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personasintro · 2 years

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love ring | pjm drabble

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; it's time to fight for love

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: boxer!jimin x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, smut, a little bit of angst, boxer au, friends with benefits au

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language, purple haired!jimin (yes this needs a warning), slight dirty talk, oral sex (f.), biting kink, breast play, praising kink, mentions of degrading kink, unprotected sex, mirror sex, public sex, multiple orgasms, jealous!jimin

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.4k+

a/n: commissioned

“Dude, just go talk to her.”

Jimin has never found his friend more annoying than in this very moment. What he thought was a subtle glaring your way turned out to be not so subtle after all, since his friend has obviously noticed it. In times like this, he regrets sharing some parts of his life with him. He obviously doesn't know everything, but he's also not stupid not to see something has happened between Jimin and you.

The distance and ignorance is big enough of a clue and actually, Jimin can't be mad at him for noticing it.

But it's the least of his worries now, especially if he sees you standing next to him. Chatting like you've got no worries, still hanging around when you know Jimin is going to be here today. It's a little selfish and he realizes that. You used to hang out around here because of your friends. One of them actually dated Jungkook, one of his boxing partners until their relationship didn't last too long. That's how the two of you met and eventually, started something that people call friends with benefits these days.

Friends, Jimin wants to laugh bitterly at the irritating word. Yes, you were friends but things got more complicated. Just like in all those movies and books people watch and read, someone is always there to warn one of them of the obvious. But with Jimin's lifestyle and the lack of time for a relationship, he thought the relationship the two of you had was just ideal.

And he hates to admit how badly you've gotten inside of his head.

“You keep glaring at her and Taehyun across the whole room.” Minseok rolls his eyes and Jimin catches just the right timing, glaring at his friend instead.

Jimin wants to argue. To tell him that Taehyun has been waiting for any chance to get you to talk to him. The kid is obviously interested in you and there were times when you would just laugh him off. Tell him that Taehyun is just a sweet guy who's nice. Sweet guy my ass, he thinks. You're just fucking clueless when it comes to this stuff obviously.

“Mind your own business.” Jimin clicks his tongue, motioning for Minseok to finish wrapping his hands so he can blow some steam off. But with your presence here, he's not sure if he can even focus.

He hates to admit how he fights back the urge to glance your way again. Are you even aware of it? His pride wants to completely ignore you, shut your presence off and act as if you're not here. But there's something stronger and he finds himself hoping to make things right with you. However the last time you spoke, the argument was pretty bad and a small part of him dies in a hope to properly talk to you.

Both of you have said some nasty things to each other. One of them led to just completely ignoring each other off. None of you reached out to the other.

“I don't know why you don't tell her you like her.” Minseok rolls his eyes again, causing Jimin's head to snap in his direction as his eyes widen for a moment before they narrow.

He snatches his wrapped hand away from him, massaging his knuckles as he takes the boxer gloves and throws a nasty glare across his shoulder.

“What do you know about that?” He tries to snicker, quickly averting his gaze away.

Jimin has never been a person to share private things with others, well there might be one person. But she's currently unavailable apparently. So he feels a little embarrassed that Minseok, who doesn't know too many details but enough to not get lost, sees right through him. It has something to do with pride as well. He doesn't let people get too close – not even his friends. Except for one person.

“Come on, it's obvious!” Minseok exclaims a little too loud, catching some prying eyes.

“Keep your voice down.” Jimin warns him through clenched teeth.

“You're gonna lose her if you don't tell her. What exactly is your plan? To keep fucking her? We both know that's not enough.”

One of the common stereotypes people have about boxers is that every one of them has to have anger issues. Or either can't control themselves or love to fight. But boxing is more than that. You know all about it because you often had deep conversations with him about this specific topic. You could always tell how much boxing means to Jimin.

He doesn't have anger issues, though it's a great way to get some steam off or distract himself whenever it's needed. But god help him, he tries really bad to not strike at Minseok. His hands clench in the boxing gloves.

“Fuck off.” he says simply and sternly, ending the conversation here as he gets into the ring.

“Jimin-ah!”

Jimin turns and is met with a familiar wide and bunny smile.

“Gonna do some sparring with me?” he asks, already getting into the ring with his boxing gloves. “Everyone's too afraid.”

Jimin lifts the corner of his lips, “Luckily for you, I'm not afraid of you at all.”

“Yeah? You should be,” Jungkook says teasingly, both of them getting into the right position. “Bring it on, Park.”

“Oh, I will.” he promises.

Zoning out everything around him, he focuses on Jungkook's movements and skills. He will deal with you later.

You knew coming here won't be a good idea. You knew he's going to be here and you will suffer, seeing him again but this time in the distance. Not wanting to admit it to anyone else, you miss him. Fuck, you fucking miss him.

It feels weird to be back here, not having him around or seeing his teasing smile and wink he would always send your direction. You miss watching him training or doing actual fights. You miss being his number one fan and feel proud every time he's finished, and you're the first person he searches for.

Oh fuck, you feel like crying and you've barely been here for an hour. The moment your eyes spotted his beautiful purple-pinkish hair, you wanted to run into his arms. To smell his incredible scent again. To kiss those big lips of his.

With his current hair color, he's like a big sign you just can't ignore. What was a bet he lost to some of his friends turned out to make him distinctive. But you love it. As much as you loved his black hair, he looks mesmerizing in the soft bright color and he definitely pulled it off. You love it.

And you wonder if you're ever going to see him again and his hair will be a different color. Not that you would mind. He looks amazing in any color you've seen him in so far. You just want to be a part of it. Be there and ask him what made him change it. It sounds pathetic. But your heart is yearning for him, and you're not sure if that's easy or even possible.

Taehyun has been making you company ever since you arrived, your friends abandoning you shortly after they saw you talking to him to admire shirtless men. You can't blame them. The room full of testosterone is like a spell to some women. Seeing them flashing off their muscles and abs while playing one of the hottest sports – in conclusion, it's hot and you're not mad at them. But your eyes are reserved for one person only – and he's been ignoring you. He surely knows about your presence.

“I can't help but notice,” Taehyun starts carefully, eyeing you sideways as you try to block out Jimin's laugh.

He's currently sparring with Jungkook. That much you noticed while trying to steal a glance. You have no idea why you keep torturing yourself like this. You should've stayed home. Your friends wanted you to come anyways and your stupid self missed Jimin that you didn't need any convincing. Actually, you're sure one of your friends told you it's okay if you don't want to go. But you being stubborn and too desperate to at least see him, declined her offer of going elsewhere.

“Are you and Jimin okay?”

As much as you and Jimin tried to be private about the thing you had going on, you weren't exactly secretive with the extra affection. You and Jimin have been friends. Always talked and messed around. But surely people noticed you had something going on. Or maybe it was your chemistry, as some of Jimin's and your friends have pointed out. You didn't care back then.

All you could focus on was you and him.

But now, you wish nobody would know. You've noticed the glances some of the men gave you – mostly the ones who are aware of your and Jimin's closeness. Though they don't know any details, they're not stupid to not know there's something intimate going on between you and one of their best fighters.

“Why would you ask me that?” you ask, eyes widened as you meet Taehyun's shocked expression that soon turns to be apologetic.

“I'm sorry,” he blurts out an apology immediately. “I just noticed you guys didn't even look at each other which is very rare and you, um well, you seem sad. Fuck, sorry. It's none of my business. I'm just worried about you.”

“I'm fine.” you answer curtly.

Taehyun is a sweet guy. He really is and has always been super friendly. He doesn't want to get into your pants like Jimin always initiates. Taehyun is one of the youngest fighters here and Jimin is like an idol to him. He admires him and aspires to be a great fighter like Jimin is. You know this because he told you.

Taehyun could be considered as your friend. He would often make you company whenever Jimin was training or was too busy. Which you completely understood – Jimin being busy – you just wanted to watch him and obviously, his attention can't be fully on you at all times. Jimin boxing has been the reason why you met him. It's also been a huge part of your… relationship and friendship.

“Sorry.” Taehyun offers softly, regret fully laced in his tone as you can't help but glance in the ring's direction where you know Jimin is.

You find him and Jungkook stopping, taking a short break to drink some water.

One of the girls that hangs around and usually helps with little stuff, hands Jimin his bottle. It's a simple act and in a way, you understand her little too long stare at Jimin's face and abs. But something in you cracks and you find yourself to be even more irritated and angrier, especially when he looks at her down from the ring and shoots her a grin. You watch the scene unfolding right in front of your eyes and your teeth clench. And then she steps into the ring, staying behind the ropes though as she has the audacity to tap his forehead with a white towel.

“Oh, shit.”

Taehyun's silent reaction doesn't help. For a second you're mad, ready to leave this place and then the next, something snaps inside you and you share a look with Taehyun. Though his face starts to get blurry and once more, he curses under his breath.

Before you know it, you're enveloped in a big hug. It feels comforting and you find yourself not moving. From a distance, nobody can tell you started crying. Your tears fell down but no more comes. It looks like you're just casually hugging and no one really shoots a glance your way. As far as you can tell anyway.

In the distance, you hear Jungkook call out Jimin's name and it causes you to pull away from Taehyun's warm and comforting hug.

Jimin's glare isn't hard to notice and it makes your stomach drop. He has never looked so cold at you. It makes it painful to swallow and you gulp. But the glare barely lasts a second as he slips under the ropes, taking off his gloves in a heated manner before he tosses them on the ground. Your jaw is ready to fall to the floor as he stomps toward you, hands still in the hand wraps.

“Shit, is he about to beat me up?” Taehyun asks hurriedly, almost shitting his pants. You can't blame him, Jimin looks scary as fuck – among other things you wish not to reveal.

You're too shocked to react, until you realize he's just a few steps away from you so you meet him halfway.

He's not even looking at you, glaring at Taehyun from across your figure where he is standing, watching Jimin with wide eyes. If it weren't for your hands on his sweaty and exposed chest, you're sure nothing would stop him.

His skin is hot, something it always is but this time he's burning up from the activity he just did. You get distracted for a second and you have to remind yourself, touching him after your argument is not your priority right now. It does feel bittersweet though.

Jimin's gaze finally drops on your hands before they look straight into your eyes. His eyes soften and he searches your face, as if he's looking for any change. But you're not different. Maybe sleep deprived but nothing your concealer and make-up can't cover up. You tried your best to look good – not for him but for you as well.

And Jimin wants to curse you out for wearing the sweet summer dress. The piece of cloth looks so innocent but you look absolutely stunning. Your breasts almost spill out of the tight and low cut. The outfit is not supposed to be hot or provocative, yet you look like a goddess and Jimin knows most of the guys must've sneaked a glance or two your way.

Meanwhile he's not possessive at all, he tends to get a little jealous. But back then he didn't mind it much because you were his. Everybody knew that.

Were you though?

“What are you doing, Jimin?” you ask softly, Jimin feeling his heartbeat picking up its pace from finally hearing your voice.

“What were you doing?” he asks, glancing behind you, glaring at Taehyun again you guess.

You look around, noticing the curious eyes set on you which make you break out of your trance. Hesitantly, you slide your hands off his chest and the movement causes him to look back at you. Shifting on your spot rather uncomfortably under all the prying eyes, you nibble on your bottom lip before mustering the courage to look up at him.

“Can we talk? Somewhere private?” you ask silently, eyes dancing over the people curiously watching you which pushes Jimin to follow your line of vision.

His brows immediately scrunch, glaring at everyone and as he's getting riled up and about to curse them out publicly, they all look away in a second and chattering begins as everyone goes back to their previous activity.

Jimin glances down at you once again, whole face softening up as he grabs you by your wrist. “Come on.” he mutters and starts leading you to the back.

The locker room, you recognize the way immediately. It's the only place where you will have privacy at the moment.

You act as if you and Jimin were fighting for god knows how long. In reality, it's been like two weeks but those two weeks feel like an eternity. You haven't been in this locker room for that exact time. It's here where you fought after Jimin had a late night training. It was just the two of you.

The whole argument started as something stupid and it escalated to this massive argument, ending with you walking away and Jimin frustratedly letting you.

“So? You and Taehyun now?” Jimin fills the silence right after the sound of door closing reaches your ears.

“Don't do that,” you frown, turning to properly look at him. “You have no right to act like this.”

He scoffs, reaching for a fresh towel as he wipes his face and chest again. He tosses it at the laundry bin in the corner of the room.

“I have no right to anything apparently.”

“You don't get to act jealous.”

Jimin clenches his jaw, keeping his head low but he still sends you glare your way.

“Right,” he nods, “Because we are nothing. We are just strangers.”

“That's not what I meant and you know it.”

“No, actually I don't.” he snaps, wanting to say something more but catches himself and takes a deep breath instead.

A beat of silence follows, the painful silence as you're far enough to not hear anyone else. You tongue your cheek, glancing around to prevent yourself from simply watching Jimin who successfully ignores you and doesn't look your way.

The tall mirrors across the entire side of the wall shows how desperate you really are. All you ever wanted was more. But that wasn't part of your deal. This was fun and it started to get more serious.

Jimin loves fun. He enjoys the thrill you both experienced. He told you himself one time after you had sex. It's been so craved in your mind ever since then.

“Why does Taehyun even matter?” you ask, slapping your hands against your sides as Jimin finally looks at you, the frown on his face visible as soon as you bring up Taehyun.

“If you're planning to date guys from this gym, do it outside.” he says bitterly and you stare in disbelief.

What's his problem?

“You have no right to prohibit me from that.” you remind him stubbornly.

That's not the point you want to make at the moment, but you still need to inform him. Who does he think he is?

“Not like that's happening anyways. Me and Taehyun are just friends.”

Jimin scoffs once again, shaking his head in disbelief as he lets a bitter laugh while he rubs his forehead. “Yeah, right. The moment me and you–” he pauses, clearing his throat right after. “You suddenly hug.”

“A hug doesn't mean dating.” you point out.

“You never hugged him before.”

“And you never let the girl wipe off your sweat before.” you snap right back, widening your eyes right after it escapes your disobedient mouth.

“Jieun?”

“Whatever her name is.” you snap and Jimin's lips suddenly twitch a little.

“She is no one,” he mutters, “Compared to T–”

“Oh my god!” you exclaim frustratedly. “You're so dumb! Taehyun is my friend. He adores you and he would never do that to you! Not even if I asked him to!”

You are trying to prove a point once again but Jimin only takes what he wants. So his response shouldn't surprise you but you can't help but be left speechless.

“Oh, so you would want him?”

“No!” you almost cry out frustratedly. “I just want to be loved!” you exclaim, clasping your mouth shut as Jimin stares with big eyes.

Oh fuck, he looks so innocent. And fucking hot. With his hair damp from the sweat, a strand of hair almost falling into his eyes as he effortlessly brushes his fingers through his hair.

“This is stupid. Why did I want to talk? This is just like the argument we had before.”

You can't do this. Embarrassed that you just confessed your desire, you want to walk away and never come back. No matter how painful that's going to be.

It's not the desire itself that makes you embarrassed though. It's the fact that you want to be loved by Jimin and no one else.

“No, don't walk away please.” he says, catching you by your wrist as he holds you tight while you show your frustration by trying to get out of his grip.

You may be overreacting a little, but that's what you always do when things get rough. Trying to leave. At least it feels like that when it happens with Jimin. And it's only because you're scared of what you truly feel inside. Jimin is just not the type for this. He told you many times before and you can't let yourself be heartbroken when he reminds you of it again.

In other situations, you have no problem talking things over. It feels a little tricky with Jimin though.

“Loved?” he questions and you groan.

Though you're not making it any easier for Jimin, he still holds you gently enough for it not to hurt. He's caring and as his big soft eyes stare at you, you feel like crying all over again. God, you like him so much. You're fucked.

“Fucking stupid, right?” you scoff.

“Why would it be stupid?” Jimin cocks his head to the side confusingly.

“Oh, come on, Jimin.” you roll your eyes, snatching your hand from his grip as he looks alarmed but you don't dare to move. “You're the one who said you're not up for relationships. You don't have time for it. So what if I want it right now? What if I don't want just to be fucked?”

Jimin opens his mouth.

“And we were doing exactly that. So why can't I talk to Taehyun?”

You're frustrated, starting to babble a little nonsense because there's no need to bring up Taehyun. That's only going to rile Jimin up all over again.

“Don't.” he warns.

“Why has the thought of me and Taehyun has always been such a problem? I mean yes, we were fucking. I wouldn't want you to fuck anyone else. But you're acting as if I can't–”

“Stop.”

“What? Why?” you provoke him why tilting your head, trying to act clueless and innocent. “We are not together, Jimin. I get why you would get a little jealous. But storming in our direction because of what? Because he simply hugged me? You have no ri–”

“I fucking like you.” Jimin spits out, cutting you off so easily that it feels like a slap to your face.

It's the words that leave you breathless and you have to blink a few times to make sure it's real. He said what? You stare at him, seeing his face frustrated as he rubs his forehead. He's clenching his jaw, looking around while his breathing quickens up. And you just stand there and stare like an idiot.

“Like me?” you whisper and Jimin chuckles a little heartlessly. “Jimin, you said–”

“I know what I said about relationships,” he cuts you off. “Is that so hard to believe that I could like you?”

“I…” you trail off, still too shocked to form a proper sentence. “It is. You never–I never got that feeling from you. You always said how much you like our relationship and what it is.”

“Yes, that I can trust you, always talk to you. I didn't–obviously I didn't share everything that's been on my mind.”

“Since when?”

“A long time.” he whispers, looking right into your eyes while your breath hitches.

To be honest, you're not sure what to think. You want to believe him and you would never judge him for his own history and the lack of interest in anything remotely close to love or relationships. You do believe people could change but this feels like the cliché scenario that happens with men like Jimin. And by that you mean them willing to try it but not being able to stay in a relationship when things get rough. Quite frankly, you're not even sure if Jimin is ready to be in a relationship.

Sure, you and him get along pretty well (minus what happened between you two recently). In your mind, you've imagined the two of you together – together – so many times. Can he even love you?

It's just something that's hard to believe. And you want to believe it. But something just wants you to protect your heart. You don't want to get any more hurt than you already did. For fuck sake! You got into an argument and you've been sobbing into your pillow every night. You can't possibly imagine going through something even more heartbreaking. You're way too deep in this shit.

But at the same time, you're pretty aware that you don't know unless you try. And it doesn't feel fair to Jimin at all.

“Why are you looking at me that way?” he questions you, frowning as he sees the lack of trust you have on your face. “You don't believe me?”

