#while if you and your several thousand friends all get together and say that

[txttletale]

what does it mean when people say stuff like individual morality or action is incompatible with class analysis or class struggle?

alright so like one of the key ideas about class analysis is the idea that classes (as a whole) have economic interests that affect all their members but don't extrapolate out to an individual analysis.

for example, let's say that you can't find a job, and somebody offers to pay you below the table for below minimum wage. it's in your individual interest to do this--it beats having no job! but as a member of the working class, once this practice becomes normalized, suddenly the standards of pay for everyone are lower because people know that they can just pay less than minimum wage under the table. competition between workers for jobs drives wages down for everyone, leaving them all in a worse situation overall even if each individual choice to scab, to accept lower pay, to resist unionization, etc, leaves the person who makes it better off. cf. karl marx on what happens when wages and working conditions deteriorate:

The labourer seeks to maintain the total of his wages for a given time by performing more labour, either by working a great number of hours, or by accomplishing more in the same number of hours. Thus, urged on by want, he himself multiplies the disastrous effects of division of labour. The result is: the more he works, the less wages he receives. And for this simple reason: the more he works, the more he competes against his fellow workmen, the more he compels them to compete against him, and to offer themselves on the same wretched conditions as he does; so that, in the last analysis, he competes against himself as a member of the working class.

— Karl Marx, Wage Labour & Capital

similarly, any individual member of the working class is completely dispensable and replaceable by capital. if one person refuses to work unless they're paid a higher wage, they'll be fired and replaced with somebody who doesn't. the individual worker has no economic leverage whatsoever. but the working class has incredible economic leverage! and so does the intermediate stage between the working class and the individual--organized segments of the working class (e.g. trade unions) have economic leverage. if one person strikes, the capitalist can fire them. if 40,000 people strike, your industry is going to shut down.

so the reason why class analysis is compatible with individual action is that your incentives measurably change when you start organizing--it's in the interests of the individual to compete, but in the interests of the class to cooperate. and obviously you cannot just expect everyone to spontaneously coordinate! you, the individual, are disposable to capital! if you, personally, refuse to take the under-the-table offer, either on moral grounds or because you recognize your class interest, your neighbour's going to take it--unless you and her get together and agree that neither of you will take it. that's the only way that the guy making the offer is going to have to give in and offer the job for a living wage.

and this is what organization is--trade unions (although they have severe limitations!), communist parties, and other worker's organizations allow the working class to pursue their collective interest--which can only be pursued by collective action, because engaging in the strategies of collective action as an individual, without the cooperation of your peers, is high risk for no reward.

#ask #marxism #the effects of electoral politics are far far more limited in scope than trade union activity but the same holds for voting #which is what the original post i was responding to was about #if you 'vote blue no matter who' then the bourgeois party you're showing loyalty to-- #--will have no reason whatsoever to even marginally offer to improve your life #and if you as a solitary individual tell joe biden 'well im not voting for you unless you promise so and so social democratic reforms' #he is gonna be like lol lmao dont care #while if you and your several thousand friends all get together and say that #he will at least be obligated to pretend to care before immediately reneging on it bc he ultimately serves capital

[seokgyuu]

What could be worse than a valentine’s day alone? Exactly, a valentine’s day spent with your academic rival, Jeon Wonwoo, stuck in the home eco’s kitchen because you were both sentenced to take over the cookie baking for this season’s day of love. 

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader

genre: academic rivals to lovers, smut, heart wrenching and tooth rotting fluff (wonwoo is down bad bad)

warnings: sexual content, smut warnings under cut! wonwoo is a little bit mean? but like not too mean? she’s also kinda mean. but they are in love! promise.

word count: 5k

a/n: hi everyone!! this is part of the cupids collab hosted by the wonderful @wongyuseokie for @svthub! this work is dedicated to the wonderful, the lovely, the hilarious @highvern! i hope you like it, babes!! sending you loads of love this valentine's day and thousands of kisses, mwah! i had loads of fun writing this and am happy to be a part of this collab, hehe. also thank you @ourdawnishotterthanourday for betaing, ily! <3

“I’m giving you one chance to get out of here,” you say, holding open the door. Wonwoo doesn’t move.  “Who says I’m the one who has to go? You’re obviously the worse baker.”  Oh, he is truly playing with you right now. You let the door fall shut, eyes squeezed as you stare at him. “Fine. Then it’ll be me and you, buddy.” “I guess so,” he pauses, eyebrow raising, “and I’m not your buddy.”

smut warnings: minimal degradation (usage of the word “slut”), praising, pet names (princess, sweetheart, darling, pretty girl) oral (f. receiving), begging, softdom!wonwoo, unprotected sex (you know the drill - wrap it before you tap it, folks!), creampie (get it… cream…pie? cookies & cre- ok i’m sorry).

There are approximately seven thousand three hundred and twenty eight places you would rather be than here. 

Nothing has helped you get out of this unfortunate situation. No pleading, no begging, not even wanting to send Seungkwan in your stead. Professor Yoon had been adamant in his decision to send you and him to this god forsaken home eco kitchen to bake the badge of cookies for the Valentine’s day sale. 

“It’s not even a real holiday!” you had whined to Seungkwan, “if it were, we wouldn’t even be at class in the first place!” 

All your best friend did was rub your back and tell you it was all gonna be fine, all while writing a text to Vernon on his phone in his other hand. He was used to your antics when it came to Jeon Wonwoo. Everyone was, at this point. Both of you had not made it hard to get used to - just by the amount of times you had decided to fight and dive right into rivalry when there was no reason to. Perhaps, he thought, it wasn’t even a bad idea to put you two in one room together for several hours with no one else. It could give you time to talk out your differences. Call for a truce. Screw the anger out of each other. Anything that would make Seungkwan’s life easier. 

That day comes sooner than you wanted it to, and while your hand lays on the handle of the car door, you feel the uneasiness inside you raise. 

“I can’t do this, Seungkwan. One of us is gonna end up dead.”

“Yeah, my money’s on Wonwoo. Please don’t disappoint me.” Seungkwan hums back, hands on the steering wheel and his eyebrows raised. You turn around, your mouth slightly agape before scoffing and opening the door.

“Pick me up at 4?” you ask and your best friend nods, waving at you once the door is closed. He truly hopes neither of you ends up dead (but if push comes to shove, obviously Wonwoo because then Vernon would owe him 5 bucks). 

Professor Yoon had told you that all necessities would be at the university and that you wouldn’t have to bring anything except for a good mood, something you didn’t dare to say was impossible in the given situation. 

You aren’t stupid (Wonwoo would beg to differ), you are well aware that your professor is trying to end whatever war you and Wonwoo have going on by pairing you up for this. And while you get the sentiment and might even appreciate it a little - you’re more than sure that nothing will ever come out of this - Wonwoo and you despise each other. It has been like this since your first semester and it most definitely wasn’t going to change over something as trivial as baking cookies together. 

The home eco’s kitchen is in the basement of the economics building and you are happy to notice you’re the first to arrive. Smiling to yourself, you fish the key to the room out of your bag and unlock the door, walking in and turning on the lights. 

The kitchen is spacious and modern, everything is made out of gray steel, with a few dark wood accents on the cupboards. You spot the boxes with ingredients on the island, and place your bag next to it before unpacking the things provided for you and Wonwoo. It becomes your mission to arrange the cookbook with the recipe in the center of the right side of the island, gathering all the needed ingredients around it in the order you would need it. Then, you search the cupboards for a big bowl, wooden spoon and a mixer. 

You have gathered almost everything except for the mixer, spotting it in one of the higher cupboards you most definitely can’t reach without some sort of help. Biting down on your lip and gnawing on it, you look around the room, coming up empty. There are chairs in the room next to the kitchen, but you don’t have the key for it. With a sigh, you stretch yourself as much as you possibly can, hand reaching for the kitchen gadget - with no luck. Just when you’re about to climb on top of the counter, you feel something shift behind you, a body suddenly pressed against yours and an arm reaching up to grab the mixer for you without any trouble at all. 

Wonwoo. Your body stiffens at his touch and only relaxes once he backs off, putting the mixer down next to the other stuff. Immediately you turn around, your eyes glaring at him.

“Someone decided to show up, after all.” You spit at him and he rolls his eyes. 

“I was forced, if you must know.” He says not even looking at you. His eyes are focused on the ingredients on the counter, his lips slowly drawing into a smug smile.

“Control freak much?” 

Your head burns and you scoff, walking over to the door and feeling his eyes on you as you move. 

“I’m giving you one chance to get out of here,” you say, holding open the door. Wonwoo doesn’t move. 

“Who says I’m the one who has to go? You’re obviously the worse baker.” 

Oh, he is truly playing with you right now. You let the door fall shut, eyes squeezed as you stare at him.

“Fine. Then it’ll be me and you, buddy.”

“I guess so,” he pauses, eyebrow raising, “and I’m not your buddy.”

For the most part the two of you are quiet. Mainly because you don’t have anything to say to each other. You split the ingredients evenly (either one of you starting with their own batch since there is a whole lot of cookies to bake) and begin working on opposite ends of the kitchen. You get through the first batch without so much as exchanging looks. You do your thing and he does his. Only, when you get the first batch out, you ask him to hand you the oven mittens, which he does without any fuss. You’re surprised but don’t say it. 

It’s when the both of you start to work on your second batches that things… change.

You hate to admit the tension in the room. In fact, you’ve been hating it since the first day you’ve met him. It’s a shame he’s so hot when he’s the absolute bane of your existence. Your friends (mainly Seungkwan, really) tease you about your obvious attraction to the man you call your archnemesis every chance they get, causing you to flip them off, or scoff, or just roll your eyes at how extremely wrong they are. If you could change it, you would! Finding him attractive whilst hating him truly is exhausting. 

Slowly, you let yourself turn around in hopes he doesn’t notice. Thankfully, he is entirely focused on sprinkling chocolate chips into the cookies - white chocolate chips. You let out a gasp and your wooden spoon falls onto the top of the counter you’re working on.

“That’s cheating!” You shout, pointing at the package of sweets that he so obviously brought himself. What a jerk!

Not even looking at you, Wonwoo chuckles at your words, placing the chocolate chips next to him and wiping his hands on the apron he had put on earlier. Then, he turns to you, hip leaning against the counter, arms crossed and his eyebrows raised as he smirks like the douchebag you know he is.

“Cheating, yeah?” He repeats, licking his lips, “not sure it counts as cheating when it was clear from the beginning I would make better cookies, sweetheart.”

His condescending way of talking to you has always succeeded in making your blood boil, just like right now. You scoff, shaking your head and cleaning your own hands with a kitchen towel to your left.

“You know, considering these are for the day of love it is quite ironic Professor Yoon paired me with you, the person I hate the most.” You present Wonwoo with a honey dripping smile that couldn’t be more fake. Wonwoo doesn’t waver though. He just continues to smirk, his eyebrows shooting up even more, and before you know it he starts walking towards you, a click of his tongue almost making you flinch.

“See, love and hate are like siblings. While on the surface they couldn’t be more different, in their core they are irritatingly similar,” his voice is deep and his eyes are right there on yours and somehow you feel like he has taken away your ability to breathe. What the hell is he doing?

“You were always fascinating to me, darling. Always so sure of your opinion, never wavering. That first day we met, do you remember? How you were on my ass for the rest of the day because Professor Cha liked my answer better than yours?”

“He did not!” You shoot back, surprised by your own whiny tone. Looking at Wonwoo’s face, the defined jawline and cheekbones, the round specs on top of his nose and the brown soft curls falling into his forehead, you immediately regret speaking up at all. There is something in his eyes now, something you have never seen before  - at least not on him. Something inside of him shifted, like a switch that had been flipped, and the way he looks at you makes all of your skin erupt in goosebumps. 

“Ah, so I imagined things?” Wonwoo only so much as whispers, his large frame coming even closer, “Are you saying I’m a liar, pretty girl?”

Pretty girl. What the fuck? Your eyes widen and you feel your throat closing up. Absolutely not, you could not freeze right now! He was testing you, seeing how far he could go before you actually fell for whatever he was trying to do. Gathering all your confidence, you bring your hands up to place them on his chest and softly push him away. It gives you extreme satisfaction when you see the surprise on his face.

“And if I am? What are you going to do about it, Wonwoo?” Your smile turns smug and the little vein on Wonwoo’s forehead pops out just slightly. About to retrieve your arms, you are met with his hands around your wrists and his body even closer to yours. 

To say he catches you by surprise would be an understatement. Your lower back is pressed against the counter, your hands in his grip and your lungs missing the necessary air to not get dizzy. Why does he smell so good? You catch yourself thinking thoughts you normally would try to suppress at any given time - especially when Wonwoo is right in front of you. This time, though, there is no escaping. Not with him so close, not with him staring right into your soul.

“I have learned one thing over the years we’ve known each other, Y/N,” he breathes, eyes not leaving your face, “you can be a real fucking brat.”

The gasp you want to let out gets stuck in your throat. Instead, something like a choke comes out, something that makes Wonwoo smirk and your legs weak.

“You really think you’re sly. Do you honestly believe I don’t know how attractive you find me? How you need to look away everytime I come in wearing tighter shirts or pants that hang low enough to see the waistband of my underwear? You always try to act like you hate me and, you know what, maybe you do, but what I said earlier isn’t wrong, darling, love and hate are like yin and yang - they can’t exist without the other.”

He has your wrists in a strong grip and his lower body is now pressed against yours, something you never realized you craved. Feeling his growing erection against you, knowing he is turned on by you, by the situation, you feel like your head is about to explode. 

“So, what if I tell you that maybe I don’t actually hate you, but I actually find you attractive as well? What if I tell you nine out of ten times I want to shut your annoying mouth up by shoving my cock right down your tight throat? Or how whenever you bend over your desk to tell someone something you, of course, know better than them, I want to take you just like that and make everyone see just how much of a desperate pretty slut you actually are?”

You’re done for. With every word he’s saying, you can feel yourself actually becoming what he says you are. Desperate. The heat between your legs has turned into liquid in your panties, has turned into your heart beating at triple speed. 

“Y-You can’t just say that!” You stutter, knowing full well he will just laugh at you. And he does. He laughs and he throws his head back and then he looks at you again, his eyes glinting with want that only gets emphasized by the hard cock pressing against you. 

“Oh, sweet, sweet baby. Of course, I can,” he hums, finally letting go of one of your wrists to carefully tug a strand of hair behind your ear, “you’re so beautiful, especially when you’re flustered.” 

He must be playing with you. It has to be one of his games. He wants you to give in, wants you to fall for this only to hold it over your head for the rest of your college life. His mixture of dominance and sweetness is about to give you whiplash, especially when he begins to caress your cheek and leans down, his breath hitting your cheek. 

“We need to finish those cookies, Wonwoo.” The words are whispered and almost inaudible, but he hears you and he smiles.

“We’re alone in this basement, sweetheart. We’ve got all day to finish those cookies.” His hand wanders down, finding its place on your hip. You shiver slightly, your gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips and when his nose bumps against yours, something tells you that maybe he is serious. 

When he kisses you, you figure that something is correct. What’s supposed to start soft turns into something deep, and hot, and uncontrolled, right off the bat. Kissing Wonwoo feels like the only thing you had ever missed out on in life and now you finally got the chance to take what belongs to you. His lips are soft and his tongue is warm, pressing against yours and entangling it in a dance of fire. Your hands are in his hair and his are on your hips and you’re sitting on top of the counter with all of your ingredients pushed to the side, your wooden spoon falling to the floor when Wonwoo lifts you up. 

As if on instinct, your legs wrap around him and you moan against his lips when his hands move up, groping your breasts through your shirt. He licks into your mouth, your fingers digging into his nape, nails dragging along his skin. 

If you could see into Wonwoo’s brain you might have gotten scared. Not because he’s thinking actual scary thoughts but because of how many times he has imagined this. You’re always there, somewhere in his brain, your smile, your eyes, your laugh. And when he’s alone and can’t sleep you’re there too, but this time it’s how he thinks you’d sound when he’s inside of you, when he sucks on your neck and squeezes your tits. There hasn’t been a day since he met you that he hadn’t thought about you. 

It’s a shame you immediately called him out to be your academic rival on that day because all Wonwoo wanted to do back then was to make you his girlfriend, basically falling in love with you at first sight. As cliché as it sounds, it’s even more cliché considering he just played along with you, acting like he hated you, riling you up during class in ways he would rather switch for moments like this one right now. 

Never had he imagined he’d get you alone, especially considering how good you are at avoiding him. But when Professor Yoon had asked him to bake the cookies for the Valentine’s day sale - he couldn’t help but suggest you as his partner. Hours would be spent together in a kitchen, hours you had to spend with him. 

He loves how right he was. How right he was about you giving in, about you finding him hot, about you wanting him. He loves the sounds you make when he begins kissing down your neck and when his hand wanders under your shirt and shoves away your bra to touch the breasts he had been dreaming about. He sucks marks onto your neck and feels himself grow harder with every passing second. There is nowhere on this earth he’d rather be than right here, between your legs. 

“Been dying to do this, you know?” He mumbles against your neck, licking up to your earlobe and twitching in his pants when he feels you shivering under his touch.

“R-Really?” You whimper back and Wonwoo nods, both hands moving to your cheeks, lips back on yours in a heated, passionate kiss. He thinks that nothing will ever feel as good as kissing you. 

“Yeah, baby, wanted to kiss you forever, fuck,” he moans when your fingers move underneath his shirt, when you touch his bare skin and all of him begins to burn.

“Wanted to touch you, taste you.” His words echo in your mind and you open your eyes, a horny daze in them that makes Wonwoo question his sanity. He moves down now, kissing your neck again and shoving your shirt up to kiss your stomach and breasts over your bra, nimble fingers opening the apron you had laced around your hips earlier. 

“Can I taste you, pretty girl?” He asks then and you think you nod, at least you want to nod, but your head is clouded and you feel like you’re about to pass out. When he moves to get the apron off of you, focussing on opening your pants next, you figure you did in the end. 

Having you half naked in front of him makes Wonwoo feel like he has reached the gates of heaven. Your pants are on the floor and your chest is heaving, eyes glossy as you watch Wonwoo move to the floor, his tall body still reaching the top of the counter when he kneels in front of you. He moves his arms, wrapping them around your thighs and pulling you closer, his nose tapping against your sensitive core the next second. With a gasp, your hands reach for his head of hair, grounding yourself in it as you stare down at the way he eyes your pussy as if he had never seen anything more delicious in his life. 

