#anyway…im tired of seeing this post every time i open drafts

[notnctu]

nct by the hour❀

▸ in which each member represents an hour of your extremely long day. its a similar concept to all the different people you encounter on a daily basis. read in chronological order!

▸[a/n] it’s author doie❀! inspired by @okmica‘s nct as types of boys ; im sorry u got notified twice bc i accidentally posted my draft lolol,, but anyways ur post absolutely butters my toast hehe idk what i wrote honestly lol 

RENJUN ▸ 4:02 a.m

your own personal alarm clock, light pats on your shoulder and tiny whispers, stumbles in the dark, takes off his warm hoodie to slip onto you, leaves your door open, places a granola bar for you on the kitchen counter, the first smile of your day

HENDERY▸ 5:06 a.m

a burst of energy ride to work, brings you freshly squeezed orange juice, plays upbeat music, is overly excited to start the day, points out the sunrise, takes the scenic route bc it makes you happy

KUN ▸ 6:03 a.m

the calm and collected shift lead, greets you with good morning without a fail, goes over the work breakdown with enthusiasm, notices you did something different with your hair, says you’re his best employee

XIAOJUN ▸ 7:09 a.m

a quiet company during work prep, silently takes care of the coffee machinery, counts the money so you don’t have to, soft chuckles when arranging the display pastries, tired gazes, mutual hatred for morning shifts

JOHNNY ▸ 8:00 a.m

the very attractive regular who always gets black coffee, remembers your name, engages in small talk, touches finger tips when you give him his drink, tips $10 every time, wishes you a good day

YANGYANG ▸ 9:10 a.m

always takes up the corner of the shop, scatters his textbooks on two tables, gets awfully shy when you offer him a pastry, pushes his glasses up every three seconds, orders hot chocolate, talks to you when there are no customers in line

TAEIL ▸ 10:13 a.m

asks you for recommendations, holds up the line, compliments the pins on your apron, goes by the alias ‘moon’, is a rewards member, quirky conversations about the weather, hopes to see you tomorrow

JISUNG ▸ 11:01 a.m

the new trainee that nods to everything you teach him, fumbles with the espresso machine, doesn’t talk much, pouts whenever he messes up, thinks you’re the best at explanations, gets nervous when you don’t have the same shifts, admires you deeply

MARK ▸ 12:15 p.m

your break buddy who works next door, smells like pizza dough, shares his slice with you, always thankful that you bring him a drink, funny stories about customers, heavy sighs when break is over, never wants to leave you

CHENLE ▸ 1:00 p.m

the cheerful employee who takes your spot at the end of your shift, screams your name out of pure joy of seeing you, begs you not to go, dramatic wails of disappointment, excitedly waves goodbye over the cash register 

YUTA ▸ 2:05 p.m

works at your local grocery store, helps you get something from the top shelf, throws in a bag of free candy bc he likes you, asks about how you are, gives you store discount, always acknowledges that you smell like coffee, carries your groceries to your car

JUNGWOO ▸ 3:20 p.m

the spunky waiter at your favorite restaurant, always puts your order in before you arrive, beaming smiles the moment you walk through the door, hugs you quickly, thinks you look cute today, ushers you out urgently with a small pat on your head

JAEMIN ▸ 4:03 p.m

cuddles you while you two nap, runs his fingers through your hair gently, forehead kisses, rubs circles on your shoulder, makes sure you fall asleep first, draws you into his side, forgets to set an alarm

WINWIN ▸ 5:30 p.m

misses you during lecture, rolls his eyes when he hands you his notes, grumbles about you owing him snacks, sarcastic jokes about you oversleeping, important due dates, walks you to your next class, attentively listens to your troubles

HAECHAN ▸ 6:12 p.m

takes you out to new restaurants for dinner, orders way too much, gossips about your mutuals, feeds you small spoonful bites, remembers your favorite kinds of foods, jokes playfully about how you have poor taste buds, covers the bill and doesn’t let you pay him back

JENO ▸ 7:07 p.m

the cute club leader who makes announcements, makes an effort to introduce himself personally, firm handshakes, notices you from across the room, very surface level conversations, notable eye smile that makes him even cuter, wants to get to know you better

DOYOUNG ▸ 8:03 p.m

your study buddy who hasn’t left the library since the morning, offers his jacket so you don’t get cold, proudly shows you his full set of completed flashcards, ruffles your hair whenever you rest against the table, clearly claims that he adores you, silently loves your company

JAEHYUN ▸ 9:06 p.m

the familiar handsome stranger who always meets you in the elevator, presses all the floors to spend more time with you, flashes his dimples in hopes to charm you, awkwardly sparks up a conversation, politely asks if you’d want to hang out sometime

TEN ▸ 10:00 p.m

steals you away from your studies to get ice cream, doesn’t hesitate to order your favorite flavor for you, tries to bite from your cone, always tells you to get plenty of rest, playful giggles when he teases you about your love life, wishes you had more time for him

LUCAS ▸ 11:02 p.m

the party animal who never fails to invite you over, respects your decision to not drink tonight, still comically asks you to dance with him, hypes up your awful moves, thinks you’re the most fun to be around, can be himself with you

TAEYONG ▸ 12:00 a.m

the open arms you love coming home to, readily available to hear about your entire day, gets the water started for you, droopy eyes and long yawns, tucks you into bed, holds you until you fall asleep, softly closes your door on his way out, the last smile of your day

#nct #nct scenarios #nct as #nct reactions #nct fluff #nct soft hours #nct ot21 #wayv #nct dream #nct u #nct 127 #nct 127 scenarios #nct dream scenarios #nct dream reactions #nct 127 scenario #wayv scenarios #wayv scenario #nct angst #wayv reactions #nct headcanons #neo culture technology #nct scenario #nct drabbles #nct timestamps #kpop #kpop scenarios

[boethiahsboytoy]

fuck it vyrthaal fic ch 1 its just a rough draft bc i dont have the attention span 2 edit yet so this means critique is not only welcomed but appreciated ! under the cut bc i dont want 2 fuck ur dashes (this isn’t vyrthaal-verse im gonna try n write out the whole dawnguard questline n post that First sorry if ur lookin forward 2 that)

In ages past and long forgotten, a mighty city conjured from ice sat safely in the mountains of a young Skyrim; glittering towers reached elegantly towards the sky as crystal-lined paths wound through the mighty buildings. Protecting the city was a noble family of snow elves. They were a reclusive sort, rarely meeting with their neighbors unless it was for business, and tending silently to the upkeep of their home. Among this family was an only child by the name of Vyrthaal, with eyes bright as the sun and skin as blue as the sky. He was an energetic lad, frequently seen running through the halls of his family’s home as he played, but shy, rarely speaking to anyone even in his family. Their nobility intimidated him, and somehow he knew in his heart that he did not fully belong with them, even at such a young age. But he didn’t mind. That much.

He got along well enough with his family anyways; he stayed out of his way and they gave him cold affection. Perhaps their disciplinary tactics were a bit too harsh for a young thirteen year old, but Vyrthaal knew not to complain. There was a great divide between him and his parents, this much he knew, but all in all he would have been content to live with them for a great many more years. But, whether fortunately or unfortunately, this would not be possible. Even one so heavily sheltered such as Vyrthaal would find it impossible to hide from the fact that his homeland was in grave trouble. Almost every day a new courier came bearing bad news of another far-reaching snow elven outpost. Colonizers coming in from the sea were overtaking their land, ousting snow elves from homes that had belonged to them for generations and slaughtering those who resisted. Fear did not show in Vyrthaal’s eyes at this news, but it was felt deep within his heart. And at night he curled up in bed, fearing he would not wake up again to see Auri-El’s light.

- - - - - - - -

“We can rely on the Deep Folk,” his father said one evening, and his mother scoffed. Her long fingers were in Vyrthaal’s hair, intricately braiding it. It was late, and he would have to undo the braids before bed, but it soothed both his and his mother’s nerves.

“Since when have the Dwemer cared for others? They are cruel, and snobbish. Besides,” and now her voice dropped, as if Vyrthaal’s sharp ears wouldn’t pick up her words, “You have heard what they do to our people. Lock them up deep underground, poison them, force them to work in their awful caverns. It is better that we refuse their aid!”

Vyrthaal felt a bolt of fear shoot through him, eyes widening as his ears twitched nervously. But his father shook his head. “That is only rumors,” he said, but doubt sat heavily in his voice. “They wouldn’t do that to us.”

No one in the room believed that. But what other options did they have? While their city was strong they didn’t truly have an army; just a few guards to patrol the area and keep crime to a minimum, or fend off the occasional wild beast that strayed too close. The prospect of making the journey to the Chantry of Auri-El was there, but was it wise? It was a long and difficult road, much too harsh for a child such as Vyrthaal, and who was to say they wouldn’t be attacked by the very Atmorans they were trying to flee? There was little else to be said, but at the end of the night when Vyrthaal retired to his room he still heard his parents discussing what to do.

Anxiety prevented him from sleeping well. It had only been about three hours into a restless sleep when suddenly Vyrthaal was awoken by a chilled touch shaking him. He sat upright quickly, meeting his mother’s eyes, and as consciousness rushed to him he heard the sounds of fighting. On reflex he turned to look out his window but was stopped by his mother’s hand on his cheek.