He sounds hurt and so fragile all of a sudden. You feel like a major asshole even more now.

“Listen,” he starts, refusing to no longer stay silent. “I fucking like you.”

“Taehyun likes me too and he's my fr–”

“Don't you dare to say his name right now.” Jimin cups your face, thumbs pressing into your cheeks but not painfully.

You stare into his eyes that darken, the little shadow there causing you to gulp. His already sharp and visible jawline clenches once again. You know you shouldn't find him extremely sexy right now, but your body acts automatically and you let your eyes drop down to his lips. You flicker them back on but you know he caught you.

His mouth twitches and he slowly, painfully for you, licks his lips.

“Are you getting turned on right now?”

The mocking behind his tone should annoy you but you don't find yourself to be annoyed. The sex with him has always been great, one of the reasons why it lasted so long between you and him. But it wasn't everything. You appreciated every minute you got to spend some time with him. Sex or no sex – each time was special to you.

Jimin doesn't torture you by questioning the obvious, a recognition flickering in those beautiful eyes of his while his thumbs caress your soft cheekbones.

“I'm gonna show you how much I like you.”

The single word sounds mocking almost and the way he emphasizes, like there's something much more than him simply liking you. And you know he doesn't say it but you see he's hiding something. He's not telling the truth and you can only hope he's reciprocating what you've been feeling for him for the longest time.

But perhaps now, it's time to act upon your feelings.

Jimin stays true to his words and doesn't waste any time finally tasting your lips. You can't help but hum into the needy and rough kiss. He doesn't pull away any time soon, kissing you with all the passion you've been missing and the familiar ecstasy clouds your senses. All you can feel is him and you wouldn't have it any other way. There are still a few things you both need to talk about but for now, you just want to be close to him again. For now, you need to feel him and touch him.

It's mind-blowing how at peace you are the moment Jimin has kissed you. The kiss is nothing but rushed, needy and rough with no intention just ending there. You know it. You've had many of those and it always led to one thing. And you're completely fine with it.

Hands on Jimin's wrist, you get a proper hold on him as soon as he starts backing you, doing it all without breaking off the kiss. He bites your lower lip, sucks it and even pushes his tongue into your mouth. You welcome it all, almost whining when you're forced to break off the kiss as he gently pushes you to sit down on the long bench.

Jimin drops to his knees before you can needily reach toward him. He watches your entire form for a moment, licking his lips again before he attacks your neck. He sucks and bites your skin there for a few seconds, your head thrown back in pure ecstasy as you push your body into his.

You're just as needy, wanting to be touched – only by him because he knows your needs and body like the back of his hand.

He pushes down your summer dress under your breasts, exposing your chest to the chilly air in the locker room. The thought of someone coming here and finding you like this, with your breasts fully exposed, crosses your mind but Jimin utterly averts your attention as soon as his mouth clasps around your nipple.

“Oh fuck.” you moan, the other hand fondling your other breast.

“You like that?” Jimin says, hot breath fanning over your wet and sensitive nipple before he goes back to his previous activity.

At the beginning of your “relationship” Jimin would use his mouth in other ways than to just bring you pleasure with it by using it. The dirty talk was one of the things that could make you wet in seconds, he always knew what to say.

Throughout the months of getting to know you intimately, he figured out you're just as freaky and needy as him. One of the things he always did was to call you his little slut. But that has changed. You're not sure when it changed exactly but from his slut you became his pretty and good girl – and fuck – that was even more dangerous to you than any degrading thing he could've said. That had you going and Jimin obviously figured it out.

It's stupid and it shouldn't mean this much to you, but his following words want to make you praise him for simply not forgetting.

Not forgetting to praise you yet again.

“Such pretty tits,” Jimin mutters, licking your other breast while you do your best not to move your hips against the bench. “I missed them.”

Not giving you time to digest his words fully, he's on his knees once against and this time pulls you closer to him. You catch yourself just in the right now as he gently pushes down on your chest, making you lay down.

The bench is in no way a comfortable place to do this, especially if your head hangs off. But once again, you don't voice it because the second Jimin pushes your underwear to the side and clasps his skilful mouth onto your glistening cunt, none of it matters.

He's everywhere down there. Licking and sucking your clit, then eating you out like a starved man with one hand squeezing your breast. You can't hold yourself up and the pleasure he's giving you causes you to lay down, even with your head thrown back.

“Look at yourself,” Jimin suddenly says from between your thighs, the top of his purple head catching your eyes for a second before you close them again. “Look how fucking pretty you are.”

And you open your eyes, ignoring the blood rushing to your head as you gasp at the sight. You see yourself, face full of pleasure and mouth gasping as Jimin picks up the intensity and pace. You're long gone, every little thing edging you closer to the orgasm until you're cumming on his tongue.

But no.

He is not done with you.

Jimin rushes (but still remains gentle despite the rush and neediness in his motions) and turns you around. The bench is even more uncomfortable under your knees than it was under your bum, but you barely acknowledge it when Jimin pulls down his training boxers and exposes himself to your hungry eyes.

Fuck, you've missed this too.

You salivate like a hungry dog, seeing him in the reflection of the mirror. Your eyes meet and he shoots you a smirk. You're so focused on that (and already totally fucked out) that you don't notice the movements between his legs. That's until you feel the head of his cock touching your wet hole.

“Ah, fuck, baby.” you moan, Jimin chuckling before he enters you.

He's gentle at first, praising you for how good you feel and how much he missed your tight cunt (his words). All of it makes you already clench around him. So you beg him to fuck you, desperation evident in your raspy voice. And boy, does he listen.

He fucks into you his thick and long length, urging you to look at yourself whenever you close your eyes shut from the indescribable pleasure. You do look. You watch him fucking you in the reflection, beds of sweat collecting on yours and his skin. He's biting into his lower lip harshly, grunting each time he thrusts into you while your high moans echo against the walls.

It's messy and so wet between your legs, you swear you feel your wetness traveling down your thigh. You're so close. Telling even Jimin that. And he smiles proudly, admitting he's not far away from that either.

And then he hoists you up, presses your back to his chest while still being inside you. And your eyes meet again in the reflection. His thrusts turn more gentle, still setting up a good pace that makes you see stars. But the way he rolls his hips into you and the intensity not only behind his movements but his eyes as well, you just know.

So you smile through the pleasure, silently telling him with your eyes that yes, you know.

“Mine.” he grunts, one hand around your waist holding you in place, while the other pinches your nipple.

He rubs it softly shortly after while your fingers dig into his arm that's still around your waist. You squeeze him harder, moaning out his name before you confess; “Mine.”

“Fucking yours.” he spits out through the grunts and then it completely rushes down onto you.

You're cumming, body shaking against Jimin as pleasure controls your body. A few more thrusts and Jimin cums too, spilling his load into you with a low yet long groan. Even after the orgasm, he holds you tightly against him and you stay like that for god knows how long. It's until you whimper at your knees that Jimin helps you to sit down. He silently cleans you up with another fresh towel before the piece of cloth joins the other towel he used before.

He kisses you and helps you to cover yourself while he does the same.

“Does this… does this mean–”

“Will you be my girlfriend?” Jimin cuts you off, grinning at you like a mischievous teenboy as you pause for a second in pure shock before you chuckle.

“I thought you would never ask.” you reply stupidly.

“It took me too long, I know. I guess I was too scared. Minseok has been patronizing me–”

“Oh my god!” you suddenly gasp, making him stop as Jimin sits next to you and stares at you in concern.

“They all must have heard us!”

Jimin cackles at how scandalized you look, with your palm covering your mouth and all.

“That's the least of my concerns, to be honest.”

You nudge him in the shoulder as you look horrified. Jimin teases you, taking your hand into his as he peaks from the locker room. Everything seems silent and you walk into the main room finding it oddly empty.

“Where is everyone?” you ask in confusion.

Not that you're not happy! There is a chance nobody heard you. Not that you mind it that much, you just don't want people to be up your and Jimin's business. Like they haven't been nosy enough.

Jimin walks up to his training bag, the only item sitting on top of a similar bench he just fucked you on. Pulling out his phone, you see him checking it with a slight frown on his face before he hands you the device. He ushers you to read it with a tilt of his hand, a soft chuckle leaving his mouth.

Minseok: “kicked everyone out, you owe me. and I hope it was worth it and you finally grew some balls to tell her you love her. if not, i'm gonna kick you in the ass next time.”

You hand him the phone back with a similar smile, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“He's right.” Jimin comments, tossing the phone back to his bag.

“About?”

“Everything,” he says simply while you're trying not to freak out about the L word.

It was Minseok who said it. Surely he must've known Jimin likes you, that's what Jimin wanted to tell you back in the locker room before you interrupted him. But these guys don't really think about these words, not as much as women do and it must've been a mistake–

“Especially that I love you.”

Jimin laughs the moment he waits for your reaction and he finally gets to see it. You look like a bucket of ice has been thrown on you.

You shake yourself out of the daze, trying to keep your posture while your heart is ready to burst out of your chest. But Jimin doesn't look nervous, he's beaming at you with the prettiest smile you've known ever since you got to know him. This moment right here is everything you've dreamed of ever since you found out about your deeper connection and feelings toward him.

So you take a deep and calm breath, the next following words spilling out of your mouth effortlessly.

“I love you too.”

It feels like both of you are teenagers, giggling to yourselves while ending your confession with a few strong kisses full of love.

“Now that everyone is gone. We could take a shower. Then I'm going to take you to my place.” he tells you once he pulls away from the kiss.

Your arms around his neck and his staying on top of your ass, you grin at him.

“And then what?”

“I'm gonna cook you a nice dinner. I want to cuddle you and talk to you because I fucking missed you.”

“Hm, is that all?” you ask teasingly.

“Is that not enough?” he teases back.

“Surely it is.”

“And maybe I will fuck my girlfriend again.”

“Lucky her,” you muse, “What an explicit word though.”

“I can make love to her too. Never done that before but I'm confident I can do it.” he continues and you press your lips not to giggle.

“I trust you.”

And then you burst into the cutest fit of giggles. If somebody saw you right now, they would find the image of the serious and wonderful boxer Jimin giggling like a teenager hilarious. Little do you know they will witness it for sure, now that you're his girlfriend and all.

Jimin is going to show his new side not only to you, but to everyone else.

#networkbangtan #btswritingcafe #ksmutclub #ficswithluv #bts smut #jimin x reader #jimin smut #bts angst #bts fluff #bts au #personasintro

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jkrockin · 9 months

Note

Wait what guy who hadn't read Atlas Shrugged?

I was pretty sure I'd told this story here, but a cursory search suggests that I have not. Okay let's gooooo

Many moons ago, I worked in an emergency services call centre. I worked nights- I could get regular shifts, it paid well, and I am a huge freak, just like everyone else who works nights in a call centre. It is a lifestyle that attracts freaks. Some of my coworkers weren't full-time creatures of the night, but students or whoever who picked up occasional nights for the extra money, and one of them was Libertarian Shithead, who we'll call LS for short.

LS was a twentysomething white dude who wore a lot of name brand surfwear and designer sunglasses. I assume his parents were rich. LS loved nothing better than recreational arguing. Unfortunately, he wasn't very good at it; he had some of the most dogshit opinions I've ever encountered in the wild, and was terrible at defending them. He'd say some crap about how Gattaca-type eugenics is Fine, Actually, because if you let people make designer babies, the ~*Free Market will decide what traits are desirable! Racism and colourism and ableism and sexism and intersexism won't affect those choices at all! And I'd get mad, because I have principles to speak of, and we'd get into it, and WITHOUT FAIL, we'd get maybe halfway into an actual discussion about whatever horseshit garbage he was on tonight, and the second he thought he was losing, he'd say "oh, well. I'm an ~*Objectivist, so you can't really understand my perspective unless you've read Ayn Rand." Then he'd sigh, and change the subject.

At the time I had not read any Ayn Rand. Being fundamentally powered by spite, I withstood maybe three weeks of this shit before I pirated an epub of Atlas Shrugged, put it on my e-reader, and proceeded to slam through it at supersonic speed so I could finally get to finish an argument with this terrible boy.

Anon, I fucking hated Atlas Shrugged. The book is bad. It's way too long, every single character is an unbelievable douche, the prose sucks. Ayn Rand wants to fuck a train so so so badly, but the prose is so turgid I couldn't even get invested in how much she wants to fuck a train. And the core of the matter, the politics I was there to understand, are, y'know. Objectivist. Eye-bleedingly selfish and capitalistic, expressed in amazingly childish and blinkered terms. Even the bits where it seems like the shithead capitalist dudes want to fuck each other are too mired in the scunge of Rand's terrible views to be enjoyable.

But I read the fucking thing! I powered through it with only quite minimal complaining! I finished the book on the train to work, and when I saw that LS was on that night, I plonked myself in a seat by him, and metaphorically cracked my knuckles, ready to fuckin' party. In a perfect world, I would have been cool enough to have waited for the perfect mid-argument moment to drop, but I didn't. I think I lasted exactly until we were both off a call at the same time, and then leaned in as close as the desk dividers would let me, and said "So I finished Atlas Shrugged. I have some thoughts."

I cannot overstate how quickly it became obvious that LS had not read the book. For a hot second I thought maybe it had just been a while and the fine details had escaped him, but no; he didn't know who half the characters were, or key points of the plot, or even know any of the stuff in the John Galt speech, i.e. the big juggernaut of Here's How Objectivism Works near the end of the book about Objectivism that this fucking guy hypothetically based his Objectivist views on. It took me maybe five minutes, in between calls, to realise this, and another five for him to admit he hadn't actually read any Ayn Rand. He'd read her Wikipedia page.

ANYWAY I didn't speak to him for like a month after that, and I don't think either of us lost out there!

#at the time I was very angry #but in hindsight I think it was very funny #storytime #ask me ask me ask me #anonymice

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crimson-kisses · 4 months

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i just read the "breaking point" story, and i can't help but wonder, what if the s/o, rather than snapping at him (yan! germany) all at once, simply muttered a few snide and sarcastic words every now and then? like imagine he tells them he loves them and s/o saying ily back and then mutters "yeah, i really loved it when you ruined my life's work too." under their breath and then acting like nothing happened, I hope you're doing alright though, and please take care of yourself!

Hmm, I will admit it was rather spontaneous of her to snap such a way. remember though she used to be a lawyer so lol. but your concept is actually more accurate, this would be fun to write. thank you for the consideration though! 🐝✨

Warning: Usual yandere behavior, toxic relationship, physical and verbal abuse.

🇩🇪

die Reizung.

He gives off a sheepish look at first.

And you angrily throw a crumpled white shirt on his face, fuming at the audacity— this man had to even request you anything in the first place. As if you were his pretty little wife.

You didn’t even know his full name, he straight up had some hooligans pick you off the street.

It’s been a month since you got out of the basement, no longer fearing the muscular asshole. Since in your eyes, he was a dimwit.

"Iron your cloth by your damn self, how dare you even ask me that!", you hissed at his face. Then you turned on your heels, walking away from him with a fierce sway of your hips.

You don’t see his disapproving gaze following your figure.

"Why are those dishes piling up?",

You deliberately ignore his question and remain seated on your sofa, even though Ludwig can tell that your mind is elsewhere. Your eyes are unfocused, and your fists are firmly resting on your lap.

"I asked you a question— stop slacking around—", it’s been two months since you have been in the basement.

"Slacking around?", he receives a grumbled response through clenched teeth, "I am neither your maid nor your wife! If you want your dishes to be washed so badly, then do it yourself or hire someone for cleaning up rather than kidnapping someone",

"Come back here,"

Ludwig hissed at you after your retort. However, you simply got up from the sofa and walked away, choosing not to argue once again.

He clenches his fist and takes a deep breath, trying to remind himself that you will eventually understand.

You notice a broken plate in the morning, thrown in the dustbin.

You pull at your hair strands as you try to scream in desperation, but only thing that escapes you is a distraught whine. Almost pulling the drawers off their hinges, you try to make your hands stay still and not shake.

"What’s the matter, searching for these?",

Ludwig watches smugly as you turn towards him, with a deranged appearance. It was just how he imagined you would look like if he— nevermind, was that his expensive vase you had just thrown?

"Nice plan you had there, too bad you were too eager", dangling the keys mischievously, he leaned on the doorframe, flexing his muscles, daring you to try and get it physically.

It has been three months, and he was enjoying how you were becoming restless. You look especially attractive at the moment. It's a shame that you just broke the vase he received from his chancellor.

"Eager to get away from you, some noble man you are",

His left eye twitches as his grin slowly fades away. Ludwig tilts his head, blinking in feigned confusion.

"Have I not been a noble, patient man to you?",

You chuckled dryly, resting your hands on the polished black office table. "Please, as if you would ever be recognized for your nobility, Deutschland. History books say otherwise, don’t you think?",

Both you stare at each other for a while, until Ludwig leaves with the keys and a clenched jaw, a breath escapes as you sigh in relief.

You end up picking up the broken vase.

Fucking hell. The breakfast was burnt and you made sure to give Ludwig the most nastiest, disapproving glare.

"Don’t look at me like that, I have been running late—-“

Rolling your eyes, you watch as he simply throws the burnt food away. With the frying pan.

"Are you used to throwing your messes away?",

You try to reassure yourself that you didn’t flinch as his back hunched up and he turned at you with a glare, teeth grinding against each other.

He simply unties his apron, his eyes still on you.

"At least one of us is trying to fix things up," he whispers. You give him an offended look, keeping your fists on the curves of your waist, tightly gripping the hairbrush you had been using before running downstairs.

“Keep telling yourself that, if anything you have only been hiding your ugly urges all along.”

You yelp and your heart almost bursts open as he throws the apron at you and angrily heads upstairs.

Eerie silence follows. It has been four months.

Unfortunately, he seems to notice your giddy attitude as you clutch the book tighter with a bright smile. His heart squeezes in delight.

Bundled up in the armchair, you try not to think how it smells like Ludwig’s cologne. Or notice that he has been in the library for a while with you, dusting the shelves.

“Why the bright smile?”, he asks, masking his face with an unemotional facade.

“Oh I have simply been catching up on your misfortunes, quite a historical read”.

And his mood plummets to the lowest levels of hell itself. He narrows his eyes at you, making you feel quite accomplished at pissing him off, it was quite a pleasure.

“Give me that. Now”.

He demanded, grip tightening on the duster, his unoccupied hand stretched towards the book.

You blow a raspberry.

Before long, you couldn't help but let out a truly horrified scream as Ludwig forcefully slammed both of his arms onto the chair's armrests. His knee was pressed harshly against yours as he seethed with anger, towering over you.

