#writing challenge day 1

[starstruckunknown-princess]

Wormwood - Frankie Morales x Reader

Wormwood (Artemesia absinthium) - Meaning: Bitterness, absence

Summary: Frankie has left again, and you're left to pick up the pieces.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Reader

Word Count: 519

Warnings: ANGST, Non-dad!Frankie, themes of abandonment, anger, bitterness, reader is a deep sleeper but otherwise not physically described, photo in banner for vibes only!

Hello lovelies! Day 1 of my In Bloom Writing Challenge starting off with some Frankie angst, I kept it pretty short because I couldn't think of actual plot lol I like it better that way. Another of our Delta Force Hotties will make an appearance later this month, so stay tuned!

In Bloom Masterlist

Comments, Likes, Reblogs are ALWAYS appreciated! Thanks for reading <3

Your first clue that he is gone is the lack of warmth on his side of the bed. Getting up, you can see the holes where his things used to be. The nightstand all but cleared off. Bare hangers in the closet, his shampoo missing from the shower. 

Frankie’s gone again, and you should’ve seen this coming. You knew the nature of his work, how he would drop everything for the mission, how he’d be gone for unspecified amounts of time with no way to contact you, leaving you to fear the worst for days or weeks but it was all in the name of serving his country so you couldn’t exactly argue with him. 

You’d never been particularly patriotic, and the fact that the needs of the US military took priority over you, over everything, made sure you never would be. But this time was different. Frankie had retired, he’d promised he was done leaving. 

But his devotion to Santiago ran almost as deep as his devotion to his country. And again you couldn’t blame him for it without seeming insensitive and selfish. After everything they’d been through together, even though you didn’t know all the details, you knew that kind of shit bonded people for life. And you genuinely liked Santi, truly. You got along with him whenever he’d visit town and Frankie would insist he take the guest room instead of paying for a hotel. Those times you’d wake up to the smell of coffee in the morning and their deep laughs echoing up from the kitchen. It made your house feel warmer, more like a complete home. 

But Santi had texted Frankie about some kind of recon job in Columbia and for that amount of money, you knew he couldn’t say no. Even though you insisted you two were fine, that you got by, you didn’t need the cash. Frankie had just looked up at you with doubt in his big brown eyes and you knew you hadn’t convinced him. Who in their right mind turned down seventeen grand?

Even more poignantly — who in their right mind would ask a man as loyal as Frankie was to turn his back on his closest friend? 

Sometimes you hated how deeply you slept - you hadn’t heard him packing. Didn’t hear his old truck rumble to life or hear the key in the door. You weren’t able to hug him goodbye and beg him to stay safe, to come back to you. 

Part of you wanted so badly to grab your suitcase and bolt, go stay with friends out of town so that when he got back he would feel the panic and terror at finding the person he loved had disappeared. Ignore his calls, leave his texts on read, let him sweat about your whereabouts for once. But you couldn’t. You knew whatever you had together wasn’t worth throwing away for the sake of spite. 

So you dealt with the absence of his things, the absence of him, the same way you always did. You swallowed your bitterness, your pain, and learned to live with the ache. 

[messenger-of-stupidity]

Dark Silk - Day One

Let’s see if I actually stick to this. 

Prompt: Meeting someone in the dead of night

CW: GN Blake’s listener (Because I’m not sure what they’re called, they won’t have a name.), cursing, insomnia, nyctophobia, Not who you’re thinking. I’m not giving anything else away, sorry. It should seem pretty self explanatory.

Masterlist

Having a dreamwalker for a best friend had it’s upsides. Back when they were kids with Blake, he used to sneak into their dreams so they could have sleepovers on school nights. Often their parents realized, but they never did anything about it, simply finding it cute. Often Blake wouldn’t be well rested the next day, but neither regretted it. There were other upsides though to having their best friend, the person who knew them the best, putting them to sleep and craft them a dream. Especially when they were struggling to find sleep. 

But Blake wasn’t here.

Their room was dark, and it almost felt like something tangible. Like maybe they could just reach out and their fingers would meet the black silk of darkness as it pressed closer to them. And then suddenly the silk was touching them, surrounding them. It felt nice against their sleep deprived chilled skin, dancing and tickling its way up them. But then it got too high. It wrapped around their neck and covered their mouth and nose. The darkness was suffocating them, and no matter how they twisted and turned they couldn’t escape it. A sob escaped their gasping lips and they tumbled off their bed, falling onto their floor with a force that would surely cause bruises to form. Their frantic fingers reached for a lamp and they switched it on, chasing away the darkness. 

They couldn’t tell you for how long they sat there, staying close to the light as they eyed the darkened corners fearfully. Eventually the knowledge that there were dark parts of their home was enough to drive them out of the apartment entirely. They fled then, getting into their car still pajama-clad and turning on the car lights. Their hands were shaking as they gripped the wheel. The darkness of night was equally as scary. It felt like it was pressing in on their window, trying to break in and suffocate them again. 

Whenever this happened in their nightmares, Blake had been the one to change the dream to daytime. But he wasn’t here. He was never here anymore. They wiped their eyes on their sleeve and started the ignition of the car, needing to go somewhere that had more life. More safety. They pulled out of the parking lot and started towards a store. At the very least they could flee inside the well-lit store and hide there until they got kicked out or the sun started to peak over the horizon. Thank god it wasn’t a weeknight. 

It took a few laps until they were able to find a store that was open. For how much longer they didn't know, but their priority was to escape the dark that continuously tried to drag at them. So they took a deep breath, steadying a hand on their door. They were parked close to the brightly lit entrance and street lamps were placed all over the place, but the darkness lingered where it could.