“Do not look, my son,” she whispered. And all at once he was pulled from his bed, led by the hand down the long flight of stairs to the main living area. But his mother made a sharp turn, tugging the young elf into a small hallway normally used by servants, and brought him to a blank space in the wall. There they met his father, who rested a hand on Vyrthaal’s shoulder and squeezed gently, before turning to the wall and muttering a strange incantation. Where once there was nothing now stood a door, shimmering behind a protective shield of magic. But Vyrthaal’s father opened it and he was rushed in by his parents.

“What is going on?” he begged to know as the sounds of fighting was muffled. They were now heading down a long flight of stairs, Vyrthaal lifting his robes so as not to trip. His mother responded.

“The Atmorans have found us.”

While fear nearly paralyzed him Vyrthaal pressed on with his parents, tears pricking at his eyes. “Where are we going?” His voice was shrill with fear and his mother’s reassuring squeeze to his hands did nothing to calm him. “What will we do!?”

“Hush, Vyrthaal. You will be safe.”

Vyrthaal was more than familiar with his father’s short answers that told him very little, but now it frustrated him. He was about to demand more answers when at last the stairs ended and a slightly breathless Vyrthaal was lead into an odd chamber. He could sense magic here. It was old and deep, and more powerful than he could imagine. It saturated the air and he shivered at the feeling. But it was calming. He looked up between his parents, who now seemed reluctant to continue. But at last, Vyrthaal’s mother slid her hand from his grip.

“You will be safe here.”

There were tears in her eyes as she knelt, hands on Vyrthaal’s shoulders. A kiss was pressed to his brow and he reached up to grasp her forearm.

“Mother-” he tried, but his father cut him off.

“There is no time for questions, my son. The Atmorans are here, and it is too late to flee. This room...it was built ages ago by our ancestors. It is stronger than any of our magic combined, and you will not be found here.” He led Vyrthaal to a heavy looking door carved from an unknown substance, but when they came close he could sense it was made of pure magickal energy. Being so near it seemed to make Vyrthaal’s very soul shrink back from the amount of power it contained. And as he approached it opened for him. He looked questioningly at his parents as it revealed a small, dim room—more of a storage closet in terms of size. “You will be safe here. It will only be for a little while, until we can muster our forces and drive the Atmorans away. Go, Vyrthaal. You will be alright.”

He didn’t want to. But Vyrthaal stepped into the room, turning to look at his parents. “What about you?” He finally asked, and Vyrthaal’s mother smiled.

“We will be safe. There are similar rooms for us.”

It was a lie. Vyrthaal knew it was. But he didn’t argue. Something in him knew that this was their only option. But it also knew that this would work. And when his parents stepped back to seal the door into place he didn’t protest. Only allowed the strange magic of the room work on him, making him grow tired. His eyelids grew heavy, but he kept his gaze on his parents for as long as he could until a strange, enchanted sleep took him. Vyrthaal slept now, undisturbed by noise and disarray, his mind giving him hopeful dreams of a bright future safe from invading Atmorans or scheming Dwemer. Vyrthaal slept as a battle raged on overhead, devouring buildings and people he knew all his life. Vyrthaal slept as Knight-Paladins gave their lives in a vain attempt to protect their race and innocents were slaughtered at the hands of men. And when the last Snow Prince was cut down, and the Atmorans brutally claimed Skyrim as their own, and what little remained of his people retreated to rot in the grasp of the Dwemer, Vyrthaal slept.

#my writing #OC Vyrthaal #once i get an ao3 account and i post it there ill post a link to the final ver on my oc blog #I'm Miraak and you're watching Disney Channel

[mychemicalaromanticism]

things ive already established r on this post

besties this got so fucking long but heres a giant ramble about cherri

okay so. there are huge differences betwn cherri as a hyperviolent drac hunter and cherri as a friend of the four and cherri as the girls mentor. with the first one he was 17 and desperate to distance himself from his upbringing so he went all in on Being A Killjoy. he was always one of the first ppl to rush into a fight and he fought hard. he blew up his fuckin hand with that attitude. and all the while he was just racking up more unaddressed trauma and eventually he ran away from that, too. giving himself radiation poisoning was more appealing than facing his problems.

so as a teenager/young adult hes kind of constantly in a panicked state. hes scared the people from his past are going to find him and drag him back with them. so he lashes out and he runs away over and over again.

i said in another post that he has some past life shit goin on which usually would give him a connection to the witch that manifests early in life, but with all the stuff hes gone through he has been Preoccupied. he can become oblivious to almost anything that doesnt apply to whatever hes focused on. not in a hyperfocus way its likeeeeee. when u live on survival mode during prolonged periods of stress. hes immune to magic bullshit bc hes too tired and scared.

anyways around his mid-20s he finally has a little more stability (as much as the average person living in the zones can have, that is) and he finally notices that Weird Stuff happens around him. basically: out of my list of Powers People Connected To The Witch Have he has the prophetic dreams/enhanced intuition as well as a form of sensing ghosts where he can see auras and kind of like, echoes of past events in ppls lives. that look like auras. itz complicated and not of utmost importance so im leaving it at that.

anyways thats what makes him start writing poetry. just 4 funsies he'll describe his weird experiences and embellish them to make em pretty. just as a casual hobby n all that.

he would forget fun ghoul in between the times they ran into each other but its pretty easy to be reminded of who fun ghoul is. the most insane 10 year old cherri has ever met. cherri isnt a brother figure to ghoul. hes just. his friend that happens to be more than twice his age. its whatever lmao

to cherri, ghoul is kinda like a stray animal he keeps seeing. which is hilarious. ghoul actually goes and finds him to introduce him to jet when they start running together, and cherri meets party and kobra (spark and birdie at the time) when he drives the four of them to a party. because he has a truck hell yeah. so now instead of one stray animal he has, like, a feral cat colony that he drives around occasionally. i have no real-life human relationship equivalent to them because irl if some guy that is not related to any of you and isnt even a childhood or family friend and theyre hanging out with you? they are usually not a safe person lmao. but this is my fantasy land and im too stubborn to change anyones birth years even though ghoul being born in 2004 makes everything really hard to make not creepy.

so yeah hes a casual somewhat friend of the fab four. hed probably get more and more concerned as they got famous. the beginnings of any sort of protective feelings, awww :) that sets him up for becoming the girls mentor.

OH FUCK. THE GIRL..... i think if i was in my late 20s and i heard that the gang of 13-17 year olds had adopted a 5 year old kid i would go bananas. what the fuck. it is a LONG while before cherri meets her. but he has the strongest affection for ghoul (if you could even call it that) and ghoul absolutely adores the girl and swings her around under her arms like a cat to show her off to cherri and its very endearing and the girl is sweet and funny so its easy to be around her. and (unfortunately) she is somewhat used to interacting with weird easily agitated people so she kinda gives him space. cherri isnt quite the uncle figure the fandom usually makes him (i luv uncle cherri sm but he simply cannot exist in the universe ive created, f), but hes a little similar.

and then the four had to go and pretend to die. lol.

when the girl was kidnapped, fucking everyone who knew her was ready to storm the city then and there. like regardless of how little you knew her, if you had ever met her you would fucking die for her. she is pure childish charisma and shes precious. i love the girl. so cherris immediately on board with whatever plan the four make to get her back. ive already talked abt how it fucked up the girl tho; there was no way to tell her that the four werent actually dead, she sees the building collapse and she shuts down. and cherri has to fight against his instinct to leave the radio station and never come back when he sees an eight year old girl sitting dissociated on the couch. that fucks everyone up.

i just realized i havent talked about literally anyone else at the radio station. i think cherri started lingering around the station bc it was safe and sheltered while also not being a popular spot. there are less kids there (people pass through but its not a hangout spot). he was kind of just hanging around to get away from the heat and noise and dr d took notice. because that man can see ur soul and no one knows if thats literal or not. so theyd chat a few times a day and show pony was the one 2 get him out of his shell a little and also was the first one he mentioned his poetry hobby to. im making this all up right now as im writing bc i dont know anything about LITERALLY any of the ppl associated w the radio like im not even going 2 try with chimp n newsie i do not have the willpower to tackle all that. justttt. cherri pony n D become bros and live 2gether there.

back 2 the regular timeline. the rescue mission happens in 2019. the girl lives at the station until 2023. during that time she is very much depressed and withdrawn and is only happy when the four come to visit. none of the Adults know how to help her so they just keep her safe and cared for and hope she'll open up to them.

she does not. she takes the weird cat thats been hanging around and she runs away.

cherri does not see her for three years. shes still worse for wear in the mental health department and he can see all kinds of visions of what shes been through since the last time he saw her and he fucking hates the ultra vs bc they remind him of his past. he does not want her going down that path but its obvious that she isnt crazy abt the ultraviolence thing either so thats a relief.

they have a kind of tense relationship throughout the comics. he feels like he failed her and that spirals into feeling like he failed the four for not being a good adult to them and fun ghoul for not helping enough when his commune was bombed and all kinds of shit and that irrational thinking mixed with plain old, yknow, caring about the girl, is what makes him take a bullet (laser. whatever) for her.