The book was furiously thrown out of the window, resulting in a deafening sounds of cracking glass.

His eyes glared into your soul, causing you to almost hyperventilate from the sheer terror coursing through your body.

Ludwig gazed at your petrified figure for a while, as if he were devouring your presence with his eyes. Then, he moistened his dry lips, turned around, and began stacking some books.

You stayed seated on the armchair for a long time, staring mindlessly at the calendar.

Five months have passed.

“Where is my office bag I placed in my room?!”, he asks from the bathroom as he hastily wears his jacket.

“Up my ass, search in the dining room, didn’t you throw it over there the last time?”,

“And who’s fault was that?”,

He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to make it appear uniformed. Remembering, he was out of hair gel, he cursed.

“Your fault because apparently you can’t accept that fact that you are a verdammter Verlierer”,

He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the way you implied so many things he would rather put up in the back of his mind. including the vulgar words you have taken a liking to.

“I am not the one held captive”,

He gives you a look and it makes you fume, this piece of shit—

“I wasn’t the one who had my so called mindless fascist delusions shattered”.

You exited the bedroom with a bang of the door, trying to ignore and not run at the sound of a smashed mirror.

It’s been about six months.

"If you bothered to check the calendar, you will know that it isn’t the 1940’s anymore. Get yourself a woman who wants to be your slave",

You slam the magazine near his table and exit his office, Ludwig bangs a clenched fist on his table in frustration at your defiance. He had only asked you to dry up the clothes in the sun.

That was it. Apparently that was too much for you.

He had no issues with doing the house chores, but he was a busy nation. He simply requested you to do this simple chore but god forbid you get off your ass— and your comment irked him immensely, this quirk you had of bringing up his past over and over again to provoke him.

It annoyed him.

He does check the calendar of course, quite intriguingly.

Ludwig reminds himself that it has only been seven months.

You continue sleeping on the couch everyday. And everyday Ludwig carefully places you on his bed to rest and not strain yourself. Everyday you curse at him to not touch you ever again.

But he knows you are simply embarrassed. Trying to keep up a strong and steady appearance, you always hated to admit that you are weak and helpless.

He knows you are trying hard to displease the shit out of him, and that’s why he tries to be patient. And also because he is way too stronger than you, Ludwig knows that deep down you are scared of him, no bite and all bark, he knows you end up having panic attacks over him.

The flinches you try to suppress when he comes near you, holding your breath when he talks to you. He is all aware. Frightened stares, shuddering breath, trembling legs.

He knows and he hates it.

You shove his blanket on his arms and head downstairs in a furious rush, crashing on the couch with your poor excuse of a blanket.

He bites his tongue to refrain himself from reminding you, that wherever you slept, it was something he payed for. Including your dresses, makeup and everything else in this house, it was paid for or built and made by Ludwig.

It will take more time than eight months to thaw your heart.

“At the very least, you can tidy up the rooms and stop, stop trying to break down the door”,

Gulping down the rest of your beer, you give him a nonchalant look.

“Why should I do so? We have had this conversation a dozen times. I am not your maid. And especially not your wife”.

He’s tired, the lack of hair gel has turned his hair into a complete mess, he forgot to buy it again. Ludwig slowly removes his coat, which he placed on the counter where you were leaning.

You try to stay still, but your knees almost give out as he stares at you through his lashes. It’s calm, level-headed look.

His white shirt is folded at the sleeves, tie turned loose and he’s breathing heavily.

“Cant you tidy up yourself? Or is that too beneath your superior ass”, you taunt him, curling up your cherry red lips.

“it’s eleven pm, I have been busy since six am. I am tired”,

“Well you aren’t my husband”.

He gives you that look again and you wonder whether he is offended or hurt. Frankly though, you couldn’t care less.

“Missing your man, süße Maus?",

You bristle at the nickname and the mention of— your boyfriend whom he murdered, right in front of your very eyes.

Narrowing your gaze, you prepare to escape his wrath as you hiss out in a demeaning manner,

“A man— who was much more of a man than you will ever be”.

Swiftly you entered the library nearby after seeing the darkened expression on his face. A heated glare and a reddened hue. You slid down the locked door, ignoring the trembling of your own body.

Nine months. You feel the entire house shake as Ludwig slams his bedroom door.

“You look so beautiful in that skirt, schöne Frau",

“You reek of beer and disappointment”.

Paying no heed to your comment, Ludwig wraps his hands around your waist, he is drunk and you almost gag at the overwhelming smell of alcohol.

“You smell so— *hiccup*— pretty, mein hübsches kleines baby",

“Quite your blabbering, it’s nine am in the fucking morning”.

“I am so glad— so to, ugh, have you as mine”,

“I will never be your woman”.

He stops blabbering for a minute, hands tightening their hold on your waist, you try not to squirm.

His lips hover around your ear, his hand touching your hair and skimming his hands through the strands.

“We will— will see about that”,

You stay still in his arms, his eyes blazing and staring at your soul from the reflection in the window.

You wished your body didn't feel this way. So trapped and writhing in frustration and horror, every touch of his fingers, his breath and look seemed to stain your being.

“I want dinner to be prepared tomorrow”.

He whispers. It’s not a debate or a demand but a warning said in a lovey dovey tone. His tightened grip sends the point across.

It’s been ten months.

You violently throw the plate full of food on a wall nearby, sending porcelain shards all over the place and the food splashed over the wall.

“You… you faked a dead body and made it seem as if I had died?… you— you are nothing short of DISGUSTING!”,

Ludwig gazes at the mess with a disappointed expression, seemingly unaffected by your tears as you break down in front of him.

"Whoever said I faked a dead body?" he exclaimed, forcefully stabbing a piece of steak with a fork. "It was completely real, and I must say, quite familiar with you."

Your lungs feel as if it has collapsed on itself as you fall down to the floor in pure, unadulterated horror. He was joking, a sick pathetic joke to get under your skin, there was no way— no possible way that the burned and mutilated body could have been identified, even through dishonest means, as that of a woman.

"What did my boyfriend even do to deserve this!?, you sick jealous man!!",

The blond simply ignored your tantrums, sipping on a glass of soda, eyes boring down at your crying form.

"At the very least he got a proper burial, rather than being thrown into a lake as I had intended",

Silence.

"I WILL NEVER LOVE A MURDERER LIKE YOU!",

You quickly grab a knife and attempt to attack him, but you end up pushed face-first onto the dining table, with your arms forcefully held behind your back.

"I wonder how you them fooled huh? Still interested in experimenting with things, humans, Herr Beilschmidt?",

He grabs your chin in a vice grip, hand covering your mouth as you try to taunt, spit and hurl insults at him, he only tuts at your behavior with furrowed brows.

You wanted to kill him.

"I don’t want you to mention that man ever again".

Tears well up in your eyes as uncontrollable sobs escape from your body. Ludwig presses you down in that position for a long time as he calls someone on his phone to clean up the mess.

"Don't worry, for once I have taken your advice. They are skilled cleaners who know how to handle a messy situation, if you catch my dry sense of humor."

Eleventh months and counting.

"I HAVE HAD IT WITH YOU. VERDAMMTE SCHEISSE!! ONCE I GET YOU, YOU WILL REGRET EVER THINKING OF THIS HÜNDIN!!",

Ludwig was furious. Firstly, he was hit by a pretty heavy vase from upstairs, and secondly, he was bleeding a fuckton. Thirdly, the front door was open and you had escaped.

The home was clean, laundry done, dishes pristine and dinner warmly prepared, you were dressed so prettily that it melted him so good when he came home tired from work. What he didn’t account for was an elaborate murder plan attempted towards him. Sadly for you, he had suffered worse and was also an immortal.

He was done being patient and playing the nice cop, especially after you had hurled hurtful insults at him, and what was that you said?

This wasn’t the 1940’s? That he had no power anymore, that he was just a pathetic dog with no backbone in that sweet, sweet tone of yours? That he was a sick, pathetic man who will never be loved?

He let out a series of chilling giggles that gradually escalated into full-blown laughter, the sound reverberating throughout the house. He loosened his irritating tie and tossed it onto the ground. Rolling up his sleeves to his elbows, he ran his fingers through his blond hair in frustration.

But also,

This sense of ecstasy, a thrilling sensation he was feeling… he really chose a perfect, wonderfully crazy woman, didn’t he?

It was the end of the twelfth month, and Ludwig made himself a promise to haunt your dreams with memories of the basement for months to come after he had his hands on you.

#queued post #hetalia #aph hetalia #aphblr #aph germany #hetalia germany #yandere hetalia #dark hetalia #yandere #tw yandere #yandere male #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere community #ludwig beilschmidt #hws germany #yandere germany

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y2kbugs · 7 months

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Why Rincewind deserves your love

Tumblr loves characters like Rincewind right now. The sad, weary one who really doesn't want to be here but does it anyway cause no one else bothered, and is often vulnerable, cowardly, and a weakling compared to everyone else. In other words, the pathetic wet cat, the poor little meow meow.

Vimes is also a perfect example of this archetype, he's there and he's great, but Rincewind to me is a sort of hidden gem bogged down by the author's early writing and the struggle to live up to those later, more deep characters. It doesn't really help that Pratchett also got bored of writing him, and only felt obligated because he had fans (which in a way sounds like Rincewind himself), but...

The first two books aren't even bad. The only thing I'd say is that TCOM has some confusing writing going on and feels more like a collection of stories but it's good and could be better if rewritten. Rincewind is a wonderful character and Twoflower is a delight. TLF is a definite improvement writing and character wise and gives development to Rincewind.

He's not "a weak character who doesn't do anything but run". He is not badly written. He is a character who does not want to be the hero but does it anyway. He has deep empathy and believes that throwing your life away for a good cause is inherently selfish rather than selfless (and! he does this himself, kind of. He does make a sacrifice to help somebody, but he lives).

He isn't stupid. He might be the smartest character in his books, but that's more because the other characters are relatively kind of dumb. The only thing he's really bad at is being a wizard, that's it. He's not a good wizard, but he's a great strategist, he knows a lot about magic, knows almost every language on Discworld and this was how he got to know Twoflower in the first place. I would call him an average intelligence and very high wisdom character in DnD. He's intensely rational and will point out gaps in reasoning and logic. He might be a pessimist, but he has experience and he's going to use that.

That's not to say he doesn't make mistakes. He absolutely does, but making dumb mistakes is much different from willful and sheer ignorance which he does not display.

His hat says "Wizzard" because it's supposed to be a pun on "he can't spell", and it's highly unlikely that he actually misspelled it not knowing the actual spelling considering he reads a lot.

He is very, very defensive and adamant about his identity as a wizard. It's pretty much everything to him and he has a crisis whenever other characters mock and have general distrust of wizards.

He's done the following:

Beat the shit out of an eldritch horror until it ran away from him (TLF),

forced an extremely powerful spell out of his head with sheer will (TLF),

Defeated the most powerful deceased wizard possessing a magical staff with only a brick in a sock, and took both himself and the wizard's son into the Dungeon Dimensions, where he fought back creatures to allow the boy to escape. (Sourcery)

Gave the boy a speech about how it's important to not let anyone define who you are as a person and no one should have to tell you what to do (Sourcery)

Used a whole terracotta army to beat an entire army, and succesffully intimidated them via psychological tricks. (Interesting Times)

Brought rain back to Fantasy Australia and talked back against Death who convinced him to give up. (TLC)

Maybe he's not the most sympathetic character, because he's not chivalrous or manly. He has no bravery and freely admits to being a coward, he's kind of a jerk who cools down as time goes on, and he's selfish enough that he thinks being selfless is a total waste of time and is selfish in itself. He's a cynic and a pessimist with a worldview shaped by his terrible experiences on Discworld, but he's very well-traveled even against his own will, and from this experience he knows precisely how to get out of danger, how to outsmart an individual (or a whole army) and more.

He's shown empathy. Being tired at the world at large and not liking the other wizards very much but going out of his way to save the world from a wizard gone rogue anyway because nobody else bothered to and he's angry, saving a boy from his abusive father's power and diving headfirst into the Dungeon Dimensions, trying to convince an "army" of mostly children why trying to fight against a legitimate army of warriors is a horrible idea and will only get them killed, Helping some thirsty sheep out to get access to water despite not needing to, bringing rain back to Fantasy Australia even though he could have given up and gone home at any moment, being made a "test subject" for the wizard's project in creating Roundworld/Earth, learning aabout the life on there over millions of years and talking about how hard it is for life to grow on there in its earliest millions of years, teaching Roundworld inhabitats the importance of art and creativity not only to outsmart the elves but because he wanted to (while the other wizards considered him stupid for this idea).

And he doesn't want to be a hero, he has no obligation to and is perfectly happy just being alone in the library and reading old books. He wants a life of peace and quiet and nothing life-threatening, but unfortunately he's pushed into these situations. Often though instead of simply resigning himself and giving up altogether, he sucks it up and goes and does it anyway with the expectation that he can go home in the end. That, and by now he's already expected this is his role: to fix shit and go home, even though he'd love to have someone else do his job.

It rubs me the wrong way to see people call him one-dimensional or just "the guy that is scared and runs away"...That to me is like simply calling Vimes "the depressed cop who drinks a lot" or Granny Weatherwax "the old witch who kicks ass". Of course the character will seem one dimensional if you describe them that way. Vimes is better written overall and gets better development for sure, which is also what his character is built for, as well as a more serious story that doesn't lend itself as well to basically slapstick. Rincewind isn't built for overcoming his fears, but rather his selfish attitude and to finally find peace with himself, and he works as a comedic character while also balancing out the fact he can be anything other than a clown or coward.

He gets what he always wanted in the end too. Pratchett might not have wanted to write him anymore, but instead of simply putting him on a bus, he gave Rincewind a position at Unseen University, only dampened by the fact the other wizards clearly don't respect him, therefore he can't really be a professor as a job, but he doesn't mind. In fact, he loves that. He gets free food, a quiet place to stay, and has zero obligations. He's happy, and the last thing we know of him is that he's studying the effects of plants on the nervous system (Raising Steam), and he's very important in the Science Of Discworld series, initially being a test subject and later being the "to go" for information about Roundworld/Earth, even getting to keep the globe in his room.

#discworld #rincewind #this initially started out all casual but then it got long and essay-like as i am prone to writing #i probably got things wrong...correct me

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noyzinerd · 10 months

Text

My Sterek snippets-Part 2

As promised, two more, separate, but related, snippets from my wip "Pseudology" (that I have no idea how to connect).

"So, let me get this straight. You know that I like you?"

"Yes."

"And I now know that you like me?"

"Yes."

"But you and I aren't ever going to do anything about it?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Because we like each other too much…? And since getting together is only going to end badly for the both of us, we're not even going to try. Am I getting this right?" He couldn't help the exasperated, annoyed tone that came out with those words.

Even if he didn't outwardly show it in his words, Derek's tight lipped half smile was more than enough of an indicator that he understood Stiles' feelings way too well. "Exactly."

Stiles roughly scratched his short nails over his scalp, through his hair, at the mere thought of how close he had been to having Derek this whole time, to still being able to have him, if it weren't for the unbelievably aggravating cock-block that was their morals.

Derek liked him. He had liked him. Stiles was having a really hard time wrapping his head around this new revelation. Around the fact that Derek goddamn Hale had feelings for him. Moreover, it actually sounded like Derek was friggin' head over heels, over the fucking moon for Stiles! The guy had been for years! YEARS! At the same exact time Stiles had been pining over him too. He had had a chance and he hadn't even known it.

What was worse was that, not even 20 whole minutes after finding out this lost opportunity of a lifetime, Derek was telling him that 'they' weren't going to be a thing. 'They' were never going to be a thing, because Derek was scared that trying to 'keep' Stiles was going to make him lose him forever. Derek had come up with this crazy plan for them to ignore both of their feelings and pretend like they weren't attracted to each other. For the rest of their lives.

And that wasn't even the craziest part about all this.

No, the craziest thing was that Stiles had goddamn fucking agreed to this! Because his stupid, overwhelmingly noble set of principles knew that, no matter how easy it would be to just lean in and kiss some sense into Derek, Stiles could never force him to do something he was so opposed to. Derek's mind seemed pretty set on yearning for Stiles from a distance until they both either moved on or died.

Hence, their current predicament.

Both desperately wanting to be with each other.

And at the same time, also desperately wanting to be anything but with each other.

Wanting to always be there to protect each other.

But also wanting to be as far away from each other as possible. To protect each other. From each other.

So, basically they wanted each other, but they also didn't want to want each other, while also not wanting to not want wanting each other.

God, this was all making his head hurt.

The sigh that left his body took most of his fight with it as it blew out his mouth. Stiles took a second to clench his hand painfully in his hair with a muffled, frustrated "AAAARGH!!!" into the elbow of his sweater (slightly startling Derek in the process), before composing himself and making one of the hardest, stupidest decisions in his young life.

"Okay," he said resignedly.

Without looking over at the man next to him, Stiles stared ahead wearily towards the gently sloshing pool as he forced himself to take all of the feelings of hope he had ever felt for him and Derek and smush them like a firefly under a really heavy book. He imagined catching every 'what if' scenario floating in his head in a butterfly net, tying off the overstuffed net, and drowning them all in a big jar of water. No more thinking about their hands accidentally brushing in the Jeep. No more happy thoughts about what it might have felt like to lay on Derek's broad chest as they read a book together. No more thinking about what it might have been like to have strong arms hugging him from behind. Or what it might have been like to steal Derek's toast from out of his hand in the morning because Stiles was late for work. Or elbowing each other at the sink they shared as they fought to brush their teeth at the same time. Or hearing someone whisper tenderly in his ear 'I love you' and actually mean it for once.

As painful as it was, Stiles knew that it would be worse moving forward with the want of something more when he knew he and Derek weren't going to happen. He had to accept that. It would be unfair to keep pushing his expectations onto Derek, knowing that Derek couldn't give him that, and Stiles wasn't sure he would be able to survive another Lydia-esque type of relationship of desperately throwing himself at someone for ten years until he finally got deemed worthy enough for attention.

In the end, this was what would be the best for them.

It had to be.

Stiles couldn't afford to think otherwise.