They stared out the front view window, lip trembling as they stared at the patches where the lights didn't overlap. It was like there were holes in the ground, just waiting for them to step in it so the darkness could pull them down and smother them again. They could already hear their heart thumping as new tears threatened to impair their vision. Maybe they should just wait in their car. They could keep all the lights on. As long as the battery didn't run out.

... fuck...

They swallowed and steeled their nerves. The door of their car slowly opened and then they were slamming it behind them and sprinting towards the store entrance desperately. Their thumb clicked the lock button on their car repeatedly. They glanced back once, seeing the inside lights slowly turn off and plunge the interior depths of their car into the darkness they feared so much. Then they entered fully into the harsh glow of synthetic lighting. Relief crashed into their adrenaline rushed system and they wiped away the tears threatening to spill from their eyes.

They grabbed a cart for appearance-sake, even though they didn't have a wallet with them, and browsed aimlessly through the aisles. The cans of soup kept them company for maybe ten minutes before they moved towards the coffee beans. Just as they rounded the corner they came into sight of a tall brooding man. He was frowning and obviously irritated by something. Normally they would have just passed him and ignored, even with the oddness of encountering another patron at such a late hour. But what made them stop was the loud aura of a shifter. Werewolf specifically. Empowered people weren't rare, obviously. They just didn't come across many shifters that were by themselves. They inhaled sharply when he turned his head and their eyes locked. His narrowed and a scowl deepened his face.

"Is there a reason you're staring at me? We're not at a zoo." He said, voice thick with exhaustion. Why he was awake and looking at coffee when he was so obviously tired didn't make any sense to them. They figured he already sensed their aura and understand their own empowered status. They smiled apologetically.

"Sorry. I was just surprised. I thought shifters stayed with their pack." They said as they moved closer and lowered their voice slightly. The man gave them an odd look and heat rushed up their neck. They shrugged their shoulders in an effort to dispel it. He raised a brow before turning back to the coffee.

"It's late and I'm an introvert." He said and they found themselves nodding along like a dork. They sighed and stared down at their empty cart.

"Yeah. That makes sense I guess." They murmured. The light overhead flickered and they tensed, gaze shooting upward but it was still stubbornly lit. Small mercies.

"Do you know anything about these fucking coffee beans?" The man asked, bring their attention back to him. They left their cart behind to move closer with a soft hum of confusion exiting their throat. He looked at them before his own gaze returned to the organized colored bags. "The brand I usually get was sold out at the closer store to me. I figured it might be here, but it's not and I don't have the energy to go somewhere else. So do you know what's good and what pretends to be good but actually tastes like a load of horse shit?" He explained. They smiled slightly and looked at the bags.

They're hand reached forward to drift their fingertips against a few before they dropped it. "Honestly? I'm not sure. I order mine from Alaska. There's a good local company there called Keladi Brothers. Some really good beans. But my friend used to always get this kind. Blake had pretty good taste." They said, grabbing a bag and holding it out to him. Their smile wasn't present anymore. He frowned as he took the bag and dropped it into the basket hanging from his elbow.

"Past tense?" He asked and his voice felt heavy to their ears. As if he was going through his own kind of grief. They met his eyes with a small sad smile.

"He just kinda disappeared on me, is all. Do you have your own past tense going on, if you don't mind me asking?" He stared at them after the question left their lips before he shook his head and cleared his throat.

"Nothing I'm gonna dip to a stranger. Have a good night and thanks for the coffee advice." He said and nodded to them before walking away stiffly. Their eyes followed him, not lost on how they didn't know his name. But did they really need to? After all, it was a one time interaction late at night. They shrugged and returned to their cart to continue wandering the hall and soaking up the light all they could until the sun would greet them and kiss their skin in the morning.

They didn't come across him, or any other patrons for the entirety of their time in the store either. Hopefully the werewolf liked the coffee.

[penned-by-a-dragon]

I want to try to write something every day.

Day 1:

Once upon a time, a princess was born to a queen. Her name was Rosie, and her mother was Her Majesty Lily-of-the-Valley, the Queen of Toroto. Queen Lily was a nice enough woman, but none too popular with close friends due to her nasty habit of putting the needs of her people first. And Toroto loved her for it.

Meanwhile, her young daughter grew to find that the people's needs came even before her needs. She would run screaming down halls, half naked and soaking wet, and her mother would simply "tsk, tsk, tsk" and direct the princess' maids to clean her up. There was always another peasant to plead for Her Majesty's gracious assistance, and another knight waiting to be honored, and another farmer losing numberless sheep to the wolves in the countryside. And there was never time for Princess Rosie.

Pt 2: If not tomorrow, then maybe someday.