i was trying to figure out the timing of each of their ghost experiences, but i want both of them to talk to the witch and im just gonna make it like dreams where a whole buncha stuff happens but irl its been like seconds. so its like barely a second while the girl has her Witch Convo and cherri FINALLY gets a straight answer, yes there is weird shit going on with him having powers. he doesnt have any story-significant past lives because im lazy, hes just an old soul. like really fuckin old. the amount of latent life experience and stuff his soul/energy/whatever has picked up along the way makes him VERY noticeable to gods n stuff. he fuckin lights up all the alarms like what the FUCK is that over there. she wasnt rly able to get to him or even properly notice him while he was a kid and a young adult so shes happy to finally see him again. he has a STRONG sense of familiarity with her. they know each other on a wild ass level that he cant really comprehend.

welp thats some more lore I'll have 2 think abt. anywayz

post canon is when he and val get to have the most awkward spiderman meme moment of realizing that they have the same trauma SOOOOO thatz fun lol /s sorry kings i thought it would be fun to give u something fucked up to bond over <3

not much changes in his personality. he has a better understanding of Weird Magic and delights in freaking out the ultra vs but for the most part he returns to his life at the radio station. i love him

THIS GOT SO CRAZY LONG I DID NOT MEAN 2 GO THROUGH EVERY PART OF HIS LIFE LIKE SOME WEIRD CHARACTER STUDY but here we are. this is basically a first draft like almost all of this is subject to change but u gotta start somewhere. so heres my start i love this guy. its probably obvious but i have not read ANY twitterverse killjoys stuff </3 maybe i will someday idk

#cat talks #lore #ok2rb but what a mess this post is

[9498j]

renjun | the princess and the painter

[ pairing: artist!renjun x princess!reader ]

a/n: i had a social media au planned out for renjun (and jeno who is mentioned briefly) and this was the prologue to it. im not 100% happy with it but im posting it anyway because this has been sitting in my drafts for months and maybe putting it out into the world will inspire me to actually write the smau

“huang renjun, your royal highness.”

you watched as a boy carrying a backpack walked in and bowed in front of you, “your highness.” as he stood up, you noticed that he didn’t seem much older than you. you took your seat, and renjun followed, sitting in the chair that had been placed opposite you. he opened his bag and took out a sketchbook and a couple of pencils.

“mr. huang, can i ask how old you are?” you asked as he sketched. your grandmother, the queen, had commissioned a portrait of you as she did every few years. this year however, instead of hiring her favourite portraiture painter, your grandmother had decided to hire renjun after seeing a few of his paintings at an exhibition recently.

“i’m 19, your highness,” he replied, looking up from his sketchbook. you nodded once and he took that as a signal to continue with his work. you both sat in silence for a while, the only sound coming from renjun’s pencil moving along the page, until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“how did your work get into an exhibition at such a young age?”

“i’ve been posting my work on social media for a while now and i guess someone from the gallery must have seen. they contacted me and it was a good opportunity for me to get my name out there so i agreed, your highness.”

“i know that everyone out there,” you pointed your thumb behind you, at the door renjun had come through, “has told you to call me ‘your highness’ but please don’t. call me y/n.”

renjun stopped sketching. “i cannot do that, your highness.”

“why? we’re the same age, almost. i turn 19 in a couple of weeks. i haven’t talked to anyone my age in what feels like years, although i met the prince of - i can’t remember where.” you looked at renjun, who was just staring at you, his mouth slightly agape. “i’m so sorry, i must sound like an idiot.” renjun shook his head slowly. “my point is, i haven’t talked to a 19 year old who isn’t the next in line to the crown somewhere and i just want a normal conversation about, oh i don’t know, surprise me.”

renjun blinked twice, put his pencil down and sighed. “i have a friend - let’s call him jeno, because that’s his name - who signed up our other friend - let’s call her left feet because she has two of those - for a dance competition without her knowledge. now jeno is teaching left feet how to dance because he wants her to win.”

“wow,” you leaned back in your chair, a very un-princess like thing to do. but you didn’t care. renjun was the only person who would tell you what it was like to live as any other teenager and it was exciting. you’d never had the chance to experience a normal childhood. instead you practiced manners and etiquette, training to become queen one day. sometimes you learnt about other the other royals and presidents for a change of pace. if you were especially lucky, you’d study about the different political situations around the world.

you wanted to live vicariously through renjun and that’s exactly what you were going to do.

“happy birthday, your highness,” renjun said as he bowed.

“thank you. and what have i said about ‘your highness’?” you sighed.

“to not call you that, but it’s not easy. i think i’ve gotten used to it.”

you’d known renjun for three weeks now, and except for him still not being able to say your name, you two had gotten closer. as renjun sketched and painted, you spent the couple of hours he was there talking and getting to know each other. renjun talked about his friends and the trouble they’d caused and you talked about the things you wanted to do the most if you could get out of the palace.

getting tired of sitting in your chair, you stood up, hiking the gown your grandmother had made you wear for the painting above your ankles. which didn’t seem like a big deal but if your grandmother had seen you, you would have received an hour’s lecture and the tiny bit of ‘freedom’ you had would be taken away. you walked over to see what renjun was painting.

renjun had gotten used to seeing you move after fifteen minutes of sitting. he’d noticed that you couldn’t sit still for too long. you were always fidgeting, moving your hands, drumming your fingertips on the armrests of your chair, tapping your foot on the floor or just looking around the room you had memorised years ago as if you were seeing it for the first time.

“that’s so pretty,” you gasped as renjun swirled the paint on the canvas to make a colour like sapphire.

“thank you, your- y/n. but could you please go back to your seat?”

“why? you’re using a reference picture as well,” you pointed at the photograph of yourself clipped to the top of the easel.

“yes but the shadows in real life and in a picture are very different.” without replying you sat down in your chair.

your two hours were soon up. sooner than you’d liked. renjun was the only friend you had.

“renjun?”

“yes?”

“can you do me a favour?”

“yes, your highness.” you rolled your eyes at the title but didn’t say anything about it.

“could you buy me a phone please?” renjun stopped in the middle of putting his things away and looked at you, then at the phone in your hand. “this one’s tapped. they have eyes on everything i do at all times.” you looked at the time and saw that it was three minutes past the time renjun was supposed to have left. “watch, they’re going to knock now and see if everything is okay.” renjun’s eyes widened as someone knocked on the door and asked if everything was okay.

“yes, don’t worry. mr. huang is just tidying up his belongings.” you turned to renjun and whispered, “see. please. i’ll give you the money and everything. i just need a phone that hasn’t been tapped into.”

renjun hesitated slightly before agreeing. “thank you! i owe you one. a big one.” you grabbed the money you had hidden under the chair and gave it to renjun who just stared at it. “what? they track my card spendings too.”

#nct #nct dream #renjun #huang renjun #nct renjun #nct dream renjun #nct fluff #nct dream fluff #nct imagine #nct dream imagine #nct drabbles #nct dream drabble #renjun fluff #renjun imagine #nct au #nct dream au #renjun au

[coolxnxblue]

de rules:

1. Themes might very with this blog. It’ll typically be SFW, but there will likely be dark themes, violence and swearing.

Things will be tagged! I’ll try my best, anyways. If you want something in particular tagged, please let me know through ask / anon / im. The format I use for tagging is, for example, tw: swearing.

I don’t have any triggers but I do ask you tag all of your NSFW content.

That said, I won’t do anything NSFW - gore is okay, though.

I’m of age.

2. I’m private, meaning I only really roleplay with people I follow. This is so things don’t get too overwhelming and for me and to cement who I want to interact with. I generally follow most people if our writing clicks, though.

If I don’t follow you and you’d like me to check out your blog, lurk in my notifs. I’ll definitely see you and make note to check you out. Same with promos, or you can just rb them to a sideblog / send an ask with its url. I can’t gurantee I’ll follow, but I’ll certainly check it out!

If it’s a crossover, I have to know the fandom and be at least a little bit confident with it. This is so I’m able to work with you, our thread and have muse for it. You’re free to ask if I know of a fandom or not! I’ll have a list at some point.

I follow the tag #coolxnxblue. If there’s anything you want me to see, like dash commentary, just tag that and x-kit will alert me of your post! I may respond to ic stuff ic stuff if I’m feeling it. 

In that sense, I’m chill with dash shenanigans with most folk, not just mutuals!

Absolutely no godmodding. It ain’t fun, fam. If you’re not sure what this term means, do look it up. This includes powerplaying, metagaming, and other things of that nature. This applies especially in fights if they happen (I’m chance-based and hope that you are too).

I can be picky with OCs. But rest assured, if you’ve followed me/interacted with my promo, I’ll always give your pages a read.

Please don’t be offended if I don’t want to interact with you (and please don’t try to guilt me into doing so!).

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I DON’T CARE ABOUT AESTHETICS. I just think they’re pretty. If you don’t use formatting or anything like that, or heck - even wanna’ just do iconless rp - I have no problem with it whatsoever! It’s you, your writing and your muse I care about!

3. Please don’t rush me for starters or responses.

PLEASE understand that I have blogs galore and my muse tends to fluctuate; this can mean I’m everywhere at once and can end up neglecting a blog or two. It’s nothing personal; you know how muses are! Additionally, life happens to be a thing.