When he moves your panties to the side, his finger softly gliding over your folds, you feel yourself shiver once more. You let out another whimper, biting down on your lip that feels hot and a little bruised after the way Wonwoo had kissed you. 

“God, I can’t even tell you how many nights I’ve dreamt of this moment.” He kisses the inside of your thighs, making you moan quietly, fingers coating themselves in your juices, ready to please you. 

Watching him is messing with your head in the best way possible. The way he looks at you, so full of endearment and adoration. How he touches you as if you’d break if he touched you too vehemently. He lets his tongue glide over your skin, moving until it reaches your dripping cunt, licking over your lips, tasting you for the first time. The moan he lets out has you digging your nails into his scalp, mouth dropped as you continue to stare down, continue to watch Wonwoo, your archnemesis, begin to devour your pussy like a Michelin star dish. 

He starts off slow, licking over your folds, not touching your clit even once. If he died right now, he’d be content. Tasting you, hearing your sounds when you’re aroused, him being the cause of it - it’s almost all of his dreams coming true. His fingers move, one of them circling your entrance, your whines growing louder by the second. You want his fingers inside of you, you need them inside of you. Wiggling your hips against him, Wonwoo chuckles at your antics and finally moves his finger, inch by inch sinking into your needy hole, your eyes squeezing shut as you clench around him. 

“So, so eager, princess,” he mumbles against your pussy, another breathy laugh causing you to thrust forward, his finger now completely inside of you. And, fuck, do you feel wonderful. So much better than anything Wonwoo had experienced before, better than anything he could have imagined. Perhaps, he figures, it’s because it’s you. 

Next thing you know, Wonwoo’s lips are around your clit, sucking it into his mouth, tongue flicking against it and leaving you to moan his name time and time again. Your hips move against him and he lets you, his cock straining against his pants in desperate need for attention. But not yet, he isn’t done with you. First, you’d have to come undone on his tongue and his fingers, first you had to scream his name as you experienced complete and utter satisfaction. Wonwoo does everything in his power for that to happen. He adds another finger and fucks you open, his long fingers meeting your sweet spot with every thrust as if he had studied your body for hundreds of hours. His tongue does the work of a god, his lips kiss you like you had never known you needed to be kissed, especially down there. 

“D-Don’t stop! Oh, fuck, Wonwoo!” You cry out, your head thrown back as you focus on nothing but your pleasure, on how he feels on your pussy, how it all is too much and yet not enough. You think about what’s to come, about how he will fuck you next, will sink into you with his cock, will make you feel like you’re the most precious woman on this planet. Even more than he already does. Your high is nearing, it’s so close you can feel it right there in front of you, that tight knot in your stomach about to break free and give you one of the most intense orgasms of your life. 

“Cum for me, baby. Fuck, I want you to cum on my tongue.” Wonwoo’s words are like magic, like a spell that he puts on you. A lewd whine escapes your throat and you do as he wishes, cumming all over his tongue and fingers, your juices drenching his face. He lets you ride out your orgasm on his face, anticipation filling him when he finally parts from you. 

Immediately, you pull down to kiss him when he stands. Tasting yourself on his lips with your hands opening his apron and getting it off his tall frame with his help, you can’t wait to get even closer to him. You slip out of your panties with his lips steadily on yours, a faint sound in your ears when they hit the floor.

“Need you so bad, Wonwoo, please hurry,” you cry out and he laughs, kissing your neck and your cheek, his hands opening his belt, zipper and button, shoving his pants down only for you to gasp at the sheer size of his bulge. He grins, hands back on your face to make sure you’re looking at him.

“Naughty, aren’t you? My perfect, pretty slut,” he kisses your lips again and your eyes roll back, your pussy throbbing in want. And obviously he knows how much you want him - he wants you just the same. As he continues to kiss you, he moves to pull his briefs down, his hard erection springing free, angry tip red and smeared with pre, oh-so ready to sink into your warm embrace. You part from him, eyes now setting on his cock, your mouth watering at the sight. 

“Fuck, you’re big,” you say, swallowing down the saliva pooling in your mouth. Wonwoo only grins wider, his big hands finding purchase on your hips as he leans down again. 

“Beg a little for it, baby, and you might get it.” You shiver and bite down on your lip, your hands wandering over his still clothed torso and down to his cock, slowly wrapping your hand around it.

“Please, Wonwoo, please fuck me…,” is your whispered plead, and the man standing in between your legs groans against your neck, sucking yet another mark into your delicate skin before nodding and grabbing his cock out of your hand, lining it up perfectly with your entrance and slowly sinking in.

His forehead is leaned against yours when he bottoms out and his hands caress your head, coming to a stop on your nape. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mumbles, kissing the tip of your nose and you smile, giving the tip of his nose a kiss back. Then, he parts from you and the look in his eyes changes from soft to dark. He does his first thrust, catching you off guard, a loud moan escaping you. Your hands grab onto his shoulders as he continues his thrusts, fucking you deep and hard, his eyes focused on your face that contours in absolute bliss. When he said you’re beautiful, he meant it. 

He is holding onto your hips again, pulling you as close to him as he can, his hips chasing yours, his cock in the deepest bits of your pussy, your gummy walls squeezing him for his pleasure. There is nothing you can do besides begging him to go faster, begging him to not ever stop and crying his name when he leans down to suck on your hard nipple over your shirt. 

“Wonwoo! Fuck!” You clench over and over again, stars dancing in front of your eyes accompanied by beautiful lights that slowly but surely turn into fireworks. With every thrust of his hips, you feel yourself coming closer to the edge again. You want him to fill you, want him to claim you as his, make you feel full of him and only him. Nails are digging into his shoulders, your head falling back against the kitchen cabinet, his groans and the beautiful sound of your name coming out of his mouth chasing you off the cliff and into the warm waters of yet another intense orgasm. 

“Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop, oh- Wonwoo!” It’s done, you are done, your climax hitting you hard and making you gush all over his length that is still so deeply buried inside your sensitive cunt. Wonwoo moans, feeling your pussy clench around him, squeeze him, beg him to cum, to decorate you in his shades of white. And he wants to, god, there is nothing he had ever wanted more. His breathing becomes labored and he leans forward, engulfing you in yet another heated kiss, one arm wrapped around you, the other letting its hand rest on your cheek, thumb caressing your chin as his tongue flicks against yours over and over, mixed with his breathless moans. 

When you squeeze him the next time, he erupts. He moans your name, hips becoming frantic as he shoots his load into you, spurts of white and hot cum filling your spent pussy, your and his combined releases dripping down your thighs even as he fucks his cum so, so deep into you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pants against your mouth, continuing to kiss you right after, riding out his orgasm and only stopping when you’re both completely out of breath. 

It’s silent for a few moments, the only thing audible your almost synchronized breathing. Your hands are still on his shoulders, his hands are still on your waist and your cheek. His face is buried in the crook of your neck and he softly kisses your sweaty skin, nothing but pure happiness running through him at this point. He softly caresses your face as he leans back again, his eyes searching for yours. 

“Y/N,” he then breathes, a small and maybe even shy smile playing on his lips.

“Wonwoo,” you sigh back, pulling him into a hug that he accepts with a laugh, both his arms now fully wrapped around your body. He’s still inside of you and only leaves you when you part from the hug, more of his release now dripping out of your core. He doesn’t ask whether you’re on birth control because for all he cares he would love to have you pregnant with his child. The thought alone makes his head spin. 

“Well,” he begins, a smug smile on his face as he leans down to pick up your panties, “that definitely gives ‘cookies and cream’ a different meaning.” 

You stare at him, slightly bewildered, for around three seconds before you burst into laughter, grabbing your underwear from him and jumping back onto your shaky feet. “You’re horrible,” you say and shake your head and Wonwoo’s smile grows even wider.

“Maybe. But I promise you, sweetheart, I’ll never ever be horrible to you again.”

“Oh, we’ll see about that, Mr. Know-It-All,” you smile and give his cheek a peck that he reacts to by turning bright red. 

It is in that exact moment you realize Wonwoo was never your archnemesis. Nor has he ever been as much of an ass as you had made him out to be. Jeon Wonwoo is nothing but a loser who’s been in love with you since the very first day you met him, and perhaps you had always known. Perhaps you finally let yourself realize right now, the moment after he had cum inside of you and still blushes like a little kid when you kiss his cheek, that the only reason you had chosen him to be your rival was to run away from how much you knew you’d fall for him if you didn’t. 

“Come on, let’s do what we actually came here for.”

And for the rest of the day you and Wonwoo bake the cookies for the sale and talk about what your plans are for Valentine’s. To no surprise those plans immediately involve hanging out together. Maybe, you think, to give ‘cookies and cream’ that new meaning over and over again. 

#svthub #svthub.collab #wonwoo fanfiction #wonwoo smut #wonwoo au #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo fluff #kvanity #ksmutsociety #wonwoo scenario #wonwoo imagine #seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen smut #seventen imagines #svt smut #svt imagines #seventeen au #svt x reader #jeon wonwoo x reader #seventeen fluff #jeon wonwoo fluff #wonwoo x you #wonwoo imagines

[jayden-killer]

Greediest man in the Stone World.

summary: you've just being awaken by your old friend and classmate, Senku, in a whole new human era. But, who's this young guy claiming you as his? a/n: waahh, i sincerly apologise if i disappeared...again. i literally forgot my tumblr writing page, and life took a.. strange turn of events(?) kinda. i hope this first ryusui one shot will make me forgive!!!

☆

Dark. And then... a golden beam of light passed through my eyes, blinding me. My muscles began to melt. I felt them sore, as if I had slept in an uncomfortable position all night. Or maybe, for three thousand and fifty years. This was what was brought back to me when I woke up from that sleep I thought was eternal. The first thing my eyes noticed when they hatched was a blinding sun. There was so much green. So much vegetation was not seen even in the well-preserved jungles. Then, a group of boys with familiar and unfamiliar faces. My eyes met his.

"Senku..?"

I uttered that name in a subtle tone of voice, and the boy did nothing but address to me that mischievous grin of his own.

"Yoh, Y/N...we need your help".

[ Time skip...(*ゝω・)ﾉ ]

"So... you need my dexterity in putting these little pieces together so you can build, um... Repeat it, thank you".

"An oxygen tank" Senku rest, without even thinking of getting that smirk off his face.

His attitude hadn’t disappeared after 3,500 years. Not even when he claimed in front of a professor that their speeches were meaningless.

Here we go again...

Between a sigh and the other I immediately set to work, while in the distance I heard Senku arguing with what seemed to be his colleague.

Just in the middle of my work I felt someone touching my shoulder gently. A delicate touch, like that of a… "Child?" The girl in question wore a watermelon helmet on her head, with lenses inserted in the two holes that created a space for the eyes. She made a sound of wonder, her hands to her mouth.

"So, you are new here!" With a confused look I lowered myself to her level, able to have a face-to-face conversation with the little creature. " I suppose so..? And you are...?" That little girl who didn’t immediately show her intentions and courage was pretty to say the least. "Suika wanted to welcome you to the Science Team!" she said clearly, now showing me her hand to shake her. I took her, and with a kind smile, I accepted her request. "How kind of you! Since I am now a new addition to your team, can I have the honor to meet my future colleagues and companions?"

Little Suika nodded happily, running in the opposite direction where I was working. Heck. Maybe it was me who was no longer a child like her, but Suika seemed really fast in the race, not giving me a chance to keep up. I didn’t know where he was taking me; we passed through several huts, erected on wooden structures, running as if someone was after us.

The only one chasing her was me. Looking back to see if we’d actually drifted apart, my foot tripped on a double-sized rock. The collision with the stone made me lose my balance; I was ready to crash on the dirty ground and have some bruises all over my face for a few days. Only that never happened. In the instant that I was about to feel my face against the damp soil, two arms wrapped my waists not too strong, but with determination, preventing me from slipping a second time. I didn’t even realize I closed my eyes. "It’s not even the first day you’re back here on Earth, and you were destined to get hurt. Pff, not very convenient for our team, huh?"

A moment later my eyes sprang to meet his, and those eyes reminded me of an autumn now close to winter. " Well, lady killer, now you might as well put me down. I’m not meant to be your princess." I said authoritatively. His powerful arms let go of my body, and with a little thump my butt bounced off the ground.

What an idiot!

Not only was he now laughing at me with a fat laugh, as if I had just said the funniest joke on Earth, but he didn’t even deign to preseed himself! The blond slightly lowered his head, as I was still on the ground, and with an energetic voice he replied: "Not yet", later going in the opposite direction, with firm step. Oh, what kind of weird I had in front…

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

"Become mine! With all my Drago you would become the luckiest woman in the world!"

Somebody kill me...

It had been two months since I had made my unexpected (better to say, unlucky) acquaintance with blondie, who had the name of Ryusui Nanami. With his egocentrism and sheer avarice, he had proved to be one of the most promising members of the Kingdom of Science so far, with great skills for navigation. Apparently he came from one of the wealthiest families in Japan, and he certainly had not lost the habit of being indulged in everything, even after 3,500 years. And since our first meeting, he hasn’t stopped trying once. On every occasion he would give me his flirtations comments (sometimes shabby), he would become handsy, or he would try to buy me with his stupid Drago.

I was not one of those women who was so easily deceived, especially if a situation was about money. He thought I would give in so easily. I was so determined to prove to him the opposite, during these months, that this would give him up. With a gesture of the hand, I pushed him away. " I’m sorry, Ryusui. As I’ve explained many times before, I’m not interested." I took a dramatic break. ".. to you."

He whined loudly like a little baby, fogetting his money behind to get close to me. "You’re making a mistake!" "I have made many mistakes in my life," I answered sharply. "Then add another to your long list." I nailed him down with my sharp look, sketching a tight smile. Nothing to do. That man would never wave the white flag in the sky. However, it was becoming a nuisance, and having it close to me like a fin was starting to run out. For the worse. I had only one idea that could have saved me in that instant, from a near future in which he was no longer clinging to me like an octopus: make him believe he had a chance with me. A bold idea; nevertheless, it had to be tried. Either it will make it or break it. "Maybe, in the future, you might have a chance…" I implied in a vague tone, already heading somewhere, any, to get him off my back. I could swear to see his eyes shining remarkably with hope, and a new fire, fueled by determination.

He snapped his fingers, his iconic gesture that everyone, by now, had learned to recognize, and if he did, it was because he decided to do something. There were no roads back. "HA-HA!" His laughter seemed to flow throughout the Ishigami village. Even Senku and Chrome turned to us, with confused scowls, to see what was so funny at the time. But Ryusui found nothing amusing in this situation, except a challenge to complete.

"So be it! I’ll show you how much I’m willing to change your mind. Anything to get the chance to become yours!"

Though I did not turn to look at him, once again, his muscular arms clasped my waists, turning my body to meet his. Face to face. "You, damned Nanami, what do you want now?!" That gesture had taken me by surprise, because he was not used to come so near me, but with his cheeky smile, he kissed me on both the cheeks. A quick gesture that made me blush remarkably in my face, almost to feel it burn under the palms of my hands. "What the f...?!" "You don’t know it, but you’re already mine!"

#dr. stone #senku #dr stone x reader #ryusui nanami #ryusui nanami x reader #senku ishigami #senku ishigami x reader #senku x reader #ryusui x reader #anime imagines #anime and manga #anime x reader #gen asagiri #imagine #one shot #sfw

[ohcorny]

hey corny. so i always see people recommending to outline their story before starting it, but could you talk a little bit more about what that means? what is an outline and how do you structure one? how long are the ones you write, depending on the project? do you focus on plot beats or feelings? how specific do you get? can u recommend any readings for learning more?

up front i don't have any resources for this, only experience. and outlines feel like one of those things where it's like... there are a million ways to do it and the way that works for me might not work for you. i have a friend who writes out all his ideas on index cards and that, for me, is insane. but he's also a better writer than me so who can say what is right or wrong.

anyway an outline is essentially a sketch but for a story. you go through the whole thing, start to finish, and figure out what goes where and what happens when. the idea is that this is the stage where you work out all the big picture stuff and make sure it all fits together, now, and not after you've drawn twenty pages and suddenly go "wait shit that doesn't work" and have to do it over. it is much easier to delete and rewrite a paragraph than to redraw several pages.

doing anything more, ie including dialogue or feelings, depends entirely on how useful that information is to you at that point in the process and whether the purpose of the outline is for your own guidance, or so somebody else can tell what you're trying to achieve.

this got really long with multiple examples

here is an excerpt from the original outline i used to pitch Hunger's Bite to publishers. this one had to be polished to a professional standard, because somebody else was going to read it and decide whether they wanted to give me thousands of dollars to tell this story. (also several of the details are no longer accurate. for instance it now takes place 9 years earlier lmao)

this paragraph represents the first eight pages of the book. the final book is 264 pages long, and the outline was 12 pages of paragraphs as dense as this one.

it establishes where we are, who's there, and what they're doing. i describe their conversation, but i don't commit to the dialogue. i will occasionally include snippets of literal dialogue, but usually only if it's Important Dialogue, or i just don't want to forget a good idea i had while outlining. it's not expected at this step.

an outline written as part of a pitch to a publisher should tell the whole story, with all the important details, and leave nothing ambiguous. they need to know the tone, shape, and the arcs. no secrets! all the spoilers. outlines for yourself should do this too, but outlines for others need to be as clear about your vision as possible. again, an outline like this exists for the purpose of getting you paid thousands of dollars. you should write it like that.

in comparison, here's an excerpt from the outline i wrote for revisions to my WIP prose novel, so i could show it to my agent (who already read the draft) to be like "do these changes sound good?" i'm not selling it to anyone yet, just making a guide so i can have a conversation about it. so it doesn't need to be neat, it just needs to be functional and clear. the first chapter was entirely new stuff. the second bit was just writing down what was already in the chapter that existed.

i have historically been very bad at outlining things when i don't think i "need" to, and only wrote this one after having written like 60k words of the book without any overall plan. i gave what i had to my agent for feedback and then sat down and figured out how i could apply it. it's made the whole revisions process significantly less daunting. now i have a checklist for things i need to do! this one was a paragraph or two for each chapter, with the ones that needed a lot of rewriting given a bit more detail.

lastly, here's a bit of the outline for the first roger crenshaw book. i was the only person who had to see this, and since the story was planned to be very short i didn't have to worry about a whole lot. as long as i knew what was supposed to go where, it would work. honestly it's not a whole lot different from the previous example.

this one was like five paragraphs and it did the job, and this story was like 15k words. you only need as much or as little as will actually help you on the page.

basically if you take nothing else from this, it's that there are multiple ways to write an outline, that it does not need to be perfect if you're doing it for yourself, and that it only needs what you think is important (unless it is for other people. then it should have everything). and also it's a good idea to do it earlier in the project than after you've written 60k words or drawn--jesus christ i got up to 12 chapters in never satisfied? it's amazing i didn't quit sooner

[seat-safety-switch]

In a lot of countries, travelling four or five hundred kilometers by car is a big trip. Dutch folks would expect you to bring back a gift, take photos, and be gone for a week or two. You would legally be required to take your mistress with you in Italy. Here in Canada, that barely gets me to the next major city and back. Our country is way too spread out.

