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fairyhaos · 7 months

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How To Fucking Write: a guide by fairyhaos

[masterlist]

this post details:

STARTING A STORY

PACING A STORY

hi gays and gals and welcome to "how to fucking write", a post (series) where i talk about how i brainstorm for writing, plan for writing, write the writing, and everything in between. nothing too serious here lmao, but i'm definitely planning on making at least a couple posts on this bc a) it's fun and b) i wanna help! so if you find this useful then pls lmk by reblogging + drop an ask if there are any specific things u want me to give my two cents on ^^

okok and now without further ado,,, let's look at the topics i'll talk about in today's post!

#1 - HOW TO START A STORY.

.. bullet point one : have an idea

the first big thing is that you need an idea. doesn't matter if you're a pantser and don't plan out your writing before you start. that's totally fine! but before you begin, you need at least an idea: maybe it's a vibe, a character personality, a specific journey you want the characters to go on. maybe it's a piece of dialogue. maybe it's the ending- the point you want to end up at after however many thousand words.

whatever it is, it's best to have some inspiration, some idea of what you wanna do. no point in writing if you don't know what you're writing, you know?

(of course, that brings up the issue of Having An Idea in the first place, but finding inspiration to write is a whole other can of worms we can open in another post.)

.. bullet point two : practice

okay, so now you have an idea. how do you put that idea to paper? how should you actually start your story?

it’s all to do with practice.

it’s the most annoying piece of advice in the world, but it helps so much. you just have to write lots and lots and lots, to find the way that works for you. whether you wanna start your stories with pretty scene descriptions, with dialogue, with dramatic one-liners. finding your voice, your style, what’s most comfortable for you, is really really important. and takes practice.

an example, though: for me, i prefer either a line of dialogue, or one-liners that a) help immediately establish a character’s personality or can b) introduce an interesting setting.

[chan + swingset] — one-liner example

[hoshi + silly] — dialogue example

but of course, everyone’s style is different. so i’d recommend playing around! find a list of one-word prompts and just write a few that inspire you, writing the beginnings. it’s important, also, that you’re having fun, because if you’re already struggling with starting to write, it’ll be even harder if you’re doing it while feeling stressed.

.. bullet point three (mostly just for longer fics)

maybe you don’t find a style, in the end. maybe you’re comfortable with all of them, which is totally fine! but then you look at your writing, and you think, “oh… this isn’t as good as i thought.”

and it makes you want to give up. what do you do, then? how do you carry on with your start?

just put words to paper. it doesn’t matter if the words are terrible, if you’re making up shit and using placeholders for description words or whatever. just carry on, get to a place you’re happy with, like the end of a scene, or maybe a dialogue exchange you really like.

because now, guess what? you’ve successfully created a first draft.

making first drafts is actually so important. seriously. first drafts allow you to fuck up, allow you to write terribly. they help you fumble and trip your way to the finish line (or at least a rest point) so that you can go back and do better.

even if your first draft is terrible, it’s helped you make your way to a point you’re happy with. now you have a vague idea of what you want, even if the description or characterisation or something is way off. because now, you can edit it, or even scrap it and use only a few words from that draft in your next one. or maybe, if you look back at it, maybe it’s even decent enough for you to use.

whatever it is, when you first start writing that story, think of it as ‘The Worst Draft’. because it probably won’t be as good as you want it, and it’s okay. just write, with no fears of it being bad, because that’s literally fine. it’s not set in stone. the backspace button exists. after your first draft is made, make another. and another, and another, because i promise, after that first draft, it only gets better from there.

#2 - PACING A STORY.

.. bullet point one : adding things

pacing is always really tricky. however, i do think that slowing a story down is easier than speeding it up, so here we go,,,,

finding out the exact way to slow down a story really depends on what type of story you're writing, but there are a few all-round things you can do which can help pretty much any setting.

if it's a scene with loads of dialogue, and things feel like they're jumping to the end topic too quickly, add descriptions. your readers are blind, writers, and they depend on you to be able to see what's going on. are your characters having a conversation on the street? take a break to describe what they see. are they in a coffee shop? maybe someone comes in with a huge noise, or their coffee arrives at their table. are they hanging in midair with nothing around them? well, describe the actions of the character they're talking to, then.

example: (from my seoksoo fic bc it's the only long fic i'm working on rn)

by adding character descriptions, movement, thoughts, instantly everything seems to have slowed down. it thickens time, allowing you to move at a more leisurely pace.

if it's a scene full of action, you can do the exact same thing. maybe there's a high-tension moment and something significant happens. slow down time there, describe something small in great detail. talk about the thoughts they're having.

and even if it's just an ordinary scene, describing is important. the setting, the characters' actions, their thoughts. it's okay to write too much. then you can delete things which make things feel like they're moving too slowly.

.. bullet point two : delete

not gonna lie, finding out how to speed up the pacing of the story can often be really specifically tailored to the setting of the story.

with stories that have loads of action (spy, apocalypse, etc) i'd recommend adjusting sentence length. you'll want short, punchy sentences, without loads of commas and clauses, but you'll also want to experiment with having those short sentences gradually get longer. it helps with tension and suspense.

it has to be short. running fast. something to elevate fear. quick, but also desperate, before they then spill over each other, picking up pace, all of the thoughts blurring together and going faster, and faster, and faster, and then-

then the penny drops.

people use the metaphor of music a lot, and it really does work that way. it needs to ascend to its climax: gently, cautiously, before sprinting upwards and only describing things like the barest emotions (the fear they feel, the panic, anger, anything) before everything reaches its peak and comes crashing down in a flurry of action descriptions.

but of course, the easiest way to speed up something is to delete. delete swathes of setting description. delete unnecessary dialogue. delete an entire scene and rewrite with only the things you remember (which can help make sure you only have the essentials in your scene, btw. very helpful).

it might take a bit of adjusting, rewriting, moving things around, but ultimately, quickening the pace of the story depends on the way in which you write things. be concise, be dramatic, and don't dawdle.

... and that's it ! if anyone has anything else they want advice on (how to structure, how to write dialogue, how to plan etc) then just shoot me an ask, because i'd love to help however i can :)

tagging: @selenicives who asked for this in the first place hehe ^^

#a guide by fairyhaos #ngl ive always wanted to try my hand as an advice giver soooo this is fun!#i really wanna help guys. like fr #fanfic #svt fanfic #svt fic #seventeen #txt #fanfiction #writing #creative writing #writers of tumblr #writing prompt #svt x reader #txt x reader #kpop writing #ao3 #ao3 writer #ao3 fic

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jadeylovesmarvelxo · 9 days

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Part two to this story

After Jason's cruel display and your identity of Eddie's admirer being public knowledge, you're sure he will be disgusted. He hates you and your friends doesn't he?

Turns out you're in for a big surprise.

Minors shoo! Angst, fluff, sweet Eddie and reader taking no shit.

If you have any requests then send me an ask. My request rules are in my pinned post ❤️

🎀💌

Hellfire Slut. The words had practically burned into your brain as you tossed and turned in bed. Jason's cruelty was nothing new but you didn't think he'd ever go this far.

It was bad enough that Eddie's best friend had caught you in the act of delivering the notes and the thought he could spill all to Eddie, you didn't expect your secret to come out in such a public way.

The notes that you had poured your heart to Eddie had been clear to see by everyone and you felt sick to your stomach. You didn't care that people knew you were smitten with Eddie, it was the fact that he was probably disgusted that you had feelings for him.

You dreaded going to school but you knew you had to face Eddie and Jason at some point. It didn't stop nightmares plaguing your mind all night about what would happen come first period.

...

Homeroom was the first thing today before any other classes, you try not to draw attention to yourself as you slide into a seat at the back of class. However it feels like all eyes are on you today, Chrissy takes the seat beside you and holds your hand giving it a tight squeeze, it makes you feel a tiny bit better.

Mrs Jones isn't in class yet so chatter buzzes around you incessantly, your skin tingles as you feel Eddie's gaze on you a few times, try not to look up into those pretty brown eyes.

One of Jason's friends called Tyler smirks at you, he's sitting beside Jason and says loudly for all to hear. "So little miss perfect likes a freak in the sheets huh? Who would have thought?" there's a little ripple of laughter that's quelled by Chrissy's vicious glare. She's normally a sweetie so swing her pissed shut everyone up.

Ignore him. Just ignore him you chant in your head but he still continues. "You know I was going to ask you out but fuck that. You're a dumb little bitch"

There's a collective silence as you hear Eddie's metal lunchbox drop to the floor. To your surprise he's glaring daggers at Tyler, you also notice that his knuckles are bruised. What the hell happened?

"Oooh you're in luck sweetcheeks, maybe Munson likes you back and the two of you can be freaks together"

You're fraying control over being calm snaps. Screw this. You weren't going to sit and let him run his mouth or let anyone like him or Jason make you cry again.

"You can admit to everyone you're jealous Tyler it's okay. We all heard about the little problem you have, Stacy told us all about how disappointing you are" you fake a sympathetic smile at him and his eyes nearly bug out of his sockets.

Jason looks ready to say something but you don't give the satisfaction of listening to the bullshit he says. "I couldn't be less interested in what you have to say Carver, you're a pathetic, nasty little worm"

While sassing Jason you miss the look of awe on Eddie's face. Gareth snorts at Eddie's stunned look.