Please note the mun deals with anxiety and depression, and has part time jobs which are honestly tiring - this might affect how frequently she roleplays.

Chances are, I’ve probably has seen that bit of interactivity and just haven’t gotten around to responding yet.

My roleplaying style being para/multi-para, I may take a while to respond. I hoard drafts like a dragon - it’s really just the motivation to write and ship those out.

I hoard asks, but sometimes can’t find muse or interest for all of them. If it’s been a month or two, generally assume I’m not interested / can’t find muse for it. You’re free to send another though!

I answer asks from anyone - personals, rp blogs and anons. I’ll answer non-mutual asks occaisonally but I won’t be making threads out of them

4. Shippings? Heck yeah, I ship lots with my blue son! Just make sure they’re of similar age pls.

If I don’t happen to be interested, don’t force anything on my character.

I do not ship incestuous ships. Do NOT follow/interact if you do.

The ship has to have chemistry; I’m generally shipping trash, but if they don’t click, they don’t click, sorry.

This is a multi-ship blog, meaning there will be more than one ship without them conflicting with eachother.

If you want to ship and I already have a ship of your choosing going with a duplicate, please don’t hesitate to hmu! My ships aren’t exclusive and each character/relationship portrayal is unique to me!

Relationships are eternal until you deem otherwise. If you’re not interested in a ship anymore, just let me know!

Sonic X Tails won’t be happening on this blog, sorry.

5. Whilst I am of age, I’m not aiming for sexual content on this blog (and will not be dealing with fetishes). That stuff makes me uncomfortable, and I typically don’t recommend pulling it with my character if you’re interacting with me. Nonetheless, should it arise, I will tag it appropriately as nsfw //.

6. About reblogs…

I am not a meme source, and reblogs clog up my activity. Please reblog any ask / starter memes you find on this blog from their SOURCE. The exception to this rule is if there is no source; go ahead.

I don’t feel comfortable with Personals reblogging my IC or OOC posts, so please don’t do that. If I put something in the fandom tags for whatever reason (bar promos), you’re free to, though.

This goes for my art too unless it has the tag ok to rb, but otherwise only the person I drew it for can reblog it. If you wanna’ reblog something, I DO put it on my art blog eventually!

A few times is fine, as it happens, but repeatedly breaking these rules will result in me soft blocking you.

I try to participate in reblog karma as much as I can, but always reblog from the source/a meme source.

If a post or ask is for you, you’re free to reblog it to save it though - but only if you’re an rp blog!

7. I’m a para / multi-para blog, novella if I’m adventurous and have time. Whilst I may roleplay crack threads with shorter responses, this does not apply to all threads I write. This means:

I write my replies as detailed as I can muster, and length can range from 1 paragraph to 6.

Short responses (such as one-liners) in more serious threads where I’ve written a decent deal can instantly kill my muse for that thread.

Whilst I’d prefer for partners to at least somewhat match my length, it’s entirely up to you - just try your best and make sure you give me enough to work with. ♡

If my muse happen to go nuts out of nowhere - like, overboard - don’t stress too much about matching him.

8. Threads! You can yeet asks, memes, and even starters at me if I’ve liked a call! I’ll obviously have my own you can like.

You’re free to like starter calls even if we’re not mutuals; I can check out your blog that way. I still only write starters for mutuals though.

I know pretty much most if not all Sonic media, bar Fleetway which I haven’t gotten around to reading yet. Since that’s unfamiliar territory, I’m unlikely to tread in it yet.

Starter memes are the BEST way to interact me because they just yeet a prompt at my face and really help me write starters. If you see me reblog one, send one!

If you want a certain verse, lemme’ know! Otherwise, I’ll either resort to game verse or whatever continuity your muse applies to (i.e, Sally (archie), Starline (idw), and so forth).

If you want to turn an ask into a thread, go ahead!

In that sense, I don’t recommend writing starters for me unless we’ve discussed something. I don’t like to leave anyone hanging.

Please don’t assume things about my muse. If you’re uncertain about things, ASK.

IMs are open to mutuals, if you want to do any in-depth plotting. I also have Discord if that’s more convenient for you!

9. Guidelines on mains and relationships:

If we’re mutuals and we interact a lot, you’re welcome to ask me if I’d like to be your main!

Please don’t be offended if I deny, though; I typically want to pick those I trust to be my mains as well as people I can comfortably write with.

Not limited to them! I roleplay with duplicates galore so don’t be afraid to hit me up if you want to interact!

Pre-established relationships are a-okay in my book; if you have an idea for a relationship between our muses we can work towards, hit me up! I reblog those pre-established relationship memes every so often too. Romantic relationships link back to the shipping guidelines.

Also, friendship/family/rivalry relationships are EXTREMELY valid to me - so don’t feel scared about asking for them!

10. If you have any issues, please let me know and hopefully we can resolve it!

Mun is actually super nice, so don’t be afraid to hit her up!

I am absolutely terrible with IMs and Discord. I either respond quickly or days later, depends on my mood. Social anxiety tends to interfere with this (and more recently exhaustion from work) - but honestly, if you’ve sent something, I’ve likely read it and just haven’t gotten around to it yet! It’s nothing personal; trust me!

Please leave me out of drama; I’m here to have a good time, as is everyone else, and it pains me to see people arguing.

This is a little different with callouts - if I see anything on dash pertaining to any problematic users, I will take it into consideration and rb it if I believe them to be harmful.

11. To retierate, I tend to follow those that:

Write para and whom I feel my muse would click with.

Seem chill? Tone can really intimidate me honestly.

Have rules and about pages! Knowing the boudaries of my rp partners is super important as well as their lovely muses! Sometimes rules are enough, though, if you’re going to write the about eventually.

Tag their nsfw.

Don’t have massive icons - ie, have rp icons that take up an entire text post like 500x500 or something. I don’t want to clog the dash and it’s tiring to resize them.

...also, if I follow your hub blog (provided it doesn’t double as a personal), it generally means I’m cool with any blogs that are attached to it.

12. On threads…

If you’re not interested in a thread anymore, and would like to drop it, please let me know! I’d feel terrible if we’re both not having fun with it or if partners feel overwhelmed with the amount of threads we have.

Honestly, unless I let you know, our threads have no expiry date - so no need to worry about me dropping them without telling you. I can just be quite slow sometimes.

13. Mun does not equal muse! Anything my muse might say does not reflect on how I think unless I explicitly say so.

14. Know that if I follow you, I WANT to interact with you.

I literally couldn’t care less about follower counts. I care about YOU guys and our interactions.

15. Rules may be subject to change.

Please like this post if you’ve read the rules! You don’t have to, but it’s of personal reassurance to me if you have.

#.rules

[ominousgreeting]

THE SCRIPT:

1. Themes will vary with this blog. Bob is a morbid guy, so I wouldn’t advise following if you’re not used to his character. There will likely be violence, themes of murder and crime, as well as that messed up obsession with wanting to kill Bart Simpson. If you’re not comfortable with that, steer clear!

I will try my best to tag everything. These will be under the format of swearing tw. If you’d like me to tag anything specific, don’t hesitate to ask through anon / inbox / im!

I don’t have any triggers but I do ask you tag all of your NSFW (sexual) content.

I’m of age, and thus I won’t be writing anything to that end with minors. Not that I’d be writing much of it anyway.

2. I’m private, which means I only write with mutuals (this is for my own sanity / comfort; everyone’s cool!). I’ll write with canon, oc, and crossover characters.

Although I’m private, when it comes to following people, I’m selective. We don’t have to have known each other prior to write!

As for following back, I usually take a week tops to do so - but if you’ve hit up my promo, I go through that eventually.

If it’s a crossover, I have to know the fandom and be at least a little bit confident with it. This is so I’m able to work with you, our thread and have muse for it.

I follow the tag #ominousgreeting. If there’s anything you want me to see, like dash commentary, just tag that and x-kit will alert me of your post! I may respond to ic stuff ic stuff if I’m feeling it. 

In that sense, I’m chill with dash shenanigans with most folk, not just mutuals!

Absolutely no godmodding. It ain’t fun, fam. If you’re not sure what this term means, do look it up. This includes powerplaying, metagaming, and other things of that nature. This applies especially in fights if they happen (I’m chance-based and hope that you are too).

I can be picky with OCs. But rest assured, if you’ve followed me/interacted with my promo, I’ll always give your pages a read.

Please don’t be offended if I don’t want to interact with you (and please don’t try to guilt me into doing so!). 

I DON’T CARE ABOUT AESTHETICS. I just think they’re pretty. If you don’t use formatting or anything like that, or heck - even wanna’ just do iconless rp - I have no problem with it whatsoever! It’s you, your writing and your muse I care about!

3. Please don’t rush me for starters or responses.

PLEASE understand that I have blogs galore and my muse tends to fluctuate; this can mean I’m everywhere at once and can end up neglecting a blog or two. It’s nothing personal; you know how muses are!

I have a full-time job (and I’m trying to get into screenwriting in my off-time) so sometimes I’m scrapped for time or exhausted. I'm also an introvert who deals with anxiety and depression, thus that may affect how much / how often I roleplay. If I don’t get chance to respond to anything ic or ooc, it’s nothing personal! Promise!

