! we trested it so badly but we didn't know!"

to which I say: absolutely not.

more below the cut because this is gonna be loooong

that's like trying to excuse a turd in comparison to a post-taco bell night mess. one is more disgusting than the other, but at the end of the day, they're both terrible pieces of shit.

the Hobbit films didn't magically get better just because the Fanfic came out. it being worse didn't suddenly erase that trilogies flaws.

so with that clarified, let's get into what actually makes the Hobbit films so bad.

I actually think the first one is pretty good. It had potential and is easily fixable.

but movie two... it was all downhill from there.

where to begin... ah, the writing.

so, it's clear that the writing was attempting for the same tone as the original LotR trilogy. and while that may seem like a good idea on the surface, The Hobbit was written for children. the tone of the book is overall more light-hearted and adventurous. therefore, trying to force the more despairing-yet-hopeful, dark tone of the original trilogy already starts the story on the wrong foot. you get conflicting messages from the subtext because the film writers' vision is so different from the basic intent of what Tolkien wrote.

I like to say it this way: they were more interested in making a "LotR prequel" than they were in making a "Hobbit film adaptation". the Hobbit should've been one film, maybe two. but they clearly only painfully stretched it across three films like butter scraped across too much bread for the sole purpose of having just as many movies as LotR - but that one actually makes sense because the book is divided into three volumes providing natural breaking points and content enough for for three movies

now I own the extended editions of the Hobbit, literally just for the sake of owning them, and.... the first one? hardly "extended" at all. I'm pretty sure the extended Unexpected Journey is literally still shorter than the shortest THEATRICAL cut LotR film. it felt like the only material they cut was cut for the sole purpose of being able to sell an extended version.

also pardon my French but it genuinely makes me so angry-- there's this one fucking joke. this stupid. Fucking. Joke.

why would you hire a COMEDIAN to be in an epic fantasy like Tolkien?? Tolkien has funny moments but not Modern Comedian Funny.

this stupid. motherfucker. I am SO angry about this, he looked at a candelabra and fucking said MADE IN RIVENDELL??? I literally yelled over the movie for two solid minutes about that one, three word, throwaway line. it pisses me off more than the entirety of love triangle plot (we'll get to that later, don't you worry)

anways, I am taking deep breaths, I am calming down, we are forgetting about The Joke...

*ahem* now, let's talk about how the films look. first off, they filmed in 30 FPS. for context, the standard Frames Per Second is 24. 30 is typically only used for special effects such as slow mo, and even then youre better off using 60, so its essentially pointless in the end. this results in a weird, subconscious "off" feeling as you watch the movement on screen. everything just looks... not-quite-right, even if you can't put a finger on what it is.

the main visual issue is overuse of CGI. one of those posts I rbed below this has visual examples, comparing between the trilogies. namely, comparing between Lurtz and Azog the Defiler (who wasn't even in the books, btw. he was named dropped once, to say "oh yeah and Bolg, the orc leading the Orc army was the son of Azog the Defiler" and that was it).

the atrocious CGI sabotages any goodwill you mightve had for the production value.

the LotR trilogy was believable because of the well managed practical effects, with minimal and careful use of CGI. Peter Jackson said it was made like "a Kiwi indie film", and that simplistic yet passionate charm shines through The Hobbit, on the other hand, shot like any major hollywood production with approximately Zero indie charm, said "computers can do anything and everything, right?" and they just. Did That.

all the backgrounds are NOTICEABLY green screen. they're fuzzy and just. weird. im talking noticable green screen. there's even a behind the scenes set photo of Ian McKellen with his head in his hands, weeping, because he's surrounded by nothing but green fabric, without even another human actor across from him.

remember how I mentioned Azog? the orcs look like these weird, clay models that somebody ran through a computer program, and it's very distracting. not to mention, most of the orcs' acting is lost in the motion capture translation because CGI tech is constantly changing, whereas practical effects are what they are. theg stay the same and hold up consistently, making them far superior and able to last far longer, because CGI will inevitably evolve and be left in the dust (isn't that right, original Jumangi?) I once found a side-by-side gif of the original Azog actor in the motion capture suit vs the end product and I was absolutely gutted at how much of the intensity was lost. that same man, in a prosthetic effects costume? I have full confidence it would've been beautiful. but alas...

and i promised earlier that we'd talk about it, so its time to address that love triangle.

holy bad idea, Batman. you don't add OCs to someone else's work outside of fanfic period, but especially not to works like Tolkien. you just don't. heck, I even have issues with Legolas being in the Hobbit movies since he wasn't in the books! however, that could have been excused because he legitimately is Thranduil's son, and it would have been a neat fan service cameo, but with what they did to his character, it would have been better off not to have him at all. he had no business being so involved in the Plot, a simple popup in Mirkwood would've been enough

and then

then...... they had to do That. with Tauriel. Tauriel..... look, I get it, they wanted Female Representation™️, but. No. a multi billion dollar trilogy made to get money from nerds is not the place to crowd test your Dwarf/Elf/Elf love triangle fanfiction. that whole arc was also clearly time padding to have more material to justify 3 movies lol.