"Dude, I really do think I'm in love" Eddie murmurs sounding almost reverent. Gareth sighs. Maybe now Eddie knew it was you that sent the notes the two of you could get together and he could get a minute of peace.

Meanwhile you lean back in your seat relieved as Mrs Jones comes in. There's still a question that's nagging at you though.

"Chrissy, why are Eddie's knuckles bruised?"and that's when Chrissy launches into the tale of how Eddie punched Jason after you left yesterday.

Hearing this makes a small bubble of hope build up inside of you. Maybe just maybe Eddie feeling the same for you might not be as hopeless as you first thought.

...

After a few fruitless attempts Eddie manages to track you down as you're coming out of cheer practice with Chrissy. She gives you an impish, knowing smile as she leaves you and Eddie to talk.

Telling Jason and Tyler what you thought about them made you feel a little bit better for a while, boosted your shattered confidence but now Eddie was around and you could feel that confidence crack.

What was he about to say? Was he going to tell you he was disgusted?

"You don't have to be nervous princess" you feel your nerves dissipate at his soothing tone.

"I know you thought the notes were a joke but they aren't Eddie, I've really fallen for you. I was crushing on you for such a long time. That's why I wrote the notes in the first place, I was worried if I told you in person that you would be disappointed" the words all come out in a rush and you feel relieved getting it all out.

He shakes his head. "I mean I would have been surprised but the way you spoke in the notes...how could you ever think I'd ever be disappointed sweetheart?" His words fill you with hope, a warm and fuzzy feeling in your chest.

"You know because I'm from the dark side" you murmur and he frowns. His hand reaches out to hold yours and you wince at the bruising on his knuckles.

"You didn't need to do that Eddie, I don't want you hurt" he shrugs as if it's no big deal.

"It was worth it. You're worth it"

Eddie gently takes your hand and kisses it, "I fell in love with you through what you said sweetheart, I want to know all about you. I don't give a fuck about who you're friends with or if you're part of the dark side. I just want to be with you".

A slow smile works it's way on your face and you lean forward and kiss him, continue kissing him until you're both a little dazed and smiling goofily at each other.

"Uh maybe we could go out for Milkshakes after school, if you want princess?" you nod feeling the bubble of excitement in your belly.

After all that worrying you were going on your first date with Eddie and you couldn't wait.

Maybe happy endings were possible after all ❤️

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x cheerleader!reader

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cottonlemonade · 15 days

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hi😁 i thought long hard about this and i came to a decision of a large mango with boba for issei🙇🏽‍♀️ mwuah

Noisy Neighbors

word count: 603 || avg. reading time: 3 mins.

pairing: post-time skip husband!Issei Matsukawa x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff and smut

warnings: mdni, nsfw, mentions of overstimulation

____________________________________________

“There, all done!“

“Look at us, being accomplished adults and everything.“

You high fived your husband.

After many weeks of driving back and forth you finally managed to move into your new house and today you both trampled the last battered, empty moving box.

With a happy squeak you threw your arms around Issei‘s neck, having to hop and balance on your tiptoes to accomplish such a feat.

You gave him a kiss and let your hands wander from his shoulders down to his butt, giving it a quick squeeze, then wanted to let go to get started on a late lunch but Issei pulled you back for another, much more indecent kiss.

You laughed against his lips when you felt something hard press against your plush thigh.

“Can‘t believe that‘s all it takes for you.“, you teased.

“Baby, anything you do is an aphrodisiac to me.“

You leaned back a bit, in thought, playing with his hair in the back of his neck.

“What if I‘m pigging on a burger and have sauce all over my face?“

Issei gave you a superior grin, cupping your cheek, “There isn‘t enough fast food in the world to ever turn me off my wife.“

Leaning down, he began kissing your neck.

“Oh, you‘re about to get sooo lucky.“, you beamed.

“I already am.“, he murmured into your skin.

Making a sound somewhere between a giggle and a moan you replied, “Ugh, that was so cheesy, babe. Take me to bed already, will you?“

“Your wish is my command, my queen.“

And with that he crouched down to throw you over his shoulder like a sack of rice, carrying you off towards your new bedroom.

“Ah, stop it!“, you laughed.

“Quit wiggling like a chubby little worm.“ Issei gave your ass a playful slap then tossed you onto the bed.

He climbed on top of you, knees trapping you on either side.

With a grin he discarded his sweaty shirt, his well-toned body glowing in the afternoon sun shining through your large window.

“But just to be clear“, he leaned down to kiss you again, “I would still love you if you were a worm.“

You snorted and pulled him down on top of you, sighing happily.

Soon enough the remaining clothes were taken off as well and Issei went to work worshiping every inch of your body.

“Mmh… ah, baby… no more teasing. Please? Can you just fuck me?“

You saw him smirk between your legs.

“You sure? Just letting you know, you‘re not about to leave this bed for a while.“

“Stop bragging and prove it.“

____________________

Three orgasms later

“Where do you think you‘re going, bunny?“, he panted.

His large strong hands grabbed your hips and pulled him back onto his cock.

You had been at it for hours. Your new neighbors, although few and far between, must think you were being tortured. Exhausted and on all fours you were completely at the mercy of your husband who very obviously had lost none of his stamina since quitting volleyball.

“No more… Issei… Oh my god… Ah! I can‘t…“

“Aw, my cute little bunny. Surely you can take one more. Hm, okay, maybe two.“ His hips sped up again, balls slapping heavily against your overstimulated clit, “Ah, look at you dripping on our new sheets, hm? Nnng, so tight… ah, so full of cum - hey, come on bunny, ass up.“ He grabbed at your cheeks, kneading their flesh while pounding you like a madman, “That‘s it… you‘re so good to me. Come on, you can do it.“

You muffled your next climax in the pillow.

____________________________________________

a/n: did anyone else read that time skip in the voice of the SpongeBob narrator? No? Just me then xD I genuinely had so much fun writing this. Thank you for the prompt, girl 🫶🏻✨

Note, the fast food line is inspired by a tweet I saw many many moons ago. I tried to find it again but with no luck - if you know the one, lemme know and I shall credit ^^

for requests see here

#sunnys lemonade stand #issei x chubby reader #matsukawa issei x chubby reader #mattsun x chubby reader #haikyuu x chubby reader #chubby reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #matsukawa issei x reader #matsukawa issei #issei matsukawa #matsukawa x chubby reader #matsukawa smut #matsukawa x reader #hq matsukawa #haikyuu matsukawa #haikyuu issei

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mignonricciardo · 1 year

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self control | ls18

I love this man SO much and I just hope he's healing okay <3 massive congrats to Aston Martin for today (and lance's p6) this work is currently unedited as I literally typed it in one go and have gone straight to posting — I'm forcing myself to work thorough writer's block here

summary: lance is injured but has little self control. (1.5k words)

warnings: smut, p in v, protected penetration, broken bones, cursing, fluff

“I’m still mad at you,” I mutter, scrunching my hair with the hotel towel. “Even with P6, I’m mad at you.”

“Babe,” Lance whines, tipping his head back against the headboard. “I told you that I’m fine. I was cleared, and it went great.”

“You’re not fine,” I chide, motioning to each hand sitting on top of an ice pack. “Do not even get me started on the bruises and the swelling.”

“Not opening that can of worms again,” he pacifies me, grinning as I toss him a middle finger. A laugh falls past his lips, and even with the anger for not taking care of himself still coursing through my veins, I can’t help but feel relief as he relaxes into the mattress. His laughter is airy, filling the space, and my heart nearly bursts when his eyes crinkle around the edges.

“You do not want me to go caretaker mode on you again,” I respond, biting back my own laughter. “I won’t be nice just because you’re hurt.”

“How rude,” he continues, smile tugging at his lips to reveal white teeth. “P6 with broken bones and no congratulations.”

“No congratulations?” I glare at him, scoffing as I hang the towel back up in the restroom before returning to the king sized bed. “What could you possibly have in mind? I practically made out with you in the garage and then remembered your mom was right there.”

Lance bursts into a full-bellied laugh, and he clutches his sides at the mortifying memory from only a few hours ago. As his arms wrap around his stomach, he takes a sudden sharp breath before returning his hands to the ice packs on either side of him. I can see the swollen skin around his wrists with purple and blue bruises stretching across his wrists and onto his hands.

“See?” I start, standing on his side of the bed with my hands on my hips. “They’re bothering you, Lance, and I know you well enough to know you can’t control yourself, so I’m not letting anything happen for your own health.”

“Baby,” he whines, pouty bottom lip protruding ever so slightly. “You let me do more with the casts on.”

“They stopped you from moving too much,” I remind him, leaning closer toward him. “Now, you’re doing whatever until you’re reminded that it hurts.”

His eyes are soft as he looks up at me, bottom lip still protruding every so slightly, and dark hair falling messily around his eyebrows. It’s quiet in the hotel room, and I fall victim to his gaze as I remain still and my eyes trace his features. Damn him for not putting a shirt on after his shower. His torso is on display against the white pillows, tattoo on his ribs peeking out, and the duvet is bunched around his waist.

“You’re checking me out, babe,” he says with a quiet laugh.

My eyes never leave his abs flexing as he laughs, “Yep, I totally am. Doesn’t change anything.”

“Baby,” his voice suddenly shifts as my eyes land back on his. There’s a sense of need in his tone that wasn’t there just moments before, and I’m suddenly sucked right into his plans.

“Lance,” I warn half-heartedly.