[weirdfishy]

gotta urgent need for some not-quite-yet punkflower where hobie is chillin in some rubble post-(successful) battle all knackered out n miles is visiting (idk bc he just told his parents abt spiderman n it went well so he's bursting at the seems with love at being accepted n all yea? he's gotta tell someone, and why not him? why not hobie? it's no one else but hobie he's gotta tell, if he's being honest with himself [denile is not a river in his egypt, ok pav?] so yeah, he finds himself on 138) n catches the tail end of the battle, tracks down where hobie decided to make a couch outta concrete and lands in front of him, buzzing with cheezy lovey dovey feelins of elation, top o' the fucken world, and asks on abt hobie, rambling until hobie just lifts a hand, a silent ask for help up, (always asking for connection always makin sure they're actually there) n miles, have i mentioned he's happy? he's straight up a sap, so he takes that hand.

he takes that hand gently, bending at the waist a bit, dramatically sweeping back his other arm, bowing, for hell's sake, n plants a kiss on the back of hobie's hand, nice n proper, with a cheeky wink to boot (he'd finally fixed the eye mechanisms last week, thanks to penny), before pulling up new london's own spiderman chest to chest with a bright laugh that puts a different kind of stars in hobie's eyes, half dancing half belting out a song in spanish he doesn't quite understand but knows all the words to (it's some continental dialect, nothing his mami speaks, but would filter out the headphones of that kid in his building he walked w in middle school everyday)

before the sirens start getting closer n hobie can feel the warmth of miles-- the warmth of his smile, his hair that's still sparking from transdimensional travel, his arms, chest, laughter, everything, n all at once it pulls every affectionate n pining bit of hobie to the surface, if he weren't wearing his mask his blush would be so impossibly visible it's straight mad how much hobie loves n adores miles, how much seeing miles be happy lights hobie's whole fucking world

and oh, hobie's never seen a god he didn't punch, never believed in any one he couldn't, but right now, with his fingers entwined with miles', aches leaving his bones like he's never felt his left shoulder twinge the second it drops below 21 just because miles just yelled fuck off to the approaching pigs, he could fall to his knees n swear pious fealty to milesmilesmiles.

but hobie is cool (never has a label stuck to him like the one miles has given him), and his real, livin n breathing god is starting to ramble, so hobie webs them upupup, heat along his back as god wraps arms around him, breath on his neck as home weaves tales into the leather wrapping it.

then miles hears hobie's stomach growl, so he starts pulling them away from the path of what he knows is towards hobie's flat, and towards what he swears is the only good puerto rican food in the whole of hobie's haunt, his excitement steamrolling over his usual stuttering spanish, exchanging shouts n jeers with everyone behind the counter

bc everyone knows him, like miles has lived here, earth-138, new london, his whole life, like hobie brown being dragged into the shop every other week by miles morales to get the same two plates (n an extra something for miles to gush over n hobie to taste) is how the rest of this life will go, like hobie n miles are together, in a way that the unsubtle looks the owner's kid at the register is aiming at miles' left hand are correct, but don't involve stuffy socially religious systems like marriage

but they're not, as much as hobie would love to kiss miles, gaze into his eyes for ages, hear his laughter, his off-key singing, his scritch-scritch of something on paper everyday-- bc he can't go abt this like he does everyone else, can't do it with half a foot out the door n a shrug as agreed; it's gotta be both feet on the floor, n it's gotta be for the rest of this life, so he'll take what he can get, and he'll take the distance n devotion, take the faith n the heartache. take what he can get from his god, glad to be touched by his god, glad to be loved by his god, across universes n the fall from his bed to the futon on the floor where miles decides to lay his head for choice holy nights

(hobie doesn't know miles is putting himself at the base of his god's shrine, hoping for his deity to fall into his arms, spikes n all, (ready, so ready to tear apart dimensions again for hobie, to bleed and cry n go to war for hobie) fingers splaying on the side of the mattress warmwarmwarm after hobie starts snoring, before they slip down softly, a prayer imparting from the pads, memorizing the patterns of his god's breath, the smell of the room, the borrowed shirt he wears, the sounds of a second city he calls home, thrumming full with a bass note plucked from an electric guitar, usually shaky hands sure n still picking out a different shape to hobie's eyebrow piercing, deftly screwing a star onto the bar. miles brings offerings to his god in pins n patches on clothing, stickers n torn out sketches decorating a shrine)

so they'll song n dance in new york, in new london; learning each other's cities, earths, haunts, people, arts, each other, like new scars for the collection- permanent and signs of living, odes to loving and protecting.

chest to chest, fingers entwined, warmth in the skies above cities, right on the edge of it all until they fall together, eyes wide open, gods broken down into blood and teeth and lovelovelove

not-quite-yet 2 - 3

. my ko-fi 💛

ao3 link

[blackrosesandwhump]

Augusnippets Day 1: Brainwashing

CW: 2nd pov from whumper's perspective, brainwashing (obvi), general Gothic whump

In the shadowy dining room, whumpee sits alone, candlelight flickering across his expressionless face. His folded hands lie motionless in his lap. His eyes stare at nothing, two blank windows that open into emptiness.

Perfection. Just what you always wanted. A beautiful, flawless doll of your own.

“My dear whumpee,” you murmur, “I see all our hard work has paid off. You look exquisite.” Gently, you brush the back of your hand against his collar and down his silk vest. Its embroidery glimmers like stars.

Whumpee remains statue-still at your touch. Just what you always wanted.

“Not a single thought in your head,” you muse aloud, walking around whumpee to examine him from all angles. “Of course I can always change that if I want. But for now, this emptiness is—”

With an echoing crash, the door to the dining room slams open. Caretaker. The ferocious glint in his eyes delights you. Such a contrast to the magnificent blankness sitting before you.

“You’re too late, as usual.” You stride forward, shielding your precious whumpee from view. “I’ve already completed the process. And only I can reverse it. If I choose.”

“Then do it,” caretaker growls, drawing his weapon, “or I’ll make you beg for death.”

How silly. Threats mean nothing to you now, in the wake of your triumph. You step aside, revealing whumpee’s seated form, frozen and lifeless as if made of porcelain. Caretaker gasps and rushes forward.

“And why would I undo this,” you ask, gesturing at whumpee, “when at last I’ve created the perfect living doll?”