but, in addition, because of the love triangle/unnecessary Azog subplot combo, they ruined the depth of certain character deaths. Fili and Kili were meant to fall defending Thorin, and Thorin died three days later of his wounds, which is a huge part of his change of heart in forgiving Bilbo.

one thing that makes me laugh more than makes me angry is Kili's death. they try to make it all dramatic, like "oh no, Bolg has thrown the Strong and Dexterous Female Elf Warrior to the ground, and now he is going to kill Kili in slow motion" but like. she could have gotten up. she wasn't gravely injured, and she's like. an elf.

and it would have been so easy to fix this too, ignoring the fact that she shouldn't even exist. watch this, I'll fix it right now: she has almost fallen off the cliff, hanging on by her fingertips just the same way Gandalf did in Moria. she struggles to regain her grip to get to Kili, but before she can even get back up onto the ledge, Kili has been killed.

instead what we got: she's just like slowly writhing on the ground as Bolg deadass pauses for dramatic effect before slow mo shanking Kili with this giant spear that should have killed him instantly, but like he has enough slow mo time to gasp and groan and then finally mouth "i LoVe YoU!1!1" before mercifully perishing and escaping this trash movie. it's hilarious.

and don't even get me started on the weird sexual undertones they put between Gandalf and Galadriel, like??? that's a married woman my dude, why are she and the wizard making eyes at each other

anyways I'm sure there's more I could talk about but this is long enough as is. maybe someday I'll take all the footage of all 3 movies and edit it down into one single-film extended cut of What Could Have Been but until then I'm just going to keep rightfully trashing on this movie

[wildwood-reader]

Reading Update #5

October 30, 2022

Recently Finished

BOOKS

The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System Vol. 2 by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu

Edition: Paperback

Final Rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️.5

Final Thoughts: I don't think it captivated me as much as Vol. 1 did, which is probably why I paused it for so long before finishing it, but overall it was still really fun and I'm looking forward to continuing it.

The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde (& The Bottle Imp) by Robert Louis Stevenson

Edition: Paperback

Final Rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️.75

Final Thoughts: This was very short, so I read it within a couple of days. I don't know why, but there's just something very relaxing about the way classics are written, at least for me. I feel like the story didn't utilize its full potential, which is a shame, really, because I think this could have been a great longer book. But what we got was nice to read with a little bit of mystery, which was nice. Since this was my first time reading it after only having seen depictions of Mr Hyde in movies such as The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, I was surprised to find out what the original Mr Hyde was really supposed to look like, which is basically the opposite of what I've seen thus far.

As for the novelette(?) The Bottle Imp that was also included in my edition, the story was a very interesting one. The idea of a bottle that can fulfill all your wishes but that will drag you to hell basically if you still own it when you die, so your only choice is to sell it for a lower price than the one you bought it for was very fascinating to me. Since I am not an indigenous person of Hawai'i, I can't speak for how well the representation was handled, all I can say is that while I enjoyed the story, some things did rub me the wrong way a little bit.

FANFICTION

The Black Mist House (Series) by Bang Bang Keef Keef

Fandom: Voltron Legendary Defender

Kudos: Part 1 ✅️ Part 2 ✅️

Final Thoughts: We finally read Part 2 of the series and it was really fun. The mystery and the unsettling things that were happening were engaging and kept me curious as to how the story would play out in the end. I enjoyed it.

Bella Goes to Therapy by Bouncey

Fandom: The Twilight Saga

Kudos: ✅️

Final Thoughts: I don't know why really, but this week I had the urge to read a fic about Bella going to therapy during Edward's absence in New Moon, and it delivered what I was looking for on almost all fronts. We got some delving into her relationship with Edward and the rest of the Cullens, and how it affected her life (minus explaining that they're vampires, of course), and a confrontation with Edward at the end, so yay for that.

Currently Reading

BOOKS

Marked by Kim Richardson

Edition: ebook

Progress: 38%

Current Rating: ⭐️⭐️.75

Thoughts: The writing is only okay but the story hasn't lost my interest yet, so we'll see how it goes. I like the silly parts of it.

FANFICTION

Fall of the Crimson Flower by AkatsukiShin (in artistic collaboration with brilcrist)

Fandom: Word of Honor

Progress: Chapter 2.5/6/?

Up-to-date? No

Chapters Behind: 4.5

Kudos: ✅️

Thoughts: Okay, this is getting ridiculous, Jen, it's really time to catch up. 🥲

Heaven Has A Road But No One Walks It by Silvestris

Fandom: The Untamed

Progress: Chapter 48/48/?

Up-to-date? Yes

Kudos: ✅️

Thoughts: Ooh, there was so much good stuff in the new chapter, I had such a great time. 😋

This is it for last and current reads. DNFs and my backlog are under the cut. 😶‍🌫️

DNF'd¹

BOOKS

Please Don't Tell My Parents I'm A Supervillain by Richard Roberts

Edition: ebook

Stopped reading at: 2%

DNF'd because: I couldn't even finish the first chapter. Maybe it's because I've been out of school, especially high school age, for a long time, but the descriptions of the MC's school day were just so boring. The writing was fine, but very mediocre and didn't hold my attention, so unfortunately, this was a no from me. Pity, since the premise sounded really good.