Americans: a kilometer is like a mile, but not as big. They're the tiny numbers on your speedometer. That's the gauge that tells you how fast you done be goin'. It also tastes faintly of bleu cheese. The kilometer, that is, not the speedometer.

A hundred years ago, people would simply not travel this far in a single day. If your friends and family moved five hundred clicks away, you would just never see them again, instead of multiple times per year. The automobile is the great equalizer in this regard, but one thing that hasn't updated are our pitifully low, revenue-generating speed limits. Now, some people can travel this distance weekly, returning from their distant jobs to their overpriced, highway-dependent, bedroom communities.

When presented with such a long distance to cover, sane individuals would insist upon a train system. In case you're unfamiliar, a train is a big box on rails that carries people from one urban centre to another. It can't be pulled over for speeding, so you get to blow past infuriated rural cops doing three hundred plus. Rest assured that we do have trains out East, but they suck. The reason why? Too many big boxes, not enough rails. Plus, they can't do three hundred, or even one hundred on most days. A classic fuck-up. Better to just not build anything at all, unless it's highways, say our betters.

Now you're on the highway with several thousand of your closest friends, watching out for cops together. You're going thirty over the limit when you pull into the slow lane to take a momentary rest, right before you return to the usual flow of traffic at speeds contraindicated by the safety warnings on the side of your tires.

All this is so that you can get to the next city over, buy the garbage you came for (metal flake airbrush attachment? You shouldn't have) and then immediately turn around to burn back home before it gets dark. Maybe if you're lucky, while you're filling up, you can send a few text messages to your friends who live in the target city, telling them you just missed them and that they should drop by next time they're down in your neck of the woods. That's the way to live.

[binniesbobastay]

Stray Kids: Fluffy (& Smutty) Christmas Headcanons

A/n: Merry Christmas if you celebrate it everyone! :)

This work contains mature content and is 18+ only, minors do not interact.

Bang Chan

wants you to help him decorate the outside of the house

like he's really excited to do it with you :(

but then he gets all worried when you wanna get up on the ladder and string the lights across the roof.

"it's covered in ice, you'll slip!!! >:("

bans you from ladder duty and assigns you to be in charge of decorating the porch instead lol.

when it gets dark, he'll let you do the honors of plugging up the lights (does the drumroll thing like clark griswold lmaooo)

is so happy and kisses you on the cheek and tells you this is the best Christmas ever while his eyes sparkle in the light :(

later that night, he snuggles up with you on the couch as the two of you watch the snow outside from the window.

kisses you to the soft, jazzy christmas playlist he puts on earlier.

can't help but become needy, so he disappears under the large blanket you're both wrapped in to go down on you.

watching his chest rise and fall with each pant and hearing his whines is a real treat if you decide to return the favor.

makes love to you while holding you close and kissing every inch of available skin.

"Merry Christmas, my love..." he whispers in your ear.

forgot about the open window... oops!

Lee Know

would want to accompany you while you do your Christmas shopping.

then he finds cute little Christmas outfits for the cats and he's so happy.

helps you check off your list and tries to give you ideas if you ever get stuck on what you should get a certain friend.

after you come home he immediately goes to dress the cats up in their new outfits.

takes several thousand photos, a lot of them featuring you!

tells you all how cute you look.

then he's disappearing into the kitchen to make little dishes for the christmas party you guys are going to tomorrow while you wrap gifts.

makes you dinner and you guys eat together in comfortable silence.

puts the cats to bed in their new christmas pajamas... he claims they came with the outfits.

might put on a christmas movie and plug in the tree while you rest your head on his lap and he plays with your hair.

when you shift to sit in his lap and start kissing up his neck, he gets the hint and carries you to the bedroom.

lights up a Christmas themed candle before laying you down on the bed and proceeding to make you cum at least twice before he fucks you.

tells you that you feel so nice and that he's so lucky to have you and spend this time of year with, this is one of the rare times he's just complete mush in your arms while he rocks into you :(.

when you're done, he runs you a bath and cleans you up. he might join you if you ask nicely ;)

makes sure you're asleep in his arms before drifting off with you under the soft blanket.

changbin

Christmas movie marathons

literally all day

everyday

he's got free form on the tv 24/7

laughs so hard at the comedies (his favorite is elf)

might cry during polar express but deny it if you say anything

loooooves the cold weather because it gives him an excuse to spend hours on end cuddling you

"we have to stay warm!" he explains for the nth time.

"changbin... we literally have a fireplace" "... i like this way better"

would love to help you decorate the tree if you asked him to.

would also really like to go shopping for new ornaments if you're down.

would also buy lots of mistletoe to put all over the house while ur out too

lifts you up on his shoulders so you can put the star on top :) he's a strong boy.

makes a big thing of hot chocolate for you, tons of marshmallows and everything.

"merry christmas, my sweetie..." he tells you, kissing your temple while you're cuddling on the floor by the fireplace.

eventually takes yours and his mugs and sets them to the side so he can pull you into his lap for a make out session.

The taste of chocolate on each others lips makes you both dizzy as you start to grind against him.

leads to him laying back on the floor with you riding him, making you moan his name as he rubs your nipples thanks to your unbuttoned pajama fleece...

Hyunjin

wants to paint a portrait of you by the tree :(

makes you pose and everything.

gives you little breaks to give you kisses in between as a reward for staying still.

loves how your eyes light up when he shows you the final product.

"it's beautiful, hyun! you're so talented!" "Mm-mm, I owe it all to my pretty little muse..."

gift wrapping king

is very picky about how gifts should be wrapped and will criticize you if he sees you messing up.

he'll sit you in his lap and guide your hands with his big ones over them, showing you how to properly wrap it oh geez this is already getting hot

i think he really likes vintage christmas movies and he'll love you forever if you watch white christmas with him he can quote it

gets really turned on by whatever you're wearing for your christmas eve party and thinks you look incredible.

will probably bend you over the counter of the kitchen when you get home or when your guests leave and just rail you until your legs are jelly...

but he'll help dress you in ur christmas pj's and cuddle you to sleep after.

definitely will have some softer, christmas morning sex with lots of praises, and i love yous, and gently messaging the bruises he left on your hips last night.

then he's bringing you a cup of peppermint tea and your presents from him so he can watch you open them :(

Han

mf ACTUALLY puts mistletoe all over the ceiling

giggles when you scold him

"Jisung, this is gonna take forever to take down.." "well good thing christmas isn't over yet!"

loves taking walks with you around the neighborhood to look at lights while he holds your hand :(

takes a dozen pictures of you by them

might wanna go caroling and yes he will be dragging you with him.

will also take you to see Santa, yes he will sit on his lap and everything

when he asks him what he wants for christmas, he just looks over at you and says he's already got everything he wants :(

"shut up, jisung. you insisted we see the man, tell him what you really want..." you said while blushing

"eh, okay, i guess a puppy wouldn't hurt..."

will ask you to dance with him to some classic christmas records! his favorite is feliz navidad! feliiiiiiiiiiiiiz navidaaaaaaaaaaaad

also has his own personal mistletoe he keeps in his pockets so he can sneak up on you and hold it over your head whenever he wants to.

definitely goes down on you under the mistletoe.

really passionate sex by the tree, loves how gorgeous you look with your body bathed in the lights.

really whiny, telling you he loves you over and over while he touches you everywhere unable to get enough of you.

"you're the best gift..."

Felix

ugh so so so sweet! definitely one of the best to spend the holidays with.

spends 90% of it in the kitchen though lol.

he can't help it, he saw so many christmas treat recipes on pinterest that he wants to try.

would love to ice and decorate christmas cookies with you.

if you decide to help him bake, he's gonna assign you to stir the batter just so he can give you back hugs while you do it :(

hums christmas songs in your ear with that beautiful, deep voice of his omg i actually need this

holds a spoon to your mouth so you can taste test the icing.

dabs some of it onto your nose and cheeks so he can kiss it off i am so soft for this man

the type to gift you something that's 100% thoughtful, probably custom made or something like that.

talks about taking you to australia and wanting to spend christmas with you and his family one year im crying i love him so much

buys you both cute little antlers or some type of christmas headwear and takes a bunch selfies in them with you.

turns the heat up so that you won't get cold while he completely ravages you in the night...

might have made an extra batch of icing so he can lick it off of your body.

especially your nipples because hes absolutely in love with how you get goosebumps from it...

please lick it off of him too omg. he's so sensitive and the noises he will make are *chef's kiss*

and the way you can taste it on his lips when he kisses you while rocking into you... oof

you almost sleep through all of christmas day because you guys went until the sun came up.

he just loves you more than anything :( and he wants to always take care of you and he's so happy he gets to spend this time of year with you.

Seungmin

You're gonna have to drag him inside at some point because he won't come in himself.

lives in the snow.

that's all he wants to do all day.

wakes you up early singing do you wanna build a snowman from frozen smh.

annoying but so cute, how could you say no?

snowball fights, snowman building, snow angel making, you guys are gonna do it all.

makes sure you have plenty of layers on and doesn't want you getting sick.

kisses you under the icicles dripping off the roof :)

will love you forever if you make him hot chocolate.

is really excited but nervous to see if you like his gift that he got you, you assure him that you'll love anything he gets you just because you appreciate it and him so much.

when you say this his face goes r e d

cuddles you on the couch and feeds you a candy cane but the situation becomes too erotic pretty quick because the sight of you suckling on the peppermint makes him crazy.

gets down on his knees and with your permission... he'll rub the spit-coated candy around your nipples and your sensitive parts before licking it up.

it's sticky and messy but it's so hot and his tongue feels so good that you have no complaints.

let's you ride him for a while before he can't take it anymore and flips you over to pound into you.

cleans you up before showering you in little kisses and going back to cuddling you after.

Jeongin

he is over the MOON that he gets to have this type of downtime.

the holidays are his favorite time of year and he's excited to have a more lowkey one with just you since he has a bigger family.

gets you matching ugly christmas sweaters!!!

takes a bunch of picture of you and you take a lot of him so he can post them on instagram.

sets up the timer on his phone so you both can get a picture by the tree.

wraps his arm around you so he can pull you close and flash that big grin of his :(

happy to help you make cookies :)

by help i mean mostly watch and eat half of the dough before you can get it in the oven.

cant wait to open gifts so you both decide to open one.

literally screams when he sees that you got him the favorite video game he wanted.

"thank you thank you thank you, you're the beeeeest!!!" he says while tackling you with kisses.

immediately starts playing it.

sits you between his legs and teaches you how to play.

is so proud because you actually get pretty good at it.

... but then he catches a glimpse of your chest down your pajama shirt and now he's horny lol

"J, what are you..." you question him when he turns off the game.

"shush, pretty..." he cuts you off with a kiss.

he spends hours working you with his hands and overstimulating you because he thinks you're so cute squirming in his lap.

but then he'll carry you to the bedroom for some soft, slow sex where he kisses you a lot and whispers to you how you've made this the best christmas ever for him :(

#stray kids #skz #bang chan #lee know #changbin #hyunjin #han jisung #felix #seungmin #jeongin #skz i.n #stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids headcanons #stray kids scenarios #stray kids drabbles #stray kids oneshot #stray kids imagines #skz x reader #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han jisung x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #kpop #kpop smut

[blubffsd]

— BIG NEWS

summary: where Kylian reveals his relationship by tweeting on the wrong account.

note: idk hi how r u

After the celebration dinner of your fourth anniversary, you and Kylian came home and quickly lay in your bed, completely tired because it had been a pretty busy day for both of you.

You were lying on Kylian's chest stroking his hair and trying to sleep while your boyfriend was on Twitter like every night before sleeping.

Your boyfriend really loved the app, because he could read gossip, laugh at the memes of the fans and even see how several men tweeted about you and how they didn't understand why you were still single.

If only they knew...

Obviously Kylian couldn't use his official Twitter account freely because he knew that millions of people were looking at any interaction he had, so he had a secondary account where he tweeted everything he could think of and he even argued with people criticizing your work as a singer.

He was always very careful to tweet because he knew that if it was in the wrong account, it could be a disaster.

But a half-asleep Kylian at 1.00 a.m. doesn't think so clearly as a normal Kylian.

The sound of the alarm coming from his phone awoke Kylian, who rose quickly to prepare and go to training, not without leaving a kiss on your forehead and whispering a "I love you".

While he was brushing his teeth, he looked at the time on his phone and he didn't understand why he had a lot of messages and notifications.

This can't be good.

Why were everyone acting like he-

No. This can't be.

Kylian quickly came into Twitter to notice yes, yes, it could be.

He. tweeted. in. the. wrong. account.

And millions of people saw it.

He definitely had no idea what to do, what was he gonna tell you? "Hey, love, last night I tweet on the wrong account and now we're gonna be in every magazine for the rest of the year."

No, obviously he wouldn't tell you that. And the worst thing is that you were waking up.

He heard how you knocked the bathroom door and asked him sweetly if you could come in. He breathed deeply to know he didn't have a chance and let you in. You quickly hugged him by saying good morning, then you washed your face and your teeth noting he was nervous but you decided to ignore it.

You went out of the bathroom going to get some clothes in your closet while you felt the steps of your boyfriend behind you, you turned around to face it and you crashed with his chest. A nervous laugh came out of your partner's mouth and you looked at him confused.

—Fine Kylian, tell me what's going on.

Your boyfriend cursed in his mind when he knew he had to tell you the truth at that time.

—They know about us.

—What do you mean with "they"?

—I tweeted in the wrong account tonight by accident and know everyone knows that we are dating.

You looked amazed at Kylian letting a nervous laugh escape without wanting to believe him.

—You're kidding, right?

—Love, listen. I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean it. It was a mistake, it wasn't on purpose, i swear it wasn't.

You went to find your phone to check it wasn't a joke and, like him, you had thousands of messages from friends and family members congratulating you on making it public.

You looked at your boyfriend who was on the other side of the room, looking down and playing with his fingers, completely embarrassed and repentant of the little mistake (or not) he had made.

You smiled slightly and walked towards him taking his face and lifting his head to look you in the eye.

You looked at those brown eyes you'd fallen in love with, you analyzed all the factions on your partner's face. His nose, his lips, his jaw, even his hair was perfect. And that was all yours.

He was yours and you were his, but no one knew until the night before. No one had any idea of the love you had, of the connection between you two, of all the moments together, laughs, crying, joys, celebrations. No one had known until that time, it's not that you were ashamed of each other, you wanted some privacy. But you couldn't ignore the desire you had to go kiss him in front of everyone when he scored a goal, telling everyone that all your love songs were toward him. You wanted so much for them to know.

You didn't hold on anymore and kiss his lips, thinking it would be a good way to let him know you weren't angry about what happened, that you were happy that everybody knew you were with him and he was with you.

—I guess you're not mad.

—I'm not but forget about your secondary account.

note: i hope you liked it!! plz help me to decide here

#kylian mbappe #mbappe #kylian mbappe fanfic #kylian x reader #mbappe x reader #mbappe one shot #mbappe imagine

[scribbling-dragon]

That Damn Scarf

summary:

But Martyn is also definitely the guy he’s spent the most time around. And because of this, he would have thought he’d find the answer to the strange man he first came across floating in the sky (which is actually a lie, he’d been watching him putter around for a little while before that, but he didn't actually speak to him until he was several thousand feet in the air and approaching certain death by suffocation). But he still doesn't have his answer: why the scarf?

(ao3 link)

(12,489 words)

Scott has met, and spoken to, Martyn several times. He likes to think they're on rather good terms at the moment, with him poking his head, or his arm, or any other limb, really, in to poke at Martyn in a way of saying hello. Martyn then, often, pulls him all the way through the portals, dragging him (quite literally) into a conversation, or pulling him in to help with whatever task he’s doing that day. Most of which are very boring and are not things that Scott would normally consider doing, however, when he’s with Martyn he cannot help but smile and go along with it, enjoying the moments they spend together.

So, Scott likes to think they're friends- and rather good ones at that! He’s met several other people on his wanderings around the world, popping in and out of places, checking on the new faces he spies around. A few of them are interesting, catching his interest for a few minutes or hours, leading to him watching them from a distance, either until he got bored, approached them, or he noticed them.

But Martyn is also definitely the guy he’s spent the most time around. And because of this, he would have thought he’d find the answer to the strange man he first came across floating in the sky (which is actually a lie, he’d been watching him putter around for a little while before that, but he didn't actually speak to him until he was several thousand feet in the air and approaching certain death by suffocation). But he still doesn't have his answer: why the scarf?

Scott knows what a scarf is, obviously, but what he doesn't get is the purpose of the garment. Everyone pulls out a scarf, maybe some mittens and a hat too, when it gets a little bit chillier and frost begins to nip at any exposed skin and the winds turn sharper, more likely to cut at your face if you venture out into it with insufficient protection. It’s a normal response to bundle up and add a few extra layers, perhaps spruce things up a bit with how artfully you drape your scarf around your neck and over your shoulders.

Scott’s fallen victim to several nice scarves over the years, though most of those had been thin pieces of fabric, silken and floaty things designed to look pretty rather than keep the chill away. Not that he was particularly bothered by the cold, preferring to let it bite at his skin and find that he’s actually impermeable to their teeth of ice and snow. He hails from places far colder than what a little snow can achieve, it’ll take more than the measly winds to get him to cover up more.

So, Martyn’s scarf. Scott’s not actually sure why he’s so fixated on it, only that he’d noticed it once, taking a moment too long to fixate on the knitted garment; and just like that, it had snaked its way into his mind, capturing him in its threads and pulling his attention towards it when he has a free moment- every waking moment of his, not occupied by other things, has been consumed by the blue and slightly-darker-blue wool of Martyn’s scarf.