@augusnippets

[matchalovertrait]

We're jogging back onto your dashboards! The Alegría Legacy is back 🪄

[fairyniceyeah]

⌛🐶🧸 Day 1: “I’m not hungover, I’m just sick”

@sicktember

Summary: After going out drinking together, Yunho is sick and Jongho is hungover.

CW: emeto, alcohol

Sickie(s): Yunho + Jongho  Caretaker: Jongho + Hongjoong

Yunho groaned, nauseously bent over the toilet in the dorm Hongjoong, Wooyoung and Jongho shared. He had been in there for at least an hour, if not more.

He kinda wished he had not drank so much the night before, rather not drank at all. His stomach had felt off back then and still he had tried to drink Jongho under the table. Jongho, of all people. Their maknae probably had the best alcohol tolerance out of all of them. What had he thought?

A burp and sour bile slithering up his throat stopped his further train of thought. Instead he moved his head from where he had rested it on the cool toilet seat over the water again, just in time for a mouthful of bile - puke? alcohol? bad decisions? - to spill into it. 

Whatever it was, it hurt his throat a lot. No matter how disgusting it was, Yunho was too exhausted to flush. His head throbbed and he could feel the hot fever burning under his skin, making him hot and cold at the same time. The offending thermometer that had revealed his fate when he doubted he could feel that bad just from being hungover laid at his side.

While he was kinda glad that Jongho had dragged him to his apartment - his own dorm mate Yeosang was visiting his sister with Wooyoung, so Yunho would have been alone - he was still alone. He wasn’t sure if Hongjoong was even home and Jongho was surely deeply asleep in his own alcohol haze. 

Oh God, what Yunho would have given to be asleep at the moment too.

Or have somebody stay with him. He felt tears prickle at his eyes, knowing he was overly tired and emotionally from the rather high fever.

Yunho must have drifted off even in his less than optimal sleeping position, as he woke up to laughter.

He blinked his eyes open, wiping away the crustiness with one hand, and winced at the light stabbing his retinas. Why had somebody turned on the lights?

“You really can’t hold your liquor, hyung”, Jongho teased, “why did you even try?”

The maknae sounded much too gleeful and too full of schadenfreude for this hour. 

“I hate you”, Yunho moaned. 

His stomach lurched and he only barely managed to turn his head over the toilet bowl before a bit of bile came up.

Even while he loved teasing his hyungs, Jongho was also responsible and kind. So Yunho wasn’t surprised to feel a hand on his back, rubbing gentle circles. 

Coughing a bit, Yunho wiped his mouth and slumped backwards against the wall, squeezed in between the toilet and the sink cabinet. 

“Jeez, how long have you been in here? You’re basically empty”, Jongho said, now a bit worried. Yunho shrugged. He didn’t know. He hadn’t gone to sleep after they had come home, trying to calm his churning stomach down before having to sprint to the bathroom nevertheless.

Jongho sighed, reached up to flush the toilet, washed his hands and then reached out to Yunho.

“No, don’t come closer”, Yunho protested. He didn’t want to get Jongho sick.

The maknae raised his eyebrows. “Dude, you’re hungover. The only way that is contagious is if the other person went drinking with you. And I don’t get hungover.”

“I’m not hungover either”, Yunho mumbled and then pouted, “I’m just sick.”

“Yeah, sure, you tell yourself that”, Jongho said with a laugh, clearly not believing him. 

“Jongho”, Yunho replied, a bit annoyed and his patience running thin. He didn’t want to be mocked. “I am running a fever and I started throwing up before I even stopped being drunk. I’m not hungover, I already threw up all the alcohol before it could start.”

Jongho’s eyes widened nearly comically. 

“I’m so sorry, hyung”, he apologized, stumbling a bit over his words. It was then that Yunho realized that Jongho, unlike himself, was still slightly drunk. “I didn’t know.”

“I’m sorry too, I shouldn’t have snapped”, Yunho replied, patting Jongho’s knee. “Why don’t you go back to bed and sleep it off?”

Yes, Yunho wanted company. But he wasn’t going to subject his maknae to this.

“Nope”, Jongho said, “I’m staying. I’ll help you.”

⌛

Even hours later Yunho was so nauseous. While he wanted Jongho to get some sleep, he wished the maknae hadn’t fallen asleep about an hour ago.

Jongho had turned out to be a perfect caretaker, silently rubbing his back and fetching him water if needed, even turning into a pillow. Now, however, he was sitting up against the closed shower door, head dropping down and snoring a bit. It couldn't be comfortable but Yunho didn’t have the strength to wake him.  

Yunho’s stomach was so empty it was cramping with hunger but he knew he would just throw up again if he ate. He was also pretty sure his fever had risen since he last took his temperature.

Maybe he should take it again but the thought alone made him gag. His body jerked forwards but he couldn’t be bothered to move over the toilet. He was empty anyways. Spit and bile dangled from his lips, his throat seizing …

And then a sleepy Hongjoong walked in. 

The leader jumped half a meter into the air in shock before exclaiming: “Jesus, Yunho, you scared me.” But to his credit, he rushed over to his sick dongsaeng without hesitation, coming to kneel in front of him.

Hongjoong tenderly stroked back Yunho’s sweaty hair and grabbed a few pieces of toilet paper to wipe the younger’s mouth. 

“Morning, hyung”, Yunho mumbled, “welcome to the party.”

“It’s more of a pity party, hm?”, Hongjoong replied with a glance at Jongho. “How long have you been in here? Do you feel better? I guess, I can spare myself the told you so?”