“I need you,” he whispers. “You’re all I’ve been able to think about since climbing out of the car.”

One of my hands rests on his chest, feeling his warm skin beneath my palm, and his breath hitches as my fingers trace down the dip in his chest and across his stomach, tracing edges of muscle. My fingers dip beneath the duvet, running across the elastic band of his underwear and my palm ghosts over him. He’s hard beneath my touch, already straining against the fabric and biting his lip as he waits.

“See?” he whispers, groaning as my hand applies a bit more pressure against him. “Need you.”

“You promise you won’t do any of the work?” I ask, pulling back the duvet from around his hips. “I don’t want you taking your wrists off the ice, babe. I’m serious — you have to get better.”

“You’re asking me not to touch you?” he looks as if I’ve just asked him to run the length of the race earlier rather than drive it.

I nod my head, “Touch me, and I stop. This is for your own good, Lance. Someone has to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

I slot myself over top of his hips, inner thighs pressing to his outer thighs on either side, and lean my weight on to him to relieve some of the pressure between his legs. He tips his head back against the headboard, sighing as I move my hips in torturously slow circles.

“Fuck, you take such good care of me,” he groans, lifting his hands to reach for my hips before remembering his promise and placing them back down. “You’re amazing.”

“You weren’t lying when you said you needed me,” I comment, leaning toward his ear. “Is this what you were thinking about in the debriefs?”

He nods, “Nearly left early and blamed the injuries. I needed you so bad I was going crazy.”

My lips meet his jaw and work down his neck, leaving a mark on his collarbone as my hips continue their motions. It’s starting to drive him crazy — the slow movements and careful placements. His hands suddenly rest on my hips as he bucks his hips into mine, but I stop my movements when I feel his palms on my skin.

“You’re not serious,” he grunts. “You’re going to stop?”

“I have more self control than you,” I whisper, lips brushing against his ear as he groans again.

He moves his hands back to his sides, “Then, let’s call this an exercise in self control, and I’ve failed. Baby, please.”

He’s throbbing against me now, and I wait another moment until I glance at either of his hands.

“You’re going to let me do everything?” I ask.

He nods wildly, “I’ll even keep my hands off you since you’re so damn stubborn.”

I grin, “Look who’s listening now.”

I reach for the nightstand, plucking a tin foil out as I shift on to Lance’s thighs. He groans as my fingers tug at his boxers’ waistband, and my fingers gently trace over the head and protruding vein.

“Are you trying to kill me?” he gasps, hips stuttering into the palm of my hand.

“Just appreciating it,” I smile, finally tearing open the condom and rolling it on to him.

“Fuck, you take such good care of me,” he rasps as I raise my hips above his.

The head presses against me for a moment, and we both gasp as I sink all the way on to him. My hands are clutching his shoulders as he fills me, and my stomach is already clenching as he reaches a spot that sends white stars across my vision. I stay still for a moment, letting each of us catch our wits before continuing.

“Lance, I-”

“I know, baby,” he shushes my moan, eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, I know.”

“God, I love you,” I groan, rising on my knees before sinking back down in rhythm.

“Can I please touch you?” he gasps. “Just want to feel you, baby.”

“Fuck it,” I answer with a moan, feeling a pit in my stomach beginning to form. “Can’t stop now.”

He laughs quietly, placing cold hands on my hips. I gasp sharply as his cold skin contrasts with my hot flesh, but his hands on my hips spur my movements faster.

“Baby, fuck, you’re too good to me,” Lance chokes out, and one of my hands rests against his flexing abs.

“Want you to cum first,” I gasp, hips moving relentlessly against one another. “Lance, please I-”

“I know, baby. You’re close. I can feel it,” his hands splay against the small of my back to pull me closer toward him. “I’m nearly there. You’re so, so good.”

His praise spurs on my hips, and he releases a string of curse words as his hips buck against mine. Lance squeezes his eyes shut as he cums, and I fall over the edge right after him. He’s groaning as I clench around him, already sensitive in a post-orgasmic haze. I lean forward, my weight propped up by Lance against the headboard, as we each catch our breath. Eventually, I toss the remnants of our moment into the trash before curling into his side. His arm hands limply around me as his wrist rests gently on my back.

“Are you happy with your congratulations?” I ask quietly, tracing circles across his torso.

He chuckles quietly, “Incredibly. Although, I can’t wait to be the one in charge again.”

“Looking forward to bending me over again?” I grin.

He laughs wildly at my comment, “You’re so bad.”

“You love me for it,” I smile, looking up at him.

He nods his head, leaning down to leave a gentle kiss on the crown of my head, “Never forget it."

“You totally failed the self control exercise, by the way.”

He laughs quietly, leaning into me, “We’ll have to try again tomorrow. They say practice makes perfect.”

#lance stroll #lance stroll imagine #lance stroll smut #lance stroll fluff #formula one imagine #formula one smut #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 smut

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sempersirens · 6 months

Text

my love, mine all mine

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

content/warnings: 18+ mdni. no outbreak!au. hurt/comfort. infertility. hospitals. alcohol.

author's note: hello my lovelies. i am so happy to be back posting - i missed you all a great deal. please forgive that this is a bit of a self-indulgent personal one, and i just want to take the time to say that womanhood is not intrinsically linked to the ability to have a child. we are so much more than that.

You'd always hated hospitals. Hated waiting. Hated the sterility lingering in the air. Everything was so unsettlingly white. The fluorescent lighting should expose at least a speck of dust somewhere, on some forgotten surface. But somehow, it never did.

The names called forth never seemed to be yours. Joel would've been in agony if he were here. Confined to the little plastic chair, time rolling on, on, on with no end in sight. You were almost thankful he had to be on-site today, leaving you to fend off the passing of time alone.

But you'd grown tired of being strong.

Strong for yourself, strong for you both. You craved the warmth of his rough palm, desperate to intertwine your fingers in his and replace the fluorescence with the nothingness of your eyelids.

You wanted to take. Take, take, take. Take every ounce of strength he could give you. But he wasn't here, and that had to be okay because Joel was hurting too.

You'd been lucky enough to have never known grief. Never felt its empty sting in the middle of the day, in the queue for lunch or on the drive home from work. But can you grieve something your fingers never touched? Something that had only ever been a far-off thought, that had maybe never even existed inside of you.

Was it a reflection on you?

On your capability as a mother, a woman?

Had nature deemed you unworthy since birth?

Were the worms and the flies laughing at you each time you'd uttered the words when I have children one day?

After the seemingly psychological torture of waiting, the appointment was over in minutes. It's not the news we were hoping for. The doctor had said. If you and your partner need support going forward...

The brochures she had slid across the table fell to your feet as you mindlessly drove yourself home, relying solely on muscle memory to bring you to the embrace of your front door.

There were no tears left. Everything inside of you was empty; barren. You threw your keys into the dish and softly closed the door behind you. The stillness of the house was suffocating.

Your shoulders dropped and muscles relaxed at the sight of the photograph of you, Sarah, and Ellie hanging on the wall opposite the front door. Sarah had lovingly adorned the picture with the words Joel's girls glued on in cut-out letters from your old Vogue magazines.

You loved Sarah and Ellie as your own; it would've killed you should Joel think otherwise. They were as much your baby girls as they were his, despite having not been babies for the better part of five years.

But you saw the depravity in Joel's eyes each time he edged further inside of you. The need, the want, for a creation of your own. And there was something almost feral inside of you, too. A part of you that only Joel had managed to tease out and bring into the ugly light of day. You wanted to watch yourself swell and grow with the proof of his love. You craved the shrill of a new beginning illuminated under fluorescent lights that you would gratefully embrace if it meant you could fall in love at first sight with a life you had created with Joel.

Even though Joel could hardly bend down to tie his shoes without hissing through his teeth these days, you knew none of that would matter if it was a product of your adoration for one another he was one day scooping up in his arms.

Although the two of you had been trying your hand at a sober October, you haphazardly fished around the kitchen drawer for a corkscrew, plunging it into a cheap bottle of red.

As you took your first sip, the sound of a key turning in the door made your stomach flip.

"Sweetheart?"

"In here." You called, tapping your nails on the body of the glass.

He filled the doorframe effortlessly. After all this time, he still managed to give you butterflies, leaving you squirming against the counter like you hadn't been victim of those brown eyes for almost a decade.

"Take it we're not celebrating?" He said, nodding toward the glass in your hand.

"Define celebrating. At least I won't need a fucking IUD anymore." You tipped your glass in the air and took a gulp. "An inhospitable environment."

"What's that?" His eyebrows furrowed together as he made his way closer to you.

"That's what the leaflet the doctor gave me says. I've got all the right pieces, my body just won't fucking do the one thing it's meant to do."

"Don't say that, sweetheart. You know it ain't like that..."

"Well, what is it like, Joel? What's left of me to love? How can you look at me and be satisfied that I'm the one you love? Everything about me is so fucking difficult. I want to be perfect for you. I want to give you everything you deserve, and it kills me that I can't. Because you've given me more than I deserve."

And then all at once, the tears came. He caught you in his arms before you buckled under the weight of your pain, holding you upright as you soaked his work t-shirt with your sobs. He smelt of asphalt and fresh October air.

"That what you really think?" He asked, murmuring into your hair while his fingers traced circles on your back. "Think you're difficult to love? Loving you has been the easiest damn decision I ever made."

"Then why weren't you there today? I needed you."

Smoothing down your hair, he pulled himself back so that you were facing one another. His eyes were red and glassy.