Witch for Hire by N.E. Conneely

Edition: ebook

Stopped reading at: 7%

DNF'd because: With this one, I actually made an effort to finish the first chapter, but I wished it were over almost the entire time I was reading. 🥲 The idea of a modern magical society with witches, vampires, trolls and other creatures as well as normal humans is really cool, but the writing is mediocre at best, unfortunately. I found myself repeatedly groaning, so this one's another no from me.

Alone by Robert J. Crane

Edition: ebook

Stopped reading at: 2%

DNF'd because: The first paragraph actually wasn't bad, but then it went downhill really fast. Next.

¹ I should explain that at the moment, I'm going through my ebook library which has mostly books in it that I've owned for 7+ years and still not read. I try to read the first chapter and then decide if I want to continue it or not. I doubt that the majority of them still captivate me the same way as their premises did when I bought them, so there's probably gonna be a lot of DNF'ing 🙈 I've also dropped more books after reading their synopses and realizing that they're not even appealing enough for me to start reading them anymore. 😶‍🌫️

BACKLOG²

BOOKS

Wayward Son by Rainbow Rowell

Edition: Paperback

Progress: Page 102/341

Current Rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Thoughts: This is a buddy read with my bestie, and right now it just doesn't fit the autumn vibe. We'll probably pick it back up some time after Halloween.

FANFICTION

Red Azalea by CeNedraRiva

Fandom: The Untamed

Progress: Chapter 112/135/?

Up-to-date? No

Chapters Behind: 23

Kudos: ✅️

Thoughts: The stars are still not aligned for me to continue it just yet, but I'm really excited for everything that's coming. 👻

Setting Fire To Our Insides by StarsAlignNomore

Fandom: The Untamed

Progress: Chapter 14/22/?

Up-to-date? No

Chapters Behind: 8

Kudos: ✅️

Thoughts: Y'know what, I think I will be ready to continue it soon; it fits my vibe hunger just enough, so we'll see. 😋

Impossible Life (Series) by Comfect

Fandom: The Untamed

Progress: Part 1/3

Finished Reading? No

Parts Behind: 2

Kudos: Part 1 ✅️

Thoughts: Not sure yet when I'll continue this, but I'm looking forward to Part 2.

*Backlog refers to books and fic that I've started reading but have since put on hold due to various reasons

[lovinthepizzalife]

1975

There's a look on Cap's face that Tony can't quite decipher, but then, Tony's had about five hours of sleep in the span of six days, so maybe that's why. Either way, Cap's in his workshop, because JARVIS asked if he could enter and Tony said sure, because why not? Cap usually brought food, sometimes, and Tony couldn't really remember the last time he'd ate. It could have been yesterday, if yesterday was Saturday.

From the look on his face, if Tony's reading it right - he doubts he is, because again, five hours of sleep - then yesterday wasn't Saturday. Okay. Tony can probably deal with that.

He can't really deal with the fact that Roger's is holding something that looks like hospital notes, though.

"In my defence," Tony starts, raising his hands - ow, soldiering iron, put that down - and meeting Roger's eyes, "It probably wasn't my fault."

"Probably?"

"Maybe, then," Tony says instead, peeling his sweaty gloves off. "So, okay. You're in my shop, hurrah, but - why? I haven't done something without thinking again, have I? The last time I did -"

"I need to ask you something," Roger's interrupts, which, no. Tony's not doing that. Those words, in the history of them being used, have literally never meant anything good. Ever. Tony doesn't like this. He really, really doesn't fucking like this, and it must show, which, shit, because now Roger's looks sort of panicked. "Not anything bad! Well. Not anything as bad as you're thinking? I think." Roger's frowns, shifting on his feet.

"Give me the notes," Tony starts slowly, stepping forward, "And then I'll be the judge of that, yeah?"

Cap hands him the hospital notes - so Tony was right - and Tony reads them over. When he's done, he turns, grabs the closest hot thing, and sets them alight. Roger's panicked yell is pretty loud, but Tony really doesn't care, chest seizing on the memories of "this is for your own good, Anthony" and the knives and the fights and the fucking, fuck all of this. Fuck Roger's, and probably Natashalie, and most likely Barton, and Fury, and just. Bruce, honestly. Fucking Bruce. Fuck all of them, everyone, Tony doesn't care and then he cares too much and -

Sunset was better than this. At least she was fucking honest.

"J, get me a suit ready, and get Iced American the fuck out of my lab. Full blackout, start the protocol, you know the one, and just. Get me out of here, JARVIS. Please," he adds, a little desperately.

DUM-E and U, because they're so fucking good, he's never donating them, ever, shove Roger's out of the 'shop, whirring angrily. Roger's can't do anything with his super soldier strength without breaking them, and if he does Tony will honestly kill him, PR department and their panicked squawking be damned.