It is a very nice scarf. Obviously handmade, but made by someone that clearly knows what they're doing, possibly a master of their craft. Or maybe Martyn just bought it from some random person, and it was made in bulk with several thousand others that look exactly the same. But it also just looks handmade, and Martyn treats it carefully, as though worried it might get harmed by something. Scott has watched him tuck a loose thread back in carefully, neatly folding it back amongst the blues.

The only thing, and the thing that he’s focusing on, is that he’s never seen Martyn without the scarf.

He wears it seemingly constantly, always in the same way, with it a few scant inches from being tugged up to cover his lips completely- not that Scott spends long periods of time looking at Martyn’s lips, his scarf is just really close to his lips, and it’s hard to look at his scarf without also looking at his lips, and…maybe he does look at his lips. But only in quick, friendly glances that mean nothing more than watching Martyn speak and the way he shapes his vowels as he talks.

And he still doesn't know why Martyn even wears it! He doesn't get cold, something that Scott had been able to establish pretty early on, asking first why he wears all of the layers, then finding out just how cold Martyn was the time he clamped a bare hand down on the back of his neck. It had sent several shivers down his spine and forced him to squirm away from the ice blocks Martyn had pressed against his skin. Ice blocks that turned out to be his hands, which also turned out to be his normal (and healthy) temperature.

So, he doesn't need the scarf. Definitely not for keeping warm reasons, because Martyn actually explained to him how higher temperatures are bad for his health. Though only in the extremes, like deserts or the Nether. And he also doesn't enjoy hanging out in completely frozen environments, both for the lack of life there, and because the cold can still bite at him, just not as fiercely.

And yet he wears it! Scott’s has never, ever seen him without it- even that one time when it was really late at night, the moon halfway towards its descent, and he’d been stranded in the middle of nowhere and the first waypoint he’d managed to connect to was Martyn’s. And it would have been rude and cruel and not at all friend-like of him to kick a dear friend, like Scott, out in the middle of the night (closer to early morning, but semantics) when it was so dark and cold and dangerous.

And Martyn had been in his pyjamas, very obviously just woken up with quite spectacular bed-hair that Scott had to exert all of his willpower not to comment on (he wasn't going to risk being kicked out just because Martyn’s hair made him look like a parrot with how it stuck up at the back). And still wearing his scarf. Neatly tucked around his neck and trailing over his shoulder, a perfect compliment to the pyjamas he was wearing.

His ongoing theory, until recently, was that the scarf was simply a part of him. Scott had never met a chillager before he came across Martyn, and so he wasn't one to judge, nor was he one to question something. He much preferred to figure things out on his own, mainly because the satisfaction of eliminating all incorrect assumptions and settling on the most plausible (and usually correct) answer was something basically unbeatable.

He’d been able to eliminate that theory rather quickly, though he still went through several testing stages to be certain of his initial conclusion (he would much rather spend time determining that he was wrong than skip over it and find out that he was right initially).

He’d tugged at the scarf experimentally, twisting the fibres to see if it gained any reaction from Martyn. He’d done it before, definitely, but he had a concussion that time from one of the “Colins” that Martyn insisted on keeping in his cave-house, and had been a little too blurry around the edges to look for a reaction to the action. But on his second, and then third and fourth and fifth, attempt, when he still garnered no reaction from the man, he had to give up on the theory, crossing it off his quickly shortening list. The lack of response meant it obviously wasn't sewn into his nervous system, and Scott had seen him adjust it several times before, even if it was only a tiny bit, either tightening or loosening the material.

But he’d continued to tug and pull at the scarf, gently at first, then growing with force once he’d determined it wouldn't hurt Martyn if he did so- he may be carrying out tests to determine the truth behind the scarf, but he wasn't going to willingly hurt one of his friends.

And Martyn had only protested slightly (actually a lot, especially when Scott yanked at the scarf), but not enough to dissuade Scott from forming perhaps his worst habit in the entirety of his life.

His teachers would be so disappointed.

===

The sun was just warm enough to be uncomfortable, the sun bearing down with some force on the bare skin of his arms. He eyes Martyn from the corner of his eye, watching as he ambles along easily, hood still pulled up around his ears and looking entirely unbothered by the heat that seems determined to slowly boil his insides. He feels like he’s being slowly eased off of a simmer and onto a boil.

It leaves him feeling too hot in his own skin.

He trips, too focused on side-eyeing Martyn and questioning how the man hasn't melted into a little puddle yet. He pops back into place a few feet ahead, sparks drifting around him as he continues walking, backwards now, so he can squint at Martyn.

Martyn looks at him, raising an eyebrow. “Did you need something?” His face isn't even a little pink, not at all betraying that he might be feeling a little on the toasty side. It’s also beginning to piss him off a little. He looks far too cosy, at too much of a comfortable temperature with his stupid scarf tucked neatly around his neck, brushing against the bottom of his chin.

He hums, spinning around so he’s walking forwards again and falling back into place beside Martyn. “Just wondering if your brain is melting into a puddle.” He makes a small, considering noise in the back of his throat, turning his head to continue squinting at Martyn. Martyn is watching him. “You look like your brain is melting outta your ears.”

Martyn stares at him, jolting to a halt for a second before his brain seems to reboot (maybe it’s not quite melted yet. Just…defrosting) and he starts walking again, jogging for a moment to catch up with Scott.

“What does that even mean?” He asks, sounding genuinely confused. His face scrunches up, eyebrows furrowing and forming a small crinkle between his eyebrows. Scott can't quite bring himself to look away, though he covers up this new and embarrassing discovery by grinning wide.

“Means you look like an idiot.”

Martyn goes a little pink in the face at that - though, Scott notes, unfortunately it doesn't look like the pinkness of his face is due to the heat. It looks more like- he teleports a few feet to the left, crossing his arms and frowning at Martyn.

“That’s not very nice of you.” He complains. He stops walking so he can plant his hands on his hips and frown at Martyn disapprovingly. “We use our words, not our fists to communicate.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Martyn shakes his head. “I wasn't gonna hit you hard.” He pauses, then smiles at Scott, sidling a little closer, “Just a little tap.”

Scott reels back as Martyn flicks him on the nose, hands shooting up to cover his face, glaring at Martyn once he’s managed to blink the tears back from his eyes enough to actually bring Martyn’s face back into focus.

Martyn laughs at him, bending almost double at the waist as he laughs. It echoes around them, sending a few rabbits shooting off through the grasses, disappearing quickly into the browning grass. He frowns after them, watching the bobbing of their cotton-tails disappear. He’s got a recipe for rabbit meat somewhere, tucked away in one of the recipe books lining his bookshelves. He’s hardly had an opportunity to make any rabbit-based dishes.

The slowing of Martyn’s wheezing (sounding more like he’s choking and less like he’s laughing) brings him out of his thoughts, and he remembers to glare at him, lowering his hands from his face to properly achieve the full effect.

“Did your mother teach you no manners?” He cries, once he’s managed to gather himself sufficiently enough to be annoyed. “Or did you just grow up in a barn?” If he ever dared to flick someone on the nose (on the nose) back home, he’d have gotten a slap on the wrist and sent to his room for a week. His teachers would have also made sure to slot in some extra etiquette classes, just to rub salt in the wound a little further.

“My mother was a lovely woman,” Martyn huffs back at him. “She taught me plenty of manners, but she also told me not to waste them on rude people.”

“I'm not rude!” Martyn snorts a laugh at that. “I am not!” He has to jog to catch up with Martyn, following behind him as he pushes through the tall grass, carving a path for Scott to easily follow behind.

The grass brushes over the bare skin at his wrists, causing him to shiver and tuck his arms a little closer. He loves the plants of this realm far too much to be disgusted by many of them, but tall grasses are something that makes him want to claw his skin off when it brushes over him, skittering across his flesh like the similarly unwelcome bugs he’s come across recently. Simply the thought of the spiders is enough to send a shiver down his spine, crawling uncomfortably over his skin.

“You're one of the rudest people I've met.” Martyn says, turning his head over his shoulder to look at him. His scarf slips a little lower, exposing a pale flash of skin at his neck. It’s almost enough to make him swallow a look away, though the heat can be blamed on the sun, still trying to cook him from the inside out. Like his insides are soup and his organs the meat of it. He grimaces at his own analogy and looks away.

Looking away means he makes direct eye contact with the creeper lurking just to the side of them, fixing him under its beady stare. He stares at it for a moment, not even registering that his feet have stopped moving and Martyn has continued on in front of him, unaware of the creature waiting to put a dent in this horrible, itchy field.

It hisses, swelling slightly in warning. It’s all the warning he’ll get, and he grabs it with both hands and holds on, teleporting to Martyn and grabbing the closest available thing, dragging him forward and through another one of his portals, both of them tumbling through several feet away, tumbling over each other in the grass as Martyn yells something into his ear.

The grass brushes past every bit of exposed skin, and he feels several of his joints protest the movement, twisting oddly and promising him pain later if he doesn't use heat and pressure. He ignores it, ignores the scratching of the grass as it tickles him.

The explosion rocks through the air a moment later, causing him to wince and duck his head, far closer to Martyn’s face than he’s…ever been. Ever. Martyn’s staring up at him, eyes wide and hood halfway fallen off of his head, revealing his ridiculously fluffy deer ears. His scarf is still tucked neatly around his neck, though, not a speck of dust caught in its fibres.

“What,” Martyn wheezes out, “the hell.”

“There was a creeper,” he manages, still a little disoriented from the sudden, jarring teleportations- he hasn't gotten dizzy like this since his first few teleports. Certainly not after he’d graduated his first year. “Uh. Thought it’d ruin the day a bit if one of us got blown up.”

“You think?” Martyn’s breathing still sounds a little wheezy. His voice slightly strained as he speaks. “Might do a bit more than ruin the day.” Scott shifts slightly, knees digging uncomfortably into the weirdly soft ground…

He shifts backwards onto his haunches a little further, drawing back as he realises he’s hunched over Martyn, knees digging into his chest, faces far too close to be friendly. The sun is unbearably hot on his back, flushing his face with the heat and recent exertion.

His ankle twinges painfully as Martyn sits up, dislodging him from where he had been crouching. It brings them almost face to face again, because Scott’s still sitting on his legs, just below the knee, grass still itching at his arms as they shift about.

The smell of gunpowder lingers in the air, hanging heavy about their heads, even as the small particles of smoke begin to float back down.

Martyn’s hand wraps around his, slowly prying his fingers away from something. Scott looks down, finding the end of Marytn’s scarf clutched in his grasp, fingers digging into the material tight enough that his knuckles are white.

“Next time you decide to save my life,” Martyn says, a small note of humour lingering in his voice, “try not to yank me around by my neck, yeah?”

“I- yeah.” He shifts back a little further, pulling his hands back to himself once he’s managed to release Martyn’s scarf. “Course.”

===

Martyn almost walks off a cliff the next week.

He’d been speaking, saying something that Scott can't even remember anymore, after the adrenaline-fueled and anxiety-inducing five seconds that resulted from Martyn stepping off a cliff. It’s no wonder there’s so many stories about death in this realm, if people so easily fling themselves to their doom on the regular. Or if small accidents like this spell the end for most people.

Martyn’s foot slips, something giving way beneath his heel. Scott gets a brief moment of seeing Martyn’s face twist - morphing to something like horror - as their eyes meet, before Scott is lunging forward, reaching for any part of Martyn.

One hand curls around Martyn’s shoulder, the contact enough for him to snag onto Martyn with his powers, a thread coiling tightly around him as he releases him once more, staggering back from the cliff edge, not even giving himself a moment before he’s yanking on that thread, fingers twisting tight in it and pulling.

It gives way with a snap, and Scott becomes weightless. The ground below him rushes up, a mix of greys and darker greys, a few dripstone reaching up, eager to impale him. He twists, reaching for a spot on the clifftop.

He stumbles, feet coming into contact with the ground, jarring his knees hard enough to make him gasp, knees buckling as they decide they don't want to hold his weight up anymore. He winces as his knees hit the ground, lungs feeling too empty as he gasps, attempting to breathe properly again after…that.

“God, Scott,” Martyn sounds equally out of breath as he does. “I- thanks, thought I was a goner there.”

“You're lucky I was around,” he bites back, straightening up so he can see Martyn. One of his knees twinges painfully, as he rocks back to rest on his heels, one hand still planted firmly on the ground for balance. “Or you’d be a smear on the rock right now.”

“Alright, no need to rub it in.” Martyn grimaces. His hood has fallen back, exposing his windswept hair and flushed cheeks. His scarf trails loosely around his neck, no longer tucked snugly against his neck. Scott gets the odd impulse to tuck it back into place for him.

He clenches his hands into fists before he can make a move to act on that thought, snagging several blades of grass in one hand, almost ripping them free before he relaxes again, releasing them carefully and checking that he didn't damage them. He might hate their taller cousins, but the short and soft green grass is something that he’s found himself growing rather fond of.

“I need to put you on a leash,” he mutters, pushing himself to his feet. When he looks back up, Martyn’s cheeks look a little rosy. Possibly a little wind-bitten, but he looks fine otherwise. “If you keep wandering off, I’ll put you in one of those child leashes.” He threatens.

“You wouldn't,” Martyn denies. He looks confident in his denial, as well, which Scott supposes is fair; they've only known each other for a little while, and thus he cannot expect Martyn to understand how willing he is to commit to things, especially if it means he can stop getting an adrenaline rush when he decides to go a nice, leisurely stroll with one of his friends.

“I would,” he steps closer, grinning up at Martyn. They're close enough that he can almost feel Martyn’s breath on his cheeks. Close enough that he can study the odd, square shape of Martyn’s pupils (something he’s been meaning to ask about for the past while but has never managed to). “But,” he hums, glancing down, “I suppose this will have to do for now.”

He winds the end of Martyn’s scarf around his hand, pulling on the end a little, just to watch it tighten around Martyn’s throat. It’s closer to how he normally wears it, even if Martyn immediately grabs the scarf, tugging it away from his throat.

“Absolutely not.” Martyn loosens it a little further. Scott tugs at it again, watching how Martyn’s hands curl into his beloved scarf a little tighter, holding onto it.

“Why not?” He asks, tilting his head to the side as he continues to look up at Martyn.

“Because I'm not a child.” One of Martyn’s hands has come up to scrape at his hand, trying to peel his fingers back from where they're curled into his scarf. His gloves mean that Scott can't feel the bite of his nails, and so his attempts are rendered useless.

He seems to realise this, after several seconds of silence between the two of them as he fruitlessly attempts to free himself.

“Would a dog be better?”

“What?” Martyn stops his attempts, hand pausing where it hovers over his own. He can feel the cold of his hands seeping through the fabric of his gloves. His own fingers tingle in sympathy, and he almost winces at the thought of his hands being that cold.

“If I compared you to a dog rather than a child,” he grins. He already knows that the comparison is not better. He’d had a lovely conversation with Gem - a swarm, he didn't even know such a thing could exist - about dogs and how cute they are. She’d seemed quite enthusiastic about them, even if, to Scott, having a dog seemed rather inconvenient; you had to take it for walks and pay it so much attention. It was hardly self-sufficient, and they always seemed far too cheerful about everything. And a dog also seemed like it would create lots of messes.

So, not something someone wants to be compared to.

“No!” Martyn protests, redoubling his attempts to pry Scott away from his scarf. “No, that is not better.” He pauses, looking up at Scott, before he begins slowly pulling his hand upwards-

“Don't bite me!” He cries, yanking his hand back, releasing Martyn’s scarf. “What the hell, Martyn? Why?”

“You weren't letting go!” Martyn yells back, eyes wide and ears pinned backwards, looking almost startled. “I didn't know what else to do!”

“And biting me seemed like a good idea?”

“Yes!” Martyn clutches at his scarf, holding tight onto the fabric where Scott had held it, brushing a thumb over the material. “My teeth aren't sharp like yours, you’d be fine.”

“Human bites are some of the most dangerous bites in the entire universe,” he rattles off. “They're more dangerous than animals, due to the bacteria that live inside human’s mouths. As such, if a human bite breaks the skin, it can become infected.”

Martyn blinks at him, still holding his scarf. “And you just know this?”

“I only met humans recently,” he replies. “I wanted to be aware of the dangers. Especially if one tried to bite me.”

“You weren't letting go!” Martyn repeats, holding his scarf closer to his chest, clutching at it like it’s some precious treasure rather than a knitted item. Maybe it is more valuable to him than any treasure.

“Fine,” he sniffs, turning on his heel. “Come on.”

Martyn doesn't follow him, and he turns after a few steps to look at Martyn. Martyn’s regarding him with suspicion. “What?”

“Where are we going?”

“To my house, duh,” he raises an eyebrow. “Where did you think we were going?”

“Why are we going to your house?” Martyn asks, but he does take a step after Scott, and then another. Satisfied that he’s following him, he turns and continues walking.

“Because I have an actual kitchen. And because I have actual food, and I don't have creepers infesting my living room.”

“Leave the Coliny alone.” Martyn frowns at him as he falls into step beside him, matching him step for step. Scott smiles as he notices this, glancing down at their feet then back up at Martyn’s face.

He grins, and Martyn takes notice, pulling away from him with a suspicious look. “What?” He asks, glancing around them, as though worried another cliff is going to appear out of nowhere and he’s going to walk off of it. Maybe Scott would let him this time, just to remind him to look where he’s putting his feet.

“Look at you,” he sidles up beside Martyn, bumping their shoulders together. “You listened when I called you to heel, just like a good dog.”

He’s well enough accustomed to Martyn’s reactions by now, meaning he can duck and teleport away when Martyn swings an arm at his head, reappearing a few feet in front.

“Compare me to a dog again and I’ll bite you.”

“How violent.” He grins. “Guess we still need to work on a little bit of training for you.”

Martyn’s face is absolutely worth it. Absolutely. Even if he’s forced to, very politely, ask Martyn for some ice so he can reduce the swelling of his face. Martyn also gives it to him, which means that he’s already forgiven.

Martyn’s scarf is tucked neatly around his neck once more, but Scott’s fingers itch to tug at it again, just to see how Martyn would react. He holds off on that urge, for now.

===

“Woah,” he reaches a hand out to yank at Martyn’s scarf, pulling him back a step. “Watch your feet there. And your head.”