“I’m not hungover”, Yunho repeated the words he had said to Jongho earlier, “I’m just sick. I’m running a fever and I started puking before I even had a chance to get hungover.”

“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry”, Hongjoong whispered, pulling Yunho into his arms. Yunho sighed, finally feeling content with hugging his hyung. “Do you want to go to bed?”

Yes. Above all, Yunho wanted to lie down. He nodded against Hongjoong’s shoulder and the captain ruffled his hair before pulling back.

“Can you get up?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? It was soon very clear that, no, Yunho could not get up. His legs had fallen asleep and were so shaky they couldn’t hold him up anyways, not even with Hongjoong supporting him. Their height and weight difference was too high.

“Maybe you should wake Jongho-yah”, Yunho muttered, resigned. 

Hongjoong nodded. “He took care of you before?”

“Hmhm. And then the traitor fell asleep. He was kinda drunk so I can’t even blame him.”

Hongjoong laughed a bit and then rose to his feet to gently shake Jongho awake. “Hey baby, wake up. We need your help for a moment.”

Jongho nodded slowly, and let Hongjoong pull him to his feet. Once upright, his face suddenly turned a pale green and before either of the other two could react, he stumbled to the sink and instantly threw up. 

Hongjoong cursed and raced after him, patting his back. 

“You’re sick too?”, he asked worriedly.

Jongho washed out his mouth with the tap water and then shook his head. “I’m not sick, I’m just hungover.”

“I thought you didn't get hangovers.”

“Fuck off.”

Masterlist links: Fairy's Full Masterlist Fairy's Sicktember 2024

[wowbright]

Fic: Authority

Fandom: Glee, Kurt/Blaine

Event: december klaine fanworks challenge 2023

Words: ~ 900 words                                           

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary: In 2015, the Lima bishop tries to ruin the Hummels’ Christmas. Kurt won’t let him.

Notes: This is part of my Mormon!Klaine universe. It takes place after Out of Eden, which I am still in the process of posting to AO3. Should you read this if you’re waiting to see what happens in Out of Eden? IDK. But what I can say is this might be part of Kurt and Blaine’s in-verse “canon” future, or it might just be one of many possible futures. Fanfic of fanfic, if you will.

*

Kurt didn't want to be fatalistic. He didn't want to assume the worst of people. He was trying to learn at least that much from Blaine.

But he wasn't naive. And the signs pointed toward a confrontation: The new, uninspired policy, of course. Elder Nelson declaring that it was a revelation from God—the same Elder Nelson who believed that God was incapable of loving unconditionally, and therefore could not be trusted to tell God or God’s revelations from the inane clamorings of his own ego. The bishop’s questions to Kurt’s dad after the wedding invitations went out. Kurt’s membership records still being held up in Lima, even though his new bishop in L.A. had put a request in several times to get them transferred to the new ward and was just as frustrated as Kurt over the delay.

Still, he had hoped the Lima bishop believed enough in the sacredness of family that he wouldn't inject himself into Kurt’s visit home for Christmas.

He had hoped, but he hadn't assumed. So when he went out for the mail on Christmas Eve and saw the ward secretary’s car parked across the street, he knew what was happening. He headed straight for the driver side window and knocked. “You do realize you two look like stalkers, don't you?”

The ward secretary smiled as he got out of the car. He held a business-size envelope in his hand. “Sorry to startle you. We just got here and were taking a moment to pray first.” On the other side, the bishop’s second counselor emerged.

“So, did it work?” Kurt said.

“I’m sorry?” the ward secretary said.

“Did the prayer work? Did you convince God that you’re doing the right thing? Or at least convince your own conscience?”

“Kurt,” the ward secretary frowned. “This brings me no joy. You've been called to a disciplinary council.” He held the letter out for Kurt.

“Merry Christmas to you, too,” Kurt said. “But you can keep that.”

“I’m required to give it to you.”

“I’m not required to take it.”

The ward secretary stepped forward. He put a hand on Kurt’s front coat pocket and made to shove the envelope in it.

Kurt stepped back. “Watch it. That's assault.”

“Kurt—” The second counselor chimed in. “We want to help you. The church has clarified that those who enter into same-sex marriage are in apostasy. But you haven’t done it yet. The disciplinary council is an opportunity for you to change course. You've been such an important member of our ward. I've always been inspired by your faith and your commitment to the truth. But this is a blind spot for you. And maybe it is for me, too—the natural man in me keeps questioning it and wondering why it has to be this way. But that’s why we have prophets and apostles—because we can’t trust our own feelings. And they have spoken. Elder Nelson said it was a revelation—”

“Elder Nelson is in apostasy,” Kurt said.

The two brothers looked as if they'd just been bitten by a snake.

But they hadn’t. Kurt was the one who had been bitten, over and over again, and now these two representatives of the priesthood were here to bite him once more in the name of God. And he was tired of it. “Elder Nelson usurped the prophet. Did President Monson tell us this policy change was a revelation? Have any of the other apostles confirmed it? No. It’s unclear if they were all even there to vote on it. And if it is revelation? True revelation? Then he would bring it to the next general conference for a vote of common consent, because our scriptures themselves tell us that a revelation is only true for the whole church and can only bind the whole membership of the church if we have a chance to vote on it. But we haven't had that chance, and there's no sign that he's planning to give us that chance. He thinks he can just say a thing is a revelation and we're all supposed to fall in line? What is that, if it's not apostasy?”

They continued to stare at Kurt. Then, the ward secretary spoke up. “Kurt, don’t make this worse.”