The suit closes around him, the workshop goes dark, and Tony says goodbye and fucking flees, no tact about it. He doesn't need any. Roger's can declare him dead or gone or a traitor, but what he did - what they did - is unacceptable, and because JARVIS is JARVIS, the PR department probably already knows what happened and are ready and willing to crucify Roger's and co., because they're good like that.

("And they knew Howard," a sly part of him whispers, grinning, "They knew the man the world called millionaire and you thought of as monster, but he was both, wasn't he? He was a millionaire monster and no one could do anything about it then. They still can't, can they? Poor, poor Tony, losing his daddy at seventeen. What was it he did again?"

Tony grits his teeth and the voice hums, gone metal, gone man, and then it's Ultron saying: "Better to ask what he didn't do, hmm? What's the answer, Tony? Oh yeah," Ultron says, feigning sudden realisation. "He didn't love you.")

"So, I got your message." Rhodey clears his throat, trying for a laugh. Tony closes his eyes - JARVIS will make sure he doesn't crash - and just. Listens, for a moment. Rhodey, who loves him. Rhodey, who's his brother. Rhodey, who sounds a little pissed. Great. "Quitting the Avengers, huh?"

"They got a hold of some hospital records," Tony answers cuttingly, voice cool. When Rhodey sucks in a breathe to start speaking, Tony barrels on with: "Not the public record ones. Do you remember me telling you about six months of private PT in 1975?"

Tony can almost hear him go white over the phone, breathes rushing out in a free fall of 'what the fuck' and 'why'. Tony's reaction was sort of similar, except no it wasn't, because the memories of being five years old, a year after the circuit board and a year before the car engine, made him panic so much he set the records on fire. He has no idea what he used to set them on fire, because honestly, all he could see was red, all he could fucking feel was red, and - oh. Rhodey's talking.

"Repeat that, honey bear? Please," Tony asks tiredly, eyes finally opening when he lands. New start, apparently, until he can gather himself to get all his shit. The team can stay in the tower, probably, but Tony doesn't want anything to do with them, not after this.

"I remember how many bottles you'd drank before I found and you started spewing out gibberish, among other things. Like how fucked up it was." Tony laughs a little, nodding to himself. Rhodey's right. That night had been so messed up, both the - the event, and when he was telling Rhodey about it. He was so, so fucking drunk and high and just fucked up in general. Rhodey, bless hi, dragged him into their dorm so no one else would hear about - that.

God, it's been decades and Tony still can't talk about it. How fucking hilarious is that.

"Bye, Rhodey," Tony mutters, hanging up. He lands, lets the suit fall away in scattered, blood red pieces. So much blood. Always so much red.

(Sometimes, when he blinks, there is an image of Howard standing above him, older than he'd been when Tony was a child. Howard is always smiling. He is always holding Tony's heart in his hands. He is always, always red.)

"Call Pepper and prepare the workshop, please." Tony thinks for a moment, staring at his bar. He hadn't thought to empty this one. Hadn't thought he'd ever see it again. "How many drinks do you think I'll halve if I try it, J?"

"Too many," JARVIS answers lowly, concern buzzing behind his voice. Tony chokes on a laugh.

"Good answer, J," Tony says, and turns away from it before he drinks a shelf or ten. As he descends the stairs, JARVIS phones Pepper. It doesn't go to voicemail, thankfully, because for some reason every time it does Tony says a little too much, but that doesn't matter when Pepper's picking up, tired.

"Hey," she greets, raspy voiced. Tony hums a little, the workshop doors sliding open. He'll need to get DUM-e and U and Butterfingers shipped over. The workshop is too empty without them. Is too empty with him in it. God, he's getting poetic again. He needs to stop that. "What's up? Do you need anything?"

"Just needed your voice?" Tony says, like he's joking, because of course. Tony Stark would never phone just for that.

"I'm not having phone sex, Tony," Pepper says flatly, and it's absurd enough to make him laugh, kneeling like an idiot on the floor of his workshop, hand against his mouth, choking on the laughs. "What? Tony, are you okay? Should I -"

"It's fine, Pep," Tony manages, wiping his eyes. "I needed to laugh, thanks. How's the company doing, by the way? I was thinking of doing some work today."

"What's brought this on?" Pepper asks curiously, and oh. She hasn't read the message, then.

"I quit the Avengers," Tony blurts, which. Not the smartest thing he's done, but today hasn't been a smart nor good day. Or week, since he hasn't slept and when he has it's been the wormhole, space, open and endless and infinite all around him, the darkness from between the stars filling his lungs and oh god he can't breathe, oh g o god -

He's falling he's falling he's falling he's falling so hard so fast so long and no one is there to catch him oh g o d -

"I muted the call, sir," JARVIS says, and then lists it off, dates and names and scientific laws. Those are facts, presented in a cool, clinical sort of tone, but it's real and Tony can breathe a little, back shaking against his workbench. The world didn't end. New York is still in once piece. Nicholas J. Fury is an asshole, but the world didn't end. Nothing ended. Tony's okay, and JARVIS is there. Okay. It's fine.

He's fine.

(Ultron blinks red red eyes at him and grins, lazy and predatory. "Is it really?" He rumbles, metallic, and Tony pretends he can't hear it.)