"Okay, you know what? That's it." Stiles jumped to his feet, whirling angrily to stare down at Derek. The conviction in his eyes was eerily similar to the fed up, no-nonsense, 'here's how this is going to go' look Stiles had leveled him while 'harbouring his fugitive ass'. Derek had already known he wasn't going to win this argument the moment Stiles had opened his mouth. Even though Stiles hadn't laid into him yet, he knew he wouldn't stand a chance against all the well-thought out, overanalyzed points Stiles had probably gone over in his head thousands of times. Derek was going to lose and Stiles would end up being his boyfriend whether he liked it or not, and there was nothing he could do about it. A part of him was scared shitless at the idea, fully preparing to go down claws swinging.

Another part of him was on the edge of its seat with perked ears, desperate for Stiles to prove him wrong.

"I. Am. So. Done. You hear me? I'm tired, Derek. I'm tired of always being the responsible one. I'm tired of investigating glowing keys instead of making out with hot girls. I'm tired of studying werewolf migrations while Scott makes out with whatever girlfriend he happens to be with. I'm tired of stopping Alphas when I finally get first seat in lacrosse. I'm tired of driving the girl I've wanted for years to a dance to show up her ex. I'm tired of letting a girl work out her PTSD on my dick. I'm tired of getting carpal tunnel from writing six extra pages of notes for everybody in every class because being a werewolf apparently means never having time to study and dropping out of classes on a dime! More than anything, I'm tired of being miserable for the sake of everyone's happiness and then pretending I'm not miserable, because me having problems in my life would be inconvenient for everybody. Especially when an ID tag needs to be pickpocketed or blue prints need to be printed out. I've stepped aside for you and the rest of the pack for years and dammit if I can't get to have at least one thing that makes me happy. We're done doing what you want this time, Derek, alright?"

"Stiles, I'm not just going to go back on what I believe is best for us just because you find it unfair. You think I like teaming up with Peter every time Beacon Hills has a crisis? Do you think I like living with that son of a bitch? Sharing the same air as him? The bastard killed my sister! We all have to do things we don't want to do, put up with things we don't like, because we have to. Life is unfair. Some of us don't get to go to the Winter Formal, let alone take the girl of our dreams, because some of us no longer had a place to live. You want to complain about school, lacrosse, problems with your best friend? You're lucky to have had any of those at all! You have so much to be happy for. You don't need me to have that. In fact, you have more to lose being with me. So much. Being with me is just going to fuck it all up, Stiles. Why can't you see that?"

"Alright, Derek. Kid gloves are coming off. Wanna play hard ball? I'll play hard ball. You have three reasons why we can't be together. One: you think you'll get me hurt. Two: you think you're a bad relationship magnet. Three: you think all the terrible supernatural stuff that happens to me is your fault. Let's break 'em down. Number one: I'm going to get hurt with or without you. When you were here, we were attacked by the Kanima. When you left for South America, I was possessed by the Nogitsune. When you were here, I was attacked by Gerard Argent. When you were gone, I was attacked by a chimera and the ghost riders. Not everything is about you, Derek. I get hurt. The people of Beacon Hills are just in a hot spot of weird and that's not your fault. Number two: you're not the only one of us that's been in a string of awful relationships. They happen. But, you know what? That doesn't mean good relationships and good people don't exist. The moment you doubt the likelihood of your relationship, you're dooming it to fail. And finally, number three: if there's anyone to blame for not having a normal life, it's me. I was the one who dragged Scott into the woods because I was a dumb kid that wanted to see a dead body, which I can't even begin to apologize for, and who abandoned Scott in the woods to be attacked. I got him into this whole werewolf mess in the first place, not you. If you want to get technical, Peter was the one who bit him if you want to blame someone. My point is: all of your reasons are stupid and are just there to keep up your brooding aesthetic, so you're going to shut your trap, quit displaying your dominance over everything, and listen to what I have to say for once. When—not if, when—we get out of here, you, Derek Samson Hale, are going on a fucking date with me. You are going to hold my goddamn hand while we watch a movie on my couch, preferably Star Wars but I'm willing to haggle. We are getting greasy take-out food, going out for ice cream cones, and looking over some kind of sparkly body of water or bright star constellations or-or city lights from a cliff or whatever twinkly shit is romantic that night until it gets way too cold. And don't think I'm taking it easy on you either. Oh, no. I'm going to be the cutest, most charismatic motherfucker you've ever seen. I'm talking full head-on-shoulder action during the movie, nonstop little half-smiles all day long, dropping a shit-ton of quarters out of my wallet while trying to find a bill smaller than a 50, and if you think for one second that I'm not going to boop you on the nose with my ice cream when you least expect it before licking it off your face, you better think again. I fully intend on charming the pants off you. Whether or not that's literal is up to you. That all okay with you?"

It was scary and new and he felt vulnerable and raw and it hurt to hope, but Stiles—smart, beautiful, cunning Stiles—was finally ripping down all of his carefully crafted excuses and telling him that it was okay to chase after something that made him happy.

"Okay."

[Part 1 of snippets]

#sterek #teen wolf #derek hale #tyler hoechlin #stiles stilinski #dylan o'brien #mieczysław stiles stilinski #snippet #wip #fanfiction #Whenever I post writings it's always from this fic #I'm probably never going to finish it #My headcanon that Derek's middle name is Samson because it means strength #Pseudology #Pseudologoi

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neutronity · 9 months

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Hua Cheng's Limitless Devotion

Sooooo... yeah. I read all 1.2M words in Heaven Official's Blessing (this included mostly already-published books, but also got my hands on the translation of the last books, since they are not yet published...) and my god I have too many thoughts in my brain.

But I want to start with this one (will put these below the read bar because spoilers abound.) Seriously, if you're watching the show or even if you've not completely finished the novels and don't like to be spoiled, well.. there be dragons below.

TW: Spoilers, Self-harm, Ideation, just... if you've read the books, you know. Suffering.

🐲🐲🐲🐲🐲🐲🐲🐲

One of the most heart-wrenching parts in the entire series is after Xie Lian has been broken. Not only did having 100 people stab him fail to save them, but his attendants have both left him, and both his mother and father have killed themselves so they are no longer his burden.

He's been twisted by White No Face so badly he has decided to unleash the Human Face disease on Yong'An for all they have done to him and his kingdom. As he's walking the former battlefield, recruiting the unsettled ghosts to take part in his plague, a wrath-rank ghost comes to him to offer his devotion and service. He doesn't have a name, so XL calls him Wu Ming. (Hint: it's Hua Cheng, or rather pre-Kiln HC.) They go together, murdering as they go (including the Yong'An king and crown prince.) It's gruesome and angry. XL is also on a clock. The curse needs to be unleashed, or it will backfire onto him.

And XL is resolved to do this. He tests the populace by revealing his face and laying in a hole, with a sword sticking out of his chest, waiting to see if even a single person will offer him help.

What happens next? Well... no one comes. Until the very last moment, when a surly guy gives XL his hat. That small gesture of kindness allowed XL to remember those pieces of himself, and he decided he was not going to unleash the plague.

Because of the whole no turning back portion of this though, the only way to stop what XL had started was to take in the cursed souls himself, and he was prepared to do that. But at the last moment, Wu Ming steps in and sacrifices himself instead. (Did I cry? Um yes. I cried. Kind of a lot.)

But it also got me thinking: what would have happened if XL had not "come to his senses" and actually unleashed the plague? Would HC still have faithfully followed him?

Yes.

We are meant to understand this too. That even if XL had folded in on himself and become a monster like WNF/Jun Wu, even with Hua Cheng knowing fully that XL had turned to that? Still he would have followed.

HC was not looking for XL to be a different person, he had not foisted expectations on XL. His faith (and ultimately what kept him tenaciously attached to the world) was that he lived for XL. That would mean that he would have lived for XL even if XL turned into a monster.

This is different than Feng Xin too, who had specific idealizations and expectations of XL. Princes should not dirty their hands, princes should not busk, princes should not rob others to survive.

Crown princes should not commit genocide.

Pretty much everyone can agree with that one. Because YEAH. And pretty much everyone would abandon someone who committed it.

But Hua Cheng would not have. He would not cluck his tongue in disapproval and disagreement, because his devotion was so deep. His devotion did not depend on the actions of the prince, they were not his to judge. He would help XL to survive and protect him from everything, even if it was in defense of a twisted prince suffering the same fate as White No Face, fighting heaven to be allowed to kill some more.

If we ever ask why XL lived, it's because HC's devotion was amoral. It was because he had faith and loved his prince more than anything, no matter what decisions that prince ultimately made.

It's really hard to wrap our minds around this. Could we too follow someone who became twisted enough to hurt everyone else around them? Where is the line we have made? Because there are very very very few people who don't have a line somewhere.

Hua Cheng did not have a line.

It's possible (and probable) that this lack of judgment, lack of line, is what will keep XL walking his own path, his third path. Because knowing that there will be someone there no matter what you do, whether it's rob a rich person or busk or... well, unleash a plague... makes it easier to do everything.

If you know that you have someone in your corner that will be there for you no matter what, who cares if you trip in the mud? Or kick someone's teeth in for insulting your friend?

HC's limitless devotion grounds XL. It's the thing that will keep XL from ever transforming into WNF, and ultimately it was also something Jun Wu was missing.

It's hard to say if that would have made a difference in JW's case, but I stand by it making all the difference in the world in XL's case.

#tgcf meta #hualian meta #hualian #neut cannot contain the thoughts in her brain #hua cheng's devotion was boundless

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ketchup-monthly · 1 year

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Lanternfam’s favorite vampire media

with the help by @space-specs

Hal- Monster High (the justice league hates when they do mental links via J’onn because he constantly has the first opening stuck in his head and doesn’t even realize hes humming it until someone says something and even then it doesn’t really go away until he has something else stuck in his head. he has also on multiple occasions cross-dresses as one of the female characters to match with Helen, who would dress as one of the guy characters. Hal kills it every single time. he looks so good its not even funny.)(the main two that Hal does are Rochelle Goyle and Operetta. Helen’s are Deuce Gorgon and Holt Hyde)(if anyone wants to draw Hal in either of those outfits please hit me up it would be so good and i would be forever grateful and maybe even owe you a kiss on the forehead for your troubles)

Guy- Twilight (he likes the side characters and wishes that SMeyer hadn’t fucked them all up like she did. he likes the baseball scene in the first movie bc it slaps, and Emmett and Leah are his favorite characters. Emmett is a lot like him and Leah was written so badly. They both deserved so much better.)(he totally doesn’t write twilight fix its on the internet but if you know the right places to go, there may be a fix it fic written by one EmeraldWarrior.)(the fics fix a lot of things about the series and are actually pretty good and god i wish they were real -ketchup)(jo doesn’t read his fics, but she has mutuals who are into Twilight and have read them, so she has heard about the fics in detail from them. she doesn’t put two and two together until she meets Guy and immediately is like “hey wait” and the secret is out but still between the two of them -specs)

John- The Argeneau Series (its vampires but they made it scientific and actually gave answers for why vampires do and require certain things instead of just leaving it down to “idk man. magic or something.” its also not too well known or talked about, so no one has had a chance to ruin it yet. just like how john likes it.)

Kyle- The Lost Boys (comics nerds have to fight vampires and look into comic books to find the answers. home alone with vampire fighting mechanics. need i say more?)(ketchup has never seen this before ever)

Jess- The Mortal Instruments/Shadowhunters (the series focuses more on the angelic and demonic than the vampires themselves, but they still play a large role in it. She believes Raphael deserved better and thinks its funny that the main vampire character is named Simon.)(the movie does not exist.)

Simon- Buffy the Vampire Slayer (fuck Joss Whedon but Buffy. he liked some parts of the show and hated others but thought it was a very interesting interpretations of an American high school.)

Jo- Castlevania (it is not anime but it is the closest western media will get to that. western animation can do things good too! -specs)(as soon as specs mentioned this, i went oooooooooooh *eyes emoji* bc i love the first two seasons sooo much -ketchup)(also yayyyyy video game series!!)

Keli- Dracula das Musical (she accidentally found it through the Korean version of Zu Ende with the redheaded Dracula on youtube and then watched a subtitled recording of it and fell in love. She likes all the versions of it that are not in English, but the German one is her favorite)(this is ketchups favorite musical)

Alan- Nosferatu (1922) (it is the vampire movie of all time and even though its corny as all get out, he likes the simplicity of it as well as the staying power it had through the depression and the world war. its also just a really hilariously stupid adaptation of Dracula.)

Carol- Vampire Academy (she can and will go on hours long rants about various things in the series. Hal has never read the books, but he did watch the movie on his own time so he could better understand her rants but that just made Carol more angry. the movie does not exist. Hal can still have a conversation with even the most dedicated of readers about the series based on what he has absorbed through osmosis from Carol.)(in this scenario specs is Hal and me and our roommate are both Carol. as this was typed, specs and i had a conversation about the plot in vampire academy lol -ketchup)

Kilowog- Hotel Transylvania (Keli showed it to him while deviously grinning in the corner, a grinch smile on her face bc she was determined to get the big tough alien into the most memeable animated vampire media ever. ‘wog doesn’t get it and ends up dealing psychic damage to the rest fo the earth lanterns when he says its his favorite of the Terran media they show him)

Razer- Blade (he likes knives so he likes the name. also. Blade is a vampire who fights other vampires and Razer is a red lantern who fights other red lanterns. it fits.)

Thaal- Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992) (theres a weird monsterfucking scene that kept ketchup from watching it the first time they tried. Thaal would get a kick out of it because hes a kinky motherfucker, as well as the stupid butt wig. seriously wtf is up with the butt wig. its so stupid)

B’dg- Count Chocula cereal boxes (his preferred form of media is staring at cardboard boxes. he finds them very entertaining.)

Helen- Cirque du Freak (specifically the manga adaptation)(she 100% convinced Hal to dress up as Larten Crepsley so she could dress up as Darren for Halloween one year, and this series singlehandedly got her over her fear of spiders)(if you haven’t read the graphic novels they’re so good i promise -ketchup)

#hey look we did it again with the characters that ketchup is obsessed with and the monster that ketchup is obsessed with!#ketchup really enjoyed doing this one lol #i was looking through this going movie show book movie show show fucking cereal box it was very fun lmao #we have either seen or heard a lot about all of these on here #i highly recommend a lot of them because they are really good #that video that it talks about in Kelis part? real. and its so freaking good #it was my into to dracula das musical lol and part of the reason that i started dying my hair red -ketchup #hope yall enjoy!#let us know if you want more lists please!!#lanternfam #lantern family #green lantern #hal jordan #guy gardner #john stewart #kyle rayner #jessica cruz #simon baz #jo mullein #keli quintela #alan scott #carol ferris #kilowog #razer gltas #thaal sinestro #b'dg #helen jordan #the 'tism lists

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joannaromanoff · 9 months

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My point of view on Red White and Royal Blue (movie, 2023) ❤️🤍💙

Red White and Royal Blue (movie) was out on Friday (11th August) and finally my our long and torturing wait was over. I read the book earlier this year and I couldn’t wait for the visual take of it.

The main reason why I love the book so much is because it never went down the road of stereotypes about same-sex relationships or LGBTQ community itself and badly-written clichés of the romantic art world (I’m somewhere in the aromantic spectrum, keep that in mind). I didn’t fear that the book would fail to keep those very important elements of the book intact even though I was sure that some parts wouldn’t make it because a 400+ page book can’t be squeezed in 2 hours.

I’m very glad that I was (mostly) right.

To be fair, I missed June, Leo and Rafael in the movie because I find their characters either pretty important to how the story was shaped or pretty fun (or both). But I get that they had to be cut so the movie wouldn’t last for 5 hours (which I wouldn’t personally mind either). What I really missed was Alex realizing he’s bisexual (and not already knowing so) and all that mental journey he has on that specific part of the book where he understands in such an in-depth way who he truly is. As a bisexual person myself, I find that part of the book so relatable and so inspiring. I had never realized it before. up until I wrote that chapter; I did miss representation so badly.

However I found the movie to be breathtakingly beautiful. Everything was as I imagined it to be.

Taylor Zakhar Perez and Nicholas Galitzine were the perfect choices for Alex and Henry respectively. It was uncanny how invested they got me. The way they played their roles with so much respect to the true core of their characters and with so much respect to what Alex and Henry and their love story represent for us, the fans. So spectacular. The wittiness, the passion, the fun and the love Alex and Henry share were all there, we could touch it. It was heart-warming really. Uma Thurman was the PERFECT casting for Ellen, too. I love her (who doesn’t?).

I love how the movie was completely respectful to what the book stands for. A same-sex romance (true romance with problems and love and passion and all those things that make a true-life romance, as well) with two characters who have actual depth and they’re not tacky LGBTQ caricatures; they get to grow right before our eyes and right beside each other. It’s immensely appreciated that sexuality was discussed under a light of honesty with sprinkles of humor on top but not any intention of mockery. And what a refreshing moment was it when Ellen wanted to discuss with Alex about his sexuality and about safe sex. A mainstream movie, a platform movie and an Uma Thurman role talking protection and same-sex intercourse in a normal and casual manner because it is a normal and valid thing, you know… ❤️🤍💙

The 16+ scenes were all just what I wished for; two people who want to touch each other, who want to kiss, caress, hold, explore each other's body because their feelings dictate them to. As an aromantic person, I don’t usually connect sexual intercourse with love and feelings. But in a rom-com, you kinda look for a connection (or you just open p*rnhub) and it was definitely there.

The movie was fun. The movie was deep. The movie was romantic. The movie was hot. The movie was a romance with sharp points and even sharper intention to be the first one to have a same-sex couple in the center and not put any shame or doubt about how they felt for one another or for their sexuality. I truly loved that specific aspect.

This movie set the bar way too high for other LGBTQ rom-coms.

I’ve gone through a lot with accepting myself and it’s not always easy. It was amazingly stimulating to see Alex and Henry with flesh and bones right in front of me to be unapologetically themselves and embrace who they are and who they love.