Kurt laughed. “How could something I do possibly make this worse? The bishop sends you out as his goons on Christmas Eve, away from your families, to come to my father’s home and threaten me with excommunication—which, if you actually believe everything Elder Nelson says, will separate me from dad and my mother and Carole and Finn and the rest of my family for all of eternity. Is that the Christmas present you wanted to deliver to my father? Is that your idea of Christlike love? Because it's not what I was taught in Sunday school, and it's not what the scriptures say. And you can keep that letter. I'm not going to come to a disciplinary council held by a bishop in a ward where I don't even live anymore and plead for forgiveness because I refuse to forsake the best gifts that this church has given me: love and grace, charity and forgiveness. Even of this bishop who is trying so hard to make himself my enemy. I feel sorry for him, that this is what he thinks God wants him to do. That he thinks God's love is conditional. That he thinks the love I have for Blaine, one of the greatest gifts God has ever given me, is depraved. That he thinks he has the power to separate me from my family and the people I love in the eternities. It’s so sad, and I pray for him every day that he will stop living in fear. I pray for him, and I love him. But I don’t recognize his authority over me.”

[plntmlk]

Social Media (PR Branch) Level 7/10 complete!

[lordsecondsenju]

Tobirama closed the door behind him, focusing on the seal just on the other side of the wall. He was still trying to work out the kinks of teleporting to seals that he couldn't see, and in a controlled environment, there wasn't a better place to do it.

He sighed, before he allowed himself to settle into the chakra infused in the seal. With a final breath in, he allowed himself to make the jump.

Except something felt... Off.

He opened his eyes and looked around, before looking down and seeing he was halfway through the wall. His eyes widened and he looked around in a panic. "What the hell?!"

Upon hearing the shout, Hashirama came running, his long hair up in a bun. He stopped when he saw just the top half of his brother, before he burst out laughing.

"Stop laughing and help me!"

[gleefulpoppet]

Chapter 1: Calm Down [239 words] Day 1: Plead [For the @klaineadvent December Challenge] Calm down. Kurt’s eyes flutter closed as he slides his hands down his thighs because his palms are clammy and tingling. Nervously, his eyes scan the unfamiliar surroundings, searching to ensure there isn’t a recognizable face. It might be New York—a long way from the narrowmindedness of Ohio—but that doesn’t make this mission any easier. Usually, he would order online, but currently, there is a huge in-store-only sale, and it’s simply too good to pass up. He looks around once more—this time wondering who might judge him—and musters the courage to decide he doesn’t care. Just own it, Hummel.

You can read more on AO3 [here].

[i-did-not-mean-to]

October 26th

Cuddles

Ah...@mismaeve, here we have my own - very tame - version of Thranduil.

He's a favourite with anon requesters and so, I thought I'd include him in the line-up.

Lots of love from me...

Words: 452

Warnings: innuendo

“Oh great Elvenking,” you sniggered, “mighty scion of the noble blood of the ancient Sindar.”

Thranduil groaned loudly from under the covers.

“Venerated king of the Silvan Elves,” you went on, choking with laughter, “ruler of the beautiful Woodland Realm, what wouldst thou ask of me?”

Leaning against the sturdy door you had just opened to exit his bedchamber, you watched his lean, powerful form unfold like a late-blooming blossom amidst the pristine sheets woven of a thread so soft it had felt like the river’s water beneath your heated skin.

“Come back to bed,” he demanded in a booming, authoritative voice that left you entirely unfazed for you had known him for too long to be deceived by the regal airs he liked to swathe himself in as if to disguise his tender heart.

“To what purpose, my liege?” you teased mercilessly.

“Enough!” he roared, flopping back onto his strong back and extending both arms in a wordless plea.

What choice did you have?

Slamming the door shut again, you returned to the oasis of calm and safety and fell into his embrace as into a ravine of pure delight.

“Doth His Majesty yearn for sweet blandishments?” you asked softly, trailing your fingers lightly along the expanse of the dimly glistening skin stretching enchantingly over his sharp clavicles. 

“I requisition generous cuddles,” he acquiesced in a dignified tone that belied the frivolity of his order, “by royal decree!”

Only too happy to oblige, you slipped your arms around his elegant body and pulled him closer to you and pressed eager kisses onto every patch of silken skin you could reach without letting go of him; finally, the tension, that was so much a part of him that it was inscribed into his very muscles, started to drain away under the fluttering caresses of your fingers wandering over his back and of your lips worshipping his form relentlessly.

A happy hum resounded as he slung his long legs around you as if to cage you, engulfing your cool body in the welcome warmth of his own, and tilted your head up by a gentle tap against your chin to capture your roving mouth in a passionate kiss.

“A gracious and generous king indeed,” you panted; your voice was laced with sunlight and indescribable bliss painted every word a different hue of the rainbow of your love. 

“Indeed,” he agreed as he rolled you around to firmly pin you against the soft mattress. “And I shall have need of you for the rest of the morn. Deny not your ruler!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Sire,” you giggled and let him exert his royal prerogatives over your body and soul only too gladly.

@fellowshipofthefics It's almost the end. We're almost through...

Lots of love from me, I hope you still enjoy those...

-> Masterlist

[oh-meow-swirls]

how does the raft not capsize.

[blackrosesandwhump]

Whumptember Day 1

"Don't leave me." | chains | failed escape attempt | abandoned building

CW: captivity, torture, superpower whump

As the iron manacles lock tight around whumpee’s wrists and ankles, claiming him once again as a prisoner, his exhausted mind races in time with his pulse.