"Sorry about that Pep," Tony says brightly when the call unmutes, forcing a smile. He can do this. "I quit the Avengers, yada yada, PR is dealing with it, yada yada, the Avengers got a hold of some private hospital records, you get the drill."

"Oh my god, Tony," Pepper says mournfully. There's a sound like rustling over the phone, like she's moving in what Tony assumes is her bed, since it was sort of late when Cap entered Tony's shop. Maybe. Tony in't really sure, because he still hasn't slept and his mind's a mess, all hazy and floaty, so. God, he hates these moments.

"It's fine," Tony mutters, crawling out from under his work bench. He can do this. Handle it a little longer, Stark, this isn't nothing compared to the third kidnapping, come on. "I'll put more time into fixing the company, clean up any trash if need be, just. Give me a little time, okay?" Way to go, Stark. Way to fucking go.

"Will that be all, Mr. Stark?" Pepper asks, murmuring, because great, she caught on to it. Brilliant.

"That will be all, Mrs. Potts," Tony answers, and the call clicks off. Silence.

He's not fine.

---

Guess whose laptop got fixed? Mine! Guess who wrote almost two thousand words to celebrate? Me. I am not managing my time wisely, but in my defence - I got nothing. Anyway:

@tonystarkismyprompt I hope this is up to par, and also, enjoy! I’m pretty sure you should know what prompt this was inspired by, but either way, I hope you enjoy :D

[luminouslumity]

A GUIDE TO CHINESE TERMINOLOGY

So, I have these little guides that are included in every Mo Xiang Tong Xiu novel and I've decided to compile some of the general things into a single post for those who aren't familiar with Chinese culture. This'll mostly be taken directly from the guides themselves, but I'll still add things where necessary.

BASIC TERMS

Not included in the guides, but I thought it'd be nice to start with some basic Mandarin terms first.

Hello: 你好 – nǐ hǎo

I am: 我是 – wǒ shì

How are you?: 你好吗 – nǐ hǎo ma

Nice to meet you: 很高兴认识你 – hěn gāo xìng rèn shi nǐ

What is your name?: 你叫什么名字 – nǐ jiào shén me míng zì?

My name is: 我叫 – wǒ jiào

Goodbye: 再见 – zài jiàn

Please: 请 – qǐng

Thank you: 谢谢 – xiè xiè

You’re welcome: 不客气 – bú kè qì

I’m sorry: 对不起 – duì bu qǐ

Excuse me: 打扰一下 – dǎ rǎo yí xià

Yes: 是 – shì

No: 不是 – bù shì

NAMES

So as we all know, in many Asian countries, it's last name, first name (as opposed to most Western countries, where it's first name, last name). But for anyone who wants to write a fic set in Ancient China or is only just getting into wuxia and xianxia, I think it'd be useful to at least know of courtesy names.

A courtesy name is given to an individual when they come of age. Traditionally, this was at the age of twenty during one's crowning ceremony*, but can also be presented when an elder or teacher deems the recipient worthy. Generally a male-only tradition, there is historical precedent for women adopting a courtesy name after marriage. Courtesy names were a tradition reserved for the upper class.

It was considered disrespectful for one's peers of the same generation to address someone by their birth name, especially in formal or written communication. Use of one's birth name was reserved for only elders, close friends, and spouses.

This practice is no longer used in modern China, but it was a tradition throughout some parts of Chinese history for all children of a family within a certain generation to have given names with the same first and last character. This "generation name" may be taken from a certain poem, with successive generations using successive characters from the poem.

*Crowning ceremony, or Guan Li (冠禮), is a coming-of-age ceremony.

Next, nicknames! Here are just a few.

Xiao (小), meaning little. Always a prefix.

A (阿), a friendly diminutive and also always a prefix. Usually for monosyllabic names, or one syllable out of a two-syllable name.

Er (兒), meanwhile, is always a suffix, used to mean son or child. Added to a name, it expresses affection.

Doubling a syllable of a person’s name can also be a nickname, and has childish or cutesy connotations.

FAMILY

In contrast to, say, English-speaking countries, China has many names to refer to different family members. For example, an aunt usually refers to the sister of your parent, but in China, there are different words to distinguish between maternal and paternal aunt.

And it's alot!

Combining them, here's what's included in the guides for all three books:

DI: Younger brother or younger male friend. Can be used alone or as an honorific.

DIDI: Younger brother or a younger male friend. Casual.

GE: Familiar way to refer to an older brother or older male friend, used by someone substantially younger or of lower status. Can be used alone or with the person’s name.

GEGE: Familiar way to refer to an older brother or an older male friend, used by someone substantially younger or of lower status. Has a cutesier feel than “ge.”

JIE: Older sister or older female friend. Can be used alone or as an honorific.

JIEJIE: Familiar way to refer to an older sister or an older female friend, used by someone substantially younger or of lower status. Has a cutesier feel than “jie,” and rarely used by older males.

JIUJIU: Uncle (maternal, biological).

MEI: Younger sister or younger female friend. Can be used alone or as an honorific.