Chances are, I’ve probably has seen that bit of interactivity and just haven’t gotten around to responding yet.

My roleplaying style being para/multi-para, I may take a while to respond. I hoard drafts like a dragon - it’s really just the motivation to write and ship those out.

I hoard asks, but sometimes can’t find muse or interest for all of them. If it’s been a month or two, generally assume I’m not interested / can’t find muse for it. You’re free to send another though!

I answer asks from anyone - personals, rp blogs and anons. I’ll answer non-mutual asks occaisonally but I won’t be making threads out of them

4. Shippings? If they’re of similar age, sure! With Bob, it’s a little timey whimey since he’s married, but we could figure something out.

If I don’t happen to be interested, don’t force anything on my character.

I do not ship incestuous ships. Do NOT follow/interact if you do.

Also the same rule applies to this next thing. It would go without saying, but given the nature of this fandom... for the love of God, no shipping any of the kids with Bob.

The ship has to have chemistry; I’m generally shipping trash, but if they don’t click, they don’t click, sorry.

This is a multi-ship blog, meaning there will be more than one ship without them conflicting with eachother.

If you want to ship and I already have a ship of your choosing going with a duplicate, please don’t hesitate to hmu! My ships aren’t exclusive and each character/relationship portrayal is unique to me!

Relationships are eternal until you deem otherwise. If you’re not interested in a ship anymore, just let me know!

5. Whilst I am of age, I’m not aiming for sexual content on this blog (and will not be dealing with fetishes). The occasional joke is fine, but anything beyond that makes me uncomfortable, and I typically don’t recommend pulling it with my character if you’re interacting with me. Nonetheless, should it arise, I will tag it appropriately as nsfw //.

6. About reblogs…

I am not a meme source, and reblogs clog up my activity. Please reblog any memes you find on this blog from their SOURCE. The exception to this rule is if there is no source; go ahead.

I don’t feel comfortable with Personals reblogging my IC or OOC posts, so please don’t do that. If I put something in the fandom tags for whatever reason (bar promos), you’re free to, though.

This goes for my art too unless it has the tag ok to rb, but otherwise only the person I drew it for can reblog it. If you wanna’ reblog something, I DO put it on my art blog eventually!

A few times is fine, as it happens, but repeatedly breaking these rules will result in me soft blocking you.

I try to participate in reblog karma as much as I can, but always reblog from the source/a meme source.

If a post or ask is for you, you’re free to reblog it to save it though - but only if you’re an rp blog!

7. I’m a para / multi-para blog, novella if I’m adventurous and have time. Whilst I may roleplay crack threads with shorter responses, this does not apply to all threads I write. This means:

I write my replies as detailed as I can muster, and length can range from 1 paragraph to 6.

Short responses (such as one-liners) in more serious threads where I’ve written a decent deal can instantly kill my muse for that thread.

Whilst I’d prefer for partners to at least somewhat match my length, it’s entirely up to you - just try your best and make sure you give me enough to work with. ♡

If my muse happen to go nuts out of nowhere - like, overboard - don’t stress too much about matching him.

8. Threads! You can yeet asks, memes, and even starters at me if I’ve liked a call! I’ll obviously have my own you can like.

You’re free to like starter calls even if we’re not mutuals; I can check out your blog that way. I still only write starters for mutuals though.

I know pretty much most Bob media, bar the comics because I’ve only read a few of them.

Starter memes are the BEST way to interact me because they just yeet a prompt at my face and really help me write starters. If you see me reblog one, send one!

If you want a certain verse, lemme’ know! Otherwise, I’ll probably default to a post-canon verse.

If you want to turn an ask into a thread, go ahead!

In that sense, I don’t recommend writing starters for me unless we’ve discussed something. I don’t like to leave anyone hanging.

Please don’t assume things about my muse. If you’re uncertain about things, ASK.

IMs are open to mutuals, if you want to do any in-depth plotting. I also have Discord if that’s more convenient for you!

9. Guidelines on mains and relationships:

If we’re mutuals and we interact a lot, you’re welcome to ask me if I’d like to be your main!

Please don’t be offended if I deny, though; I typically want to pick those I trust to be my mains as well as people I can comfortably write with.

Not limited to them! I roleplay with duplicates galore so don’t be afraid to hit me up if you want to interact!

Pre-established relationships are a-okay in my book; if you have an idea for a relationship between our muses we can work towards, hit me up! I reblog those pre-established relationship memes every so often too. Romantic relationships link back to the shipping guidelines.

Also, friendship/family/rivalry relationships are EXTREMELY valid to me - so don’t feel scared about asking for them!

10. If you have any issues, please let me know and hopefully we can resolve it!

Mun is actually super nice, so don’t be afraid to hit her up!

I am absolutely terrible with IMs and Discord. I either respond quickly or days later, depends on my mood. Social anxiety tends to interfere with this (and more recently exhaustion from work) - but honestly, if you’ve sent something, I’ve likely read it and just haven’t gotten around to it yet! It’s nothing personal; trust me!

Please leave me out of drama; I’m here to have a good time, as is everyone else, and it pains me to see people arguing.

This is a little different with callouts - if I see anything on dash pertaining to any problematic users, I will take it into consideration and rb it if I believe them to be harmful.

11. To retierate, I tend to follow those that:

Write para and whom I feel my muse would click with.

Seem chill? Tone can really intimidate me honestly.

Have rules and about pages! Knowing the boudaries of my rp partners is super important as well as their lovely muses! Sometimes rules are enough, though, if you’re going to write the about eventually.

Tag their nsfw.

Don’t have massive icons - ie, have rp icons that take up an entire text post like 500x500 or something. I don’t want to clog the dash and it’s tiring to resize them.

…also, if I follow your hub blog (provided it doesn’t double as a personal), it generally means I’m cool with any blogs that are attached to it.

12. On threads…

If you’re not interested in a thread anymore, and would like to drop it, please let me know! I’d feel terrible if we’re both not having fun with it or if partners feel overwhelmed with the amount of threads we have.

Honestly, unless I let you know, our threads have no expiry date - so no need to worry about me dropping them without telling you. I can just be quite slow sometimes.

13. Mun does not equal muse! Anything my muse might say does not reflect on how I think unless I explicitly say so.

14. Know that if I follow you, I WANT to interact with you.

I literally couldn’t care less about follower counts. I care about YOU guys and our interactions.

15. Rules may be subject to change.

Please like this post if you’ve read the rules! You don’t have to, but it’s of personal reassurance to me if you have.

#.SCRIPT

[panickedvulture]

Found this in my drafts, so I’m posting it with no shame to give this blog some life while I’m busy trying to deal with post-endgame feels in the mcu sector of tumblr:

So I had a dream last night that made me realize I spend too much time on this site because it included some of my mutuals and people I enjoy like @theuriearchives ,@yagirlcammmm ,@i-think-im-ready-to-go ,@canyousevmyheavydirtysoul ,@dunjosephurieimagines , and @andbeingblueisbetter to name a few.

I have very vivid dreams and since I write all of them down I figured why not write it here where everyone can see it.

The genre for this dream: a mystery.

The setting: A beautiful cabin (apparently mine) plucked straight out of a “Visiting your SO’s family for the holidays” or a “fake-dating for a visit to your frenemy’s family” AU, my personal favorite. And there was a snowstorm going on outside.

I should also mention everybody had their own appearance. Usually I attach someone’s name with the face in their profile pic, meaning about everybody in this I previously imagined as Brendon Urie at different angles and in different lighting. But thanks to my brain randomly generating faces for everybody, I will be greatly confused in the case that I ever learn what you actually look like.

So, the topic at hand is, as it always is, Brendon Urie. Everybody’s cuddled up on the couch and on the floor in their pajamas drinking hot chocolate, eating dessert, and writing/giving ideas. In the background AFYCSO plays on an old record player, the fire is flickering beautifully alongside some black and white videos of old Panic! performances playing on one of those old big-backed TVs with lines across the screen – at this moment I feel like I am once again a preschooler laying on my stomach and watching movies in a pile of other preschoolers at my old after-school program but I digress–

Then somebody has the audacity to break into my house.

Me being the host of this gathering, I feel obligated to check on the noise. It doesn’t help that literally everyone stops what they’re doing to push me in the direction of the mysterious noise before going back to talking about the size of Brendon Urie’s dick (a conversation brought up by i-think-im-ready-to-go, just thought I should mention that).

So I get up, the second my back is turned nobody cares and I go into the bathroom only to find it flooded because this intruder flushed literally everything it could down the toilet.

To name a few things, it flushed:

1) The monstrous dildo linked on a post by beautiful-tragic-fallout (i don’t mean to call anybody out but its been on my dash with every damn refresh for the past week), who i-think-im-ready-to-go and theuriearchives make a point to explain is out of the house buying us more chocolate-covered strawberries.

2) Every single piece of Pretty. Odd. memorabilia I can imagine because someone just has it out for that album.

3) For those of you who have seen Monsters Inc, the toys Boo flushed down the toilet in that one scene.