"I'm a coward, sweetheart." You scrunched your face in response, watching as a sad smile spread across his face. "I ain't as strong as you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?" You couldn't help the bite in your tone.

"Was scared to hear the truth. Would've felt so final comin' from the doctor."

Blood rushed to your head.

"So what, because my womb's the issue you let me go alone? Is this my penance or something?" You scoffed, pushing him away from you.

Joel called your name as you stormed up the stairs, wiping away your tears with your sleeve.

"You have children, Joel. There will be biological remnants of you living on in this world after you're worm food. I love those girls, and in every possible way, they are mine as much as they are yours. But I'm never going to have what you do; the privilege of looking into someone's eyes and seeing everyone who came before me. So don't give me that self-pitying bullshit disguised as admiration for my bravery." You sniffed, wanting to sound stronger but crumbling with each word.

Turning to lock yourself in the bathroom, his large hand wrapped around your arm. An old man may he be, Joel always managed to chase you down in moments you wanted to be as far away from him as possible.

Any attempt to shrug him off was pointless, and the warmth of his skin that you had craved all day radiating through your sleeve could've melted you there and then. You knew you were both scared and showing it in stupid, different ways, but you were adamant on holding your own for just a while longer.

"We're gonna get through this, baby. I ain't got the answers right now, and you know I sure as hell don't know what to say at the best of times. All I know is that I love you, and I'm so sorry for letting my fear get the better of me."

Your head found refuge in the crook of his shoulder once more, and you let the warmth of his body engulf you.

Truly, there was nothing he could say. You weren't even sure what you needed him to say.

That night, you could feel the fear dancing with grief between your bodies as you held one another in the dark. Joel may have been a father before, but neither of you had experienced this. And you knew it would be okay.

As long as you could feel his arm draped across your chest in the darkness of the night, you knew it would be okay.

#my fic #the last of us #joel miller x f!reader #joel tlou #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal characters #the last of us fanfiction #dee writes #tlou hbo #tlou #the last of us hbo #breakfastatjoels

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annoyingbelieverballoon · 9 months

Text

Wally Darling (Romantic) head-cannons

~dating stage~ word count: 590~

he’s a bit confused on what dating is at first but with a couple books and a dozen sessions with all the other neighbors Wally finally gets it.

You’re the one who definitely suggested it as he probably didn’t know what it was.

He’s excited to try something new with his favorite neighbor.

Prepare to be sat down and bombarded with pet names and being asked to rate them from 1 to 10.

Eventually what got a reaction out of you, aka darling, honey and another nickname you quite liked were what Wally started calling you frequently.

“Darling do you think this painting looks nice?”

you almost died the first time he referred to you with that nickname.

It was a relationship of you mostly teaching Wally various things.

If he doesn’t know how to hug yet, you teach him how to hug. Which evolves to cuddling.

If he blows kisses at you, you teach him to kiss. Which takes probably the longest for him to master.

Will tug you down by your sleeve and ask politely to kiss your cheeks.

Will grow your favorite flowers for you and if you don’t like flowers then will grow your favorite fruits or vegetables.

He learnt that from a romance novel Julie had.

Really enjoys picnic dates, drawing dates, dinner dates. Doesn't matter what as long as he spends time with you.

Will draw you often, as long as you allow it of course.

It’s a very slow learning process for the both of you.

Will lay on your lap once he’s comfortable enough.

He even gives you his apples once he’s done admiring them.

Draw him anything and he will be ecstatic. He would go around the neighborhood showing off your amazing art skills. Doesn’t matter if it’s a stick man with a hat or the Mona Lisa. He loves it.

If you’d let him he would scribble on your hands and legs, mostly hearts and words of affection although in horrible handwriting. Sometimes he draws little butterflies and worms.

If you had red hair or anything red on your head, he’d start calling you his apple.

“Hello apple, would you like to go on a date today? It will be so much fun."

Tried to sing for you once, didn’t end well but it was a fun experience nonetheless.

Dancing is awkward but you manage by twirling him around lots and hugs.

Has attempted to kiss you with his eyes once. It was awkward and somewhat difficult so he stuck to the regular kisses.

Likes matching outfits and has dedicated days to making you a matching outfit with his.

Home either likes you or he loathes you. No in betweens.

if home liked you Wally would invite you to paint home's walls or to renovate something of home's every once a while.

Wally isn't usually the jealous type but he is capable of jealousy (will explore this in more headcannons)

eventually if you weren't living in Home already he'd ask you to move in surprisingly. He just wants to be closer to you and of course he'd ask Home if that's okay with them. (Home will always agree just to make Wally happy but be prepared to live in a sassy house if Home didn't like you)

Wally can't blush but whenever he's flustered or feeling 'warm' as he'd call it, he would simply hold his face and say the word blushing over and over. (Saw this in a fanfic and I think it's absolutely adorable)

(so sorry the second part of turnabout wasn’t posted yesterday. Here’s some head-cannons as an apology. It will be posted today I promise)

#wally darling #wally darling x reader #wally darling x you #wally darling x y/n #drabble #headcannons

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earthtoharlow · 1 year

Text

SERIES MASTERLIST

JACKHARLOW

liked by cozane, tmz, urbanwyatt, neelamthadhani, yungskylark and 841,425 others

jackharlow: Two weeks ago today, paternity test results revealed that I fathered a child with Stacey James. I take full responsibility for my actions and now that paternity has been established I look forward in raising our daughter amicably.

I want to sincerely apologize to all my friends and family that I’ve hurt and disappointed these past few months both publicly and privately. Most importantly, I want to apologize to YOURINSTA. You didn’t deserve the heartbreak and humiliation this has caused you. I will do everything in my power to get back in your good graces even if it’s only a friendship. I will forever love you.

View all 10,578 comments

user: YIKES!!!

user: you’re a fucking idiot

user: I don’t like y/n but she’s an idiot if she takes him back after this

neelamthadhani: proud of you for being so mature about this 🫶

user: mature how????

user: he’s mature because he finally stopped lying about that baby being his? Okay sis

user: is his whole team stupid?

urbanwyatt: you must have worms for brains, why didn’t you turn the comments off

saweetie: honestly I think you should go to hell

user: hope he starts dating Stacey tbh 🫣

thatgirlstacey: excited to co parent with you

YOURINSTA

liked by saweetie, lilnasx, normani, SZA, druski, urbanwyatt and 789,046 others

yourinsta: Smoking on my ex pack

view all 7457 comments

Saweetie : I KNOW THATS RIIIIGHT!

user: glad you aren’t letting the news bring you down

normani: GNO soon!

user: your post been kinda bitter lately

user: well her boyfriend of two years cheated and had a baby on her

user: we honestly should be glad she hasn’t killed Jack yet

SZA: KILL BILL

yourinsta: not the best ideaaaaa 🔪

urbanwyatt: check your dms please

saweetie: leave her the hell alone, and tell that mop headed friend of yours as well

THATGIRLSTACEY

liked by jackharlow, 1dessdior, theshaderoom, nemoachida and 678,456 others

thatgirlstacey: mom & dad 👨‍👩‍👧

view all 8,456 comments

user: he ain’t really want that baby fr

user: low down and nasty

user: I promise no one cares

user: Jack is really a dilf

urbanwyatt: 🤦🏼‍♂️

user: anyone else think she’s doing this for attention? Or to make y/n jealous?

SZA: LOL

saweetie: can’t stand a weird lame bitch

THESHADEROOM

Liked by 756,056 users

theshaderoom: Well, looks like Stacey and the judge are gonna make Jack Harlow’s pockets hurt! Jack Harlow will pay Stacey James nearly 10,000 per month in child support for their 3 month old daughter, Willow. The judge stating that Stacey doesn’t make enough to support Willow by herself.

view all 6789 comments

user: these men will never learn

user: DAMN

user: I mean it could’ve been worse 😵‍💫

user: is no one gonna point out the fact that the judge called her a broke bitch

YOURINSTA

liked by saweetie, SZA, dojacat,djdrama, thehomies and 967,367 others

yourinsta: Her baby daddy got some money, but I think I'm richer

view all 8,478 comments

user: HAHAHAHAHA

user: whole lotta money 💰

user: I love a petty queen

SZA: rich flex

user: Jack’s grandpa would have a heart attack seeing that

user: girl give that money back to whoever it belongs too 🙄

saweetie: humble brag 🤑

user: be my sugar momma

notjackharlow: seriously?

urbanwyatt: just shut the fuck up Jack

saweetie: y/n do you need me to kick his ass?

yourinsta: go be a father

NEXT PART

#jack harlow #jack harlow x y/n #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow reader #social media au #jack harlow instagram au #jack harlow social media au

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pianokantzart · 2 months

Note

Reading your most recent post on Movie!Bowser… it does make me quite curious as to how they’ll handle Bowser and Mario’s fighting dynamic in the hypothetical second Mario movie. In terms of physical strength, I mean. Game!Mario is quite capable of taking down Bowser in his original form(as in, can physically take Bowser down without power-ups) but Mario more or less needed the aid of the star power-up to do so. The movie versions of M&L are definitely closer to normal humans in terms of fighting prowess, so it makes me wonder if they’ll try having Mario, and Luigi by proxy, fight in hand-to-hand combat with no power-ups with Bowser at some point?