MEIMEI: Younger sister or an unrelated younger female friend. Casual.

SHUFU: Uncle (paternal, biological). Formal address for one’s father’s younger brother.

SHUSHU: An affectionate version of “Shufu.”

XIAOSHU: Little uncle.

XIONG: Older brother. Generally used as an honorific. Formal, but also used informally between male friends of equal status.

XIONGZHANG: Eldest brother or oldest male friend. Very formal.

XIANSHENG: “Husband” or “Mister” in modern usage; historical usage was broadly “teacher.”

YIFU: Maternal uncle, respectful address.

YIMU: Maternal aunt, respectful address.

If multiple relatives in the same category are present (multiple older brothers, for example) everyone is assigned a number in order of birthdate, starting with the eldest as number one, the second oldest as number two, etc. These numbers are then used to differentiate one person from another. This goes for all of the categories above, whether it’s siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, and so on.

EXAMPLES: If you have three older brothers, the oldest would be referred to as da-ge, the second oldest er-ge, and the third oldest san-ge. If you have two younger brothers, you (as the oldest) would be number one. Your second-youngest brother would be er-di, and the youngest of your two younger brothers would be san-di.

Cousins can also be referred to as brothers or sisters in familial address.

And, thanks to this one site I found, here's the rest of it!

Not pictured, but Die (爹) and Niang (娘) are also alternative ways to say Dad and Mom respectively, though they're not as common and are mostly used in historical dramas now.

To quote Nie Huaisang:

"Differentiating between all the direct bloodlines, the collateral bloodlines, head family or branch family—juniors from prominent clans like us can’t even get our own relatives straight! Any relatives twice removed, we just call them aunts and uncles or whatever.[...]"

And since this whole post was inspired by MXTX, I thought I might as well include the terminology used for the sects as well (especially for those who are just getting into wuxia or xianxia anyway), but these terms can also be used within any group in general.

SECT: A sect is an organization of individuals united by their dedication to the practice of a particular method of cultivation or martial arts. A sect may have a signature style. Sects are led by a single leader, who is supported by senior sect members. They are not necessarily related by blood.

ZHANGMEN: Leader of a cultivation/martial arts sect.

SHIZUN: Teacher/master. For one’s master in one’s own sect. Gender neutral. Literal meaning is “honored/venerable master” and is a more respectful address.

SHIFU: Teacher/master. For one’s master in one’s own sect. Gender neutral. Mostly interchangeable with Shizun.

SHINIANG: The wife of a shifu/shizun.

SHIXIONG: Older martial brother. For senior male members of one’s own sect.

SHIJIE: Older martial sister. For senior female members of one’s own sect.

SHIDI: Younger martial brother. For junior male members of one’s own sect.

SHIMEI: Younger martial sister. For junior female members of one’s own sect.

SHISHU: The younger martial sibling of one’s master. Can be male or female.

SHIBO: The older martial sibling of one’s master. Can be male or female.

SHIZHI: The disciple of one’s martial sibling.

SWORN FAMILIES: In China, sworn families describes a binding social pact made by two or more unrelated individuals of the same gender. It can be entered into for social, political, and/or personal reasons and is not only limited to two participants; it can extend to an entire group. It was most common among men, but was not unheard of among women or between people of different genders.

The participants treat members of each other’s families as their own and assist them in the ways an extended family would: providing mutual support and aid, support in political alliances, etc. Sworn siblinghood, where individuals will refer to themselves as brother or sister, is not to be confused with familial relations like blood siblings or adoption. It is sometimes used in Chinese media, particularly danmei, to imply romantic relationships that could otherwise be prone to censorship.

This Twitter thread describes it more in depth:

GENERAL CONSONANTS AND VOWELS

X: similar to English sh (sheep)

Q: similar to English ch (charm)

C: similar to English ts (pants)

IU: yoh

UO: wuh

ZHI: jrr

CHI: chrr

SHI: shrr

RI: rrr

ZI: zzz

CI: tsz

SI: ssz

U: When u follows a y, j, q, or x, the sound is actually ü, pronounced like eee with your lips rounded like ooo. This applies for yu, yuan, jun, etc.

COLORS

WHITE: Death, mourning, purity. Used in funerals for both the deceased and mourners.

BLACK: Classy, scholarly. Considered masculine, representing the Heavens and the dao.

RED: Happiness, good luck. Used for weddings.

YELLOW/GOLD: Wealth and prosperity, and often reserved for the emperor.

BLUE/GREEN: Health, prosperity, and harmony.

PURPLE: Divinity and immortality.

NUMBERS

TWO: Two ( 二 / “er”) is considered a good number and is referenced in the common idiom “good things come in pairs.” It is common practice to repeat characters in pairs for added effect.

THREE: Three ( 三 / “san”) sounds like sheng ( 生 / “living”) and also like san ( 散 / “separation”).

FOUR: Four ( 四 / “si”) sounds like si ( 死 / “death”). A very unlucky number.

SEVEN: Seven ( 七 / “qi”) sounds like qi ( 齊 / “together”), making it a good number for love-related things. However, it also sounds like qi ( 欺 / “deception”).