4) An entire manuscript that my mind recognizes as smut written by @xxip-smut

5) And pink, fucking, crocs

So I walk back into the living room and round everybody up, declaring we’re on a manhunt for whoever the fuck had the audacity to break into my house, and with that we separate into groups. Accompanying me is Cam who wields a flamethrower while wearing pastel yellow pajamas with baby elephants printed on them.

Eventually after getting tired of Cam pointing the flamethrower at my head even when in ‘resting position’ and scaring the shit out of me, we go into the basement only to find everybody else chose to search the basement and the rest of you have been arguing about who actually gets to search the basement.

Long story short, the basement doesn’t get searched.

Instead to deal with the tension, dunjosephurieimagines suggests we all go back to talking about Brendon’s dick. So we go back to talking about Brendon’s dick.

We sit on the floor in a circle in this basement not realizing its dark and creepy as hell, and if you’ve seen That 70s Show the ‘camera’ moves around in this circle to focus on the face of whoever’s talking. The conversation adds up to smut, theuriearchives pulls out a blunt and i-think-im-ready-to-go pulls out a gun, we start playing russian roulette. Out of guilt for not writing a request sent to me months ago because I suck, I give andbeingblueisbetter a free shot at me. Being a saint they don’t take the opportunity yet.

So anyway, being high and creative a thought comes to us all at once. This thought…where the fuck is @loverontheleft ?

Now we’re all mad and sad and scared and alone because where, the fuck, is cece? Everybody starts asking everybody if they’ve seen her, we conclude the answer is no and we all start freaking out.

Then we realize canyousevmyheavydirtysoul (codename: Sev) is being really quiet.

We all turn and just stare like “So um….whats up?”

Flash-forward, this is all of us trying to figure out cece’s identity, sev is just sitting on the floor smiling and reacting to everything we say with reaction gifs they pull up on their phone, meanwhile we’re all screaming running around, we’ve made a literal office out of this basement and we have glasses and slip-on ties on top of our pajamas.

Then there’s a noise upstairs because we forgot there was someone who broke into my house.

Y’all turn on me and push me up the stairs to my death, I realize this is the cabin that appears in the bodyguard series at one point (wonderfully written by canyousevmyheavydirtysoul, binge it), and in front of me is the super fancy dining room table. There’s mail on it, some envelopes, and I’m like uh no and turn around to come back downstairs.

But you’re all at the bottom of the stairs staring at me and threatening me with your knives and Cam’s flamethrower – where you got the knives I don’t know. I hesitate in turning around for a second so andbeingblueisbetter shoots me.

But I’m like, you know, walk it off. So I do and I go to the table. I’m terrified, break out into a nervous sweat, but it’s fine.

I go and open the folder.

And O - fucking - kay

If you haven’t read the bodyguard series or ready to leap I’m not gonna detail any spoilers, just the main plot given right away, and even if you have it probably won’t help this make any more sense. Here….is the story:

Our beloved Cece started off as a teacher, right? But not just any teacher, Ms. fucking Milton, who started a relationship with the music teacher of her high school, Mr. Urie, who in this case is in fact Brendon Urie of our universe and lead singer of Panic! at the Disco. But the deal with him is that he got tired of the fame and through extensive work he managed to get rid of all the files that legally point to him as being Brendon Urie of Panic! at the Disco. And for the first few years of his teaching, all the kids knew he was Brendon Urie I mean come on, but eventually the whole school and town settle on the idea that this is just one of those situations where twins are separated at birth and coincidentally given the same exact name. So boom, they do what they do – but newsflash, Cece is Y/n from the Bodyguard series and knowing Mr. Urie’s relationship with Ms. Milton, S.H.I.E.L.D pulls a Hydra Bucky Barnes situation in order to train Brendon into the best damn bodyguard the world could imagine because Cece is a valuable asset that needs the absolute best protection. Canyousevmyheavydirtysoul was like a journalist or something for S.H.I.E.L.D and witnessed all of this go down, knows every little thing about these two. So they get trained, they get close, drama happens, then they’re all put under-cover. Brendon goes back to being Brendon Urie of Panic! at the Disco, Sev and Cece are assigned to live their current lives and specifically assigned to write their stories for this Tumblr community to get everybody off their trails.

And then I look up. And there’s cece and I think…

“She is about to fucking, kill me.”

I try to throw the folders at her but for some reason I can’t throw anything in my dreams, so I get frustrated that my arm just won’t work, Cece in the meanwhile uses this time to approach me. My mind can’t even generate her an appearance and I think that she’s wearing a disguise because she’s like a spy or something that did after all break into my house to clog my toilet with dildos.

We maintain eye contact for what my dream-self recalls as a long time. I feel this energy in my soul I have never felt before and it is not fun, I don’t like it.

She takes the folder from me and gives me a red one.

And with her eyes piercing my soul, I get this feeling that literally has my skin vibrating even after I wake up, and I hear this voice that’s like “I know you know. And I’m watching you.”

So I woke up in a cold sweat obviously and tried to suppress this whole thing but it kinda lingered in the back of my mind all day. Then the weird tiny details came back to haunt me when I saw the elephants at the zoo. 

#I dont understand either just dont be afraid of me #about #Dream

[rhodesmystery]

um. smutfic. i joked about 3hrs but then got embarrassed about posting until i bought my vow hoodie from bungie and got such a rush and now here we are lmfao 

2.5k words of pwp. god bless. charlie x mc

Charlie finds her standing by the window. Not so unusual, all things considered. One of the first places he always thought to look, whenever they happened to be together. Something about staring out, letting her thoughts get away, eased her. He knew that much. 

However, Charlie had mostly found her clothed in the other times. Or as close to it. A shirt of his that was barely hiding anything wasn’t passable, and it wasn’t the first time he was thankful they had enchanted his windows to be one-way only. He didn’t want to think what would be said about some poor soul walking past and seeing Natasha the way she was. 

With a yawn, loud enough to alert her, and a roll of his shoulders, Charlie steps completely into the room. Mismatched, with parts kitchen, living and dining, all in one. Not that he minded, as it was his. Much like her, as he happily thought, when Natasha turned. Never a hint of sleepiness in her, with bright eyes and lips half turned up into a smile. Yeah, he knew she already knew that he was awake, but it was the entrance that mattered. Especially when he scratches his chest, stomach, only to rest his hand idly on his thigh.

“Morning.” Once, Natasha told him that she loved his voice in the morning. Didn’t tell him what exactly it was she loved, but he had made a note since then to take full advantage of it.

Natasha is surprisingly quiet with her response. A tumble of ‘morning’, that’s soft and private. Charlie might’ve thought something was wrong, if her eyes weren’t pointedly south. That gets a smile out of him.

“Thought you’d still be in bed.” Idle conversation, to fill the gap between him and her. Until he took those seven exact steps to stand before her. “Missed you.”

“Did you now?” Natasha is facing him now, and he can see his shirt was open, not even buttoned in some vague attempt for decency. Like this was some grand scheme of hers (and he was playing right into her hand). “I’m sorry.” Her lack of sincerity was hilarious, and his laughter was infectious, as she giggles to herself. Enough to distract him again. 

Charlie always liked her tits. Or, maybe he should call them breasts outright, to add some politeness to the conversation. But Natasha clasps her hands behind her back, purposely jutting them out at him, that he can see the swell of each, and how the shirt was barely holding on to cover her nipples. He was definitely going to commit this to memory.

“You should be.” Still trying to keep his tone vague. Not focus on how he could almost follow an arrow that pointed down, between her breasts, over her stomach. Like everything was shouting look at me, and he ate it up. Taking a lot for him not to just sink to his knees and eat her until she screamed his name. Forecast was telling him that was his immediate future.

With a fleeting look back at Natasha’s face, to gauge where she was at, Charlie gets a rather satisfied smile. Yeah, yeah, she read his thoughts, thought herself to be so smart about it too. Not like he wasn’t being obvious about it, cock at half mast already just thinking about her. Natasha, in his shirt, unbuttoned and open, and legs spread just enough, leaning against the window, a hand idly running down her front. Like he hadn’t already had that image in his mind since he’d walked out the bedroom.

“What ever can I do to make it up to you?” And the lines were corny, something out of the really bad movies she was fond of mimicking, except with the way she punctuates her words, making it different. Implications abound.

Charlie moves in a bit closer, a half step forward. Until there’s not else in his vision except her, her lips, her eyes, the spattering of freckles over her nose and the mismatched scars along her jaw. Practically swims in the green, noticing they were darker than any other day. And he loved why he knew that happened. Natasha kisses him, and it’s slow, deep, the only touch. Just the tilt of their heads, the slide of their tongues, and each other. Nothing more, nothing less.

Eventually, it’s his turn to make the move. And not to romanticise their positions, knight takes queen, pushing her against the window, pressing against her entirely. Never breaking the kiss, just hands trying to pull the shirt off, to find skin, only to end up with it tangled around her elbows. To trace along the curve of her spine as she arches into him. Natasha moans against his mouth, her nails burning into his shoulders, Charlie please. Please, the real magic word. Held a lot of weight, when applied properly. Like how it sits pleasantly on his head, as he begins a trail down.