“I thought I told you to stop that.” Martyn slaps his hand anyway, but he does duck his head, watching his feet as he navigates the shaky-looking bridge. Scott chooses not to risk it, eyeing the half-rotten boards and teleporting to the other side, landing on the rock there silently.

Martyn continues to inch along the walkway, watching his feet and with his head ducked to avoid tangling his antlers in the chains above him. He takes his sweet time too, leaving Scott peering down the abandoned tunnels of the mineshaft in boredom, scanning around for any skeletons lurking around corners, waiting to stick an arrow in him.

The sound of Martyn’s hooves against the wood is loud, echoing around them and down into the darkness below the unsteady bridge. Scott glances back at it again, watching the way Martyn wobbles for a moment before stabilising again. He looks unsteady on his feet, placing them carefully as he makes his way across the yawning chasm.

In theory, he could have offered a helping hand in the form of a portal. But Martyn had slapped his hand, and there’s still a light pink mark on the back of his hand. It doesn't sting - it had only stung in the moment when Martyn had actually hit him - but he’s content to give Martyn his penance through this.

The wood creaks dangerously beneath Martyn, and Martyn apparently decides that he’s had enough of walking cautiously across the gap, because he launches himself forward, pushing off of the board, causing it to splinter, and landing on the other side with a clatter.

Scott barely avoids being crushed, dipping out of the way and slipping through a portal. A few sparks land on the ground around his feet, illuminating the area for a few moments before fading away.

“You could have killed me,” he says. Martyn gives him an unimpressed look, brushing his coat off as he peers back into the gap. The gap that is now no longer bridged by a dubiously stable plank. The darkness reaches upwards when Scott joins Martyn in peering over the edge, squinting as he tries to see into it.

A clattering sound reaches them, several seconds after the plank initially fell.

“But I forgive you,” he adds, glancing over at Martyn. “It’d be a shame if I had to go scrape your remnants off the cave floor. And so far down too!” He rocks forward, positioning himself more precariously on the edge, toes slipping just over the lip of the rock.

Martyn grabs at the back of his shirt, yanking him backwards and attempting to choke him. He coughs, ripping Martyn’s hands away from him once he’s certain he’s not going to send both of them to certain doom.

“It’d be a shame if I had to scrape your remains off the cave floor, too.” Martyn says, pulling his hands back towards himself. “It’d be far too inconvenient, and then you’d just be stuck down there for eternity.”

“I’d haunt you.” He retorts. “I’d haunt you so hard you’d be sick of me.” He pokes Martyn in the chest, just to emphasise his point.

“I'm already sick of you,” Martyn says, but there’s a small smile teasing at the edges of his mouth as he leans a little closer, reducing the distance between them.

“Oh really?” He leans back, finger still pushed into Martyn’s chest, keeping him at a distance. If Martyn really wanted to lean further forward, he could, very easily- Scott’s finger isn’t going to be enough to stop him. “If you're so sick of me, why didn't you let me plummet to my death?”

“Because I'm not rude?” Martyn responds, sounding almost confused. “Do you…kill people that annoy you?” He sounds a little more concerned than confused there, eyes searching Scott’s face.

“Only if they really annoy me,” he grins back up at Martyn, watching the way his eyes widen a little before he forces his face back into a more neutral expression. “Like, it’s definitely not a first resort. Or a second resort. Probably around a fourth or fifth solution to whatever problem. And even then I don’t really like doing it.”

“That’s weird.” Martyn tells him.

“Your sky is blue,” he responds. “That’s weird.”

“What other colour would it be?” Martyn asks. They're still stood in the abandoned mineshaft, feet away from the almost endless drop into the abyss. “Red?”

“Don't be stupid,” he scoffs. He’s not sure what Martyn wanted from here- there was some point to their visit here, but he can't remember it anymore. Martyn had only told him what it was once before asking for company. Scott would have offered company even if it wasn't asked for. Mainly because if Martyn gets shot by a skeleton, he wants to be there to witness it. “Purple is a far more normal colour. Or even just black.”

“The sky is dark at night,” Martyn says. His eyes flash a little in the darkness of the mineshaft, and, why didn't they bring torches? Surely having a torch would make this whole thing a lot easier- coal. That’s what they're here for. Martyn needed some more coal, and there was a mineshaft he hadn't explored yet. “And it turns all sorts of colours at sunset.”

“The sun is even weirder.” He concludes. “Don't even talk to me about the sun.”

“The sun is the most normal thing there could be!” Martyn cries, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “You're telling me wherever you came from doesn't have a sun?”

“No.” Martyn’s eyes are unusually bright for how dark this corridor of the mineshaft is, their blue bright amongst the darkness. As blue as the stupid sky that everyone in this realm seems to be obsessed with. “There are numerous celestial bodies, but each of them are much too far away to have the same impact on us that the sun has on you. If the sun disappeared - permanently, that is - did you know you’d die? That would simply be it, the end of all life unless you could adapt to the colder temperatures and overall lack of food.”

“What a cheery thought.”

“Not really.” He shrugs. “Did you want coal or not? I'm fine with continuing to stand here and bicker, but I'm also pretty sure you disturbed a spider’s nest earlier when you broke that plank.”

“I- what?” Martyn had been beginning to step away from him, but he whips his head back around to stare at him with the mention of spiders.

“Spiders.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Can't you hear them?”

“No I can't hear them,” Martyn hisses out. “Why didn't you say anything earlier?”

“I thought you could hear them. And I thought you wanted to continue arguing more than you wanted to remain not poisoned.”

“Why would I want to get poisoned?” Martyn sounds almost distressed, like he’s rapidly reaching the end of his tether and is desperately trying to hold onto the last thread of his sanity. People from this realm often sound like this, though he’s not sure what the cause of it is.

“You drink alcohol, don't you?” Martyn narrows his eyes at him, but nods anyway. “See!” He gestures. “It’s a form of poison- or toxin, whatever, and your liver filters it, right? Most creatures wouldn't even drink alcohol if it poses such a risk to them, and yet you do so anyway?”

Martyn appears to mentally flail for a moment, before sighing and replying. “It’s…they’re not the same thing.”

“Could've fooled me.” Scott shrugs. He then reaches out and grabs Martyn’s scarf, yanking him downwards as a spider launches itself where Martyn’s head had been moments before. It sails right over his head instead, landing on the ground with an irritated chitter, circling around to try and bite one of them again.

He crushes it beneath his heel, driving his foot downwards until it stops making that awful screeching noise. One of its legs still twitches, just slightly, and he grimaces at the sight, pulling Martyn past the spider corpse.

“You're welcome,” he provides, when Martyn doesn't seem inclined to thank him.

Martyn scoffs, yanking his scarf back out of Scott’s hands without even a muttered thanks. “You could just tell me rather than pulling me around by the scarf.” He strokes a careful hand over the scarf, smoothing it against his chest.

“But you follow so easily,” Scott spins on his heel to face Martyn as he walks, watching the corridor behind him for any pursuing spiders. He doubts they'll chase after in revenge for their fallen brethren, but some of the creatures he’s encountered are also far more vengeful than he’d first considered. “And it’s far easier than letting you get bitten. Wouldn't it have been sad if you died of spider poison in a dingy little mineshaft?”

Martyn doesn't give him a verbal answer, but his withering look is enough of one anyway.

===

He pokes at the pot on the stove, watching as the lentils continue to bubble. He stirs them once more before covering the pan again, leaning to the side of the stove to read the recipe from the book. It had seemed like a rather easy recipe, but then he’d had to go hunting for several ingredients- a few of which he didn't have in his garden yet, so the seemingly simple meal actually turned into a short trip to find a mango.

He flicks over the page, turning to the covered bowl nearby and peeking at the mixture inside. It looks like the recipe says it should, as well as the few additional tips the villager had helpfully given to him when he was noting the recipe down in the first place. He pulls the ball of dough from the bowl it was resting in, admiring its increased size as he sets it onto the counter.

There’s a small groan from behind him and he turns his head to the side to peer at Martyn, watching how his guest slumps a little further into his sofa, turned to the side and leaning against the armrest rather than sitting on it properly.

His hooves are pressed up against the other armrest of his admittedly small sofa, leaving him looking scrunched up and uncomfortable. His notebook is open in his lap, several scribbled and crossed out lines glaring at him from the pages.

He doesn't say anything, turning back to the meal he’s making. He learned, a few weeks ago, that when Martyn gets like this it’s best to just leave him to it. Asking him anything will either cause him to sulk, or to go on a rant about the problem he’s facing, then solving it halfway through said rant and leaving the conversation unfinished to write…whatever it is in his notebook.

The lentils are still happily bubbling away when he checks on them again, leaving him free to divide the dough up into several, smaller balls. They get covered in flour rather quickly, from simply coming into contact with his incredibly flour-covered counter. He tries not to wince and think of the clean-up he’ll need to do once he’s finished.

He stretches the first ball of dough out, setting it into the pan before diverting his attention to the first experiment, leaning back and away from the steam that billows out once he removes the lid. He dips a spoon into it, blowing on the food before tasting it, humming a little at the flavour.

When he glances back at Martyn, he’s managed to contort himself so he’s leaning backwards over the arm of the sofa, hooves now planted firmly in the middle of his sofa and head almost brushing the floor. His scarf dangles in front of his face, blocking at least half of his notebook from view. But he seems unbothered by the position.

He dips the spoon into experiment number one again before stepping towards Martyn.

“Up,” he tugs at Martyn’s scarf, yanking him upwards none too gently. It forces him to rise from where his head is nearly brushing the floor, which is surely uncomfortable from all the blood rushing to his head, right? Martyn grumbles, and Scott yanks at his scarf again, a little harsher than before and probably in a way that’s beginning to cut off his air supply. He keeps half an eye on the spoon, watching to make sure it doesn't drip onto the floor.

Martyn grumbles, but sits up without any further complaint. He tries Scott’s new experiment too, not even pausing to ask what it is, simply taking the offered spoon. Scott doesn't get the opportunity to tell him that it’s hot, but Martyn seems relatively unbothered by the temperature of something fresh off the stove

He hums and offers the spoon back to Scott. “Nice. Got a little bit of a kick to it, what’d you make?”

“Uhh,” Scott spins on his heel, rocking forward on his feet to squint at the cookbook propped against his half-open window. He hears the springs in his sofa creak as Martyn flops back down onto his sofa, no doubt contorting himself into another wildly uncomfortable position. “A de-ahl?”

“A what?” His sofa creaks and he turns back to face Martyn again.

“A de-ahl?” He tips his head to the side. Martyn mirrors him, only upside down, his hair fluttering about his face as he looks up at Scott. He also looks like he’s got a headache (probably from sitting upside down for the past hour) with how his face is scrunched up. “It’s a soup thing with lentils in it.”

“Oh, yeah,” Martyn nods, then thwacks his head against the sofa and grimaces. “A dhal. You're saying it wrong.” Scott hears some kind of bone crack as Martyn adjusts himself, sitting a little more upright than before, but not yet actually sitting up. He seems to prefer sitting on the arms of his sofa than the actual sofa part of it. He would think this is just a difference between realms, but he’s had other guests capable of sitting on his sofa properly, so maybe it’s just a Martyn thing? Or maybe it’s because Martyn is here more often than he’s not and thus more comfortable, so perhaps it’s simply a familiarity thing?

“Dhal,” he repeats back to Martyn, then shrugs. “I got the recipe from a nearby village when I was perusing their markets and crop fields, ahm,” he pauses, eyes flicking back to Martyn. “I mean, looking at their crop fields. Admiring them.”

“You were stealing from their crop fields?” Martyn asks, sounding surprised, and Scott is ready with a no on the tip of his tongue, only to be interrupted by Martyn continuing. “Nevermind, I can totally see you doing that.”

Scott pauses, unsure of whether he should be offended by that or not, stopping with his mouth just slightly open as the words form. He settles on giving him an affronted look that will hopefully communicate how offended he is by the implication that he steals from villagers. The effect is ruined by the notebook blocking his sightline to Martyn’s face.

“You know Villager?” Martyn asks after a second of silence, lowering his book to look up at Scott.

“Yep,” he steps back to check on the dhal again, stirring it and checking on the lentils to see if they're soft enough yet. “Vocational course.” He turns back just in time to watch Martyn mouth vocational course to himself with some measure of disbelief, before plastering a grin on his face when he sees Scott watching him. “They said it would be nice with…nan bread?”

“Naan,” Martyn corrects. “With a h sound.”

“Thanks.”

Martyn hums in response, followed soon after by the sound of writing, of a pen scratching against the paper of a page. It’s an element of background noise that Scott had never chosen to pick up on before- there had been hardly any point when his day was filled with the sounds of people writing, scratching against surfaces to imprint their thoughts in whatever way best suited them.

And the ideas were all the same. Each fragment of information was taken from the same sections of the same libraries, each book read from cover to cover by every single person occupying those spaces. Each idea was the same, formed by the same hands and guided in the same direction. It was boring.

What would be the point of writing, when it was something that had been written a thousand times over? What would be the point in verbalising your thoughts on a topic if you were only commended for specific points, if those same points were reiterated over and over again, month after month, year after year. Only the higher-ups were able to make new discoveries, able to poke into topics that haven't been so thoroughly investigated- studied so carefully that every stone had been overturned several times already.

He finds himself paying attention to Martyn, though. He finds himself listening when he hums to himself, muttering words and beginnings of sentences beneath his breath as he writes. He scratches words out with the same energy, too, with an almost frenzied pace as his brain ticks and whirrs and finds better ways to phrase things. Better ways to communicate his newest idea.

He lays the food out on the table, leaning over Martyn at first, not quite catching his attention yet. His book page is open to a sketch of something that looks like a poster. The lines are messy and not joined together (a drawing that would not get any commendations from Scott’s teachers), resulting in an almost chicken-scratch look, but neater. It’s not a style of drawing he’s seen before, and not one he gets to study for much longer as Martyn notices him watching and slams his notebook shut, rolling over to face him.

“That’s not for your eyes yet,” Martyn says, grinning. “Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise.”

“I don't like surprises.” He says, turning back to the table, and the still steaming food, when he’s certain Martyn’s not going to just dive straight back into his brainstorming.

“You’ll like this one,” Martyn hops up to follow behind him, “promise.”

He’s grinning, wide, and in a way that makes Scott think that he is definitely not going to enjoy whatever surprise this is that Martyn has prepared for him. His grin looks like the “cheshire cat” that Martyn has compared him to several times in the past. He certainly looks too pleased with himself, and it fills Scott with a sudden feeling of dread.

“For some reason, I'm doubting the genuinity of your words.” He’ll have to revisit that village at some point and thank them for sharing their recipe with him. Touching his hands to the side of the bowl warms his fingers, chasing away the small chill that had been lingering since that morning.

“I'm hurt,” Martyn presses a hand to his chest and Scott rolls his eyes at the dramatism of it all. “You've wounded me, I don't know how I will ever recover from this.”

He snorts at the high pitch of Martyn’s voice, resisting the urge to roll his eyes again (he’ll probably end up giving himself a headache by accident) and looks down at his dhal, stirring his spoon idly. “What, want me to kiss it better?”

Martyn goes silent very quickly- even the sound of his breathing stops, and it’s enough to make Scott suspicious of what he’s doing now. He glances upwards, watching as Martyn very quickly begins coughing, cheeks flushed red as he angles his head away from the table.

He’s still holding a spoon in one hand, and Scott watches (with barely restrained amusement) as Martyn struggles to handle the spice in his food. He wasn't sure if Martyn had ever had spicy food before, but his knowledge of what a dhal was filled him with a little more confidence. Apparently, that confidence was unwarranted, as Martyn is struggling to get his coughing fit under control.

“Did you inhale some of the spice?” He asks. He goes for sympathetic but probably comes across a little more mocking. Martyn glares at him from one watering eye, face still a little pink.

He coughs once more, a pathetic little cough that probably did nothing to actually help. “Something like that,” he manages after a moment. He doesn't hesitate in picking his spoon up again, turning back to his bowl with a narrowed glare down at the dhal, as though it’s personally offended him.

He doesn't seem to struggle as much for the rest of the meal, though the pink of his cheeks doesn't fade completely and he won't make eye contact with Scott.

Personally, he doesn't think the dhal is that spicy. Probably because he barely added anything, leaving it as mild as he could without ruining the flavour.

===

“Why did I agree to do this?” Martyn groans next to him. Scott ignores him as best as he can, even when Martyn goes so far as to drape himself over Scott’s back, attempting to crush him into the ground. He pays no mind to the guests that are now staring at them. He thinks he hears Sausage make a choked-off little giggle sound.

He breathes in through his nose, and out slowly through his mouth, reminding himself that Martyn is his friend, and that he values his companionship, even if he can be insufferable on occasion. He must not do a very good job of looking calm and collected, because Sausage makes another weird, laughing sound behind him.

He shoves his shoulder into Martyn’s chest, jabbing him between the ribs as best as he can from the odd angle Martyn has reduced them to.

Martyn whines, rolling off of him and onto his own feet. Which are still perfectly capable of supporting him, he’s just a pain.

Scott ignores him as he finishes collecting the vegetables from this section of his garden, tucking them neatly into his wicker basket. It’s the result of a project he picked up a week or so ago, trying his hand at something new, just to see if he could weave something. The basket is a little uneven in places, but, personally, Scott thinks that it’s a rather good first attempt. And it fulfils its purpose of holding his vegetables.

“C’mon,” he grabs hold of Martyn, fingers winding around the end of his scarf. “You're helping me wash these.”

Martyn whines for a moment longer, before giving in and allowing himself to be dragged back into the house. The stares of their guests - why did he agree to host their picnic here? Who even came up with the idea? - are hot on his back, but he does his best to ignore them, striding into his kitchen with purpose.

He dumps the vegetables out onto the side, not even flinching at the dirt that follows them out. He releases Martyn, blipping to the other side of the kitchen to grab the knives he needs, before reappearing beside Martyn again.

“Knife,” he holds it out.

“I can see that.”

“Just take it.”

He washes the vegetables, because Martyn doesn't understand why the vegetables need to be washed- still doesn't, even after the lecture Scott gave him on health and the potential for harmful bacteria living on the vegetables. He admitted to eating carrots with dirt still on them, too. He didn't even see a problem with it, so Scott labelled him as a lost cause and moved on.

He’s also far better at cutting vegetables than Scott is, somehow still nimble enough even with his glove-clad hands. Scott can barely manage to cut vegetables neatly without gloves on, struggling with the dexterity it requires and balancing that with not cutting a finger off by mistake.