EIGHT: Eight ( 八 / “ba”) sounds like fa ( 發 / “prosperity”), causing it to be considered a very lucky number.

NINE: Nine ( 九 / “jiu”) is associated with matters surrounding the Emperor and Heaven, and is as such considered an auspicious number.

TIME

Days were split into twelve intervals of two hours apiece called shichen ( 时辰 / “time”). Each of these shichen has an associated term. Pre-Han dynasty used semi-descriptive terms, but in Post-Han dynasty, the shichen were renamed to correspond to the twelve zodiac animals.

ZI, MIDNIGHT: 11pm - 1am

CHOU: 1am - 3am

YIN: 3am - 5am

MAO, SUNRISE: 5am - 7am

CHEN: 7am - 9am

SI: 9am - 11am

WU, NOON: 11am - 1pm

WEI: 1pm - 3pm

SHEN: 3pm - 5pm

YOU, SUNSET: 5pm - 7pm

XU, DUSK: 7pm - 9pm

HAI: 9pm - 11pm

A common way to tell time in Ancient China was incense time, referring to how long it takes for a single incense stick to burn. Standardized incense sticks were manufactured and calibrated for specific time measurements: a half hour, an hour, a day, etc. These were available to people of all social classes. A single incense time is usually about thirty minutes.

THE FIVE ELEMENTS

Also known as the wuxing ( 五行 / “Five Phases”). Rather than Western concepts of elemental magic, Chinese phases are more commonly used to describe the interactions and relationships between things. The phases can both beget and overcome each other.

Wood ( 木 / mu)

Fire ( 火 / huo)

Earth ( 土 / tu)

Metal ( 金 / jin)

Water ( 水 / shui)

YIN AND YANG

Yin and yang is a concept in Chinese philosophy that describes the complementary interdependence of opposite/contrary forces. It can be applied to all forms of change and differences. Yang represents the sun, masculinity, and the living, while yin represents the shadows, femininity, and the dead, including spirits and ghosts. In fiction, imbalances between yin and yang energy can do serious harm to the body or act as the driving force for malevolent spirits seeking to replenish themselves of whichever they lack.

RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY

BUDDHISM: The central belief of Buddhism is that life is a cycle of suffering and rebirth, only to be escaped by reaching enlightenment (nirvana). Buddhists believe in karma, that a person’s actions will influence their fortune in this life and future lives. The teachings of the Buddha are known as The Middle Way and emphasize a practice that is neither extreme asceticism nor extreme indulgence.

CONFUCIANISM: Confucianism is a philosophy based on the teachings of Confucius. Its influence on all aspects of Chinese culture is incalculable. Confucius placed heavy importance on respect for one’s elders and family, a concept broadly known as xiao ( 孝 / “filial piety”). The family structure is used in other contexts to urge similar behaviors, such as respect of a student towards a teacher, or people of a country towards their ruler.

DAOISM: Daoism is the philosophy of the dao ( 道 / “the way”) Following the dao involves coming into harmony with the natural order of the universe, which makes someone a “true human,” safe from external harm and who can affect the world without intentional action.

Feng shui ( 風水 / “wind-water”) is a Daoist practice centered around the philosophy of achieving spiritual accord between people, objects, and universe at large. Practitioners usually focus on positioning and orientation, believing this can optimize the flow of qi (the energy in all living things) in their environment. Having good feng shui means being in harmony with the natural order.

REALMS

It's traditionally believed that the universe is divided into Three Realms: the Heavenly Realm, the Mortal Realm, and the Ghost Realm. The Heavenly Realm refers to the Heavens and Celestial Court, where gods reside and rule, the Mortal Realm refers to the human world, and the Ghost Realm refers to the realm of the dead.

Based on a combination of Buddhist, Daoist, and traditional Chinese beliefs, Diyu ( 地狱 , “earth prison”) refers to an afterlife in Chinese theology where evil humans are punished after death, similar to the Western concept of hell. Sinners deserving punishment are sent to one of the eighteen levels of Diyu, where they receive the appropriate torture for their crimes.

CREATURES

DEMONS: A race of immensely powerful and innately supernatural beings. They are almost always aligned with evil.

DRAGONS: Great chimeric beasts who wield power over the weather. Chinese dragons differ from their Western counterparts as they are often benevolent, bestowing blessings and granting luck. They are associated with the Heavens, the Emperor, and yang energy.

GHOSTS: Ghosts ( 鬼 ) are the restless spirits of deceased sentient creatures. Ghosts produce yin energy and crave yang energy.

FESTIVALS

China has several festivals that are celebrated throughout the year in accordance to the Chinese calendar. Some of these include:

LUNAR NEW YEAR: Also called Chinese New Year or the Spring Festival, it lasts for seven days, customs include making offerings to the ancestors, putting up red decorations and giving red envelopes filled with money, setting off fireworks and firecrackers, and watching the lion and dragon dances.