Maybe that could be a plot point in the second movie? Bowser worms his way out and starts whichever villainous plot his evil little heart desires, and Mario and Luigi start off a journey of sorts to find another star power-up, believing it crucial in obtaining victory? But, unable to find it, they’re more or less thrown into the fray with their wits and only limited power-ups in tow? And thus sustain a significant amount more of injuries without their invincibility from the star? (And perhaps the fabled green mushroom makes its debut that way…) The movies could have an interesting juxtaposition with the first movie bros being inexperienced + power-upped vs. second movie bros being more experienced + ….not-so-power-upped lol. They sort’ve have to earn their hero titles more(though moreso in the eyes of themselves only. Mostly everyone around them is already like ‘Duh. Your heroes with or without them.’ But, alas, character arcs! Potentially!) Sorry, I’m kinda word vomiting, but day by day I grow ever more curious how the second movie could play out….

One thing I like about The Super Mario Bros. Movie is that it's pretty much just an origin story. There is so much room to expand between where the movie left off and the full Mario lore as we know it today, and I for one am interested in the process of Mario and Luigi going from "Haha! We're heroes!" to "Oh f*ck, we're heroes," to "Okay... we're heroes... we can do this."

Like, how would they react to the idea of facing off against Bowser again without a power star to help them? How will their dynamic shake out when they're bouncing from one life-or-death situation to another? How will they balance their protectiveness toward each other with their moral obligations? Where will the new stakes take them? What new powerup/ally/enemy will they encounter? But back to what you're saying. If Mario and Luigi don't use powerups– even small ones– in the fight against Bowser, I predict a combination of the following tactics will be employed:

Reliance on dexterity. Bowser has them beat in terms of speed, strength, and resilience, but being a giant turtle monster he isn't nearly as agile as Mario and Luigi.

Using Bowser's emotions against him. It's his most glaring weakness, so while prodding at his ego is risky it could also make his movements more predictable.

Using their surroundings to their advantage instead of relying strictly on their own physical ability, which is a pretty common thing to do in Mario games (and video games in general.)

Leaning heavily on teamwork, not just with each other but with Peach, Toad, and probably Yoshi given the post-credits teaser.

And maybe a certain green and white mushroom will need to come into play at some point? We'll see. My biggest fear is that the writers will nerf Bowser a little so that he's easier to take on without the aid of the super star, but I really hope that doesn't happen. Speedy, strong, ruthless, unwavering, tactical, durable Bowser with a fire breath powerful enough to destroy civilizations is my favorite Bowser.

#askbox #anon #Mario Movie #super mario bros #super mario brothers #bowser #Mario Headcanons

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gumnut-logic · 1 month

Text

Cethair (intro)

Óen | Cethair

Okay, so about a third of you who voted requested some more Thunderdragons. I don't have much, and I need to write more, but here is the intro to the fic about Gordon's dragon.

This is a standalone fic that happens a few years before Óen. There are no HTTYD characters in this one. I needed to write it to sort out their history so I could write Óen. This AU/Crossover is hard work :D

Many thanks to @onereyofstarlight and @idontknowreallywhy for all their support on this project. And many thanks to those of you who answered my poll today. It gives me an idea of what you guys would prefer. As always, I can't guarantee anything (stupid brain won't even do what I prefer), but you never know.

Oh, and this is apparently my 12,008th post on this blog. Go me :D

I hope you enjoy this bit.

-o-o-o-

Virgil O’Treasaigh hurried between the tents careful not to trip on the pitch lines, but moving as fast as possible nonetheless.

The Flaithri’s tent was not far, the stamp of the Thunderbird was lit up by the torches clearly in the night, but it felt like leagues into the distance.

Perhaps because the title of Flaithri had shifted so recently and so painfully. Because behind that stamp he would no longer find his father, but instead his eldest brother.

And he feared his mood.

His flight leathers rubbed in places sore from travel and he let out a breath.

Casey had placed guards at the tent, the soldiers eyes sharp as he passed between them without question, striding through the tightly woven flax as it was whipped up by the wind off the black ocean to the west.

“Flaithri, I must speak with you.”

His brother was pacing, of a sort, the injury to his leg forcing a limp that had Virgil biting back protest. Considering the slice to his thigh, it was a sign of his agitation that he could pace at all.

Kyrano stood to one side, his eagle eyes watching everything. His daughter, Tan, may as well have been a statue in his honour, her stance so mirrored her father’s.

“Scott!”

His brother stopped. His stance lopsided as he turned to face Virgil. “News?”

Virgil swallowed. “Mathair Chriona fears he will not see the light of morning.”

He watched his brother absorb the information. Ever the king he was born to be, there were no tears, only hurt in the depths of his eyes. “Nothing can be done?”

“We have tried everything. He has lost too much and his heart is beginning to falter.” Virgil’s voice cracked on the last word and his head dipped, his own calm strained beyond exhaustion and grief.

A hand landed on his shoulder, fingers tightening almost enough to cause pain. “John has spoken to Cóic.”

Virgil’s head shot up. “No!”

“Virgil, I will lose no more family today.”

And the blue of his brother’s eyes was terrible. Because today they had seen their father taken from them, the fire of Gaat’s beast scorching him from the earth.

The attack had been sudden and unexpected. Cóic had been unable to give warning, still too young to have the reach of an adult matriarch.

They had thought they were safe, hidden in the mountains in the land of the Picts, far from their homeland and the decimation the Scourge had wrought. They thought that Gaat could not find them.

His attack had targeted John and Cóic as it always did. Cóic was what he wanted, of course. The power of the Matriarch and the offence of John receiving the gift and not him had maddened the man.

But John had family and their father had intervened to protect and given his life. It was Gordon, seamaster at arms, who had leapt up onto the worm, stabbed the man, and ended the fight.

But despite his victory, Gaat’s beast had shaken him off and Gordon had fallen. If that was not enough, the cursed worm had then raked Virgil’s little brother with fire.

Gaat had been desperate and had withdrawn to lick his wounds.

But Gordon, dear Gordon…

A single tear tracked down Virgil’s cheek.

“Cóic will save him.”

“She can’t. We don’t know what creatures might be willing. What is the price?!”

But there was blue fire in those eyes. “His life.”

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #thunderdragons #nuttyfic

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diodellet · 1 year

Text

the kindest place to place a kiss (jamil viper x gn!reader)

@mochimiyaas tagged me in this post and now i am double-buried under these Gushy Gooey Feelings and thought of uno reversing jamil (ignore that last tag...life came up and hit me in the face with a metal bat that's my only reason for posting this late *punts my impostor syndrome across the ocean*) content warnings: light descriptions of kitchen injuries ++lots of loving and physical affection, established relationship shenaniganery. mildly unbeta'd all mistakes are mine. word count: 1.06k words

Jamil Viper was indifferent to pain. Getting splattered by cooking oil, handling hot pans and plates, getting nicked by knives, these were only the usual occurrences that came with working in the kitchen. A fraction of what constituted his daily life.

It could be said he was indifferent to anything and everything less than pain. The life he led had no room for such.

Not to say that he held pride for his position in life, but he was (unwillingly) secure in the knowledge of what he had.

That was what he thought, before you tumbled into his life.

It started slowly, with little gestures of concern: helping out here and there with chores, stealing Kalim away when Jamil’s patience was about to boil over, offering a pack of medicated pain-relief patches. Little things that he wasn’t expecting to receive.

(Maybe it was the way that you were attuned to him—the things he would brush over in favor of his other obligations—that these feelings started developing.)

One good turn deserves another, doesn’t it?

He made sure to return these gestures, under the guise of offering a helping hand. (Jamil doesn’t mention aloud how it almost felt natural to work side-by-side with you.)

People just sort of…assumed you were already together. So it wasn’t really a surprise when the both of you decided to make the relationship official.

Which was good, the both of you were already left to your own discretion. Save for the initial embarrassment that came with breaking the news, it was good.

Nothing much changed, outwardly. You saw each other whenever your schedules allowed for it (usually at Scarabia).

The most important thing was being able to spend time together. To share in these brief idle moments where the both of you weren’t busy with your responsibilities for the day.

That doesn’t mean he was free of those—little insecurities—worming their way into his thoughts.

He asks you, “doesn’t it get boring, being with me?” Waiting for Jamil to finish cleaning up, to finish making his final checks around the dorm.

“No, not at all.” You shake your head, before adding, “I’d be fine as long as I get to see you.”

Jamil ignores how that simple admission makes his heart skip a beat. Playing off his fluster with a roll of his eyes. “So you’d be fine with exchanging greetings and moving on for the rest of your day? That’s nice to know.”

Your expression doesn’t change. Though you take a few seconds to formulate a response. “I suppose I’d be fine, I mean—I don’t want to get in the way of your work,” you say.

“Though I would… miss you terribly,” you add as an afterthought. And you have the audacity to sound bashful.

The only reaction you would notice is the brief moment his eyes widen in surprise and the reflexive twitch of his hand itching to tug on the drawstrings of his hoodie.

Okay, maybe that was his cue to stop fussing over work for today.

Quality time together was different in the privacy of Jamil’s room. At least, in here, he felt free enough to be less guarded. To hold you close and to return your affections in full.

(For just a moment, he was free to shed his facade as a retainer.)

One thing to know about Jamil Viper: he is touch-starved.

Grown up too fast, taught to care for another over himself, resigned to his fate—no matter how much he rationalized it, these long-ingrained thoughts would reach a point where it became overwhelming.