There’s a sound of something exploding outside.

He closes his eyes and prays that it didn't go anywhere near his farms, before flinging the window open and leaning out, hands braced on the edge of the sink to yell at either Sausage or Jimmy. It was one of them that much is certain, but he isn't sure which one of them it was yet.

Sausage is watching him with wide, guilty eyes. He’s holding onto Jimmy’s arms, keeping them high above his head and away from wherever it is that he stores his bombs. Maybe he should have reiterated his rules a little more harshly.

Smoke is wafting off of them both, but the crater is relatively small and has only singed the edge of one of his paths. He sighs, dropping his head down and praying to any god that is willing to listen to give him patience.

“If I come outside,” he speaks just loud enough for his voice to carry, but doesn't bother yelling. They're listening either way, Jimmy’s sunglasses slipping partway down his face to reveal his equally guilty-looking eyes. “And there is still a crater in my front garden, I am not going to be pleased with you.”

“Yeah!” Martyn joins in, grinning at him as he shoves his way to stand beside him in the window, pressing him up against the window frame. It digs uncomfortably into his spine. “Get that crater outta our garden!”

“It is not our garden,” he hisses, shoving at Martyn. Martyn shoves him back, pushing him into the window frame hard enough for him to wince. “It’s mine.”

“I'm here often enough for it to be mine.”

“No, you're not.”

“Nuh-uh, I'm here more often than I am at home. The Coliny pines for me when I'm away.”

“That’s your fucking problem,” he shoves Martyn back again, pushing him into the window frame. See how he likes it. “And it’s still my garden. You don't own any part of it.”

“I planted some stuff.” Martyn argues, pushing himself closer. Scott’s arms are beginning to ache from holding himself up and over the sink for this long, made worse by Martyn shoving at him.

“What did you plant?” He never let Martyn plant anything. Martyn doesn't even know where he keeps the seeds for his current crops.

“Nothing.”

“No, you just said-”

“I didn't say anything.”

“Yes you did! You just said you planted something. So help me god, what did you plant?”

“Nothing!”

(Sausage loosens his grip on Jimmy, far more entertained by whatever’s happening in front of him right now. He didn't think it would get any better than watching Scott lead Martyn around by his scarf- and for Martyn to let him. Jimmy doesn't seem to notice that his grip is loosened, as his hands don't return to his bomb storage compartment, instead choosing to continue staring at the fighting pair in the window.

Scott’s grabbed onto Martyn’s scarf again, yanking him, somehow, closer than they were before. They were practically pressed nose to nose before this, but now they're practically kissing. Or, they would be if Martyn didn't just grab a handful of Scott’s hair and yank at it.

“Um,” someone else pipes up from behind Sausage, he doesn't know who it is and doesn't turn around to find out, far too entertained by the people arguing while squished together in a window. “Do you think they still know we’re here?”

“I don't think they care.” Someone else responds.

Oh, this is far better than what Sausage thought would happen at this picnic. He agreed because he thought he might get to see them kill each other- but this is far more interesting (and baffling) than fighting each other to the death. He’s not actually sure what this is.

Someone makes a despairing sound, like their soul is being sucked out of their body, when Martyn headbutts Scott.

They disappear a moment later, in a cloud of orange and cyan sparks. Sausage is disappointed in the lack of entertainment, having to content himself with listening to the sounds of fighting that occasionally drift outside.)

(No-one comments when they re-emerge, clothes rumpled in a way that would imply something else if not for the bruise blooming on Scott’s forehead and the way they glare at each other.)

===

Scott’s not actually entirely sure on how he managed to end up like this; leaning over a stove as he watches the pot bubble away ominously. Perhaps not one of his better ideas to experiment in the kitchen while there’s a sick person in the house. But he also doesn't know what else he’s meant to give a sick person.

The recipe is for some kind of soup. He’s not entirely sure of the actual name of the soup, just that there’s chicken in it, and it’s filling his kitchen with a warm and inviting smell. Definitely one of his better first attempts, but the lack of complexity in the recipe itself may be what he needs to thank rather than his improving cooking skills- they've improved, definitely, but not enough to perfect a harder recipe on his first try.

He stirs it, sighing as the steam continues to drift upwards. The recipe was easy enough, at least, and he had all the ingredients he could need for it. And the villager had said it was perfect for when someone was sick. He’s not sure what makes something good for a sick person, but he’s not going to question the villager’s wisdom.

Something thumps above him, echoing around the entire house with how loud it is. It is then very suspiciously quiet, far quieter than it had been a few moments before. Almost as if someone is consciously choosing not to make as much noise, focusing on being as quiet as possible-

Something clatters down the stairs, but this time it’s followed by the sound of someone groaning softly.

He turns, setting the spoon over the bubbling pan as he plants his hands on his hips.

His guest looks up at him from the floor, some parts of him still encased in ice and immobile. At least he’s still aware enough of…his general everything to respond like that to falling down the stairs, rather than allowing himself to break a bone.

Martyn continues to grin up at him, from his position flat on his back at the bottom of his stairs. His rug is slightly disturbed, folded over at the corner. He doesn't seem bothered about the uncomfortable floor beneath his back, seemingly content with his position.

“Didn't I tell you to stay put?” He asks. He’s not actually sure why he asks, because the previous times he had bothered to question whatever it is that Martyn was attempting to do had only given him incomprehensible answers and left him more confused than he had been previously. 

Martyn’s forehead crinkles as he puts visible effort into thinking, face flushed pink as his eyes trail along the ceiling, away from Scott’s face.

He uses the momentary distraction to stride across the kitchen, after checking the pot isn't at risk of boiling over, and hauls him to his feet again. He brushes him down, watching and dying a little inside as the chunks of ice fall onto his rug, already beginning to melt.

He steers Martyn over to one of the seats by the kitchen counter, sitting him and ignoring whatever protest Martyn is attempting.

He’d shown up late last night, several hours after the time they had agreed upon for dinner in the first place. Scott had eaten alone after half an hour went by and Martyn still hadn't shown up, preferring to eat his food while it’s still at least a little warm rather than stone-cold.

And then, lo and behold, three hours later, Martyn had shown up on his doorstep shivering and soaked through. It hadn't even been raining! They’d had a small heatwave that Scott had suffered through, Martyn seemingly content in his thick overcoat despite the blistering temperatures.

He was sick, rather obviously. Though it wasn't anything life threatening, and definitely not something that Martyn couldn't take care of on his own. But when Scott had attempted to kick him back out of his house, after determining he wasn't about to keel over (he wasn't heartless), Martyn had whinged and complained, clinging to Scott until he simply gave in and let him back into his house.

And he was still here today. No less sick and seemingly more miserable than before. He might even be a little bit more sick today, if the pink flush across his face is anything to go by.

“How do you even get a cold,” he complains, once he’s determined that Martyn isn't going to try and brain himself on the counter. “Your whole thing is being cold.”

“It’s not my thing,” Martyn says. His voice comes out odd, all congested and slightly wet. It takes all of Scott’s willpower for him not to wince at the sound of it. He pushes a glass of water across the counter a moment later, only warning Martyn not to drink it too fast- he is not cleaning up vomit today. Or ever. He’d prefer never having to clean up vomit.

“Then what is your thing,” he asks.

“Being cool,” Martyn grins at him, as though that isn't his worst attempt at a joke in a while. Scott stares at him for a moment later, waiting for the actual punchline and waiting for Martyn to come up with something better than that.

He doesn't, just continues staring at Scott silently.

“God,” he turns back to the pot, turning the heat down to let it simmer. “You're sicker than I thought. That joke was shit.”

“Was not.”

“Uh, yeah it was.”

“I’ve been thinking of that one for the past half hour,” Martyn protests. “Didn't you find it funny?”

“Not at all.”

“You're horrible to me.” Martyn sniffs, or maybe he’s just trying to breathe through his nose, Scott’s not sure. “And while I'm sick.”

“I'm horrible to you no matter what,” he’s not really. He could be much more nasty, could pick the right spot to poke and prod at until everything is sensitive. Martyn probably knows this too, because he did it to him once, once and never again because it left him feeling sick to his stomach for several days afterwards. “I'm not going to suddenly start being nice because you're feeling a little under the weather.”

“I'm not just under the weather, I'm dying.”

“Shame,” he hums. “And here I was, about to waste this soup on a dying man. Perhaps I shouldn't bother, if you're going to be dead soon.”

Martyn makes a noise that’s halfway between a groan and the sound of a wounded cat, followed quickly by the sound of his head hitting the counter. Scott panics for a moment, and yanks him back upwards, perhaps not as gentle as he normally is. Martyn whines a little at that too, eyes a little glazed over and unfocused.

He presses a hand against Martyn’s forehead, pulling his hand back almost immediately afterwards, wincing in sympathy at the heat radiating from him. Maybe he was more than a little worse than yesterday.

He turns back around, leaving Martyn to sprawl himself over his countertop, ignoring the small voice in the back of his brain that’s reminding him of how he’s going to have to disinfect it later and remove all the infectious germs from his cooking area.

He has to rummage through three separate cupboards before he manages to find what he’s looking for, emerging with a triumphant noise that has Martyn perking up, trying to get a closer look at what he’s holding.

“Here,” he holds the tablets out, offering two (he thinks it’s two? He can't quite remember the correct doses for humanoids, but it’s something like two? It could be three, but he’s sticking with two to be safe).

Martyn stares at the tablets in his palm, before slowly raising his eyes to him. The pupils are a little larger than they should be, and he still has that hazy look to his eye that suggests he’s not entirely there.

“Are you a drug dealer?” Is the last thing that Scott expects to hear from him, though.

“Sorry?”

Martyn’s eyes flick between his face and his hand, and the tablets in it, a few times. “Are you giving me drugs.”

He sighs, resisting the urge to brain himself on the counter as Martyn continues to stare at him. Trust that to be the first thing he thinks of in this situation.

“Yes,” he grits out. “But ones of the medical kind. The safe ones.”

“There are no safe drugs.” Martyn crosses his arms, leaning away from him. He seems to forget he’s on a stool as he leans too far backwards and has to lunge forward and grab the counter before he topples off of it entirely. “My mother taught me that, and my mother was a very smart woman.” He blinks. “Are you saying she’s wrong?”

“No, I'm-” he cuts himself off with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. It doesn't help as much as he hoped it would. “Just take the tablets, please.”

“My mother also said not to take drugs from strangers.”

“I'm not a stranger!” He shoves the aspirin tablets towards Martyn, “You are in my house because you dragged yourself here looking like a drowned rat, and so I'm trying to make you better.”

Martyn picks one of the tablets up, but doesn't swallow it. Whatever, a win is a win, and he’s pretty sure this is a step closer to the end goal. Whether than end goal is him strangling Martyn or Martyn getting better is still up in the air.

He turns to the soup, and when he turns back around again Martyn is still holding the tablets, looking at them like they're going to bite him.

“They're safe,” he says, trying not to sigh too hard. Sighing this often is probably bad for him. “I should know, I made them myself.”

“You made these?” Martyn’s eyes widen a little, gaining a little more clarity back as he looks at the tablets again. “How?”

“I'm not explaining it to you when you're sick,” he says. “It took me three years to learn how to do it like that, you're not gonna get it.” He winces a little at his dismissive tone, ready to turn around and add something on the end that’ll lessen the sting of his words.

“That’s really smart.” Martyn says, cutting off whatever train of thought he was having beforehand. “You're, like, really smart, you know that right?”

“I- huh, thanks.” He does know he’s smart, or at least above average. He’d done well in his classes, and his teachers had been pleased with his progress. Pleased enough to sanction his exploration of another realm, at least. “You're pretty smart too.”

“You think I'm pretty?”

Scott is glad he’s facing the stove at that point, and that he has the excuse of something cooking right in front of him for how warm his face suddenly feels. He needs to stop talking. Martyn is latching onto all the wrong parts of a conversation right now, and really, he should probably be sleeping.

“Didn't say that,” he steps around the counter, grabbing Martyn’s scarf (which he hadn't managed to get off of him. Martyn bit him for trying) and yanking. Martyn follows easily, feet tripping over each other as Scott leads him away from the kitchen.

It’s a task, getting him up the stairs without him falling back down, but he seems happy to follow when the alternative is getting his airway slowly cut off by his favourite garment.

“Sleep,” he has to hold Martyn’s shoulder down so he doesn't try and roll out of the bed. “You are sick and you are going to be so embarrassed when you feel better and remember this.”

“Why would I be embarrassed?”

“Because I'm going to remind you,” he pushes a little more of his weight down onto Martyn’s shoulder, just to emphasise it, and remind him that he is staying here. “You get up again and I'm videoing you for everyone else to see.”

Martyn grumbles at him, but flops over onto his side anyway, closing his eyes.

He’ll be back up thirty minutes later, threat forgotten, but the moment of peace is all Scott needs to finish the soup. And collect himself so he can stop thinking about the way Martyn had looked at him when he said pretty.

===

“You're insufferable, you know that right?” He tries to tip his head back, but Martyn keeps a firm hand on the back of his neck, forcing him to continue facing forward.

“I strive to be!” Martyn chirps in response. He’s not at all gentle in the way he’s braiding Scott’s hair, tugging at it just a little bit too hard for it to be comfortable.

Scott sits there and lets it happen, sinking into the feeling of someone playing with his hair, tipping his head back the slightest amount that Martyn is allowing. He relaxes moment by moment, listening to whatever song Martyn is humming under his breath.

It’s not a song he’s heard before. So much of the music of this realm is entirely different from anything he’s ever heard before, varying so much in the different sounds used despite using the same few notes that he knows. Every piece of music he’s ever been forced to learn had sounded the exact same, with perhaps a slight difference in pitch.

Every piece of music here has him feeling a different variation of emotions, sometimes an entire collection of them. It’s confusing, but in an almost good way. Everything in this realm seems confusing, far too much and far too little at the same time, so different from everything he knows and everything he expected.

He finds himself liking it more than he expected.

He winces as Martyn tugs at his hair again, waving away the murmured apology Martyn gives him in return. He’s not sure what possessed Martyn to do this, but he’d had the idea halfway through their dinner, voicing it moments later. Maybe most surprising of all was how easily Scott agreed, in exchange for Martyn drying the dishes and putting them away.

(He does that anyway, finding comfort in helping out when Scott won't let him in his kitchen. He’s been brought up with truly impeccable manners - whoever his mother is, Scott wouldn't mind meeting her - and cannot stand to take something from someone without giving anything in return. Scott doesn't quite understand the sentiment, seeing himself as offering the meal freely in exchange for company, but he’s also not going to protest help in washing up.)

“And…done!” Martyn leans back, Scott can feel the way his weight shifts behind him. He raises a hand to carefully feel along his hair, fingers drifting over the braid winding its way around the side of his head. He didn't think his hair was long enough for this, but Martyn somehow made it work.

“Thank you,” he twists around to direct his smile at Martyn. Martyn smiles back at him, a little softer around the edges than usual. Though maybe that’s just the effect of his hood being down for once and his scarf a little looser around his neck.

“It really suits you,” Martyn says, tipping his head to the side. One of his ears flicks, the furry ends catching the light and holding it between the fine hairs there. He still hasn't explained that part, though he’d made it clear that it was a separate entity from the cold that laces his bones. Scott hadn't understood his explanation- mainly because there hadn't been an explanation in the first place, but he hadn't dug deeper in search of one. The people of this realm are fascinating, but they're also insanely private with their personal affairs, preferring to hold things close to their hearts when those feelings cannot be accessed.

Scott finds that his own feelings have migrated closer to his chest in mimicry. His emotions are a tangled ball of thorns that he’s not looking forward to unwinding when he has to return. To unpick the knots that have snared themselves within that tangled ball of feelings and experiences is bound to tear them apart in places, leave them misshapen and incomplete.

Leaving them a tangled snarl of confusing emotions is preferable to him. It’s something for him to hold onto, to remind him of this experience once he’s left. Because he will have to leave, eventually, the days ticking by and counting down on an invisible clock.

“Thank you,” Martyn continues to watch him, even after his thanks. He feels himself growing a little warm beneath the attention - something else he hadn't experienced before now. Something he hadn't ever expected to experience.

He’s not sure what possesses him- maybe it’s something entirely out of his control taking over his body for a moment to push him forwards, to shove him from one door to another, forcing him through it before he can deliberate any longer. Or maybe it’s his mind taking a backseat for a moment, allowing his heart to push him forward.

His hand closes around the end of Martyn’s scarf, the fabric worn in all the right places beneath his fingers, in all the familiar places. He’s not sure how many times he’s held this scarf in his hand, exactly like this before. Far too many to count, probably not enough to mean anything.

He yanks, before his brain can kickstart and send him sprawling away, backpedalling in the hopes of saving whatever fragmented friendship they come out of this with.

He’s never kissed anyone before.

It’s nothing like what he expected, but somehow everything at the same time. Fireworks don't go off in the background, there’s no dizzying rush of adrenaline flooding his veins. Nothing like the few romance novels had described it as, nothing so extreme as losing control over yourself and sinking into the sensation of it.

He’s entirely aware, can feel the warmth of another person’s body beneath his hands, can feel the brush of skin against his lips, the slightest amount of pressure, before he’s pulling back again.

He shoves himself off of Martyn hurriedly, and would have had a rather undignified meeting with the ground if arms hadn't circled around him, dragging him back towards that warmth, that orbit that seems to drag him further and further in, no matter what he does in an attempt to distance himself.

He learned about black holes, on a whim as it was on none of the courses or optional modules that he signed up for. It just didn't cross over into his branch, didn't overlap with any of the courses he took. It wasn't anything he ever learned in a class, but it was something he studied anyway- some interest that had seized him and left him in what some may describe as a frenzy as he studied everything about the stars he could get his hands on.

Black holes drag anything and everything in, indiscriminate in what enters their orbit and is consumed. This slow dragging back towards Martyn, no matter how many times he tries to put a safe distance between them, reminders of his limited time here doing very little against the gravitational force Martyn seems to have swathed himself in.

But it is not the crushing force of some immeasurable celestial being. It is not how he imagined being dragged into a black hole would feel like. It’s more like the soft tugging of a hand, caught on the edge of clothing, or linked around a finger, urging him to return towards them.

Such a force should be easy to overcome, should be easy to break away from. And yet, Scott finds himself sinking back into the feeling every single time, coaxed back by the oddness that everyone he now surrounds himself with seems to possess.