SHANGYUAN FESTIVAL: Celebrated two weeks after the Lunar Festival, the Shangyuan Festival, or Lantern Festival, marks the first full moon of the New Year. Customs include lighting and watching lanterns, answering lantern riddles, eating tangyuan, and watching dragon and lion dances.

QINGMING FESTIVAL: Also known as Tomb-Sweeping Day, Qingming is exactly as it sounds like, a day for honoring the ancestors by tomb sweeping. Other customs include placing willow branches at in front of doors and gates, outings, and kite flying. Food depends on the location, but some traditional ones include sweet green rice balls, peach blossom porridge, crispy cakes, Qingming snails, and eggs.

DRAGON BOAT FESTIVAL: This festival has a few different origins, with one of the most popular ones being related to the death of the poet Qu Yuan, who (tw: mention of suicide) tried to drown himself in a river. Many people rushed to the boats to find him or at least retrieve his body, and when they couldn't find him, they threw balls of sticky rice (zongzi) into the water in hopes the fish would eat them and not what remained of the poet. Since then, customs have included dragon boat racing and making zongzi, as well as driving disease away.

QIXI FESTIVAL: The Chinese equivalent of Valentine's Day, Qixi is celebrated in honor of the cowherd Niulang (Altair) and the weaver Zhinü (Vega), two lovers who were separated by a river of stars and are only allowed to meet on this day, after a bridge of magpies has formed. Traditional customs worshiping the celestials, girls praying for a good spouse and dexterity, and eating qiaoguao.

These days, Valentine's Day is celebrated due to the West's influence, but there are still some differences. Rather than giving each other gifts, only one person will be doing the gift-giving and then they'll receive their gift a month later on White Day. This holiday originated in Japan, but has spread to some Asian countries, including China.

ZHONGYUAN FESTIVAL: Also known as the Hungry Ghost Festival, it's believed that the ancestors roam the living world for an entire month. To avoid the wrath of ghosts, ceremonies include setting ancestral tablets, paintings, and photographs on a table, burning incense, and preparing food three times that day.

MID-AUTUMN FESTIVAL: Celebrated in honor of the moon goddess Chang'e, the Mid-Autumn Festival is a time for togetherness. Customs include eating mooncakes, paying tribute to the Moon, and making lanterns.

CHONGYANG FESTIVAL: Also called the Double Ninth Festival, legend has it that a devil was terrorizing a village by spreading disease, until he was challenged by a man called Huan Jing, who led his fellow villagers up a mountain while each held pieces of dogwood leaves and cups of chrysanthemum wine and later won. As such, customs include climbing mountains and drinking chrysanthemum wine, as well as eating Chongyang cakes.

OTHER CUSTOMS

FUNERALS: Daoist or Buddhist funerals generally last for forty-nine days. During the funeral ceremony, mourners can present the deceased with offerings of food, incense, and joss paper. If deceased ancestors have no patrilineal descendants to give them offerings, they may starve in the afterlife and become hungry ghosts. Wiping out a whole family is punishment for more than just the living.

After the funeral, the coffin is nailed shut and sealed with paper talismans to protect the body from evil spirits. The deceased is transported in a procession to their final resting place, often accompanied by loud music to scare off evil spirits. Cemeteries are often on hillsides; the higher a grave is located, the better the feng shui. The traditional mourning color is white.

WEDDINGS: A marriage in China is not only regarded as a union between spouses, but a union between the families as well, and have sometimes been pre-arranged. In ancient tradition, pre-wedding customs consist of three letters and six etiquettes, or six procedures.

The Betrothal Letter (pìn shū) is a contract between the families; the Gift Letter (lǐ shū) is a list of gifts that come with the bride’s dowry (jià zhuāng), and finally, the Wedding Letter (yíng qīn shū) welcomes the bride into her new husband’s home, where the ceremony would usually take place.

The six etiquettes include making a proposal of marriage via a matchmaker (nacai), requesting the bride's name and date of birth (wenming), sending news of divination results and betrothal gifts (naji), sending wedding presents to the bride's house (nazheng), requesting the date of the wedding (qingqi), and fetching in the bride in person (qinying).

Traditionally, the bride cries to show reluctance before leaving her old home in a sedan, while the groom travels to get her, but must prove he's worthy of her hand along the way; usually these consist of the bride's family asking him questions to see how well he knows her.

Once at the groom's house, the bowing ceremony will commence, with the couple bowing to the heavens, their parents, and then to each other. From there, they enter the bridal chamber to consummate the marriage.

Afterwards, two banquets are held: the primary banquet is hosted once at the bride's side, and a second, smaller banquet at the groom's. They usually include nine to ten courses. Gifts are also usually given out to the guests, such as money packets.

The traditional wedding color is red.

OTHER RESOURCES

To learn more about the Chinese language, I highly recommend checking out these sites as references. I also recommend this book on Chinese names, with this article more or less being a preview of it. This site and this site also go into more detail on families in China and this one provides some great resources on Chinese history and texts. This one also sells books. And just for fun, here's a Reedsy generator.

I'll be updating this on occasion, but for now, here ya go! Hope this helps anyone who needs it! Please let me know in my inbox if I made a mistake or want me to add anything specific.