So when you welcome him into your arms, whenever you sit close together, or when he lets you undo his braids, it all melts away with your touch.

When you ask him for help with a difficult problem in your coursework, he is absolutely draping himself over you and leaning against your shoulder.

When there’s soft music playing in the background, he is absolutely resting his hands on your waist as you sway in time with the beat.

And when you’re staying over for the night (an increasing occurrence), he’s absolutely trapping hugging you in his arms.

(Or just hug him instead. He won’t admit it aloud, but he likes the feeling of security that being the little spoon brings.)

It’s almost… strange how calm his thoughts run when you’re cuddled against him, resting your head against the top of his chest.

Tentatively, Jamil reaches a hand out. The tips of his fingers grazing against the curve of your cheek. At the contact, you meet his eyes. Wide, anticipating, trusting.

He lightly pinches the skin in between his fingers. It's irritatingly endearing how you watch him with that look.

The gesture elicits a short laugh from you and you lean into his palm. The action reminds him of an affectionate cat.

But it’s this—the gentle press of your lips against his skin, a gesture so light and faint—that it sets his nerves alight, that it makes his heart somersault.

“What are you doing?” Code for: why are you suddenly being this bold?

“Nothing, I just…love your hands,” you reply without missing a beat.

Your next kiss is pressed against the back of Jamil’s fingers, atop another faint scar. “They’re pretty. Like you,” you say, while cradling his hand in your palms.

“Flatterer.” But he makes no move to pull away from you.

Instead of growing shy, you press another kiss to his inner wrist. “It’s true though. Every part of you is pretty.”

Jamil doesn’t know what to say in response. He’s watching you, trying not to shiver as you tuck a lock of his hair behind his ear.

A gentle kiss to his neck, the side of his jaw, atop his nose, against his cheek, the corner of his mouth—

Is this what you’re holding yourself back from, whenever you saw each other during the day?

You never ran out of heartfelt praises, but hearing them—whispered softly into his skin, accompanied with your earnest gaze—was a different matter altogether.

(It’s nice to have someone put away his doubts.)

But don’t think that Jamil would take all of this lying down.

The moment you meet his lips, he’s cupping the back of your head, savoring the surprised noise you make and drawing out the kiss for longer.

After all, it’s only fair that he gets to be affectionate with you too, right?

A/N: lowkey got a bit paranoid to throw this ramble in a reblog so i decided to improv a bit and make this its own post HUHUHUHU NE WAY the key takeaway here is that jamil viper should be the little spoon more!! he deserves to be held!!!!! aaagh!!!! i have one more draft to chip away at.... let's hope i get to post it during this month....(or next month knowing how my uni sched is getting a bit more busy) 🥴🥴title is from this song, hahaha help i have too many feelings. tagging my fellow jamil simp hi lods hihi😇😇: @merotwst

#dellet-writings #twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #g/n reader

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soraviie · 1 year

Text

you compare yourself to him 2.txt

━ type: bts x f! reader ━ navigation ━ part I here

━ about: angst atop of angst and some fluff

━ a/n: Bacchus here is a reference to a Korean energy drink in Yoongi's part. Jimin's part is my own favourite one :)

━ previously posted on soraviii

NAMJOON: The world is...beige. Since when? Blinking away the heavy grogginess, you reach to touch the material on your face before removing it. Looking around one might think you'd slept through the whole warfare as every surface is covered in clothes. Amidst the maelstrom like a blur in the wind is Namjoon, tossing everything he could find all around. You reach to hook a finger around a silver chain necklace inexplicably dangling on a bedside lamp. You remember this one. You'd gifted him this in Tartu on a whim of being overwhelmingly lovesick for his dimples.

"Are you fleeing the country?" you rasp, voice falling gruff from the disuse. It had been...hard to talk after the gallery. Or look at yourself in the mirror. Or leave the bed.

At the sound of your voice, Namjoon whips around, accidentally pulling along with him a lightbox. Dimly you watch it clatter on the ground.

"Baby! Hello! Did you sleep well?" he asks with an eagerness of a zealous labrador and you frown.

"Well enough. Have you gone mad? Perhaps?"

He laughs as though this simple remark was the finest joke in the land.

"No, I'm very focused and logical," he chirps and your frown deepens. No way his brain was not harmed somehow. This was...suspicious to say the least.

"Listen, I'm going to be on the TV today -"

"You always are," dryly you point out but then he crawls on the bed and practically sticks his face into yours, so close you go cross-eyed.

"Make sure you watch it, okay? It'll be a live. Starts at 3."

"Okay," flustered you comply and as his breath fans your face the suspicion surges. "How many energy drinks have you had?"

"Nine!"

Your eyes pop open but you can't do much about it as he glimpsed down, finds the necklace glimmering between your fingers and lets out a jubilant cry.

"I've been looking for this thing! Thank you!" he begins leaving rushed kisses all over your face, graciously ignoring any protests. "Thank you, baby! My moon and stars!"

Was he drunk as well?

Pulling back just as haphazardly he glanced at the clock, breathing a horrified gasp.

"Oh, shit, I'm late! But the mess..." he tosses a guilty glimpse at the destroyed closet before you push him.

"I'll..I'll clean it, just go."

You had little to do anyway, not like you could go to a gallery to have worldly people fun. At that, a natural scoff worms upon your face.

"Thank you! I love you! I love you so much!" he yelps and presses himself fervently against you, capturing your lips in a sloppy, frantic kiss. The taste of energy drinks spills onto your mouth. The next you know, your boyfriend becomes Sonic and is out of the door leaving nothing but destruction in his wake.

Typical.

You're still folding some pants when reluctantly the weight of the promise burdens you too much and end up switching the TV, knowing in your heart that seeing him in his role as an idol, you'll only feel more distant. What sort of girlfriend tunes into the TV to see their boyfriend not just call them? What sort of girlfriend were you at all? You frown at the leg of the pants, bunching it in your palms before releasing it. A lame one. You were a lame girlfriend.

It couldn't be said that this interview was anything else that you hadn't seen and heard hundred times before but one thing does stick out like red in a sea of mourners. Namjoon looks like a goddamn patchwork game. You can squint and frown, an action which is done by many, including the interviewer, his band, and the camera operator probably as well. The look presented makes it seem he was blind, drunk, and high when choosing his clothes and also made that choice in a closet belonging to a crazy person. Green baggy pants, a red turtleneck, a white, little scarf, a beret and the necklace proudly laid to glisten in the middle of his chest which that turtleneck is giving it all to protect.

Was this his way of saying he needed a break?

"Uh, Namjoon, to address the uh...elephant in the room," the interviewer begins, pulling the collar of the shirt aside, under pressure to both ask and be very polite about it. "Are you experimenting with new fashion these days?"

"No," he beams back, suspiciously innocent and wide-eyed. "These are my favourite clothes! They give me comfort and remind me of being loved whenever I go."

You think back and start piecing together, a patchwork of your own if you will, that these were all things you got him. Some you had forgotten - the joke beret, the necklace but the red turtleneck was an impromptu Christmas present while the green pants he wanted but didn't have the time to go out and buy himself.

"I see," the interviewer drawls. "To segway off what you said, as k-pop idols, love is certainly a big part of your songs, may I ask how you view love on your own? Is it something you share with your image or is it completely different?"

"Well, I-" Taehyung begins but is immediately interrupted by Namjoon whose eagerness makes him look like a complete maniac. Poor Taehyung can only blink owlishly and then let the matter be.

"Thank you so much for asking! I've thought a lot about love, I always made it complicated in my head, but now I know better. Love is being understood," his eyes snap straight into the camera and you flinch as you hold eye contact. "It's to be comfortable and feeling heard. Most of the time you know people say you have to be of similar interests, that then you'll be able to bond better but that is simply not true. People are not bonded together by their diplomas, how many stamps they have on their passport or how many painting meanings they can discern."

Your cheeks flush.

"They are bonded because they share one another and that's what's important not the trivial nonsense others may push upon them. The world is made of perspectives and whenever our loved ones express their thoughts it becomes a better, more interesting place. And I think we ourselves as well. What matters is not how many, let's say, artwork meanings they get but how much of us they get."

"And do you feel..."get"?" the interviewer asks awkwardly and Namjoon splits into a broad smile.

"Very much so. I need nothing of no one else."

YOONGI: He stands there menacingly. A (not so) tall shadow cast over your bed at the very break of the dawn.

"You slept well?" he asks. Menacingly. Cause that's what he was. Menacing. Even the package in his hands is...menacing. You scurry to press yourself against the headboard. There's a determined gleam in his eye, one that says he was up to something and will see the fruits of his labour even if it kills him.

"Umm it was okay. Why are you cosplaying as the boy from the Grudge?"

He whines and the sinister aura disappears. You had hoped to avoid him for some days. Despite your best intentions, the words that you were only charity to Yoongi repeated their heinous loop over and over in your head.

"It was meant to be cute," he pouts. "Like watching over you in a guardian sort of way."

"Ended up with Brahms," you mutter and then erupt in a fit of coughs, dryness in the throat making it hard to speak.

Yoongi's face sours in an instant.

"Did you fall mute again?"

You shrug. It's easy not to talk when you don't exist. He sighs but doesn't prod, knowing full well he can't force things to be alright.

"Would you be up for dinner? A fancy one?"

You incline your head to the package and he hands it over. Inside sits dinner wear made of the finest quality.

"Why?" you rasp. "You don't usually like dressing up."