Shouldn’t have tried…impossible…can’t ever escape…hopeless…

It was a mistake. The whole thing was a mistake. A waste of time and energy and what remained of his life. Because here he was, back again in whumper’s clutches, the way he always would be. Hopeless.

A second pair of manacles click shut around his ankles, chaining him to the wall. Whumper crouches and leans close, staring at whumpee while his gloved hand trails idly down a section of chain.

“I do hate seeing you like this, whumpee,” whumper croons with feigned sympathy. “You could be so useful to me. But you just can’t seem to understand the truth.”

Whumpee flinches back, away from whumper’s sour breath. He should keep his mouth shut, bite back the retort burning on his tongue, but it tumbles out anyway, two words that he immediately regrets.

“The truth?”

And just like that, whumper’s face changes. False sympathy gives way to cold ferocity. His gloved hand flashes upward and closes around whumpee’s throat.

“Yes, whumpee. The truth,” he growls. His hand tightens. Whumpee splutters and chokes, chains clinking together as his own hands scrabble at whumpers’s grip. “You can never escape from me, no matter how hard you try.”

He lets go abruptly and straightens, turning away as whumpee slumps back, gasping.

Hopeless…I can’t escape…I can never escape.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Whumper turns to face whumpee again, a smile pulling at the corner of his thin mouth. “I have a present for you.”

He snaps his fingers, and just like that, pain shoots through whumpee’s body, a thousand miniscule needles piercing the flesh of his wrists and ankles. He can’t breathe, can’t move. A single, desperate plea dies in his mouth as a wave of terrible weakness overcomes him.

…can never escape.

“…my special ability,” comes whumper’s voice. “For every hour of your captivity, these chains will drain a little more life from you until there’s nothing left. Perhaps then, I can finally use you.”

@whumptember

[bucky-barnes-lover]

Kinktober day 1: Bdsm/Knife kink Moodboard. Chris Evans

[fairyniceyeah]

💎🍊 Day 1: “Help me”

Failed Escape/On the run/Fetal Position

@juneofdoom

Summary: While filming Going Rangers Seungkwan actually injures his foot.

CW: injury, mentions of nausea, guilt

Whumpee: Seungkwan

Caretakers: Jeonghan + Seungcheol + Hoshi + Woozi

It hurt. That was the first thing that registered on Seungkwan’s mind.

It was just supposed to be a trick, a way to fool Dino and get the Ranger emblems. He was supposed to get up, run past the startled maknae with a laugh, his injury just a trick like in the old variety shows he loved.

He wasn’t supposed to get actually hurt. It was just a game.

Maybe it had been stupid for him to suggest running for the Ranger emblems in the middle of the Going Rangers episode. The ground was clearly uneven, the stones around the drain on the floor uneven and everything dirty. It was an accident just waiting to happen.

And happen it did.

Instead of faking his fall like he had planned, he really slipped on the dirt or tripped on the raised floor. He couldn’t quite tell what was the reason but suddenly the ground came rushing up to meet him and a pained yell was forced from his throat.

It hurt. His foot really, really hurt.

His knees and hands stinging from the impact, he let himself fall to the side, tears already forming in his eyes. He moved his hands down to hold his calf in a vice-grip. Seungkwan couldn’t bear the thought of touching the burning injury but he also needed something to hold on, something to stabilize his foot.

He was vaguely aware of Jeonghan calling for time-out and Chan asking if he was okay. He couldn’t answer, the pain choking him. He sobbed, curling further into a fetal position, just praying for the pain to stop.

A hand came to rest on his shoulder, a voice asking him to uncurl.

“Jeonghan-hyungie?”, Seungkwan asked in a small voice, wet with desperation, “make it stop. It hurts. Help me.”

“I know, baby”, his hyung answered gently, his hand moving to rub and down Seungkwan’s spine, easily reached by his curled up position on the ground, “breathe, okay? Medics are on the way. I got you.”

Seungkwan tried to answer but then he was stopped by his leader coming to kneel by them, Seungcheol easily recognizable by the shock of bright red hair. He winced as he sat down at his dongsaeng’s side, but his focus never wavered from the injured younger.

“Hey, Kwan-ah”, he greeted, his voice low and comforting, “that looked like a painful fall. Is it your foot that is hurting?”

Seungkwan nodded, his breathing still chopped. Still, slowly the adrenaline of the fall, as well as the sudden first pain ebbed away. He reached out and immediately his hand was grasped in Seungcheol’s bigger one, the rough palm comforting.

“It really hurts, hyungie”, he whispered, feeling scared. What if he had really ruined his foot? What if he had to go to the hospital or even on hiatus?

As if he could read his mind, Seungcheol soothed: “I know it hurts but try not to think of the worst case scenarios yet.”

Seungkwan nodded timidly, feeling strangely reassured by being surrounded by his eldest hyungs.

“Do you want to sit up?”, Jeonghan suggested, “Manager-hyung has got some water for you to drink.”

Seungkwan nodded and he was lifted into a sitting position, his back resting against Seungcheol’s warm chest. The move, no matter how careful they were, jostled his foot and Seungkwan tried to suppress the tears gathering in his eyes.

Around him various members, staff and camera-men were standing around, all looks of concern on their faces. Hoshi was squatting down by Seungkwan’s foot, a gentle frown on his face but as their eyes met he smiled. Jun and DK were standing behind him, all activities and faked rivalry forgotten. Jun had an arm wrapped around a frozen Dino, who looked close to tears. He probably blamed himself. Seungkwan couldn’t help but feel bad. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. Even Woozi was now coming over from the square, his white coat flowing behind him in his rush. Embarrassed, Seungkwan turned his face into Seungcheol’s shoulder, not wanting to be seen like this by everybody.