Soft kisses, trying to catch every inch he could. Charlie could never tire of this, even if he knew how embarrassed she got. How she insisted on reciprocating. Not that he minded that outcome, of course, but there was something to be said for how Natasha’s face would look, when he looked up at her. Always partway there to covering her mouth, eyes heavy and hair a mess. Chest heaving, and a flush that coloured her pink. He didn’t know how many times he was up to, with calling her beautiful, but he was bound to crack a thousand eventually, surely. 

Natasha just snorts, trying to play off her embarrassment. Hand on his head, edging him down further. Charlie can only grin, kneeling as comfortably as he could, hands on her thighs. Encourages her wider for him, further still. Fingers tease her nipples, and Charlie can only savour the first strong lick in response. 

Something almost like a hiccup escapes her, and Natasha visibly shudders. With two fingers, Charlie parts her lips, and finds exactly what he wants. What he knew would have her all but shake on him. Charlie sucks, nips, laves her clit with attention, trying desperately to keep his eyes closed, but unable to stop from looking up. He loves when she looks like that, flustered and letting control go. 

Fingers that had spread her move to touch, to feel. Dragging across her seam, barely pressing against her. Charlie has to stop from smiling, when he feels the telltale buck as with one finger, he drives in a little further, but never quite enough. So soon? he thinks, but doesn’t complain. Not like he wasn’t in the same boat. At that thought, Charlie runs a hand over himself, pulling away from her clit only to look down, notice he was leaking. 

Not that he wanted to hurry, but with another twist of his wrist against his cock, he turns back. Ah well, he could make it up to her later. 

Tongue pressing against her, Charlie edges in. The slick sounds, normally off-putting in any other circumstance, always made Natasha a little weaker in the knees. Or it might’ve just been his good work, as she’s saying his name, muffled only by the sleeve of the shirt. Fingers circle her clit, and his free hand pulls at her cheek, massaging, spreading. A barely there teasing touch, against her ass, until he leans back again. 

Switching hands, replacing tongue with fingers, Charlie turns to watching her carefully. How her face may contort into something other than pleasure, when he presses one finger in. Slow, turning, brushing along her inner walls. Last night she’d mentioned that she was sore, a little more than usual. Perhaps Natasha knew what he was looking for, in how she meets his eye entirely, whispering his name as a second finger joins the first. No outward signs of discomfort, especially not when her fingers twist in his hair, tugging strands with a certain amount of force.

“Feels good?” Charlie has to ask, anyway. Can’t help himself. 

Natasha huffs, sending hair flying up. “Yes, Charlie, Merlin’s beard, if you don’t make me come, I swear—”

Even though he’s laughing, he cuts her off. One somewhat satisfied customer then. Curls his fingers, thumb pressing against her clit, and laves attention on what skin he could find with his tongue. Scissors his fingers, free hand perhaps the only thing holding her upright as she all but presses her weight down on his shoulders. From how she bent over him, Charlie could hear her whispers clearer, her pleads. 

Nope, not letting go until she’d come, good and hard. She's shuddering, Charlie yes please right there god yes. Charlie knew about the muggle god that her father’s family worshipped. It was oddly satisfying to hear that name mix in with his, to the point where he didn’t know who was who, as he pumped his fingers in and out of her. 

Natasha comes with a low, long moan. Not her first orgasm, no sir, but definitely one that has her lock up and quiver all at once. Charlie rides her through it, slow circles drawn out, just how she liked. Knew exactly where to touch, where to hold, as she comes down. Time isn’t a concept, as Natasha struggles to push herself back up, eventually leans against the window for support.

And then she says: “You’ve gotten better at that.” As if she’s not heaving in air, sensitivity overloading with how Charlie can’t seem to run a hand up her legs without her nearly giving out.

“I’ve had practice,” is what he says instead. If only because he’s getting a kick out of how he splays his fingers over her stomach, and she has to close her eyes. Bite her lip. 

Puffs of air that resemble try to resemble a laugh leaver her. “Oh, really? What’s her name?” Natasha tries to keep the conversation light and teasing, but Charlie knew. Probably a light draft would have her tumble over once again, if aimed right.

“Natasha. You probably don’t know her. Great gal. Fantastic tits.”

When she laughs, it’s the best sound Charlie had heard in months. Head thrown back, genuine kind of laugh, that ignores the situation and encompasses it all at once. Natasha grins, slack and easy, running a finger over his lips. Charlie chases it, nibbling on the tip, which earns him a pointed look. One he was quite happy to keep around. 

Leaning in, Natasha kisses him. Hot and wet, far too much tongue, and he knows that she can taste herself. The knot in his stomach tightens, acutely aware of how he was running warmer than usual. Along her lower back, Charlie drags his nails, finds her hips. Palms her into turning around, breaking the kiss despite her noise of disapproval. And he might’ve told her that if she just asked him to come on command, he would’ve then and there, except Charlie manages to get her with her back to him, hands firmly planted on the window. 

As Charlie rights himself, one hand firmly stroking his cock as he lines himself up, does he notice how Natasha turns to look over her shoulder. As if regaining some bravado in that moment, she smirks, wiggles her hips. 

“This is new for you.” 

With a snort, Charlie can only settle for giving her ass a light slap. “Shut up.” Perhaps he was a little mollified. Not to say that he was the most adventurous, as he knew he wasn’t and more often than not blushed his way into Natasha all but dominating. Definitely not his fault that he was far more favourable of the lower end of the scale. 

Fine, fine. If she was going to be all smarmy about him branching out, then he'd show her! As long as he could figure out how to stop his ears from burning as he eased his way in. Charlie moans, as she's twitchy and wet around his cock, not helping how Natasha pushes up onto her toes, fingers pressed against the glass. With a few blinks, Charlie is able to see just how the glass steamed in front of her, with every breath she took.

“I’m gonna move.”

“Thank god.”

Chuckles dissolve into pitches in breathing. Like there was just not enough oxygen in the room, and Charlie was definitely a little dizzy, enamoured, whatever, when he grips her hips and pulls her back to meet his thrust. Pushes a hand up, moving the damned shirt up with it, following the arch of her back. Until he lets it fall back again, settling for her shoulder to hold instead. 

Natasha isn’t quiet. Not by a long shot. Settled for thanking her later that she’d been the one to soundproof the house on her arrival. Faster harder Charlie pleasepleaseplease. And he tries to keep up what she’s saying, how he lets go of her hip to palm his way to her front. Find her clit and rub at it furiously, which does nothing except have her cover a moan with her arm. Even as she twitches, tries to pull away, tries to keep meeting him thrust for thrust, Charlie keeps at it. Nothing if not consistent. One of her hands joins his, Natasha’s fingers slipping along his, brushing what was exposed of his cock as he continued to move inside her. 

It's when he presses his forehead between her shoulder blades, does Charlie struggle. Hand slipping from her shoulder, he finds her hand against the window, threading fingers and gripping until his knuckles turn white. Embarrassingly so, holding her firmly against him as he comes. Moans against her skin, something that was definitely her name if a little garbled, until she follows only seconds later. 

Charlie doesn’t know how to move. Limbs felt heavy and light all at once, as if he moved even one foot, he’ll just fall flat on his face, either way. Blinking, the world doesn't stop spinning. Not yet, but he gingerly slides himself out. Regrettably, and “sorry,” when he spies the telltale spill begin to trail down her thighs. Too bad he was tired, or it might’ve been able to roll him into action, strangely so (except, he was acutely aware that his lower half was almost numb, brain fuzzy, eyes only trying to find her face).

As she turns, Natasha faces him with heavily lidded eyes, and a very pleased smile. “It’s fine.” But she’s leaning against the window, as if she didn’t trust her own legs too. With a blush that spread to the tops of her breasts, hair mussed and eyes dark, Charlie knew she was beautiful. And told her just that.

Eventually, she slides down, landing on the ground with a grunt. Charlie follows suit, wobbly and flushed, bumping shoulders when he’s beside her. Natasha kicks a leg over his, idly playing with what he could now consider her shirt, until she pulls it up and holds it at her front. Tilting his head back, Charlie closes his eyes, finds her hand, and squeezes it fiercely. 

For several minutes they sit just so. Until, with a sigh, Natasha rolls her head towards him. “Want breakfast?”

Charlie grins, one that slowly builds, that doesn’t even try to hide what he was going to say next. Opening one eye, he looks at her. “I already ate.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #charlie weasley #harry potter #jacob's sibling #*my fic #*natasha #IDK HOW TO TAG THIS SAFELY WITHOUT IT DISAPPEARING #smut #lemon #I GUESS LOLOLOL #BACK TO THE STONE AGES WITH TAGGING

[cantrcturn]

Rules~

1. Themes will vary with this blog. Chances are, there’ll be dark themes, swearing, and violence. This is Bill Cipher - if you’re unsettled by the sort of content he might dish out, I wouldn’t recommend following.

I will try my best to tag everything. These will be under the format of swearing tw. If you’d like me to tag anything specific, don’t hesitate to ask through anon / inbox / im!

I don’t have any triggers but I do ask you tag all of your NSFW (sexual) content.

Mun is of age, and as such I won’t be writing anything of the sexual nature with minors. Not that I would be writing it anyway.

2. I’m private, which means I only write with mutuals (this is for my own sanity / comfort; everyone’s cool!). I’ll write with canon, oc, and crossover characters. I tend to follow most people though.