He shrugs and something about it has your eyes narrowing.

"Just wanted to do something different," he replies a bit too offhand. "Are you up to it?"

"I-" another cough interrupts the sentence and Yoongi rushes to get a glass of water. "Thank you. Okay. We can go to dinner."

Another dinner, yey, you think to yourself dryly but he seems for some reason excited and it would be no good to be a curmudgeon to him as well.

"Thank you, Bacchus," he bids softly and leans to kiss the top of your head.

You snort at the nickname.

But the dinner extravaganza didn't simply end there. With every passing second, the mystery tightened like an Agatha Christie novel. Yoongi insisted on you taking the car he ordered, tinted windows to add, to an undisclosed restaurant and with the driver oathed to not speak a word of it. Your phone he asked to shut off as well. Not put it on mute but turn it off entirely. You partially wondered if he hit a psychotic break of sorts and/or has unfortunately turned into a murderer. Mulling over the heartbreak that would be if your honey boy would turn into a killer, you were stunned to see a familiar face when climbing out of the car. Your mother.

"Mom? What are you doing here?"

She was dressed to the nines as well and seemed rather shocked to see you climbing out of the car. Around her neck sat a pearl necklace one you don't recall her having and she was nervously twiddling with it in front of the restaurant's host. A restaurant that you very purposefully avoided as one of its managers was none other than that annoying, grating, stick-so-far-up-her-ass-its-practically-impaling-her cousin of yours.

"I don't know," she replied, glancing around. "Your boyfriend asked me to be here."

Before you could answer anything, the host urged you to enter into a private area as was the case when you dined with someone who needed absolute security at all times. The group wasn't all that large, consisting of yourself, your mother, your aunt, the aunt who wasn't as cool as the first one her weird husband and their dog even, who was sporting a fancy bowtie for the occasion. By the table sat Yoongi and though many would say he appeared stoic you knew exactly what that sly, scheming son of a biscuit had done this evening. He raised to stand, politely bid welcome to all your relations who as always didn't know how to act so they settled on an ungainly silence, and then gave you flowers before kissing your cheek. By the bar, her eyes glinting like two wildfires, sat your cousin gurgling her own poison most likely.

"I'm so going to choke you for this," you discreetly whisper into his ear but he only smiles.

With alcohol loosening much of the knotted tongues, the dinner progressed smoothly. Yoongi occasionally coquettishly leaned in, so unlike him, and brushed his nose against your cheek. All, of course, a part of an elaborate apology.

"But you were afraid of my mother," you argue, walking hand in hand back home. Where your cousin went you did not know but it was unlikely she would be present at the next meeting.

"Still am," he chuckles but even then there is an undercurrent of fright running deep. "But after you hung up I called her and she relayed that you looked like a ghost for the rest of the evening. And I know I said this a thousand times but I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm not always there for you, I'm sorry for being absent, I'm sorry if anyone ever made you feel like you're invisible," he sighed, stretching he tie looser from his neck and you adjusted his hair, mussed by a strong gust of wind.

"Still you don't need to do all that," softly you say. "It's enough for you to just show up sometimes and be awkward in the corner."

"I know," he kisses the top of your head pushing the doors open. "Just wanted to show that you're the only one I see."

JIN: In a fashion that probably millions of other people did before him he pretended everything was fine. That it was all fine. What was it? Fine. Normal. Nothing was happening. Everything's usual. The same old. And then he cried in the bathroom stall for ten minutes, before forcing it to all stop and pretending that it was all fine.

But as your things became scarcer and two lives that he meant to unite forever were separated, clinically and detached like a scalpel of a surgeon, the less he could pretend it was fine.

It wasn't fine. It was over.

Jin was never one for relationship theatrics to say that his life was over as well but now he realized that it was - the life he wanted at least and possibly could have had in the future - was dust.

But there is some truth to the idea that sometimes loving someone was leaving them, letting them go in a wind, like a migrating bird, away from the winter of discontent and into the summer of ease.

And you assure him it's nothing he had done. Perhaps that's the most infuriating part, it's nothing he'd done so he can't correct, he can't change the world for you even if he wants to oh so bad. But harder still is to watch, watch you be a hollow shell, driven to a point of insecurity so high you ill. No jokes of his, no smiles, no well-meaning words of his can change the sentiment.

"I can't do this anymore. I can't handle the world you live in."

Even if he wouldn't be an idol, it's a world Jin has always lived in. He knows how to not buckle underneath the waves of judgment cause he had swum in them since but a bare-bottomed infant.

"You can always crash here or call me if you need help," he offers, trying to sound as light as possible while helping you pack the last boxes. Such a strange thing to help the love of your life leave you but despite all Jin has always wanted to take care. So he takes care one last time.

"That's not how it works," you laugh. It's dry and humourless and he wonders how long will it take for you to move on. The love is not lost it just couldn't conquer all as lovely as that would be.

"Yeah, I guess so," he scuffs his slipper against the floor. The home is empty now. It feels physically wrong and Jin hopes to himself this would all be a bad dream. That this is the same night he got you from the police station and this was a concoction of the mind, wormed and plagued by guilt.

"Eat well, okay," he reminds. There's so much he wants to say but he lets himself choke on those words. Why? He doesn't quite know but the last thing he wants to do is make you feel any worse. That's not what a good partner does. Even if he's soon to not be one.

"I will," you promise. "Remember to stretch once in a while, you play too many video games, they can make your muscles tense."

He doesn't trust his voice so Jin nods. And just like that, it's over. A thirty-second walk to the elevator is all he gets instead of a whole life he'd been so certain of. But even now he thinks that better you be happy than miserable by his side. The elevator dings and he's buying seconds, he would put his entire fortune for just a minute.

"Where will you be travelling exactly?" he asks.

"I don't know. Somewhere warm, somewhere cold. Find myself again," you reply, pretending it's all fine as well. If you acknowledge the reality for just a second, you'll break and so you delude yourself. For just a bit.

Jin nearly says to send him a lot of videos but then bites on his tongue. The elevator opens and you climb in, a suitcase behind you, a carton box in the crook of your arm. Jin smiles.

"You know, life is strange. Should we suddenly cross paths five years later who knows how it'll turn out, right?"

It's, of course, a hopeful delusion, a length of rope many have tied around their necks with a smile on their face but he can't stop. He doesn't want to stop. If the movie has a hopeful ending, it's a love story, if not - it's a tragedy and Jin was never one for tragedies.

Be that as it may, you open your mouth to say something, anything, but the elevator closes and the rest is silence.

HOSEOK: He glowers. Hoseok is not known for glowering but he does so to his earnest. The foot tapping the floor nearly makes a dent in the material as he waits. Waits for you like a disappointed parent or a hunter lying in an ambush. Hoseok himself doesn't particularly care what he is as long as he gets what he wants which is you at home.

She's not cheating, she would never cheat, he tells himself but isn't that what all poor bastards of the world thought. The hallway is dark and you stumble freely, assuming he's not here and then nearly crack your skull open when seeing him stand stoic like a statue in the dark.

"Fucking hell!" you yell and he jumps, somehow startling himself by the loudness of your voice.

"Welcome back," he greets you cooly, turning on the lights. "Hoped I was out?"

You stand squirming in guilt and avoiding his gaze exactly like a cheater would but there's no cologne on your blouse or a hickey on the neck. The only thing you carried was a plastic bag with snacks. Cheap, cheap snacks.

He takes it away from your hands and peers inside. Ramen, cotton buds, chocolate chips, and seaweed for some reason.

"I don't understand," he breathes out. "You're...all this time...every time you're not home you're doing grocery shopping?"

You don't answer anything and his brows furrow in confusion.

"_____________, I don't understand. Please, tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing wrong per se," you brush off. "It's just I..."

"I?" he urges.

"It's where I feel like I belong."

For a while, he leans into the wall and then it clicks together.

The store was perhaps the most normal thing possible with people going about their day, hardly any limelight. Hardly any luxury.

"You're with me, I love you," he sighs. "My world is your world."

"Yeah," you brush off, clearly lying. "I know."

And perhaps it's the stress or perhaps the fierceness with which he's ready to tie himself to you, a move he never thought he could wholeheartedly make, he has none of it. Which brings him back to a party, one in his name once more just a tad more covert.

"I don't know about this," you stammer, trying to pull your hand away from his.

"Just trust me. Don't you trust me?"

"Not with that tone," you whine crossing the street. "Listen, I'm happy your album is a success, couldn't be prouder -"

Hoseok's ears flush to this day when hearing any praise from your mouth.

"Thank you."

"- but you can, you know, have fun and I'll chill out somewhere else."

He whips around.

"Is it something someone said?" he confronts and you awkwardly glance away.

"They don't need to say it, it's apparent. I'm sticking out like a sore thumb in these places."

"I don't care for them and neither should you! If these parties are about me, then you should always be a part of them. I invite all the guys, all the time -"

"Yeah, you all work in the same field," you roll your eyes and he lightly flicks your forehead.

"Dummy, they're my family, you're my family and my family is with me in celebrations."

You gaze at your intertwined hands.

"Obviously, I can't and shouldn't force you to be here but trust me and maybe I can make you feel a little bit better."