“Where d’you think you're going?” Is Martyn’s only question, but it’s enough to drag Scott back into his orbit once more. Maybe enough to keep him there, this time.

#juno.writes #new life smp #new life smp fic #scott smajor #martyn inthelittlewood #trafficshipping #majorwood #nlsmp #nlsmp martyn #nlsmp scott

[hannieoftheyear]

7 Days (kmg) TEASER

During a seven-day vacation with your friends, you try to get over your feelings for one of them.

Feeling alone surrounded by people who seem closer to each other than you, you find comfort in the one person that you didn’t know before.

genre: kim mingyu x fem reader, angst, fluff, smut (not here, but in the full work)

w.c: 500~

note: this is a teaser for the next au I'll be posting this weekend!!

it took way longer to finish than i anticipated and i apologize :( i have a few things to add but It'll sure be finished by this weekend :) for now its around 20k :p

i know this teaser's short but i didnt want to spoil much (>.<) hope you like it ♡

lmk if you want to join the taglist♥︎

warning! this is a fictional work!! it does not represent what the people mentioned are like in real life!!

“Thank you.” You finally speak up after a few minutes of silence.

“For what?”

“For listening,” you answer like it’s an obvious thing, “it was a lot, and you didn’t have to, but you listened anyway.”

“Of course, and I asked, didn’t I?” You chuckle lightly. He has a way of making everything easier.

“So, what do you think?”

“Do you really want my opinion?"

“I asked, didn’t I?” You copy what he said before and he chuckles.

“Don’t tell anyone but,” he starts, and you smile at his silliness, “I never really liked Minghao in the first place, I don’t know why, but now I have a reason.” You can’t help to laugh.

“You don’t have to dislike him just because of what I told you, you should get to know him!” You dare to look up at him from his shoulder, and your face is much closer to his than you thought. It’s dark in your room, only the moonlight providing you with enough light for you to see how his head turns slowly to meet yours, and his eyes encountering yours, like he knew you were staring at him.

“He’s an ass for what he did to you, and I don’t want to be friends with someone like that.” He speaks softly, almost in a whisper, but with such a serious tone that it gives you goosebumps. Your eyes can’t seem to leave his, and neither of you want to stop. It’s becoming a habit of you two to stare at each other, testing who’ll look away first. His breath fans over your face, and you think about his words. You knew Mingyu was a good listener, he proved it several times over the span of four days, but now he’s even taking what you said into consideration before establishing a friendship with someone? Sure, he already didn’t really like Minghao, or so he said, but you gave him a reason to, so he must believe and trust you enough to truly take into account.

This time, Mingyu breaks the silence first, “Let’s go watch the sunrise tomorrow,” but he doesn’t break the eye contact. You swear you see a little spark in his eyes at his words, and it makes impossible for you to say no.

“You really want me to go with you?” You just want confirmation that he does, that he’s not taking pity in you after crying your eyes out in front of him.

“It’ll be sad if I go alone, and besides, you’re the one I like the most here,” and it’s like a thousand butterflies fly out of their cocoon simultaneously inside your stomach, “don’t tell Chan I said that.” You both laugh at his words.

“We should go to sleep then, what time does the sun come out? Like 5:30 am?” You groan while saying the last words. You were never a morning person.

Cold hits you all around when Mingyu takes his arm off your shoulders and gets off your bed. You almost want to ask him to stay the night here so you can wake up together. But you don’t.

“I’ll come and wake you up, but don’t punch me please,” he jokes about what you said the day before and you chuckle. “Good night, see you in a few hours,” he walks to your door slowly, hoping you’d ask him to stay. But you don’t, and he doesn’t say anything either.

posting the full work this weekend ;)

#mingyu au #seventeen au #seventeen imagine #mingyu imagine #kim mingyu au #mingyu fluff #kim mingyu fluff

[type1diabetesinfandom]

Hello all!

Many, manymanymany apologies for the unannounced hiatus. (Still ongoing. Not enough spoons. D: ) I will be back at some point, I promise.

I've been thinking of this blog a lot, what it means to me, and what I want it to be, especially when I don't have the energy to maintain it. Obviously, collecting all the t1d rep I can find in one place is a huge goal! And I think I've made a pretty good start on that. There's over one thousand posts on this blog and several hundred fics in the AO3 collection. That's a lot of search and save.

That's not all I want to do, though. Fandom, to me, is about the things we love. Reading them, writing them, gushing about them in the middle of the night. Throwing your pencil at the wall because you can't get the angle of that epically-sexy jawline just right. And most of all, sharing it all.

I don't think I'm alone when I say community is HUGE for both people with type one diabetes and folks in fandom.

I think we all know exactly how niche the concept of a character with T1D is. Sure, we can make (and have made!) fics and fan art with T1D rep, but then what? Is there somewhere we can talk about it with fandom friends and have them really get it, or do they just nod mutely and change the subject? Where can you headcanon a character as diabetic without it turning into an educational post?

Or, if you're interested in learning more about life with T1D, whether you don't have it at all or maybe you do but you're on MDI and don't know how to write pumps, who can you ask about it?

And on the flipside: have you ever tried talking fandom at diabetes camp? Because I have.

If any of this feels familiar to you, I've got something awesome to tell you!

Introducing...the Type 1 Diabetes in Fandom Discord Server—a virtual haven where diabetes doesn't define us, but our love for fandoms and creativity certainly does! Whether you're crafting intricate AUs or just can't get the next chapter fast enough, this is YOUR community to thrive, connect, and share ideas or experiences.

What's in it for You?

A safe and supportive space to chat about your fave fics, share recs, and maybe even create some epic friendships

A chance to join discussions on realistic representation and the magical realm of diabetic fan theories

Swap prompts to spark your imagination and fuel your creative prowess

A place to discuss the highs and lows (literally!) of managing Type 1 Diabetes while pursuing your passion for everything fannish

...and all without worry that people won't understand why it's so frustrating when a character fixes their low BG with a timely insulin bolus!

*tip for writers: please google how insulin works before hitting post, please. I beg you.

So if you're up for mingling with like-minded fans or gaining a better understanding of diabetes, this is your opportunity!

Whether you're making a Hogwarts AU or need to cry about your Dexcom readings, we're ready and waiting to meet you. Excited to embark on this epic adventure and make some new friends? Click that join button, and come join the party!

*The Join Button*

#type 1 diabetes #t1diabetes #t1d #diabetes #type one diabetes #type 1 diabetes in fandom #fandom #i'm sorry for the hiatus please accept this offering instead #also wow that is a LOT of exclamation points

[phoenixyfriend]

Secret Clones AU

Short version: Secret Clones AU is the clones going into hiding in plain sight across the galaxy to force a fair wage and also to keep the babies safe from Kaminoans

The clones figure out the plan to take advantage of them, brain chips, etc. several years before the war hits. IDK how, maybe Jango decided to take a closer look with Mij and went Oh Shit. Doesn't matter. Point is, they caught on and decided that they needed to uhhhhh get Out.

There are millions of clones, yes, but there are tens of thousands of planets.

Once the chips are out and someone's jabbed them with anti-aging serum... they're not that different from standard humans.

And it's not exactly hard to tie up the Kaminoans long enough to get off planet.

So what happens is that a while, let's say a year and a half, before the war kicks off, you have a mass exodus from Kamino, and a wide dispersal of clones. They are generally staying together in groups of about half a dozen, claiming to be brothers, so that there's a 16-18-ish looking clone to take lead, with progressively younger cadets to look after. Each one has a commander they can 'report' to in case of emergency, and if something goes real bad, they can call in an Alpha (and Alphas can call in Jango in a worst case scenario).

It's still sort of a military structure, but... it's a phone tree.

And you have one of these groups of half a dozen clones in every major city. There are thousands of planets, and most of those planets have more than one city. Denon and Coruscant are nothing but city, so they can get counted as dozens of cities on their own. It's easy to disappear in places like that.

It's so easy for the clones, before anyone knows them, to just... disappear. Go into hiding in plain sight.

It's not like more than a handful of people know what to look for.

(It's not like they have a centralized record of who went where.)

(It's just the phone tree.)

They still get real excited-happy-eager when they run into a Jedi.

They want to work with Jedi. They're the good guys! And they're cool!

But your army did a mass desertion before the war started and finding/recruiting all of them is going to take a stupid amount of money. You cannot hire a bounty hunter for each and every clone.

And as @bytebun put it:

Somebody two years later: you look …familiar. Have we met? Clone: haha I get that a lot just one of those faces

AND THEY CAN GET AWAY WITH IT BECAUSE THE GALAXY IS HECKING MASSIVE

I think the Republic has to like… negotiate with Jango and the Alphas and set up paid contracts if they want these Ultra Skilled Warriors to fight for them.

The clones can fight. Some of them even want to fight. They are good at this and they recognize that many of the things that are occurring under Separatist invasion are Mega Bad.

But like. Pay them and treat them as citizens, first.

The Jedi are even more confused about this identical army that really loves them than they are in canon Where the heck did you guys come from Who trained you Why do you like us What the heck is going on

"Someone wanted us to be a trap for you but we took the trap out. Here we have a sample if you want. Anyway. We like you guys and want to fight with you because honestly civilian life is way understimulating. Let me punch a droid."

I think a few of the clones do 'scouting' where they voluntarily help a Jedi in the field to gather information on their validity as Friends. Cody keeps a number of spreadsheets that are just Various Jedi Encounters.

Rex does a scouting mission with Kenobi&Skywalker and just goes to Cody like "Listen. I know he's insane. But. I want that one."

Rex just "I call dibs" "Cody. Cody did you hear me. Dibs, I call dibs."

@catboydogma: stats for pong krell are all zeroes

Absolute shit tier Jedi They play rock paper scissors to decide who has to deal with him

A solid half of the clones don't get recruited because the lack of advanced aging (past a certain point) means they're physically still minors and My Dad (Alphas and CCs) Said No. They stay behind on their various planets to look after The Real Babies.

"Let me ask my dad" "Wait--" "He said no."

Just want these boys to have Civilian Lives they can return to or at least experience before war gets them all fucked up.

I think some of them try to Make Connections with influential people (whether politicians or like... Space Influencers) so they have people vouching for them once the war kicks off. And there can be at least some public pushback on functionally enslaving them.

"I can't believe you manipulated people into liking you! That's so mean!" "Well you see. I wanted to survive past the age of eleven. So."

#star wars #the clone wars #Commander Cody #Captain Rex #phoenix posts

[ladykyriaa]

A KPOP (CPOP?JPOP?) Idol Jinshi X Doctor's assistant Maomao

Now on Ao3!!

how he fell (hard?)

The sound of cheers could be heard even outside the stadium. Hundreds of thousands of people gathered in the arena, all waiting for the performance of a lifetime. At least, that’s what they’ll tell their families and friends. In truth, it was probably to get a once in a lifetime chance to spectate the three dazzling shamelessly beautiful men about to perform. Celestial, just as the name suggests, is a group of three with looks that could rival even the Greek gods themselves.

Rihaku with his incredible upper body mass muscles like those of wrestlers, and yet possessed the gentle gaze and a nature that was less intimidating than that of a golden retriever. Rikuson, who had managed to captivate the girls for his “gentleman behavior” whenever he got out and about. To give an example, he once went trending over the internet for several weeks because he held open a door for a mother and child that had their hands full, and then proceeded to help them to their car. Lastly, Jinshi who had managed to not only catch the eyes of both men and women, but also those from the older generations. “He reminds me back to my younger days” is what they would say when asked while giggling and blushing like maidens in love. It was truly a sight.

the men had been together for about 4 years. Jinshi, of course has had the longest career out of all of them being that he started as a child actor. And now at 24 years old, he’s become one of, if not, the most sought-after celebrity by young men and women, their parents and even their grandparents. But of course, just because you’ve been trained from a very young age and have become basically the epitome of grace and elegance, doesn’t mean you’re not prone to accidents yourself.

How did this even happen? Jinshi questioned himself as he sat waiting in the ER. In all his 18 years of career, this was probably the biggest blunder he’d ever made. Even when he was found drunk and passed out in the park that one time couldn’t have been worse than this. No, maybe that was worse. The big boss certainly gave me enough grievances to last a lifetime. He looked at his presumably, no definitely sprained ankle and thought if he could ask for the rest of his schedules to be canceled. He deserved the break, did he not?

“Sorry for the wait.” A gentle, wispy voice called out as they entered the room. The man that entered look to be about 50-60 years old and had wrinkles all over his face, despite that he looked to be a gentle soul. “We’ll run over some tests just to make sure none of the bones are shattered. But at the very least, this is sure to be sprained. I’m afraid you’re going to have to cancel all your activities for the next month or so.” Well, Jinshi didn’t have any problems with that. He was actually quite glad with the chance of a proper break. His manager, Gaoshun, however…

“Maomao, dear. Please run some blood test for me.” It was only at that moment that he realized someone else was in the room with them. A thinly, pale freckled girl was holding a tray with what he presumed to be medical tools on it. Wait, blood test? Isn’t that-

“After you’re done you can change into the hospital gown that is provided. Someone will come and get you soon.” The Doctor said and promptly left the room. He still couldn’t wrap his head around the word blood test. Was it truly necessary though? Jinshi didn’t quite think so. In fact, “You know I can just tell you what my blood type is, we don’t have to run a blood test.” he gave his best smile that usually was able to get people, no matter who, the things he wanted. He was expecting some swooning, maybe a bit of giggling and blush. Disgust, however.

That was the farthest thing from his mind.

Huh? Why isn’t it working.

The girl, Maomao, looked at him like he was the lowest of low, worse than a caterpillar itself. In fact, Jinshi thought, she might look at a caterpillar with more fondness than she did at him because why isn’t it working?? She managed to school her expression into a flat one before he could voice out his indignancies, however.

“You know that’s not how it works” she said, unimpressed. “Now, your arm please.”

“Can’t we just skip this whole part? I think this is quite unnecessary, don’t you?” Jinshi was not one to give up, and so he’ll keep trying however many times he could. No one could ever resist his inhuman beauty. No one. And so, he smiled. The brightest and sweetest one he could.

The girl did not budge. Not an inch. Nada. Instead, she raised an eyebrow, “sir, are you terrified of needles by chance?”

He can feel his smile stuck in place. “Whatever made you think that?” keep smiling, keep smiling, just keep smiling. “Surely you don’t think, I, a 24-year-old man, am scared of a mere silver, do you?” just. keep. Smiling.

She shrugged, “You may be surprised, but it’s actually quite common. Depending on the severance of those fears, one might even try and ­­jump out the window.” She said with such nonchalance you would think she’s talking about the weather. Jinshi was honestly tempted to try. “Hm. How peculiar.” He kept his eyes on the window. He thought she may have noticed because she walked towards it and closed it.

“You know, you look quite familiar. And that’s saying something because I don’t even remember the faces of my colleagues two months into the job.” Mouth agape, He nearly scoffed.

 familiar? does being 18 years on tv only got him to the point of familiarity??

This is outrageous. Did their marketing team have not done enough?

He was sure if he were to ask the girl’s grandma wherever-she-may-be about who he was, then he was sure even she would’ve given a better answer than “you look familiar.”

It would’ve been better if the girl hadn’t known of him at all because hey, maybe she grew up without the internet because there is no way in hell he could’ve looked just familiar. That would imply that she didn’t even bother to pay attention.

“You’re all done.” What?

 “What?” he blinked out of his musings, only to realize she was already packing her tools except the hospital gown that was left for him.

“You’re done. I’ve gotten the sample.” Done? He looked down at his arm and sure enough there was a small bandage covering the part where he supposedly got injected. “Make sure to change into the hospital gown. Or do you perhaps need help?” She can not be serious. He could feel his face burning and judging by the disgust look that appeared on her face, seriously what is up with that. Maybe she took notice. “I can bring your bodyguard in.”

“No, no. I uh, I can do it myself” seemingly satisfied, she began to leave the room.

“Wait!” The girl stopped and raised an eyebrow. “Did uh, was your question only to distract me? From the injection that is. Was it a genuine question?” she seemed to ponder for a minute, thinking of the best way to answer him.

“Well, yes and no, I suppose. But it did work on you, didn’t it Mr. Jinshi?” and then without further ado, she left.

And maybe she took something else with her along the way, Jinshi mused to himself.

.

.

I AM CACKLING. THIS HUNK OF A MF. started because i cant stop imagining modern au jinshi as a kpop idol wtf.

Guys you dont understand i have AN EXAM ASSIGNMENT DUE TOMORROW. I've nEVER EVEN WRITTEN A FIC BEFORE. ALL MY LIFE. WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME

oh my god this obsession has got to stop im being so serious rn

whoever came across this sorry excuse of a story i am so sorry but i wrote this in one sitting, literally no draft no thing. nada. I just wanted to get this out of my chest

finally i can continue my assignments. i think. hopefully.

#the apothecary diaries #kusuriya no hitorigoto #hnggghh if you came across this no you didnt #and even if you do you dont know who i am god idk why this is so embarassing #IM NOT A WRITER IM NOT MEANT FOR WRITING #but alas #if you want it you gotta make it #jinmao #jinshi #maomao #kyriarting

[dogbunni]

@crawling-crawly speak, and u will be fed.

[a thousand dandelion fluffs gather and then disperse to reveal several hand crafted nensai headcanons] [they're gourmet and delicious]

-saiki and nendo are that one couple that never tells anyone they're together. they just expect (for very different reasons) everyone else to figure it out. it takes a very long time for anyone else to figure it out.

-saiki is not a fan of pda. nendo is the biggest fan of pda, but saiki has fought him down to just the ever present arm slung over his shoulder. nendo thinks this is peak romance anyway, so

-love wins

-youd think nendo would be the weird one in the relationship, what with saiki and his Normal Guy kin. you'd be wrong. sometimes nendo shows up at saiki's house and finds him speed reading an entire library of books about the history of oboes, just for fun, and he's like, what the fuck, kusuo

-seriously if nendo is able to pick up on your weirdness you are beyond help

-saikis favourite pastime is grabbing nendo's chin in one hand and squishing it to make the butt shape more pronounced. he thinks it's so fucking funny. but he keeps a straight face so he's just like :| while squishing nendo's chin together and nendo's like :| when will it end

-they nap together a lot

-their shared love of food is the focus of pretty much all of their dates

-nendo knows saiki dislikes "speaking", and actively encourages him to communicate in ways he finds comfortable. saiki rarely speaks in nendo's company

-nendo learns sign language to support his bf. he does this in secret and then once he can sign enough to hold a basic conversation he "surprises" saiki with his new skill. I say "surprises" bc it turns out that sign language is not something that saiki's brain automatically translates so he has no idea what is going on.