“Guys, keep filming something else somewhere far away”, Seungcheol called, or rather, ordered. Jun and DK nodded, initiating a less than enthusiastic game of catch and tugging Dino with them, most of the crew following them as well. With lesser people around Seungkwan felt like he could finally breathe a bit easier, not under constant supervision.

Hoshi, however, stayed and Woozi, too, didn’t seem like he wanted to leave.

“Yah, guys”, Jeonghan started to scold but Seungkwan waved him off.

“It’s okay, they can stay.” He didn’t mind his fellow BSS member with him, Hoshi always a great source of support and care. Woozi, his vocal leader, while often a bit rough with emotions was, nevertheless, one of the most soothing and level-headed members and the one who had seen Seungkwan cry in the studio multiple times before, he wouldn’t judge the maknae-line member now.

“Drink something, Seungkwan-ah”, the manager said and handed him an already opened bottle of water. Seungkwan took it into his shaking hands, spilling some on himself until Jeonghan helped him hold it tightly. The cold water felt refreshing and calmed him down a bit more.

When Seungkwan pushed the bottle away, he met Hoshi’s eyes.

“Kwan-ah? Can I try to take your shoe off? Your foot is swelling badly, it might be best to get it off soon”, the dancer asked, always knowledgeable in various kinds of injuries that might happen in dance - or running apparently.

“Just do it”, Seungkwan mumbled, his hands clenching at his sides. He didn’t want to wait out the inevitable. Jeonghan took the closest hand in his, Woozi coming to sit with him by his other side. Seungcheol wrapped his arms around Seungkwan’s torso, at the same time spending comfort as he also immobilized his young member from squirming.

“Jihoon, can you hold his legs down?”, Hoshi asked then and Seungkwan nearly sobbed as his unit leader let go of his hand. As if he sensed the impending breakdown, Jeonghan quickly reached across to gently hold both of Seungkwan’s hands.

“Press as hard as you need to, baby”, Jeonghan whispered and nodded at Hoshi.

If Seungkwan hadn’t been in so much pain that his head went cloudy he might have felt awful for squeezing Jeonghan’s hand as harshly as he did and accidentally trying to kick Hoshi as he touched his injured foot. Luckily, Woozi had a tight grip on him, leaning his whole body weight down to pin him.

“It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay, kiddo”, Seungcheol whispered into his ear, his breath tickling Seungkwan’s ears. Focused on his leader’s words and the feeling of the second oldest hyung’s hand in his, he managed to withstand the pain of Hoshi painstakingly untying his shoelaces and then pulling off the shoe itself.

“You did so good”, Jeonghan praised, his hand coming up to wipe the silent tears on Seungkwan’s face.

The youngest vocalist shook in his leader’s arms but he was able to breathe even more easily now that the pressure was off his foot. Nevertheless, he hated how he was disturbing the filming, disturbing the other’s filming and fun.

As if he read his mind, Woozi looked up from where he was studying the swollen ankle, blue and red and black, double its size. It looked disgusting, barely like an ankle at all and certainly not like his. Seungkwan’s stomach turned from the sight and the guilt eating him up.

“Kwan-ah”, Jihoon called gently, “it’s not your fault. Stuff like this just happens, it sucks but it happens.”

“I wanted it to happen”, Seungkwan mumbled and before he could continue he was surprised by the sharp inhale from Seungcheol. Before the leader could interject, he quickly continued: “I mean, I didn’t want to get injured, obviously. But you know those old variety shows where contestants sometimes faked injuries to get the prize? I wanted to use that trick on Dino. Now look where it put me.”

Seungcheol reached up and brushed one of Seungkwan’s strands of hair out of his face. “Don’t scare me like that, Kwan-ah. But it was an honest mistake, as Jihoon-ah said, it happens, okay?”

Seungkwan nodded and then decided he needed to know. “Do you know what’s wrong, Hoshi-hyung?”, he asked the dreaded question.

Hoshi who had been studying his foot, looking at it and trying to feel the extent of the injury, nodded. “We need to wait for the medics for the confirmation but this looks like a really bad sprain.”

“Great”, Seungkwan whispered, sighing. It could have been worse, he supposed. Much better, too, though.

“Why don’t we wait for the medics on one of the benches? No need for you to catch a cold sitting on the cool floor here”, Jeonghan suggested.

Seungkwan nodded. Truth be told, his ass was getting numb and he doubted their position was good for Seungcheol’s knee either.

“Help me up?”, he asked, reaching up.

“Always”, Jeonghan promised and seconds later one of his arms was wrapped around Hoshi’s shoulder, the other around Jeonghan’s. Together they hobbled to the closet bench, where Seungkwan sank down gratefully.

“Why don’t you guys join the chaos in the square?”, Woozi suggested, “I’ll keep Seungkwan-ah company and wait with him for the medics. I have been sitting on benches and drinking coffee all day and from how everything is going I believe Dr. Woo isn’t going to be needed for some time.”

While reluctant, the others agreed. They, no matter how much they wanted to stay with Seungkwan, still had to work and Woozi had a great point. Seungkwan wondered if the poor producer had been bored all day but his thoughts vanished when he was pulled to lie on his lap.

“Rest, Kwan-ah”, Woozi said with a smile, “you deserve it. Just don’t do stupid stunts anymore.”

Day 2: "It didn't have to be this way."

Masterlist link: Fairy's Full Masterlist Fairy's June of Doom 2024