Now I’m going to watch it for the fifth time 🫣

"You know the b in lgbt isn't a silent letter" - Ellen Clermont

Love is love,

Joanna 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️❤️🤍💙

#red white and royal blue #rwrb movie #red white and royal blue movie #alex and henry #alex claremont diaz #prince henry of wales #ellen claremont #rwrb spoilers #rwrb book

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bookgirlrants · 2 months

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Rant #1

finally, the time has come for the first rant of bookgirlrants. for today's rant, i want to talk about dark romance and the issues i've come across while reading it.

to start, i just want to say that i'm new to the genre while also not being new at all. i used to write dark romance a lot growing up, used to read dark romance fanfics, and my favorite book has been flowers in the attic since i was 16! i just haven't started reading newer dark romance until very recently.

now, the rant. my intro to this genre has been with haunting/hunting adeline. i had heard incredible things about the duel series and finally decided to give it a go. for reference, i usually read horror and more taboo type books. i figured dark romance would stay pretty close to what i read usually (and was proved right!) so i bit the bullet and started reading.

it honestly took me about 200-300 pages into haunting to finally start liking it without cringing at least a little bit. the writing reminded me a lot of those fanfics i read as a little emo kid, which...is both good and bad. nostalgic, but a little off putting now that i'm an adult woman. however, once i started liking it, jesus christ, i started like it! i ended up caring for and falling in love with the characters.

hunting adeline on the other hand. good lord. i knew people said it was darker, but i truly was not expecting what i got with that book. incredibly action packed and heart wrenching and i was on the edge of my seat the whole time. i found a whole different love for the chracters and the books in general after finishing it.

now listen, this rant is NOT about the cat and mouse series. this rant is about the disappointing way people react to dark romance novels...actually, difficult topic novels as a whole. after finishing hunting, i put in my little star rating on goodreads and thought, shit, why not read some ratings? good god, i forgot why i always ignore ratings on books.

at the beginning of haunting adeline, i noticed the author specifically asked people not to give bad ratings just for the dark parts of the DARK romance novel. i thought it was strange, but overall didn't think much of it after that. that was, until i looked at these god foresaken reviews.

damn near every dark romance novel i've looked at has a list of trigger warnings or has a link to where you can find the content involved. personally, i don't have a problem with content/trigger warnings for books. i am absolutely the type of person that the more fucked up a book is, the more i love it. however, i know most people do not feel the same way!! there is not one thing wrong with that.

you know what there is something wrong with though? completely ignoring those warnings, proceeding, and then throwing a bitch fit of a review because it was too much for you and your standards. i am such a strong believer that just because a form of media makes you feel something negative, does not necessarily mean it's a bad thing.

if i had a penny for every review i've read over the years that are people being mad that a disturbing book...disturbed them...i would be a fucking millionaire. i've seen it with damn near every favorite book of mine/books that have truly made my stomach churn. and i have now seen it with every popular dark romance novel. it's now made me start thinking twice when i stick my nose up at a badly rated novel.

sometimes, i'll see people reply to others who have DNF'ed a dark romance because they are upset when they trampled over trigger warnings and then lost their marbles when the book triggered them. sometimes it's people who completely agree or say that they're no longer going to read the book. other times, there's people who think and feel the same way i do. people who call them out for shaming an entire genre of books and a massive group of people.

one of the reasons i love reading horror and taboo and dark romance is because of traumatic things i've been through, and i know it's the same reason a lot of people read them too. even for the people who just love a little bit of fucked up shit in their life, i get it. i just don't think i'll truly ever get why people feel the need to leave bad reviews and shame readers and authors because of something that made them feel uncomfortable. embrace the darkness, and if you can't, don't blind the ones that do with your giant fucking flashlight.

thank you guys for coming to my first rant, see ya next time! and you know where to come for questions, comments, concerns and to rant back at the void!

#rant #haunting adeline #reading #hunting adeline #book tumblr #booktok #spicy books #booklr #cat and mouse #zade and adeline #literature #book rant #dark romance #mine #goodreads #book review #bookgirlrants

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moonlarked · 1 year

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i haven’t read hamlet but i really wanna hear about your idea, can you give me like a vague rundown of the characters?

( @sarcasticinsomniac-and-theories you also asked so here :))

ok!!! So, for context, hamlet is a play where the Prince of Denmark is approached the the ghost of his recently deceased father and learns that the person responsible for the father’s death is his uncle, the new king. This leads him down a path of murder and betrayal and madness and all that stuff.

disclaimer: I am not an expert on this play. I’m actually pretty casual and i don’t know the full extent of all of the characters. I’m in the process of doing more research for my au, so this is unfinished right now, unfortunately.

So. Sophie is Hamlet. She’s the princess of Havenfield and her father, King Grady Ruewen, has passed away. She’s naturally a very emphatic, impulsive, and self righteous person, and those are all traits that I’m going to be pulling from the books to make her descent into madness more realistic and not just slapped on there to fit the play. She’s going to be frustrated with people not believing her and that’s going to turn into paranoia that she can’t trust anyone. Hamlet in the play is, well, a smartass and likes to press peoples’ buttons when he doesn’t like them. I’m gonna be keeping that with au!sophie.

Stina is Horatio. In the play, Horatio is Hamlet’s best friend and is the only person who sticks with him even as he becomes more and more illogical and obsessive. Book Stina doesn’t exactly fit this role - she’s incredibly judgemental of Sophie - but in this au she and Sophie are going to be much older than they are in the book and have made up their differences and have formed an incredibly close bond. I’m still going to be keeping Stina’s base personality, but she’s gone through a lot of character development, so to speak, and has a vastly different perspective. (also, horatio and hamlet have a very gay dynamic. I’m keeping that here.)

Fitz is Ophelia! Which…. If you’ve read the play, that may seem like an odd choice, but hear me out. Now, Ophelia is Hamlet’s “love interest” (their relationship falls apart pretty quickly) and she goes mad after Hamlet rejects her and her father ends up dying. Fitz is going to have a different personality that Ophelia. After his father (Alden here) warns him to stay away from Sophie, he’s going to remain determined to stay with her. But after Sophie turns erratic and even violent, he starts to fracture a little and doesn’t know who to turn to, since his sister is away. His father tells him to stay away (Alden is going to be just as manipulative here as he is in the books) and Fitz doesn’t know who to trust. Fitz’s mental state ends up deteriorating after his father dies.

Biana is Laertes, Ophelia’s brother. He’s away for most of the play, but when he comes back, it means a lot for the plot. At the beginning, Biana is leaving Havenfield on a trip to another nation. She stays away until she learns about the untimely death of her father, which prompts her to come back and challenge a duel. Which ends up going Really Fucking Badly.

Wylie is Reynaldo, the spy sent after Laertes. I wanted to put Wylie in here somewhere because I love him but unfortunately I couldn’t think of a major role for him. Also I’m gonna make it so he’s being blackmailed by the king via Prentice.

Lord Cassius is… King Claudius!! Just because he’s the biggest asshole i could think of! He killed the late King Grady and married his wife (which I WILL explain). Not much character to him other than he’s a jerk and I want to hate on him as much as possible. Well, I guess there is that one scene where he feels guilty, but… whatever.

Edaline is Gertrude, who married Claudius after the king died. In the play she’s portrayed as a selfish coward but in this au she’s trying to help her family and her kingdom the best she can and after the death of both her daughter Jolie and now her husband she has to find a way to cope. Also, Cassius is manipulating her into fearing that everyone is trying to take her kingdom. She has fights with Sophie about this and tries to make her see her perspective, but Sophie doesn’t listen.

Alden is Polonius (the bitch). He’s an overbearing father and one of the king’s lackeys. He dies because he was spying on Hamlet through the curtains and Hamlet mistook him for the king and stabbed him. After this Hamlet remarks that Polonius was just stupid. Absolutely nothing needs to be changed here. Perfection.

Keefe and Dex are Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. (I have not read Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, so I’m gonna be taking most of their personalities from the books.) They’re Sophie’s childhood friends who are sent (in this au blackmailed by Keefe’s father) by the king to spy on her. I’m gonna make Keefe Sophie’s old flame, because you know me. Now if you’ve read the play, you know how this ends, but let me just say in this version there’s a hell of a lot more angst (because sokeefe).

Linh is Fortinbras, the Prince of Norway (here the Princess of Choralmere) who, if I’m correct, invades the King of Denmark’s castle to get revenge for the murder of his father. In this case, she’s going to be getting revenge for the murder of her brother (sorry). I would add more but I’ve got to do more research because he was cut out of the version of the play I have.

Marella and Maruca are the gravediggers. I wanted to add them in somewhere.

Jensi is Osric, because funny.

Jolie is Yorick. :)

And Bronte is the priest.

#I think I got everyone!!#if I forget/add anyone I’ll reblog this post with the additions #kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #hamlet #kotlc au #kotlc hamlet au

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mybumpbirthandbeyond · 1 year

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Walking on a Dream

The 2 days at home before surgery flew past. I said goodbye to my kids the night before we left knowing that the next time I would see them, I would be two weeks post-op and would look very, very different. They were no different to usual. My son grasped it a bit better, but their attention span and emotions weren’t in line with what was a pretty big deal!

The morning before surgery ended up being my first, and last CrossFit class since before Christmas. We had booked to go to CrossFit Green near the hospital and it was always my plan that I would do a final class in Dublin before surgery. I had just hoped that I’d also make it to some in my own gym before. It turned out to be the first (and last I hope) workout that I seriously considered quitting. I was so deconditioned from being out of the gym for a month and still not 100%. My heart rate skyrocketed pretty quickly. I knew I would never reach the numbers on the board. At the end, I didn’t actually do as badly as I thought given all the factors, but if I hadn’t been getting surgery, I would have been seriously pissed off at myself for even of thinking of quitting.

Later that day, was my marking appointment. That appointment had been in my head since my surgery was booked - maybe then it would all seem real, because that appointment would mean it was really happening. What I didn’t anticipate, were the nerves. It was like Éilís read my mind when I went in - “a lot of patients feel nervous for this appointment but leave feeling much better,” which was exactly what happened.

I signed the consent form to confirm I wanted to go ahead with the surgery. There was a section to say I understood there were alternatives to surgery. We both had a good laugh at that: “I think I’ve exhausted all of those 😂”

I took the final pictures of my diastasis that night. I didn’t sleep terribly, but I wouldn’t say I slept well. I was fasting from 4am (I set an alarm and took a protein bar just before) and no liquid after 8am.

I walked the 15 minutes to the hospital with Alex. He already knew - I wanted to carry my hospital bag as it would be the last time I was carrying anything for a while. I’m stubborn, but I had my reasons - I don’t like asking for help and if I can do it myself I will do. I was admitted at 10am. We went to a small waiting room until I was called. We waited only 15 minutes before they told me that this was it and we had to say our goodbyes then. That felt so strange, but I wasn’t at all nervous. Poor Alex looked a bit lost, but I felt pretty calm and definitely felt ready.

I was taken to a bay to get changed into a robe, compression socks and to give a urine sample. I was there just minutes, before a doctor started taking my medical history. I didn’t even have a chance to get changed once he left, as the next thing two nurses came to get my urine sample, take a blood sample and insert a cannula for my IV. Everything felt like it was happening at breakneck speed. I literally had questions about practically everything in my medical history being fired at me, as someone else took blood at the same time.

By the time that was done, I noticed everyone in the waiting area were being taken at different points and leaving the area we were in. What I didn’t realise was they were being taken along more or less for surgery. I don’t know what I expected, but I somehow thought I was going to be taken to another room to wait. I didn’t think the next part would be the holding area right next to the operating theatre!

I had absolutely no concept of time, but the last time I checked my phone it was 11:29 and at that point I was called. I knew my surgery had been scheduled for 1:30pm and I knew that meant nothing as such, but I had in my head I had ages to wait. When I was told this was the point I would be leaving all my stuff and this was it, I was pretty shocked. I was led to the holding area where they drew the curtain around me in a room full of patients waiting for surgery, just like I was. The only difference was, surely I had a while yet to wait?

The nurse came in to go through a final few things. She asked me had I been waiting long for surgery. In terms of that morning: no 😂 in terms of everything else: it felt like it. She patted my leg and told me it wouldn’t be much longer. I don’t know how I managed to stop myself asking, ‘how is this possible because everything seems to be happening so fast’ 🙈 I have absolutely no idea how long I was sitting there before Éilís came over. I was aware I could see lots of pairs feet under the curtain that were moving about and no doubt leaving for surgery. I could hear surgeons and anaesthesiologists alike speaking to patients and leading them away. Probably the thing that set me off was hearing someone at the desk in the room say something about, ‘Éilís Fitzgerald’s patient.’ It wasn’t me they were speaking about, but my heart rate hit the roof and I realised I had to chill the hell out if I was going to be sitting there, especially if it was going to be for some time yet. I tried to just close my eyes and take deep breaths to calm down. I think I actually even drifted off for a few minutes I was so successful 🤣

When Éilís came in, I honestly felt like it was a dream. Apart from the fact when I had dreamt about that moment in the months previously, it usually ended with me being told it wasn’t happening and I had to go away and put more work in 🙈 Thankfully, this was real this time and there was no going back. We spoke for a few minutes and she asked me if I had any last minute questions, but the answer was no. I don’t know why I felt so calm at that point. It’s hard to describe - yes the day felt like someone had pushed the fast forward button, and very surreal. However other than small moments in the lead up, I didn’t ever feel anxious or nervous. All I felt was calm and ready. This was absolutely what I wanted, with the person I wanted to do it, and I knew I was in the best hands. I had long made peace with decision that this was how my journey was going to end up. We were finally there.

I had a few more minutes to sit before they were ready for me, so I stayed where I was. I say a few more minutes, but I genuinely have zero idea of how long it was. The next thing I know, the nurse and the anaesthesiologist himself came over. I instantly liked him. He introduced himself as, “I’m the person who’s going to put you to sleep with some lullabies. Shall we go do that now?” He then apologised for the wait. I said to him, this is all happening a lot quicker than I expected. I really don’t feel like I’ve been waiting at all. “Oh we all feel bad you’ve been waiting so long.” It was crazy 😅 I genuinely felt like I was in the weirdest time warp. Everyone else thought I’d been waiting ages, but I felt like I hadn’t been waiting at all.

I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t that I would walk out the holding room only to be one or two doors down into the operating theatre. Or that I would just casually walk in and then be told to hop up on the table 😅 At that point they placed the wee sticky pads on my chest for all the leads for the monitors and applied the compression pumps to my legs there and then.

I was trying to take everything in. I couldn’t quite believe even at that point that it was actually happening. I didn’t even feel nervous at all, but there was a real sense of relief and excitement. There were loads of people in the room getting ready behind me. I was aware of Éilís coming through the door to my right. The last thing I remember was the anaesthesiologist asking me the colour of the cannula, ‘pink to make the boys wink’ 😂 and then a pink mask being placed over my nose and mouth. I just remember that sweet smell of the mask that was the same as when I used gas and air in my first labour. I could feel the gas I was inhaling, and the nurse told me it was just oxygen, but I guess it probably wasn’t because I don’t remember anything else after that 😂 Either that or the timing of that was exactly at the same minute as I was given the knockout. Last time I trust someone that tells me that 🤣

My first memory was kind of coming to in recovery and thinking, ‘whoa I think I’m going to be sick’ and promptly retching. I wasn’t actually sick, but a doctor came over sharpish with a sick bag and then I was gone again. I just remember thinking, ‘bloody hell why do I have to go and test the abs straight away doing something like that 😂🙈’ I vaguely remember being told when I was going to be taken upstairs, but I felt like I was being pulled back under and couldn’t fight off the sleep. I remember being left in the room, but it was a colossal effort to keep my eyes open. The last thing I recall at that point was being aware of whoever was next me - the woman and her husband were speaking Spanish. I felt reassured that I must be okay, because I heard and understood everything they said (although if you ask me now I couldn’t tell you what they said!) I always thought I’d be the one waking up speaking Spanish under the influence of the painkillers, but it turns out I was just meant to be in the bed next door 😅

The next thing I realised my visitors were in the room. It took absolutely everything to force my eyes to stay open, but the fact that they were there I knew I wanted to be conscious. I still had absolutely no concept of time. They were only there a few minutes before Éilís came in. She could have told me absolutely anything and I would struggle to remember. What I do remember is her taking off the binder to let me look. I have no idea how I reacted or what I said. I’m guessing I shook my head in disbelief (because that’s still how I react now). Despite the fact my tissues were very stretched, somehow the quality of those tissues was actually very good for the sutures to take hold. There are no guarantees, but it’s likely the load I had put through them and the work I had put in which made the difference. I was told my diet was going to be changed due to the fact that she thought I might get really sick from anaesthetic because of the volume of it going through someone smaller framed like me. Somehow though, I managed to eat every meal I had and I didn’t retch again. I wasn’t at all sick and have no idea why. Maybe my body was just able to cope somehow.

I’ve spoken to a few people who said they had slept great the night of surgery, but I didn’t at all. Despite the painkillers and feeling like I was in a fog, my brain just wouldn’t switch off (no change there then) and of course the nurse came in regularly to see if I needed more pain relief so it felt like the night after I had each of my kids, where they just keep checking on you. That’s obviously so reassuring, and if I was asleep I wouldn’t have noticed, but I just didn’t sleep well for whatever reason.

In the morning, my catheter was taken out at 7am and I knew I’d be up and going to the toilet for my first walk. The nurse helped me the first time and I was immediately shocked at how straight I was able to stand without forcing it. I had expected the worse, so was pleasantly surprised when it just felt comfortable to stand almost straight. The nurses changed my bed when I came back because they said I was a query for staying another night, which was reinforced by the fact I was told to make another dinner choice. I knew most patients left the next day, so that was a bit confusing, but I put it down to my low blood pressure. If my blood pressure is anything, it’s always low. When I had my son, it was dangerously low the morning after given birth and I couldn’t stand. I knew it wasn’t as low the morning after surgery, but everyone remarked on it. ‘Is your blood pressure usually low?’ was a question I was asked by a couple of nurses and the physio.

When Éilís came in to check on her patients, she confirmed there would be no reason why I couldn’t leave that afternoon after showering etc. It sounded like I had been marked as a query to ensure if needed, the bed was there. That visit I remembered a bit better 😅 she took the binder off again to show me and said she was happy with how everything looked.

My nurse came back in and said she would change my belly button dressing after my shower. I managed to shower myself which I was surprised at, but so relieved. It just felt amazing to feel clean. My dressings were changed and I was then able to get dressed and put my binder back on myself. Of course, I was knackered by that time, so all I wanted to do was sleep. I was waiting on my prescription when Alex came in. The nurse read it out and I just remembered looking over at Alex thinking, that can’t be right. It sounded like the only painkillers I was being prescribed were paracetamol! Alex said, “Claire, when I had surgery on my hand I ended up with more than that, that can’t be right.” I asked Alex to get the nurse who had been with Éilís in the morning to ask her. Her face when I explained was an absolute picture! It turned out the doctor who had signed it hadn’t realised I had an abdominoplasty! 🙈 It was promptly corrected 😂 I can handle a lot, but wouldn’t have liked to be climbing the walls with the pain later thinking, why didn’t I say something?