-its very easy for saiki to learn though, and he mentally slaps himself for not thinking of it sooner

-what I'm saying is, nendo and saiki communicate primarily in JSL

-nendo buys cute little plushies for saiki and then makes saiki hold it up while he takes pictures of him. his lockscreen changes weekly and it's a picture of saiki holding a different plushie every time.

-saiki and mrs nendo get along very well. she's almost a normal parent and saiki loves that

-nendo gets along well with kurumi. they cook together. 'nough said

-nendo does not believe in kuniharu rights

-sometimes saiki gets nendo to just lay directly on top of him. human weighted blanket

-nendo has seen saiki have multiple breakdowns about not being normal and wanting his powers to go away. nendo says the most profound and heartfelt things every time and sits next to his partner until saiki is ready for a hug <3

-this all being said nendo gets on saiki's last mf nerve. when he mooned the entire airport. saiki wanted to kill him.

-nendo thinks saiki should be silly more. he lives for saiki's silly moments. like one time they spent ages stacking empty coffee jelly pots on nendo's head, and saiki laughed, causing all 27 jelly pots to fall catastrophically. it's one of nendo's core memories

-saiki looks at nendo and thinks hnfnnfnhhn big

-nendo looks at saiki and thinks ngnhngnmgnghhh cute

-nendo always got a hand in saiki's hair. its so soft

-theyve never said I love you aloud but they DO sign it

-they absolutely talk shit about their friends in JSL

-saiki will (whilst heaving a sigh) drop everything to help nendo with his homework

-when people find out that they're together, most will ask saiki what he sees in nendo. but saiki thinks the question should be the other way around. nendo is so attentive and loving, so free with his affection, kind, caring, confident, funny, and always willing to go the extra mile just to make saiki's life a little better. on the other hand, saiki is a miserable tsundere who is so easily irritated and hates showing affection, and saiki wholeheartedly believes that he does not deserve him.

-nendo thinks he's just the luckiest guy in the world. saiki could have anybody and he chose him??? every day is a blessing.

-theyre very wrapped up in each other. it takes a while for the others to realise, but once they do they can't un-notice how they're always together, stuck to each others sides like glue

#theyre in love your honour #nendo posting #nendo riki #nendou riki #nensai #saiki kusuo no ψ nan #saiki k #the disastrous life of saiki k. #saiki kusuo #if anything in canon contradicts my points about JSL no they do not <3 #i say 'speaking' bc i mean his telepathy

[googleitlol]

Gonna post a longer one in a bit, but I wanted to add this quick little bit for setting up what I'll post later. I actually love the next bit so much when they're not being complete douches but just petty af–

Dove Masterlist

Party Tricks

You hum to yourself, taking in the decor of the monastery that has so kindly taken you in for the night. After several weeks in the wilderness, spending a night in a place with such civilised and well-mannered individuals feels like a welcome change of pace. Tripitaka continues to be a good source of company– that is– when he isn’t being terrified by the occasional demons we pass that try to attack. However, Monkey King continues to be difficult. You wouldn’t expect anything less from him anyway. The newest addition to your pilgrimage, Ao Lie, was a more silent companion. Whether or not his more quiet demeanour stems from maintaining his form as the monk’s steed, you’re still unsure of.

The dragon-horse is now being taken care of by some of the attendants that serve in the monastery while the eldests of the monks makes conversation with Tripitaka. As old as he appears, it was still a shock to everyone, Sun Wukong included, that he has walked the earth for well over 200 years. The old monk smile is still as lively as the youngest one in the monastery. “So you have already travelled ten thousand miles in your pursuit to deliver these scriptures?” The man questions as he and Tripitaka walk side by side.

“Yes, I am accompanied by my two disciples and a disciple of the Bodhisattva you worship in this monastery.” The young monk answers, smiling to you as you nod in acknowledgement. It was a pleasant surprise to find the main hall of the building was named for Guan Yin.

The older man shakes his head lightly. “Well then, I am sure you would all like a moment to rest. I will call for tea to be served, then you can be shown to your rooms where you may rest for the night.”

Thanking the man, you all move to a room where your group can sit and drink together. You find it amusing how much joy Tripitaka shows when everyone is given their cups, their edges lined in gold. Whatever tea they served the three of you adds to his wonder, the brew colourful and fragrant as a flower.

While the two monks continue their conversation, you catch the eye of another carefully approaching. There seems to be a small group of monks that have gathered just by the doorway you all entered from, whispering excitedly amongst each other as they watch their fellow monk grow closer to our group. Maybe they want to talk with Tripitaka? You’re sure it must be exciting to hear that the one chosen to collect the Buddha’s scriptures is in your very own monastery. Of course they’d want to talk with him.

“Pardon, miss?” You blink, the monk you had noticed approaching now looking at you.

You nod with a smile. “Yes?”

The younger monk is quite soft spoken, his voice just above a whisper as he speaks to you. “Is it true what your companion says? Are you a disciple of Guan Yin?” The question takes you off guard for a moment, not expecting it. Looking back to the small group, you see they keep their eyes not just on their companion, but on you as well now, their gaze curious.

“Yes, the Bodhisattva took me in as her disciple when I was just a young girl.” You explain, shifting slightly in your spot as you take another sip of your tea.

Almost immediately, another joins her friend in approaching you. “You mean to say you’re a disciple of the Bodhisattva of the south seas herself?”

“Yes, I–”

“You’ve met the goddess of mercy? In person?” Another joins them, quickly followed by another.

“Well–”

You can barely get a word out when the rest of the group migrate to your person. “You’re telling the truth?”

With so many now quickly surrounding you, the words become lost in your throat. You can barely answer one question before another is asked, the group quickly encroaching on your space. You quickly begin to feel flustered as you look to each of them, unable to figure out what to say to who.

And as if it can’t get any worse, that stupid monkey just has to butt in. “She was blessed by Guan Yin!”

The group grows silent as Sun Wukong enters the conversation, quickly squeezing through the monks before dragging you to your feet by your arm. “With one touch, her magic will put your mind to rest and vanquish any stress in your mind!” He raises your hand into the air before you’re able to snatch it back.

“You blabbering–”

Before you can finish, the first monk steps closer. “Please, could you use your gift on me? These past few days have been stressful, to say the least, and I would appreciate such a gesture.” He looks at you with eyes as wide as a child’s, his gaze pleading.

You pause for just a moment, trying your best to process everything being said before slowly nodding. “A-Alright, give me your hand.” You offer a polite smile before taking his hand in your own and using your gift. It only takes a moment, and the monk’s eyes flutter close. He opens them quickly, his face lifted and his smile even brighter.

“Incredible!” He beams, amazed by his newfound peaceful state. His joy makes you smile brighter, but it quickly fades as the other monks jump to join their companion in requests.

Suddenly, it’s just like before, with everyone speaking over one another as you struggle in your fluster to pick out one person’s question from another. Overwhelmed, you look to Tripitaka and the elder monk for assistance, only to find them walking away with Sun Wukong. “Master, you must show your cassock! It was gifted by Budhha himself, wasn’t it?”

“Really? I would like to see that.” The old monk hummed at that, and you can just see Monkey King looking back at you with a devious grin before ushering your last to chances of getting out of this mess away.

That bastard!

#the children are being petty #little dove #sun wukong #jttw sun wukong #journey to the west #jttw #sun wukong x reader #jttw sun wukong x reader

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

When Kristin Batykefer fell ill with a headache, sore throat and body aches, the other women in her house baked her cookies, served her homemade vegetable soup and took her four-year-old daughter to the park so she could rest.

“Support system like no other,” Batykefer, 33, wrote on a TikTok post that has since been viewed more than one million times. “Shoulda moved into a mommune a long time ago.”

Batykefer had no idea that her video — and the concept of mommunes, a group of single mothers sharing a house, bills, childcare and support, seen in the US for the past decade or so — would go viral. When last year she split from her husband and lost her job, an old family friend with grown-up children invited her to move into her house in Jacksonville, Florida, while she found her feet. Then Batykefer was contacted by an old college roommate, Tessa Gilder, 32, who was also going through a divorce, with two children, aged five and one. “Tessa was, like, ‘I can’t do it any more.’ I said, ‘Come here. You’ll be welcomed with open arms.’ Originally our plan was we’d get our own place together, but once she arrived we became like a little family unit and it’s just awesome. Our friends said, ‘Stay as long as you guys want.’ ”

The 1960s and 1970s saw the rise of communes where like-minded souls joined together to raise families in capitalism-defying self-sufficiency. In a 21st-century version, more and more women are channelling the age-old spirit of sisterhood to establish mommunes, to tackle the ever-rising cost of living and everyday motherhood grind. “We just help each other out,” Batykefer explains over Zoom. “It’s not ‘You do the dishes, I’ll take out the trash,’ it’s more when we see something needs to be done we just do it. As a mother that’s just what your instincts are. It’s so nice having three minds in a house thinking like that.”

Indeed, as the thousands of comments on Batykefer’s posts make clear, many women in relationships — even happy ones — are envious of her mommune’s roll-up-your-sleeves environment. “There are some comments saying, ‘My husband does all this for me,’ but about 95 per cent say, ‘Wow, how do I get part of this?’ So many are from married women asking, ‘Where do I drop my husband off? I’m joining!’ ” Batykefer says, laughing. “It resonates because there are so many what we call ‘single married women’ out there who are not getting the kind of help with the physical, mental and emotional labour of being a parent that we have. I definitely didn’t get this support in my marriage, it all fell on me. If I was sick, I still had to cook for us and make sure my daughter was fed and taken care of and entertained.”

Batykefer, who before her break-up was documenting on TikTok her family’s itinerant life on a renovated bus, is also revelling in living in an environment free of marital bickering. “Whenever I would be driving our bus when I was married, it was such a stressful, anxiety-inducing experience because of the negative energy, but I’ve just been on a bus trip with a girlfriend, driving the whole time, and it was so peaceful and amazing.”

There are 2.5 million single-mother families in the UK, according to the Office for National Statistics, a figure that has more than tripled since the 1970s, as the stigma about divorce has decreased and women have gained more financial independence. But several international studies show that single mothers are at greater risk of physical and mental health disorders compared with their married counterparts, mainly as a result of lack of support — with many women living far away from their extended families.

Financial stresses can also be overwhelming, with a recent marked rise in lone-parent families using food banks or relying on benefits. A report last month by the Institute for Fiscal Studies showed that half of such families are now living in relative poverty.

While there are no official, large-scale mommunes in the UK or US, many single mothers are turning to local mommune groups on platforms such as Facebook (the London branch has 700-plus members) to find others to team up with.

Sara Memba, 34, a restaurant worker from Barcelona who has a one-year-old son, is sharing a house with a friend with four children aged between one and eleven in south London after finding that landlords were reluctant to have her as a tenant. “Many don’t trust single mothers to pay the rent on their own or they think your kid is going to destroy their house,” she says. Memba loves her situation. “We can go to work knowing our children are well cared for and it’s great to find a person with whom to talk and share concerns, joys and different, sometimes contradictory, emotions. It’s fun for the children too — they have more playmates and adventures.”

In an ideal world she’d love to see flats built specifically for single mothers. “There’d be common areas and spaces adapted for children to facilitate socialisation between neighbours. It would make a very difficult experience so much easier.”

The author Janet Hoggarth, from East Dulwich, south London — whose latest novel is Us Two — struggled after her divorce from her husband of 11 years, when she was left to bring up her three children, aged five, three and one. When she discovered that her friend Vicki Hillman, who had a newborn, had split from her fiancé, she invited her to move into her attic bedroom. Another single mother of two who lived around the corner frequently joined them in the evenings and stayed at weekends.

“I was feeling utterly bereft. I was navigating a divorce that took ages while juggling the kids and we were all feeling quite traumatised. It was so nice to have another adult there who knew how you felt, who could help me fill out forms, talk to lawyers and bounce ideas off. Plus, when the kids are in bed at night and you’re rolling around the house alone, you have company, which was such a relief because most of my contemporaries were busy with their own families. It stopped my constant feeling of a racing heart and feeling sick in my stomach. It was like a weird miracle drug.”

After two years Hillman moved out because she wanted a bedroom for her daughter but the women are still close friends. “We rubbed along really well without any bitchiness. It was very reassuring, like being in a family, just a different version of it. It really did stop me feeling broken. There’s definitely a different energy in an all-mothers house — there’s no weird bouncing of egos and someone expecting a medal for having wiped down the sides or polishing their halo because they’ve taken the bins out. Everyone just gets on.”

Not all mommunes are so successful. Elizabeth (surname withheld), 34, tried briefly sharing a flat with an old friend in Liverpool, when both had baby daughters. “We thought it would be perfect, but even though we got along well, our babies’ sleeping schedules were completely incompatible, which made it impossible for them to do anything together. I had no child support and had to work crazy hours with a long commute and my baby in a nursery, while she had a generous settlement from her ex and didn’t work. The imbalance made life so much more stressful than it would have been living alone. I felt guilty I couldn’t be around to do more babysitting. I still think mommunes are a brilliant idea, not least because being a single mum is so horribly expensive, but just as with any housemate, you have to find the right person.”

Victoria Benson, chief executive of Gingerbread, a charity for single-parent families that offers local networks for single parents to connect, agrees that mommunes are one “creative solution to a big problem. But we need to see a better welfare system, an increase in flexible work, and more affordable and available childcare that works for all single-parent families.”

Batykefer’s mommune keeps on giving, as demonstrated by the TikToks of her and Gilder enjoying concerts, karaoke and home-spa days together on weekends when their children are with their fathers. Now they’re in discussions about filming a reality show about their set-up, with the hope of bringing in more income but also inspiring more mommunes.

“I just fell into this but it’s such an obvious idea,” Batykefer says. “Women have always helped women. Let’s make it even easier for them.”

[starchaserdreams]

Erm, hello!

I am an aspiring writer. I have these stories in my head that I love and want to write about. But when I try, it's the absolute worst shit I've ever seen in my life.

Sorry, what I'm trying to ask is, any tips for younger writers who have no idea what they're doing...?

Hi! I have no idea what I'm doing ever, but I'll try to answer as best as I can. I'll start with generic advice, then say what works for me specifically. Sorry this got so long.

We're all kind of fumbling through life. The writing habits that I have have come from three sources:

a) hearing what other people do and building from them. I'm always in one writers group or another (currently I'm in a local writers group, and I'm regularly involved with two different NaNoWriMo groups in November, one locally and one virtually) and I've picked up a lot from them

b) a metric fuckton of trial and error. Because while part (a) is great some of the time, most of the things that work for other people don't work for me. I can't set a strict schedule at the same time everyday. I can't edit for a long time after I write.

c) NaNoWriMo (see link) helped me SO MUCH. I don't think everything can be written that way, but in terms of getting a handle on your own voice, preventing yourself from stopping to edit, and letting the story flow on its own, NaNo is amazing. It's a great starting point. Editing can come later, once the words are done on the page.

If you're unfamiliar, it's a (totally free) event that happens in November every year where everyone tries to write 50,000 words of a brand new novel in the span of one month. That's 1,667 words per day, so there isn't much time to stop and edit as you go. You just keep going. It's a competition against yourself rather than anyone else, to see if you can accomplish the task. It's also a community based event, so you can commiserate with other writers about the bad and celebrate with them about the good.

They have smaller events in April and July, but to really get the feel of it, November is when it's a party (or a rollercoaster, either way). I went to write-ins in cafes, bars, grocery stores, on the subway, etc. The event is a whole vibe, and now they have in person events again (they paused for covid). If you want to stay virtual, they have that too!

And as for what works for me:

1.

This most certainly wouldn't work for everyone, but it's my current strategy:

I think best when I'm in motion. By far. So most of my storyboarding I do while walking or driving, and I dictate into the notes app on my phone.

I do most of my dialogue this way too, because speaking it out loud makes it feel more like a conversation and more natural. I won't dictate the narration, but I'll include action tags. So it comes out like "Anthony: *flings door open, eyes wide* what in blazes are you doing??" (I add punctuation later)

Then when I get home, I often have several thousand words of notes to work from. My notes file for my last fic was 30k words, almost all of which had been dictated. It's a lot. It might sound daunting.

But it was done while out for a walk or drive, so it felt easy and effortless. And then when it came time to actually write, I got 48,000 words of a first draft done in 8 days (about 15k of which was just copy pasted from the outline. The whole time it felt like cheating and using guidelines to write the actual story, but it was all my original work, just done at different times.

2.

Keep writing as an exciting treat rather than a chore.

I've started to create little writers retreats for myself. My friends and I rented an AirBnB for two nights this winter, where the entire goal was reading and writing. Sure there was sitting around the fire talking and eating good food, but we built it up so that the writing was the exciting part. It worked SO WELL. We did writing activities together too, not just staring at a word doc. We did character studies and made little AUs to imagine our characters in.

A friend and I took a six hour road trip for another writers retreat too. We spent the 12 hours (RT) in the car talking about our stories and characters. We'd started with dozens of prompts so we'd have enough material, and we never ran out. Then we took rest stops at gas stations and restaurants and did little 15 minute writing sprints. It really got me fired up. I wrote 6,000 words over the two days of that retreat!

Keeping writing fun can be big things (my sister and I did a writers retreat like that in Hawaii) or little things (I always treat myself to a donut and a coffee on Sunday mornings and then have a leisurely morning in the cafe writing).

I can't say if any of this will work for you, because I can't even say whether it'll still work for *me* in a few years. But I hope it's food for thought!

Anyway this is like one million words long so sorry about that, hope it was interesting.

#psa for nanowrimo #thats what this felt like #but i cannot speak highly enough of that organizations work #they are the reason i forced myself to write when it felt like a chore #and the reason i remembered i love it #nanowrimo #writing #habits #i have a lot to say on this subject obviously so sorry i said all of it #fanfiction #creative writing #writing goals #just writer things #also that line from anthony isnt real but i wanna work it into assumptions my regency novel #new writers on tumblr #young writers #millennial writer #creative process #novel #storyboarding #dialogue #thinking beat in motion #i feel like thats an adhd thing but i could be making that up