You draw a heavy sigh, bemoaning to yourself about the sacrifices of love and with gritted teeth step into the enemy territory. It's loud and bright with many strangers surrounding you like flies around honey. You notice Jin and Jungkook tucked away neatly in the corner and they offer knowing nods of the head. You frown at them and turn to the stage where there's a podium and a magnificent chair like a throne behind it. Hoseok sits you, confused, down in it, sort of in the background but always present like an overarching symbolic presence and if people look then even faster they swerve away in guilt. Hoseok's smile is bright and polite but there is no question about it that the line "let's be friendly" means no one so much as opens their mouth to toss a curt comment or swerve their eye your way in an inappropriate manner. In between Hoseok frequently checking back and Jin pulling you into a nameless 1v1 phone game, you forget of the crowd, their judgement and your need for their opinion. Whenever you glance up, Hoseok is there giving an encouraging smile and you realize the one opinion that matters the most will never waver from always being in your favour.

JIMIN: The money spilt all across the counter as Mari yelped, startled when the door was simply kicked open.

"I-I'm sorry but we're clo-"

"What is this?" Jimin's voice comes with a sharpness you'd never ever heard before. It makes you swallow nervously, eyes lingering on the paper slip clutched in his palm.

"I...I explained what it is," you squirm anxiously and Mari's head is a blur, switching to left and fro in between you both.

"We..we have to keep closing," she whimpers, shrivelled small by the register squeaking in a barely audible tone.

Jimin's eyes snap towards her and she immediately withers underneath his rage.

"Just go home," you order her, tired, and she doesn't have to be told twice. Only a second passes before she's scurrying to the door. Momentarily, you can see that she recognizes the masked stranger but that makes her eyes only hang lower as she desperately tries to not be remembered, probably counting the sum of his displeasure in her head. When the bell rings to announce her exit, the air presses down with tension.

You twist the towel in your hands, pulling a deep breath to speak a string of words that cut your heart open.

"Jimin, I want...I want to break up."

"No."

A pause.

"No?" stunned, you echo.

"I'm not breaking up with you."

He has pulled the mask off his face and his eyes are crazy. They're rimmed red. He's been crying.

"You can't just -" you begin to object but he quickly interrupts.

"Do you still love me?"

The question takes you by surprise but he's not content with silence.

"Do you still love me?" he reiterates with more strength and you nod, voice catching in the throat.

"I do, but -"

"When we got together I said it would be hard but we promised, you promised that we would work through our problems together."

"I'm sorry," you murmur.

"Not accepted," Jimin snaps and you flinch. "What was this - "I'm sure in time you'll find yourself a more appropriate partner with whom you'll feel happier." With all due respect, ______________, you do not get to dictate what or to whom I should feel something. I'm dating you because I want you, not a model, not an idol or whoever you think is "good" for me. I want you."

"But what if I begin to resent you?" glaring at your shoes you listlessly argue but Jimin's face doesn't differ from the hard scowl with which he barged here into.

"I'm not going to part with the love of my life on a what if," he sneered throwing your breakup letter decidedly into the trash.

"But I'll just be a burden-!"

"Oh for the love of!" he throws his hands into the air. "You're not a burden for asking my help. I want to do it, you understand? Me! I want to help you, I want to provide for you, that's what I want not what you force me to do," completely worked himself into a heated tirade, he barely took a breath before pelting the words one after another like hail upon your shoulders.

"We're going to go home, talk about our problems and then live happily ever after, god fucking damnit!"

You stand mutely, hunched in yourself quite like a berated kid. Exhaling slowly through the nose, Jimin's rage seems to abate, if a little bit, and for a lingering pause, there's only the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock filling the air.

"I still need to close," you shuffle, sensing the familiar sting in the eyes.

"Fill out the documents," he replies stiffly but at least not sneering anymore. "I'll do the rest. You must be tired."

You comply without a question sitting down to fill out the proper numbers. Jimin's ensnared with dusting the countertops, mopping the floor, and gathering the trash. An unsightly, lowly work that a national star like him shouldn't be doing but he does. He does it all.

TAEHYUNG: He keeps thinking that it can't simply end like that - on a slammed door in the silence. But it does. It's inevitable like seeing your favourite movie with a sad ending over and over again, always hoping that the familiar reel will somehow change, that the world will be a better place than it is but the movie is set and the ending is set and everything is set in stone. Taehyung's role is set to play the irredeemable villain and be ruined by his own actions.

"This..you know...big city...but lovers find their way," he slurs in a bar with only Jimin to keep tabs on him. He's angry, untalkative and quite upset as Taehyung lost the love of his life and he lost a good friend all in one fell swoop. It's only because of Jimin's curt text of "way to miss your girlfriend's birthday, prick" that he came to his senses. He'd rushed home all at once though it did no good. The apartment was empty, the neighbours vouched for you moving out and in the trash, he found a single, crumpled note. It began and ended with only one word - V. Not Taehyung the one he's always been to you but V. There was nothing after it but he kept it still.

"Lovers...they find each other in every life right?" he asks but Jimin remains obstinately quiet yet when comes the time to weep he reaches out to pat his friend's back.

"It's just a scarf!" he yells into the stylist's face. "It's just a scarf! What's the big deal? It fits the theme, right? Just let me keep it!"

Namjoon having rushed to the room inspects this strange friend of his, backed into the corner with an expression so vicious he fails to recognize him. He doesn't know what happened but he knows the way Taehyung hugs the scarf to his chest, to protect, to cradle it like a kindling flame. He knows grief when he sees one.

"Just leave him alone," he orders the stylist and Taehyung is let on the stage with a scarf on his neck, one he doesn't stop touching throughout the entirety of the event. It was the only thing left besides the note, otherwise, you'd been very thorough, combing your life free of him in all conceivable ways. World as always goes on and Taehyung hates it for it doing so. Rather it'd stop, rather it stand completely still so he can mould himself into time itself and stop existing. He sees fractures of you in scenarios of happy strangers, of hands intertwined and smiles shared, a life lived together as he always wanted to. He intended to with such certainty it's like the very basis underneath his feet is crushed. He never assumed it'd go so wrong.

Largely he keeps this obsession to himself, of fear of being judged, of being called crazy, only Jimin knows and in his neverending love for his friend, he tolerates it. Partially in the happier moments, Taehyung tries to romanticize the situation. In any good love story, one person meets another and they are split apart by circumstance only to end up together. Forgiveness always wins and love prevails. That's what he was told since being a baby. This was...this was his term of punishment, a way to apologize for his actions but nothing of the sort is of course real. The reality which Taehyung was never too fond of was much more sterner and cutthroat. You didn't love him anymore = you left. The End.

The End.

He lives in dreams and he lives in love that now is just an echo.

But the wronger still comes the day when your scarf splits at the seams. It can't be fixed, it can't be brought back, it's just ruined and gone and it sits in Taehyung's hands - useless. Still, he shoves the threads in his pocket, fully aware that there was a line, a fine line to be drawn but he can't bring himself to draw it. If he stops hoping, just for a second, his movie will end like it was always meant to be.

JUNGKOOK: "Please come home."

"No."

The begging had been going on for almost half an hour. Both attempts were fruitless, his - to get you back, yours - to get him to leave.

"I'm sorry."

"You didn't accidentally step on my foot! You told me my entire life is useless. That I'm wrong for being not like you."

He licks his dry lips and runs a hand through the messed-up hair. Unwillingly, you notice that his knuckles were faintly bleeding. The temperature had dropped suddenly overnight. He must have forgotten to lotion them. Not that it mattered now. Though he had quite a lot to argue about that.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for what I said. I was stupid, petulant and..." he sighs, staring at the floor. "Jealous."

"Over what?" you tilt an eyebrow.

"Yoongi. You get along with Yoongi. He gets you and I was scared so I lashed out."

"It's not an excuse," listlessly, you frown at his figure lodged halfway into your friend's apartment. A safe haven, he somehow managed to find out about. One couldn't argue with how driven Jungkook was. A quality you did not appreciate much right now.

"What do you want here? That I'll spring back into your arms, magically find some sort of passion and suck you off in gratitude?!"

"No!" he objects. "No! It's not like that!"

"Then explain! Explain for us lowly, dispassionate losers what is this all about?!"

He begins to twiddle with his thumbs, tongue playing with the back of his lip ring. It wasn't often that a 1.79m, tattoed muscle mass known as Jeon Jungkook could possibly appear small but he appeared as such in this very moment.

"I just want you back. Want to eat my words," when you open your mouth to tear him a new one, he hurries faster. "But I know I can't. So I am asking, I'm begging to give me a chance. Not forgiveness, just a chance to start over. As...friends...if you'd like. I'll get to know you anew, open mind this time. Be as you are. That's all I'm asking."

"Friends?" you parrot, part scornful, part impressed. He used to drone on and on about how he always wanted to be more than friends, how that name was like a lightless void to him, an unshakeable role in the distance he was desperate to breach so to hear him offer that very role so eagerly was if anything a symbol of truly wanting to listen. If he could be trusted.

You assess him sternly, tucking away the feeling of a girlfriend far way.

"If we do it, if!" you emphasize yet his eyes gain a hopeful tint. Retribution. "I want to be able to cut ties without you throwing a fit, tracking me down and doing this because this," you wave over his crouched figure. "Is not cute. It's annoying. One strike and you're out! And we start as friends!"

He's not deterred in the slightest on the opposite his face is glowing.

"I'll get to know you as I should have," he promises. "No judgement."

You let out a prolonged, irritated sigh.

"I hate you."

"I don't," he replies, nose scrunched in happiness. "Not in the slightest."

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