The hospital physio visited me before I was discharged. It felt completely ironic if I’m honest. At the very beginning, we now know I should have been seen by a physio on the ward after having my son, and ever since then I’ve lucked out when it comes to physios. I couldn’t help but smile wryly at the fact I wasn’t being discharged post-op until I had been seen. She said my surgeon had told her I was pretty clear on everything I could and couldn’t do, but she just wanted to check coughing, breathing and log rolling. She readjusted the bed and when I log rolled, she told me I was really strong in doing it so she had no concerns. The coughing was no doubt the worst thing about being post-op. It is absolute agony, but a necessary evil to ensure I didn’t end up with a chest infection or worse post anaesthetic.

Before leaving, she took my blood pressure thinking she would get me to walk the corridors and then downstairs. I was game, but she decided because of my low blood pressure we wouldn’t do it. I felt able to, but this was day 1: there would be plenty time to test the waters when the time was right. She handed me a leaflet for post abdominal surgery and apologised: “you can’t do the majority on here anyway which I’m sure you know, but I mistakenly crossed out walking as well. You can walk and that’s it.” 😂

We were lucky to be staying across the road from the hospital. However, I was more than a bit mortified when Alex said he’d be taking me in a wheelchair to the apartment then would return it to the hospital. That led to a hell of an argument 🤣 but in the end I had no energy to fight him on it long enough to get my way and walk myself. I’ll probably never forgive him for making me do that. Talk about overprotective! I love him, but honestly I swear he insists on some things knowing how much it’ll wind me up!

I thought I’d struggle sleeping at night, but thankfully not. Although positioning myself took time, we got there eventually. Alex drove me crazy at times, but I can’t fault him as a nurse. He was on top of my painkillers and what I could take and when, did everything for me like dressing me, drying my hair and helping me clean my belly button. He cooked, brought everything to me and opened every door before I could even think of doing it. The odd time I slipped up, he gave me the hard stare that I’m pretty sure he reserves for me when I piss him off because, I’m ‘too stubborn.’ 🤣🙈

The second day I probably wanted to go out for a walk, but I was exhausted, and ended up napping on the couch. I hadn’t felt great that day so I listened to my body. While I was keenly aware of how everything felt like it was going better than I had expected, I knew I would now play a part in that in terms of what I was doing. The Monday after surgery, I went for a small walk and although I was walking a bit gingerly, I was pretty much straight when I was walking. I’m naturally a really fast walker, so to see Alex slow down for me was a reality check, but I knew I would get stronger at some point and wasn’t bothered how long it took, I was just grateful to be doing well.

That evening, I spotted my ankles were pretty swollen. I knew going to bed I would be immobile for the whole night and while I could have taken the compression socks off between days 3 and 5 post-op, I made the decision to keep them on at night. I also decided that on top of walking outside during the day, I would walk lengths of the long corridor in the evenings outside our apartment. Alex said it wasn’t quite 100m so I would do ‘there and back’ a few times. The first time I did 4 times, only for Alex to tell me it was quite quick so I decided to do more. Every night thereafter from then on, (with the exception of two nights when I was just too tired) I did 10 full lengths of the corridor which would take about 20 minutes (at the start) on top of any walk during the day. I wasn’t actively trying to do them quicker (Alex doesn’t believe that, but it’s true), but each time got quicker and easier. It gave me a bit of movement before bed, and equally some alone time and headspace to try and figure things out.

The next day was the only blip in my initial recovery. I noticed there seemed to be an infection at my belly button. I had been told that was really common given what belly buttons are, but I just knew it wasn’t quite right. When I explained how it looked over the phone, Éilís agreed it sounded infected and prescribed me antibiotics. I probably caught it a day earlier than maybe normal, as the next day it was red around it and looked more infected, but by that time I was already getting antibiotics into my system so thankfully, had no issues with a fever or anything else. I’ve always been hyper aware of everything going on at my tummy and that wasn’t about to change post-op. I think that’s probably why I caught it so early.

At 7 days post-op, I had my first physio consult. We discussed surgery and how I was doing and they had a look at my tummy. They both remarked how upright I was and how good it looked. I think Antony even commented I was looking ‘jacked.’ I have no idea what he was seeing, but I’ll take it 😅 The whole thing was surreal. I couldn’t believe a week had passed since that absolute blur of a day that would change my life forever. I still can’t get over it now.

The next day, Alex was leaving to swap with my Mum, who had been looking after Cailean and Emily since the Wednesday before. We had agreed it wasn’t fair on the kids to be away from both of us for so long, so Mum would come out as Alex went home. I would be on my own for about 5 hours, with Alex threatening to lock me in if he thought I was going to do anything that wasn’t allowed 🙄 I had suggested I would do my outdoor walk before my Mum arrived, but I had to compromise to my lengths of the corridor. Even then, he wasn’t happy I would be opening the apartment door myself. When he was leaving was the first time I got emotional. He had driven me crazy as I said, but I couldn’t have done it without him. Not just surgery - everything I had gone through in the last almost 4 years. He has been my rock throughout and I’m so lucky to have him.

I was probably a bit more emotional on my own between Alex leaving and my Mum arriving, so I was glad when she arrived a bit sooner than expected. During that week, I continued being able to walk more and for longer, but still listening to my body when I needed a rest.

The Monday after Mum arrived, was probably the most eventful. I thought my infection was getting worse - although that was based on how my belly button looked. It was decided that the way I cleaned it would change - no more antiseptic or ointment, just water and instead of a dressing, a panty liner inside my vest under the binder to ensure it was wicking any moisture away from the belly button. I was relieved - it previously felt like a never ending cycle where I would clean it, try to dry it as much as possible, but it would look worse again the following day when I took the dressing off.

My Mum had arrived in Dublin with conjunctivitis in both eyes, but it was steadily getting worse. I had no idea how to access doctors while we were there, but we ended up in an out of hours clinic at a nearby hospital. She had heard how awesome the doctors were and didn’t want to miss out 😂 That was probably the first time I was in close proximity to others outside of the shops in the waiting room without my jacket on. I watched two families with toddlers waiting to be seen. I’ve been that soldier many a time with my two. I suddenly thought they’re probably looking at me thinking I’m due a baby myself…only to look down and realise, “Nope. Nobody will think that ever again.” 🥹 It was the first time it hit me, but even then it felt like the feeling was barely scratching the surface.

My final appointment before going home was to get my dressings off at 12 days post-op. It was the weirdest feeling walking into the hospital and up to Éilís’ office, when the last time I had been there was my marking appointment the afternoon before surgery. I had taken paracetamol before just because I thought it would probably hurt. By that day, I had come off all painkillers and was only occasionally taking paracetamol - usually for a headache rather than anything to do with surgery. The dressings coming off wasn’t the most pleasant experience, but it was over quickly thankfully. It was the first time I got to see my scar and I know it seems strange, but I was delighted. It was the next big part of the puzzle post-op. When the nurse got me to look in the mirror once she had trimmed the sutures and cleaned it, I think I once again shook my head. I just couldn’t believe that that was what I looked like now. I still can’t. I was told the swelling below my belly button would go down and there were some cracking bruises, but I couldn’t care less if this is how it looked from now on. I’m over the moon and blown away the results. Compared to how I came into that office 13 days previously, it was night and day.

It was even harder to comprehend when the nurse took the photos and compared them to the very first consult last March 🤯 she put them side by side and said: “you can tell you’re fit and strong, but look at the difference.” I swear I feel like one of those Churchill dogs in those adverts that used to shake it’s head. I just cannot get my head round it.

Leaving the appointment though, I felt strange and I can’t really put into words how I was feeling. There was an air of finality creeping in again and I didn’t know how to feel. I didn’t know the words to thank my surgeon and her team for everything they had done. How can you thank someone who has had such a profound impact on your life? Who has changed your life for the better? I still can’t comprehend that this is it. I still don’t feel any of this is really real. I don’t know how, or when that will change.

My team - my physios, my surgeon and of course my husband - want to protect me at the minute. I love them for it, but there’s no denying: no matter what we all do, there is a weight of expectation and I can’t ignore it forever. Even in the lovely comments on my first update post-op, I had incredible comments like: “the whole community are wondering how you’re getting on,” “the update we’ve been waiting on,” “lots of us interested having followed your journey,” and “can’t wait to see your next update”. Even that’s hard to believe. People have been following from the beginning and they want to see it through with me to the end. It blows my mind as much now, as it did in the beginning.

I came home to my kids and my husband two days after that appointment. My son has grown up with this as much as I have lived with it. There have been times he’s been fixated on my tummy, and he completely understood everything about it getting fixed by the time surgery came. It came as no surprise then, that every single day I FaceTimed him when I was away, he asked to see my tummy. When I eventually showed him, he was speechless, which is pretty impressive for an almost 4 year old, who never stops speaking! The poor wee guy couldn’t comprehend it either.

I know it might be hard to understand why I have shared everything over the years and now I have the biggest update of all, but I’m not ready to share yet. I’m really struggling with it myself. I don’t know how I feel about everything. That’s partly why I made the decision to release these blog posts first. I hoped that if I tried to process it by writing (which has always been my go to throughout this journey), maybe I could figure it out. I’m reluctant to see anyone I know yet. I was happy in my bubble in Dublin because no one knew me there. I could go out for a walk and be completely anonymous. I go out for a walk now feeling I might bump into someone. I don’t want to hide away forever, but I’m dealing with some huge emotions and thoughts right now, after what has been years of my life.

There is one thing for certain I do know in all of this - how even more incredibly lucky I am now. Not only do I have my amazing physios, I now have the most amazing surgeon. I knew that before she even laid eyes on me in person, but throughout all of this, that has just become clearer each time and of course, no more so than when I woke up post-op. Her skills as a surgeon were never in doubt; but they were the cherry on top of an incredibly kind, caring and supportive person who got me as a person, how I felt, and what I wanted to achieve from day 1. That is everything I could have asked for and more. As with everything I have experienced throughout, there will never be enough words to express my gratitude for what my team have done and continue to do for me.

I have videos and pictures from those early days post-op. I will post these when I’m ready. I know many women following are considering or are getting an abdominoplasty, and I know maybe something I share might help. Maybe even just as reassurance that if that’s the decision they’ve made, they won’t regret it.

I have never been ashamed of getting surgery. It was very clear to me, even as early as 2020, that it would be my only option. That was reaffirmed when I was opened up. There was just no way I could do it myself: no matter what I did and no matter how hard I tried, or how long I put in the work, and I know I did absolutely everything humanly possible to try.

When the time comes, I will be putting the same efforts into my final chapter of rehab. Whilst I know they wouldn’t agree, it’s the very least I owe my surgeon and my physios. Once again, so much time and effort has been put into me and I couldn’t not repay that the only way I truly can. Even then, that probably won’t ever be enough for everything they have done for me. 🍀🌟❤️

#mybumpbirthandbeyond #diastasisrecti #postpartumrecovery #postpartumbody #pelvichealthphysio #pelvichealth #postpartum #plasticsurgery #abdominoplasty #postop

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 3 years

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A/N: If there’s anything I learned from doing this, it’s that vampirerry is an utter WHORE. Good for him!!!! As for myself, I’m done with the semester and my term projects and finals left my singular brain cell fried, so this was a nice way to get back into writing again. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thank you to the anon that suggested it, this was super fun to do! :D

read you’re someone i just want around here

word count: 6k

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Harry is very attentive when it comes to aftercare with Y/N. The sex they have is often rough and includes toys, degradation, and multiple rounds, so he believes aftercare is non-negotiable. Rough sex can be fun, but if it’s not followed by a lot of communication and post-performance support, it can take a hard emotional toll on a person. Even when intimacy isn’t meant to be inherently sentimental, there has to be a certain level of connection and etiquette surrounding it, or it could end badly for both parties involved. He always checks on her immediately after they finish, simply to gauge her headspace and how her body is responding, and after he’s made sure she’s alright, he goes into his usual routine of skin-to-skin contact and gentle coddling. Reassurance and praise is just as important afterwards as it is during, because it’s good to let a partner know that your appreciation runs deeper than just the physical need felt in the heat of the moment; everyone deserves to feel valued beyond their body.

Harry proceeds to clean Y/N up after every session, because it’s the least he can do since she’s usually the one getting the brunt of the work. He’ll fetch a clean towel dampened under warm water to wipe her clean, or he’ll offer to help give her a bath or a shower— whichever route she prefers. Harry dresses her, and changes the sheets if need be, and tucks her into bed to ensure she’s nice and comfortable. If it’s been a particularly intense session, he’ll go the kitchen and bring back a snack and a drink— a granola bar and a Gatorade, or some chips and her favorite juice, or if she’s feeling especially hungry, he’ll happily go out of his way to prepare her an actual meal— and he insists on feeding it to her bit by bit until she’s come to enough to handle it on her own. If she’s not hungry, he at least brings her a glass of water and urges her to drink it; better to be safe than sorry. After that, more cuddling is the status quo, which normally ends in Y/N falling asleep in his arms, and Harry has absolutely no problem with that at all.

B = Body Part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Harry’s favorite body part of Y/N’s is probably her chest. Yes, he likes it for sexual reasons— obviously— but there are innocent reasons for his fascination, as well. He likes how responsive she gets when he touches her there— how he can get her going just by groping her the way she likes it, or by using his mouth to tongue across her nipples until she’s writhing in pleasure and whining for more. He loves leaving hickies all over her tits, probably more than she likes receiving them. It’s just so fucking hot seeing himself marked all over her, especially when she’s putting on a bra and he can see all of the dark bruises scattered across the cleavage spilling from the undergarment. Filth aside, he also enjoys loving all over her chest. Absentmindedly cupping them while they’re snuggling, nuzzling his head between them while they’re watching television, massaging them under her shirt with his large palms as she sits back against his chest, sipping a glass of wine and chatting away, unwinding after a long day. It’s a form of intimacy; it provides a type of closeness nothing else can.

As for his own favorite body part, it’s a tie between two different areas. He loves his thighs— they’re one of his most prominent features. They’re thick and meaty and sensitive, so they’re the perfect sweet spot to touch when he wants to get riled up. Given his previous response, it can be easily deduced that he likes to get hickies there, as well. The marks look great peeking out from under his briefs (for the short amount of time they last, anyways) and they make a great accessory to the large tigerhead tattoo along his left thigh. It’s artwork, really; a proper Picasso.

His other favorite body part...well, take a lucky guess. It’s likely not that far off— literally, considering it hangs right between his thighs.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Harry’s personal preference is cumming inside. He adores feeling the way Y/N tightens around him when he finally orgasms (she’s just so warm and soft and unbelievably tight; it’s like she was made for him), almost as much as he loves seeing her reaction. Her body will immediately start to wriggle and her back will arch as she releases broken little whimpers, clinging to his shoulders with her nails and begging him to fill her until he’s milked his worth. Hearing her ragged breathing and feeling her sweaty chest stutter against his is enough to do him in, but when she goes as far as to gnaw on his ear and whine a soft little, “Want it all, baby. Want you dripping out of me when we’re done.” Well, that’s enough to kill him all over again.

Of course, there are times when Harry likes seeing himself all over her, too. On her outstretched tongue, or smeared across her pretty face and plush lips (she looks particularly cute when it ends up all over her eyelashes), or streaked over the valley of her tits, or pooled at the center of her tummy. If he’d been taking her from behind, then he likes seeing it run down the backs of her thighs, or splattered across the dip of her spine. And if she’d been giving him a handjob, then seeing himself dribbling down her fingers is just as good. Why? Because those fingers usually end up in her mouth, which means he ends up all over her tongue, and so the cycle comes full circle. How poetic.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Did Harry suggest wearing a matching set of a vibrating cock ring and buzzing bullet to do grocery shopping once? Yes. Did he drop three glass jars of peach preserves by accident as a result, causing them to have to book it out of the bread aisle while trying to look as unsuspicious as possible, which failed horribly because they were literally hobbling like a crippled elderly couple? Also yes. Did they end up fucking in a Target fitting room? Definitely.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

A lot of experience. Tons. Immense amounts. Insane amounts. Two hundred years of the same seven continents just means two hundred years worth of sex across every single one. And it gives you plenty of time to find the clitoris, as well as giving you a chance to learn the female anatomy like the back of your hand. That being said, Harry doesn’t doubt he could make Y/N cum with his wrists tied behind his back and a blindfold strapped to his face. In fact, he’s made her cum just by using his thigh, so that in itself is enough credibility to last him several more lifetimes. The toy chest in his closet and the fact that he’s well-endowed are bonuses— he knows more than enough tricks to keep her satisfied with just his tongue. Not to mention his fingers— they’re long for a reason.

F = Favorite position

Funny enough, Harry doesn’t have one. He’s spent so many decades cycling through every possible position in existence, it’s gotten to where he can’t pin-point a preference; all positions are unique, and they each have their own appeal. Reverse cowgirl is nice because he likes watching the way he stretches Y/N open with every plunge of her hips, and it also gives him the luxury of marking his rings across her ass in the process. Regular cowgirl is nice, too— having her chest bouncing in his face is nothing short of a divine miracle, in his opinion. Doggy style is a staple, and there’s always different add-ons he can apply to spice it up; for example, taking her from behind with her wrists tied to her ankles, or bending her over the kitchen counter with her face pressed into the marble, or fucking her against his glass wall with her hands and chest flushed to the cool surface as their breaths fog the floor-to-ceiling window.

Missionary is a tried and true option, and just like it’s prior counterpart, it can be enhanced with a variety of extra tricks. Bondage is a good condiment, against the wall is always a nice touch, spread-eagle never goes wrong, and just having her legs wrapped around his lower back is more than enough. However, he does have two favorite variations of the position. The first is when he mounts her legs onto his shoulders or along the inside of his elbows to open her up more, and then just ramming his hips down at a very specific angle that hits her g-spot just right, pounding her into the bed so hard she tears the sheets off the mattress. The second is a cowgirl-missionary hybrid: he sits back on his heels and uses the steep downward slope created by his thighs as elevation, pulling her ass onto his tilted lap and swinging her legs over either side of his hips. He gropes her waist with his palms and yanks her forward, bouncing her against his cock and watching her completely dismantle as he nudges all the right places with as much speed and force as she deems fit.

And then there’s fucking from the side, but that’s a whole other extensive conversation he doesn’t have time for.

Actually, maybe Harry will entertain it for a minute or so. He usually throws one of Y/N’s legs over his neck to get a deeper range, manhandling her roughly onto her side and yanking her closer to his body by her waist, grasping it with stern vigor and holding her down against the mattress, grunting out a gravelly, strict command along the lines of, “Stay fucking still.” He’ll drill into her at a brutal, consistent pace, staining his fingerprints along the curves of her torso and sponging damp kisses onto her ankle, smirking into her skin as he watches her fist at the duvet in a futile attempt at maintaining her bearings. It’s pretty evident that she can’t, though; the way her eyes lull around their sockets from his harsh stride does a terrible job at hiding her lack of self-control, alongside the fragmented curses she gasps out whenever he nudges her g-spot with the head of his cock.

“Oh, that was such a pretty noise. Did I hit that little spot you like?”

Her response will be begrudging, as always, which he thinks is ridiculously useless considering he can see her burying her face into the pillow to hide how her jaw drops open in sheer rapture. “No.”

“No?” The vampire leans forward, stretching her leg towards the headboard and preening at the garbled squeak that escapes her gritted teeth, plunging deeper as he lowers himself to her level. He knots her hair around his knuckles, tugging sharply until her face is tilted back enough to meet his fiery gaze. “Then why are you starting to shake?

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It depends on the mood, honestly. There are definitely serious moments, but Harry enjoys the humorous ones just as much. He already adores making Y/N laugh and smile on a regular basis, and that desire only grows when he’s buried between her thighs, simply because she just looks so fucking cute laughing with her hair splayed around the pillows in a messy halo, her sounds of glee stuttering due to how sharply she’s jolting against the bed. He loves feeling her giggle into his mouth as he cracks sarcastic jokes and makes stupid witty comments that break the intensity in the air, especially because she’s usually clever enough to return them with some of her own. Then they both end up snickering like idiots as he tries to keep a solid pace, which eventually tapers to a messy, haphazard stride as their laughter drowns out their goal to the point where he has to take a genuine break to collect himself. There’s tons of examples— how could there not be? Sex is hardly ever perfect, so awkward moments are not only expected, but guaranteed. What better way to handle them than with a bit of humor?

There was an incident once where Harry accidentally knocked their foreheads together so hard, they both bruised (which he responded to with, “I’m pretty sure this isn’t what Cosmopolitan meant when they suggested matching couples tattoos.”). Another time, he got so into the moment he didn’t realize he was jack-hammering the top of her head into the backboard until she brought it to his attention (and made a comment saying it sounded like a sped up version of the beat to We Will Rock You). A bad case of the hiccups. Y/N burping right in his face halfway through his orgasm. A random leg cramp that made him think he was going to need amputation to survive. Accidentally rolling off the bed or couch onto the ground and nearly dislocating both of their spines in the process, getting his cross earring tangled in her hair and nearly ripping off his ear trying to get it out, and the unfortunate collapse of a pillow fort he’d spent over an hour building. He even sneezed in her face once, and when she instinctively went to shove him back, she wound up slamming her palm into his nose so hard he nearly passed out. Nose bleeds aren’t necessarily sexy, per se, but he just dug blindly through her nightstand until he found two new tampons somewhere in that black hole she calls a drawer, shoved them in his nostrils, and kept going. No one can ever accuse him of being unresourceful.

Queefing. Lots and lots of queefing, which he usually starts mimicking with his mouth, and then she responds to that by whining and telling him to cut it out, and then he takes to mocking her whining instead. It normally finishes with them laughing so hard that Harry’s cheeks hurt from smiling so big, but it’s a good type of pain. The best type of pain.

H = Hair (how do they groom?)

Harry likes keeping himself neat and orderly, but he doesn’t enjoy going bare, so trimming is his grooming preference. There’s just something so unappealing about a completely smooth dick— it looks like raw chicken and it’s fucking disgusting. He doesn’t have anything against a good bush, but it tends to get unruly and he’d rather not have to overcomplicate his shower routine. And honestly, he can’t trust himself because last time he had a full front yard going, he got shitfaced and tried to braid it on a dare. Keeping the hedges trimmed is the ideal landscaping option, and it just looks way hotter— a uniform dusting of hair is a good accessory and it just makes everything look more cohesive, given that he also fancies keeping his happy trail thick. It’s all about aesthetics, isn’t it?

I = Intimacy (the romantic aspect)

It’s no secret that Harry’s been somewhat detached from intimacy for the last two hundred years or so. Intimacy is reserved for genuine romance, and that’s something he hadn’t entertained since before the lightbulb was invented. But now that he has Y/N, intimacy has crawled its way back out from the deepest recesses of his subconscious, where it had been shoved into a bottomless pit with the rest of his trauma. He likes it— he likes opening up to her in any way he can, because sharing those obsolete parts of himself with someone again is more fulfilling than he ever imagined. He likes kissing her randomly when she’s halfway through a sentence, just to feel her words die off abruptly in her throat as she gives into his gentle gesture, a delicate smile spreading across her satin lips. He likes whispering sweet phrases of encouragement into her hair when they’re tangled amidst sweaty limbs and rumpled sheets, reminding her of how much he cares for her and how beautiful she looks when she’s so far gone and how she makes him feel like his entire body has been set alight. He likes sponging soft pecks across the stretch marks along her thighs and across the dimples on her belly, her skin candy and velvet on his tongue as she releases a watery sigh that lets him know he’s doing all the right things in all the right places. He just likes letting her know she's special to him, in any and every way he can.

Intimacy forges timeless bonds, and he reckons that assumption is unarguable, considering he knows a thing or two about eternity.

J = Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

Harry likes to jack off, obviously. Who doesn’t? It’s why he has an entire section of his toy chest dedicated to self-pleasuring tools. Vibrating cock rings, an array of lubes that range from temperature-changing to sensation sensitivity, and a few pocket vags that get the job done whenever Y/N is out of commission (usually because of work). His favorite one is an electronic sleek black model that is made of a premium silicone material and has a variety of massage settings, suction strengths, and internal textures. It’s designed to make the session feel more real, and yes, it was expensive, but self-love is always worth the splurge.

The beauty of living on his own is that he can get off wherever and whenever he wants, without having to stress about someone interrupting an important step in his pampering routine. He usually does it in his room and on his bed, simply because Y/N’s pillow is close by and the experience is heightened when her scent is swimming around his hazy, bliss-drunken mind. If Harry is feeling particularly needy, he’ll ditch the toy all together and just hump one out against the mattress or cushion. If it’s a particularly restless day, he’ll take a toy downstairs and lazily play within himself on the couch while browsing through Netflix. Those instances usually average a few tamer orgasms rather than a single large one, but he’s not complaining; his stamina comes in unapologetic waves that stem from a never-ending supply, and he certainly has the time to kill. If Harry gets the sudden urge in the shower or while he’s relaxing in his jacuzzi, he won’t bother fetching a trinket; he’ll just stroke one out with his hand, using the cool metal of his trusty lionhead ring to tease the tip until he brings himself to orgasm. It turns out daylight crystals have more than one use.

There is one common factor amongst all these different choices, though: Y/N is present in every fantasy. And if the vampire is feeling especially bold, he’ll grab his phone and take a video of whatever he’s doing to himself, and then she’ll have a nice little gift waiting for her once she gets out of the café for the day. That usually leads to him receiving a present in return later that evening, and then he’s dialing her contact before the clip is even done playing, and then what he does during his alone time doesn’t require him being so alone anymore.

K = Kinks

Harry has tons— in fact, he has so many, he can’t really keep track. And he also has the sneaking suspicion that if he were to ever jot all of them down, he’d end up locked in some type of sex addict rehabilitation center. Bondage is a big one, so he’ll start there. He’s great with ropes, given that he learned his way around them ages ago. Chains are nice, but they can be a pain to set up without the right equipment; he’s thinking of getting a reinforced metal hook installed into his ceiling, like the one in his storage closet, which he uses to keep his punching bag secure. Handcuffs, obviously— velvet-lined, straight metal, fuzzy coverings, he’s got it all. Dominance, degradation, Daddy, Sir, choking, brat-taming, spanking, flogging, slapping— impact play in general, to be honest— spitting, wax, praise, begging, masochism, branding (mild stuff, no molten metal shit), collaring, discipline, dirty talk, edging, exhibitionism, face-fucking, face-sitting (with him on the receiving end), giving oral (is that a kink? It is now.) gagging (both the action and using the actual object itself), breeding (he hates that term but that’s the official name, unfortunately), teasing, voyeurism, role play, and… he thinks that’s it. Oh, and blood, but that doesn’t really count for apparent reasons.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Y/N’s couch is sacred, at this point. Their entire relationship started on that lumpy, worn excuse of a sofa, and it’s seen them through their progression from strangers to friends with benefits to lovers to more. It’s comfortable enough, the dark color hides any explicit stains, and the cushions always smell of her signature mixture of honey and lavender combined with Snuggle fabric softener. It’s finicky, but irreplaceable. His kitchen counter is a close second. It’s provided a lot, taken a lot, been through a lot— through a lot of Lysol wipes, to be specific. If it wasn’t marble, it likely would have been reduced to chunks and rubble by now, courtesy of his enhanced strength gripping the edges as he slams her against the smooth surface. The backseat of his Cadillac is consecrated, as well; there’s just so much erotic appeal to fucking in a car with rock music blaring in the background, muffling the obscene sounds of bodies connecting and a mixture of fever-pitch moans. The couch, the counter, and the Cadillac— the Unholy Trinity.

The jacuzzi is nice, too, but for the sake of his clever little “c” alliteration, he’ll leave that one as an implied token.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

As much as Harry claims he likes full submission in bed, he can’t deny that he loves being challenged. Delivering punishment and coaxing out an orgasm is so much more satisfying when he has to fight for it; it’s so fucking hot watching his girlfriend try to best him in a power struggle, especially when she finally— and undeniably, since he always wins— caves under his will and winds up begging him for what he otherwise would have gifted her freely. That’s where the brat-taming kink comes into play. He likes it when she mouths off and makes snarky digs, and he enjoys it even more when he tries to set her in place and she amps her disobedience as a result. There’s nothing more attractive than a battle of wits with someone who is a perfect match in every way. And when she channels her attitude into physical gestures, it riles him up beyond compare. For example, when she smirks and rolls her eyes, despite the fact that there’s trails of tears staining her cheeks and mascara smeared all over her waterline? Christ, he could go feral.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

No feet, no feces, no beastiality. There’s probably more, but those are the ones off the top of his head.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Receiving oral is great— he highly recommends it, solid ten out of ten— but giving it is so much better. Harry’s always been a giver, even when he was young and barely knew his way around a woman’s undergarments. The stereotypical expectation for a person who is beginning to explore their sexuality is that everything they do, they do for their own gain. It’s a selfish realization, yes, but it’s a primal type of selfishness that no one can truly be blamed for. It’s a simple concept: when you start having sex, you want as much personal benefit as possible. It’s only natural. But from the second Harry became sexually active, he came to find that providing release to his partner outweighed the bliss he could get from letting them pleasure him instead. It’s not direct pleasure, but rather cognitive, which more often than not translates itself physically. And when it comes to Y/N, that euphoria manifests tenfold.

Nothing compares to having his face buried between her legs as she tugs and yanks at his hair desperately, her chest heaving and jaw falling open as he uses his tongue to unravel her from the inside out. Spitting sloppily onto her folds and hearing the raw gasp of aroused shock that escapes her sore throat, which causes his swollen lips to spread into a dirty grin as he latches onto the sensitive bud at the thick of her core, fiddling with it until her legs are trembling uncontrollably around his sturdy shoulders. Watching her features go slack as he bobs his neck fervently between her thighs, swiping the bridge of his nose across her clit over and over until the entire bottom half of his face is drenched in her excitement. Fucking his tongue into her and feeling her buck against his jaw as she holds him in place with her fingers tangled in his curls, whimpering his name repeatedly in a voice so shattered, he could probably build a mosaic with the fractures. Feeling her drip down his chin and into the collar of his shirt, savoring how sweet she tastes as he pins her hips down against the bed and groans feverishly into her cunt, his ego idolizing the image of her so disheveled under his influence.

A measly blowjob is hardly any competition to that. Harry could very well cum just from eating Y/N out. In fact, he has, and that in itself is all the proof he needs.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

This is one of those other factors that depends on the mood. If Harry has been waiting all day for it, his impatience bleeds into his rhythm, which means he settles for fast and hard. It means he settles for bending her over the back of his couch with one palm around her throat and his other fingers in her mouth, pounding into her with so much force, the sofa starts shifting across the ground. If Y/N has been teasing him endlessly for a decent amount of time, it’ll be rough and deep, but not fast; he’ll drag it out for as long as possible, just to make her regret acting like such a spoiled brat. That’s when he brings out the paddle, or the crop, or just manhandles her across his lap and spanks her until she’s apologizing profusely through her whines. If he’s in a soft, romantic headspace, it’ll be slow and sensual, with lots of gentle caresses, giggly kisses dusted across eager lips and droopy eyelids, and penetrating strokes that make his toes curl and tummy clench.

Pace is relative, but the message behind it is all the same: I want you more than anything, and I’m going to show you just how deeply I mean it.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are fun, Harry will admit. They’re filthy and messy, and they show just how far gone two people are for each other to the point where they can’t wait to feel one another at a later time; that they need to be together now, or they’ll go absolutely insane. Quickies are saved for when the urge strikes at random times. For when he’s out with Y/N at a park, sitting under the shade with his head in her lap as she combs his curls out of his eyes and thumbs over his chin affectionately, and the sun filters through the tree canopy just right to where it illuminates her lashes and the suppleness of her cheeks in a manner he deems ethereal. For when they’re at the mall, walking hand in hand and licking at ice cream cones as they survey the shops, and she reaches over to wipe a bit of Rocky Road off the corner of his mouth, replacing the stain with a soft stipple of her lips instead. For when they’re out eating dinner and playing footsie under the table like immature teenagers, and she’s trying to steal a French fry from his plate but he keeps fighting her off with his fork because, “I told you to order your own, but you wanted those disgusting potato skins instead!” And she’s laughing so brightly and unapologetically, giving him a look that so obviously tells him she can’t wait to get him alone, and nothing seems quite as flawless as that fraction in time, then and there and nowhere else.

These simple but memorable moments cause him to get love boners, which he jokingly refers to as “sniffy stiffies,” where “sniffy” has to do with being sentimental, and “stiffy”...well, that one is pretty self-explanatory, no? It always ends with them shagging in the car, or in the family bathroom of a diner, and in the case of the park, in an obscure area of the forest that lines the jogging trail.

Quickies are just that— fast, but meaningful nonetheless, because they come from a place of genuine emotion. They’re fleeting, but unforgettable. Sniffy stiffy quickies, if you will.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Taking risks is the norm in Harry’s life, especially when it comes to his sex habits. He’s proven time and time again that he has no problem riding along the seams of a dare and just barely making it out unscathed, so experimenting outside of the bedroom is just another day in the life. Fingering Y/N in a music room in an antique shop, getting road head during a two hour drive back to Los Angeles, ripping his girlfriend’s panties out from beneath her dress at one of California’s most prestigious restaurants— the list is endless, really. Harry likes to think he has a gift for coming up with inspirational quotes on the spot, so he’ll lend his expertise here and now: “A life without risks is a life that isn’t worth shit.” It even rhymes, so he knows sorority pledges will have a ball putting it in their Instagram bios. A bit of charity work for the bird-brained.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Endless stamina. Literally. Vampires don’t stay tired for long, so he could be ready to go again within seconds. And he can last long, as well; his stubbornness and pride depend on it, and he likes making his partner cum first as an ego boost. He can go as many rounds as Y/N can and more, though he won’t push it. He doesn’t want her to end up in the ER with a bruised cervix.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Harry could run a sex shop from his closet; Y/N doesn’t take the piss by calling him “Fifty Shades” for no reason. He uses them on himself, he uses them on her, and he got high once and tried to sword fight Y/N with a dildo, so it’s safe to say he definitely uses them quite a bit. If his Lovesense Lush 3 vibrator could talk, he’d be drawn and quartered for excessive debauchery.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Harry loves teasing, that’s no mystery. Winding people up is one of his most practiced skills, so of course that would channel into his intimate life. He’s mastered it, though it’s not like it’s hard. A drawn out blink here, or a feathery touch there. An inch of space between his and Y/N’s lips to establish some tension, or squeezing her inner thigh with his palm hard enough to draw a tiny squeak from her chest. Touching her through her clothes, or leaving a trail of wet kisses down her throat and stopping right at her cleavage. Biting the sensitive skin along the inside of her knee, or dragging the tip of his cold nose down the center of her twitching tummy. Lapping slowly at her nipples until they perk up, or sinking a single long digit inside her and keeping it there just to feel her clench around it needily. And once he gets a pattern going, teasing molds into edging, edging molds into begging, begging molds into praise, and before he knows it, he’s hit four of his kinks with one roll of the dice.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Harry is very vocal in bed, and he’s not ashamed of it. He knows for a fact that Y/N loves it, and if him being loud gets her worked up, then he’ll let his throat go out in the process. He’s noticed that in different situations, he has an arsenal of sounds for each. If he’s being rough and dominant, he tends to groan, grunt, and growl. If he’s being desperate and needy, he turns to whines and whimpers to communicate how he feels. If he’s too zoned into the moment to distinguish all his emotions, broken moans and stuttered mewls are his default. No matter the circumstance, they all take the same route: they start low and soft, and escalate in volume proportional to the intensity of the moment. So what if half the building is hearing him orgasm for the third time as he mocks his girlfriends sobbing pleads and calls her his “dirty fucking whore”? Let’s be honest, it’s probably the highlight of their week. He has a great voice— a sultry, deep baritone that compliments his English accent nicely— and anyone would be lucky to hear it spew the filth it does. He’s yet to get many complaints, so he doesn’t intend on stopping.

W = Wildcard (random headcanon)

An honesty hour moment seems interesting, so he’ll confess a few tales from his past. The first time Harry ever went down on a girl, it was against a tree in a garden and he nearly asphyxiated under all the layers of her gown. A couple of years later, he ended up getting oral from a reverend’s daughter against a tree, too, for the morbid irony and associated religious revenge. And to drive the point home, oral was only the beginning of what she gave him. His first decade as a vampire was definitely his pettiest.

X = X-Ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

It’s not uncommon knowledge that Harry’s well-endowed. He remembers how insecure he was the first time he had sex— a shocker, he knows; he was insecure?— and how he knew barely anything regarding sizing and how to use his assets accordingly. But it’s been ages since then, and now he definitely knows his way around his own body (let alone his partner’s), and he most certainly knows that he’s above average not only as a person in general, but when it comes to what’s in his trousers, as well. Harry won’t specify inches— he loves how speculation drives others mad— but it was big enough to give Y/N a decent pause the first time she pulled down his pants, and it’s big enough to leave her absolutely fucked every single time, without a single miss. If that’s not credibility at its finest, then he doesn’t know what is.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Harry’s sex drive is insatiable, to say the least. His vampirism combined with his narcissistic tendencies makes the ideal cocktail— cocktail— for the constant fuse that’s always burning under his skin. He’s ready to go at all times; Y/N just has to say the word and he’s pulling on a pair of sweatpants as he grabs his keys, hopping down his complex’s corridor toward the elevator on one foot as he tries to get his last shoe on the other. Lazy morning sex is probably his favorite; he’s come to find it’s when he’s most pent up, usually after a sleepless night of feeling Y/N’s body heat radiating through all of his cold limbs. It also sets a great tone for the rest of the day, and he just loves seeing Y/N wake up to him lying on his side with his temple resting on his fist, his elbow propped against the mattress as he poses the other on his hip in a theatrical diva stance. He’ll smile at her giddily with all his pearly teeth, dimples twitching as his lashes flutter dramatically, dirty intentions written clear all over his face (“Good morning, hon—” “Wanna have sex?” “Harry, it’s ten in the morning.” “Is that a yes? Because it’s not a no.” “I haven’t even brushed my teeth!” “That’s fine, I’m gonna stick my dick in there anyways.”)

All in all, his libido is insane, and he’s lucky that Y/N’s is up to par or else he would have worked her into an exhaustion-induced coma by now.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Harry just...doesn't. Maybe once every few weeks, but definitely more often now than before he had his girlfriend. Sleeping just comes way easier when he has someone he cares about resting beside him, their inherent warmth thawing the stiffness from his muscles and putting his racing mind at ease. He feels safe enough around Y/N to let his guard down— both literally and metaphorically— and that seems to help with his supernatural insomnia; it sedates that nocturnal hyper-instinct in his brain that demands he be aware at all times, muffling the animalistic part of him that has been manning the reins for the better half of the last two hundred years. He doesn’t need to be so on edge anymore when everything he needs is just an arm-length away. Especially when she’s usually willing to lend her chest as a pillow, and who is he to neglect her wishes.

#ysijwa #harry styles smut #vampire!harry #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x oc #harry styles x you #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles mature #harry styles dirty fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction

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marbleheavy · 3 years

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here are some of my Nico headcanons that nobody asked for!!

He collects things. Not just Mythomagic stuff like he did as a kid, but cool shells, and rocks, and weird glass figurines that everyone else thinks are terrifying, and books. He’s got them in jars or lined up on shelves and he just has so many things (Because for so long he had so few things that actually belonged to him that didn’t have to serve a very clear purpose, so now he just wants to keep whatever he’d like)

He reads SO much as an adult. A lot of it is nonfiction because he’s trying to catch up on what happened in the world while he was pulled out of it, but a lot of fiction too (not really fantasy though, that’s too close to home) and a lot of poetry. He can recite poems from memory and will just randomly quote them sometimes and it should be pretentious but it isn’t and his friends think it’s amazing (cue dramatically saying "till love and fame to nothingness do sink" anytime he's told he has to wait) (Also, he will rant about why Ted Hughes sucks at any point in time)

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again!! He is a Dungeon Master! He’s got a binder for all the notes for his current campaign and a notebook for ideas and special highlighters and pens that he only uses for D&D. Also, dice are definitely one of the things he collects and he keeps them in those clear, plastic bead containers with dividers and they’re sorted by number of faces and also ~vibes~ (for example, do a backflip D20 and life or death D20)

leather jacket Nico di Angelo? seen, respected, and appreciated. CARDIGAN Nico di Angelo? underrated! He has a couple oversized cardigans with buttons and big pockets that he adores. The first one he ever had he definitely stole from Will but now, whenever he comes across another similar one, he buys it. The pockets are filled with rocks and worn, mass-market paperbacks and pens. (Basically, I’m leaning hard into English Major Nico with his annotated books and glasses and cardigans) (Also, cardigan Nico and flannel Will but sometimes they swap)

He definitely cuts his own hair in the bathroom and he's gotten very good at it. He's had a range of haircuts, from long hair to a mullet to the shaved sides and fluffy top, but he always ends up back with a shaggy mop that Hazel likes to put little braids in (or sometimes pull the very back of it into two little pigtails) and with bangs that always end up in his eyes.

Sorry to reiterate the same point that's been made forever, but his wardrobe is pretty dark-toned. Obviously black, but he does like a good jewel tone, perhaps a maroon or an emerald. Anything really bright was either a gift or belongs to Will someone else. Also, gendered clothing means nothing to him. He wears what he wants to wear and he thinks it's cool as hell when he's wearing a skirt while sparring and it flares out dramatically as he twirls.

He's kind of picked up modern slang but he also uses a lot of slang from pretty much every decade he missed. It's also a 50/50 chance he's using it incorrectly. (examples include: 1) Leo says something that is definitely supposed to be funny and Nico stares at him, utterly emotionless, and says "Gag me with a spoon" in an alarmingly monotone voice, and 2) Anytime he says something snarky to Jason or Percy he starts it with "hey bestie..." and honestly, they're both just touched Nico called them "bestie" at all)

He adores Studio Ghibli movies and can be found humming the Ponyo theme song anytime he goes swimming (Will standing on the shore, looking around for Nico and he eventually spots him in the water. He wades out to Nico, all sunglasses that shouldn't look so cool and golden hair and chest, and just greets him with "Hey there, Neeks, how's my fishie in the sea?" and Nico can't decide if he wants to drown himself or kiss Will on his stupid mouth)

Speaking of movies, shortly after the Giant War, all of his friends (the Seven, Reyna, Will, probably Lou Ellen and Cecil, too) showed up at his cabin with blankets and snacks. They each brought their favorite movie or movies they think he needs to see to catch him up on the modern age. At first, he acts disgruntled that they're all there but he very quickly settles into the blanket fort Annabeth constructs and is quietly very grateful and excited that they cared enough to do this for him. They're all holed up in his cabin for a full day until they've finished every movie. (Percy brought Finding Nemo, Annabeth brought Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, Piper brought Scott Pilgrim vs The World, Jason brought Captain America: The First Avenger (and Nico definitely says "that's gay" when Steve and Bucky say there "Until the end of the line" shit and everybody absolutely loses their minds), Hazel also is behind on movies but she brought either a very scary movie or Moana, Frank brought A New Hope (though he considered Brother Bear), Will brought Spirited Away, Cecil brought Back to the Future, and Lou Ellen brought The Princess Bride)

He can play the piano! He gets a piano for the Hades cabin and on nights where he can't sleep and the nightmares are really bad, he plays piano.

He will cry if he hears I Will by Mitski or Wasteland, Baby by Hozier, for different reasons but also kind of not (he wants to be loved)

Also, Nico and Dionysus being buddies! Nico jokingly says he'll host a bacchanal if Dionysus excuses him from certain camp activities and that's how Nico and friends end up wearing togas around a campfire, all very hesitantly holding cups of wine they aren't actually going to drink. It is definitely not a bacchanal, it's just a bad toga party (barely) but Dionysus accepts it and decides Nico is a Good One.

(Yes I did very badly make this stupid meme that somebody has definitely made a variation of before)

This is definitely not a complete list of headcanons but it's what I've got so far!

#nico di angelo #nico di angelo headcanon #pjo #will solace #solangelo #headcanons #heroes of olympus

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tootiredmotel · 3 years

Text

Electricity

Inspired by @ledzeppelinmixtape 's emoji prompt: ⛈

Read on ao3 or below / 2.3k words

It's 11pm and storming biblically when Dean and Cas's apartment goes dark.

"Great," Dean mutters under his breath. "Fan-freaking-tastic."

From somewhere else in the apartment, his roommate asks "did the power go out?"

"What do you think, sunshine?" Dean replies sarcastically.

He has a half-written essay in front of him, but he knows his old-ass computer won't last long unplugged, so he saves the document before shutting it off. He leans back in his chair, stretching for the first time in an hour and running a hand down his face. He actually needed a break from the screen, he realizes, feeling his eyes relax as he rubs them.

The steady rain and strong winds outside make an overwhelming white noise track, interrupted only by thunder that goes from faint and distant to deafening in volume. If Dean wasn't stressed out of his mind and completely exhausted right now, he might actually find this kind of nice.

"It's raining cats and mice out there," he hears Cas say, his voice now in the room.

Dean smiles, still rubbing his eyes with the backs of both his hands. "Cats and dogs, Cas."

"Right. Cats and dogs."

It’s really no use correcting him; the entire animal kingdom could be falling from the sky right now and there wouldn't be much of a difference. The winds are definitely knocking things over, and the streets will certainly be flooded come morning. Dean wonders for how long the university will cancel classes after this (if at all, the heartless bloodsuckers).

A particularly loud clap of thunder startles Dean. He drops his hands from his face and opens his eyes, expecting to see pitch black nothingness, but the room is faintly lit by the flashlight Cas is holding as he rummages through their kitchen drawers. He approaches a minute later and sets a candle down on the small table.

"Smart."

"Thank you, Dean," Cas says, sitting down opposite him. Dean smiles again, this time shaking his head.

If anyone ever asked him to mention one thing he likes about Cas, just one, he'd probably say how genuine Cas is, how he takes everything to heart and speaks from it as well. Dean said just one word, smart, a simple comment on the fact that it occurred to Cas to light a candle instead of wasting the battery of their one flashlight, and Cas genuinely thanked him for the compliment. He's just ridiculously cute in his earnestness.

Cas is trying to light the candle now, but their lighter is tricky. Despite living together in that apartment for a year and a half now Cas has never really gotten the hang of it.

"Here, let me."

Dean means to take the lighter from Cas and do it himself, he really does. That is 100% his intention as he reaches across the table. Except he sees an opportunity, and Dean Michael Winchester is nothing if not smooth.

He wraps his hand around Cas's, gently guiding his fingers until they’re placed just right, and the lighter clicks on with ease. Cas meets his eyes, smiling, and Dean can feel the slightest brush of Cas’s thumb against his hand. It’s a small gesture, but clearly deliberate, and it sends Dean’s heart into overdrive. Cas leans away, puts the lighter aside, and starts leafing through a book he brought. Dean’s heart is still racing as he watches him.

Scratch that first thing. If anyone ever asked him what’s one thing he likes about Cas? His hands. God. Neat nails, slightly calloused palms, and overall larger hands than you’d expect. Cas is an environmental science major and he wants to get a Ph.D. in botany, so of course, there’s a small garden on their fire escape. He tends to those plants every day with more gentleness and care than Dean has ever seen, and Dean loves to watch him, even though he has no idea what Cas is doing with them half the time. He just knows that not a single one of their plants have died under Cas’s care. He names them too.

His attentiveness. That’s another thing Dean might say if anyone ever asked. Cas left to visit his sister Anna last winter break. He left Dean in charge of the plants, three of which died inside the week. (For Dean’s birthday a couple of months later, Cas got him a book. How Not to Kill Your Houseplant. Dean keeps it on his nightstand.) Dean went out and bought new ones, but he knew Cas would notice the difference, and he did. He wasn’t mad at Dean though, and he appreciated the effort, and as Dean apologized profusely over and over again, Cas looked at him in the eyes oh-so-softly and told him he was forgiven.

How could Dean possibly forget? If anyone ever asked, he’d say that Cas’s eyes are one of his favorite things about him. One of his favorite things, period. Dean is absolutely mesmerized whenever Cas looks him in the eye, and the guy loves making eye contact, which means that Dean lives in a perpetual smitten daze. He has never seen that shade of blue anywhere else on this earth. Or maybe he just hasn’t been looking, content to get his fill of that blue by staring into Cas’s eyes as much as he gets to on a daily basis.

“Are you alright, Dean?”

Dean blinks himself back to reality. “Hm?”

“You seem… spaced.”

Dean is staring. He’s been staring this whole time. Shit. Crap.

“Yeah, um. Just tired.”

Mr. Smooth, everybody.

“Maybe you should go get some rest. I doubt the power will be back anytime soon.”

Castiel Milton, always looking out for you. It makes Dean melt.

“Yeah, maybe.” I wanna stay here with you, though, he thinks. Instead, because he’s pathetic, he asks “what’re you reading?”

Cas shows him the cover. How Not to Kill Your Houseplant. Dean breaks out in laughter.

“So you’re going into my room and stealing my shit now?”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t touch your Vonneguts.” Cas puts the book aside, an easy smile on his face. “Just wanted something light to pass the time.”

“You done with your homework?”

A soft yawn escapes Cas. “For now.”

“Dude, why not just go to sleep? You look exhausted.”

“Look who’s talking.”

Dean tries to deadpan him. He fails, because around Cas, it’s near impossible for him to not smile.

“Besides, I might be done but you weren’t.”

“And you wanted to keep me company.”

Cas shrugs as if to say I guess, but he does it with a knowing smile. The smile doesn’t falter as he meets Dean’s eyes, and he doesn’t look away when silence settles between them, the only sound being the stormy white noise.

Dean is sure he could drown in that blue and die happy.

Before that train of thought gets away from him again, Dean tears his gaze away and stretches. “We should really go to bed though, I’m not getting any more done tonight,” he says as he stands.

“Of course,” Cas says, but he grabs the book again.

“You not going?”

“I want to finish this chapter.”

The seriousness in his tone makes Dean smile. Again.

“Well, g’night, Cas.”

“Good night, Dean.”

Dean thinks he detects a bit of shakiness in Cas’s voice but decides that he’s probably just tired.

He gets to his room and changes into something comfortable, the first t-shirt and sweatpants he finds as he rummages in the dark. He goes to set his phone on his nightstand and crawl into bed, but in place of the book he keeps there and puts his phone on top of– the book Cas has at the moment– he finds something else.

It’s paper. It’s folded into the form of a book, like one of those youtube craft tutorials with bad music, and it's no bigger than his own palm. The cover is handwritten, and Dean immediately recognizes it as Cas's. He smiles, expecting a prank or joke of some sort, Cas knows how stressed Dean can get with the start of the semester. However, his smile falters as he reads the cover:

How to tell your best friend you’re in love with him.

With a shaky hand, Dean opens the small book. The first page is the only one with any more writing on it, and it reads:

You leave him a note and hope it’s enough.

Dean is storming out of his bedroom (no pun intended) before he knows it. He barely even feels his feet moving, too focused on the pounding in his ears and the dryness in his mouth. He doesn’t go into the living room, not yet; his feet stop at the end of the short hallway and he braces himself against the wall. The room is spinning and he can barely breathe.

“Cas?” He chokes out.

Cas puts the book back down on the table in front of him and interlocks his fingers in front of him. He doesn’t look at Dean– Cas, who makes too much eye contact – and takes a deep breath before saying “yes?”

He’s nervous.

Dean takes a step forward, still keeping one hand on the wall just in case, and holds up the note. “What is this?” he asks, because his brain is just not there with him yet.

Cas stands, still not facing Dean. “Dean, do you know what day it is?”

He’s asking this now???

“September firs–”

Oh. Oh shit.

“Cas isn’t today the–”

“The night we met. Two years ago.”

Dean feels his brain catching up now as the memory starts coming back to him. Cas helps, starting to recount that night.

“Two years ago tonight, I was leaving my night course at the university, and it was raining. Not as bad as this,” –Cas looks out the window and lightning strikes, as if on cue– “but pretty badly, and I was an inexperienced freshman without an umbrella.”

Dean remembers. He was walking Charlie to her dorm when it started drizzling, and it was pouring by the time he made it back to his car. Dean had a night shift at the gas station and was about to head there.

“Two years ago tonight,” Cas continues, “you invited me into your car to shelter me from the rain.”

Dean saw this guy running in the direction of the men’s dorms, which were on the other side of campus. He felt bad, and he had a car, so he opened the passenger door and let him in.

Turned out to be the most gorgeous guy he’d ever laid eyes on. He was a bit awkward, but he had no filter, which made him weirdly funny. He asked about the music playing in the car and listened intently to Dean's rambling. He laughed at his jokes too.

At the end of the five-minute drive, he said his name was Castiel, and Dean asked for his number and saved it as Cas with a thunderstorm emoji. Because even if he didn’t know it yet, Dean was already whipped.

“Two years ago,” Cas says, finally looking up at Dean. His eyes are wide and vulnerable and he looks terrified and Dean can barely stand it. “Two years ago tonight, I started to fall in love with you.”

Dean can’t breathe. His ears are hot and he can’t stop fidgeting with the note in his hand and he can’t breathe.

But his feet start moving again, out of their own volition. They move toward Cas.

“If you don’t feel–” Cas starts, but Dean swallows his words.

Again, Dean’s brain isn’t all there yet, and he doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he’s already in it. He’s grabbing Cas’s face, digging his fingertips into the back of his hair, and the note is forgotten on the table, and thunder rumbles not that far away. He’s darting out his tongue, begging to explore Cas’s mouth as he’s wanted to do since forever, and Cas lets him. He tastes like toothpaste and coffee and honey and Dean never wants to taste anyone else ever again.

Cas is wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist and pressing his entire body against him. It’s making Dean weak in the knees but it’s okay because Cas is almost holding him upright at this point. There’s another clap of thunder, much closer this time, and the lightning probably illuminated the apartment, but it wasn’t enough to make them part. They’re moving and grasping and exploring frantically, and Dean is afraid Cas is going to disappear, or that he’s going to wake up and this will all have been another dream. But no, it’s real, and they’re playing catchup on two years worth of desire and longing and love.

They eventually pull away, breathless and giddy. The only sounds are the rain and the wind. Dean opens his eyes first, needing to see Cas and make sure this is completely, definitely, unequivocally real. Cas is smiling and taking deep breaths, and a weight seems to be lifted off his shoulders. He opens his eyes a second later, and even in the darkness, even with just the faint candlelight, the blue in them seems to shine. And even though there's no power, it feels as if there's electricity crackling in the air around them. It might be the storm.

No. It's the moment. This moment with Cas is what feels electric.

“Come to bed?” Dean asks, feeling brave and going out on a limb. The only way Cas responds is by interlocking his hand into Dean’s and kissing him again.

And after tonight, for the rest of his life, if anyone ever asks him “what’s one thing you love about Cas?” Dean won’t be able to narrow down an answer.

He’ll just say: “Everything.”

#gen.fics #spncreatorsdaily #creativecaviar #userjennmish #userdorksinlove #userstarry #tuserari #plantdadcas #offbeattraxx #slipper007 #thisisapaige #lyntracks #deancas #destiel #college au #fic #spn #gen creates

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