Although I’m private, when it comes to following people, I’m selective. We don’t have to have known each other prior to write!

As for following back, I usually take a week tops to do so - but if you’ve hit up my promo, I go through that eventually.

If it’s a crossover, I have to know the fandom and be at least a little bit confident with it. This is so I’m able to work with you, our thread and have muse for it.

I follow the tag #cantrcturn. If there’s anything you want me to see, like dash commentary, just tag that and x-kit will alert me of your post! I may respond to ic stuff ic stuff if I’m feeling it.

In that sense, I’m chill with dash shenanigans with most folk, not just mutuals!

Absolutely no godmodding. It ain’t fun, fam. If you’re not sure what this term means, do look it up. This includes powerplaying, metagaming, and other things of that nature. This applies especially in fights if they happen (I’m chance-based and hope that you are too). 

Given Bill’s canonical powers and presence in Gravity Falls, I know he’s kind of. OP. I am, however, open to discussing this sort of thing with you and how much he might know about your muse.

I can be picky with OCs. But rest assured, if you’ve followed me/interacted with my promo, I’ll always give your pages a read.

Please don’t be offended if I don’t want to interact with you (and please don’t try to guilt me into doing so!).

I DON’T CARE ABOUT AESTHETICS. I just think they’re pretty. If you don’t use formatting or anything like that, or heck - even wanna’ just do iconless rp - I have no problem with it whatsoever! It’s you, your writing and your muse I care about!

3. Please don’t rush me for starters or responses.

PLEASE understand that I have blogs galore and my muse tends to fluctuate; this can mean I’m everywhere at once and can end up neglecting a blog or two. It’s nothing personal; you know how muses are!

I have a full-time job (and I’m trying to get into screenwriting in my off-time) so sometimes I’m scrapped for time or exhausted. I’m also an introvert who deals with anxiety and depression, thus that may affect how much / how often I roleplay. If I don’t get chance to respond to anything ic or ooc, it’s nothing personal! Promise!

Chances are, I’ve probably has seen that bit of interactivity and just haven’t gotten around to responding yet.

My roleplaying style being para/multi-para, I may take a while to respond. I hoard drafts like a dragon - it’s really just the motivation to write and ship those out.

I hoard asks, but sometimes can’t find muse or interest for all of them. If it’s been a month or two, generally assume I’m not interested / can’t find muse for it. You’re free to send another though!

I answer asks from anyone - personals, rp blogs and anons. I’ll answer non-mutual asks occaisonally but I won’t be making threads out of them

4. Shippings? Not really looking for romantic ships, tbh. Anything else is gucci though.

If I don’t happen to be interested, don’t force anything on my character.

I do not ship incestuous ships. Do NOT follow/interact if you do.

The ship has to have chemistry; I’m generally shipping trash, but if they don’t click, they don’t click, sorry.

This is a multi-ship blog, meaning there will be more than one ship without them conflicting with eachother.

If you want to ship and I already have a ship of your choosing going with a duplicate, please don’t hesitate to hmu! My ships aren’t exclusive and each character/relationship portrayal is unique to me!

Relationships are eternal until you deem otherwise. If you’re not interested in a ship anymore, just let me know!

5. Whilst I am of age, I’m not aiming for sexual content on this blog (and will not be dealing with fetishes). The occasional joke is fine, but anything beyond that makes me uncomfortable, and I typically don’t recommend pulling it with my character if you’re interacting with me.

6. About reblogs…

I am not a meme source, and reblogs clog up my activity. Please reblog any memes you find on this blog from their SOURCE. The exception to this rule is if there is no source; go ahead.

I don’t feel comfortable with Personals reblogging my IC or OOC posts, so please don’t do that. If I put something in the fandom tags for whatever reason (bar promos), you’re free to, though.

This goes for my art too unless it has the tag ok to rb, but otherwise only the person I drew it for can reblog it. If you wanna’ reblog something, I DO put it on my art blog eventually!

A few times is fine, as it happens, but repeatedly breaking these rules will result in me soft blocking you.

I try to participate in reblog karma as much as I can, but always reblog from the source/a meme source.

If a post or ask is for you, you’re free to reblog it to save it though - but only if you’re an rp blog!

7. I’m a para / multi-para blog, novella if I’m adventurous and have time. Whilst I may roleplay crack threads with shorter responses, this does not apply to all threads I write. This means:

I write my replies as detailed as I can muster, and length can range from 1 paragraph to 6.

Short responses (such as one-liners) in more serious threads where I’ve written a decent deal can instantly kill my muse for that thread.

Whilst I’d prefer for partners to at least somewhat match my length, it’s entirely up to you - just try your best and make sure you give me enough to work with. ♡

If my muse happen to go nuts out of nowhere - like, overboard - don’t stress too much about matching him.

8. Threads! You can yeet asks, memes, and even starters at me if I’ve liked a call! I’ll obviously have my own you can like.

You’re free to like starter calls even if we’re not mutuals; I can check out your blog that way. I still only write starters for mutuals though.

Starter memes are the BEST way to interact me because they just yeet a prompt at my face and really help me write starters. If you see me reblog one, send one!

If you want a certain verse, lemme’ know! Otherwise, I’ll probably default to a post-canon verse.

If you want to turn an ask into a thread, go ahead!

I don’t recommend writing starters for me unless we’ve discussed something. I don’t like to leave anyone hanging.

Please don’t assume things about my muse. If you’re uncertain about things, ASK.

IMs are open to mutuals, if you want to do any in-depth plotting. I also have Discord if that’s more convenient for you!

9. Guidelines on mains and relationships:

If we’re mutuals and we interact a lot, you’re welcome to ask me if I’d like to be your main! You can check Bill’s about page for who’s available.

Please don’t be offended if I deny, though; I typically want to pick those I trust to be my mains as well as people I can comfortably write with.

Not limited to them! I roleplay with duplicates galore so don’t be afraid to hit me up if you want to interact!

Pre-established relationships are a-okay in my book; if you have an idea for a relationship between our muses we can work towards, hit me up! I reblog those pre-established relationship memes every so often too. Romantic relationships link back to the shipping guidelines.

Also, friendship/family/rivalry relationships are EXTREMELY valid to me - so don’t feel scared about asking for them!

10. If you have any issues, please let me know and hopefully we can resolve it!

Mun is actually super nice, so don’t be afraid to hit her up!

I am absolutely terrible with IMs and Discord. I either respond quickly or days later, depends on my mood. Social anxiety tends to interfere with this (and more recently exhaustion from work) - but honestly, if you’ve sent something, I’ve likely read it and just haven’t gotten around to it yet! It’s nothing personal; trust me!

Please leave me out of drama; I’m here to have a good time, as is everyone else, and it pains me to see people arguing.

This is a little different with callouts - if I see anything on dash pertaining to any problematic users, I will take it into consideration and rb it if I believe them to be harmful.

11. To retierate, I tend to follow those that:

Write para and whom I feel my muse would click with.

Seem chill? Tone can really intimidate me honestly.

Have rules and about pages! Knowing the boudaries of my rp partners is super important as well as their lovely muses! Sometimes rules are enough, though, if you’re going to write the about eventually.

Tag their nsfw.

Don’t have massive icons - ie, have rp icons that take up an entire text post like 500x500 or something. I don’t want to clog the dash and it’s tiring to resize them.

…also, if I follow your hub blog (provided it doesn’t double as a personal), it generally means I’m cool with any blogs that are attached to it.

12. On threads…

If you’re not interested in a thread anymore, and would like to drop it, please let me know! I’d feel terrible if we’re both not having fun with it or if partners feel overwhelmed with the amount of threads we have.

Honestly, unless I let you know, our threads have no expiry date - so no need to worry about me dropping them without telling you. I can just be quite slow sometimes.

11. Mun does not equal muse! Anything my character might say does not reflect on how I think unless I explicitly say so.

12. Know that if I follow you, I WANT to interact with you.

I literally couldn’t care less about follower counts. I care about YOU guys and our interactions.

13. These rules may be subject to change.

Please like this post if you’ve read the rules! You don’t have to, but it’s of personal reassurance to me if you have.

#&&ʀᴜʟᴇs

[spidcr-man]

filming  ↬ t.h

summary: accompanying tom to set is always fun pairing: tom holland x reader notes: it has been a hot minute since i’ve been able to sit down and write something! IM SO SORRY AGH!!! BUT spider-man: far from home started filming last week and we’re getting lots of good tom content which is always a blessing. i just love a soft mans! warnings: slightly (very slightly) nsfw = mentions of sex  also, like most of my writing, this was drafted pretty early in the morning. you can probably tell because the structure and ideas are everywhere. oh and it’s heavily unedited. date published: 071718

requests are currently open!

you tagged along to set quite often, however, some of your days were fairly uneventful

when tom was shooting scenes you’d normally be tucked away in his trailer, reading or keeping his dog tessa occupied

his best mate, harrison would sometimes pop in per tom’s request just to make sure you were alright

we love a thoughtful mans

tom’s home away from home was comfortable — definitely not that same as home but pretty comfortable

there was a good sized bed towards the back where you often took naps as well as a half kitchen that served no purpose to tom apart from being a tea/coffee station

even then, he had no time between scene takes to even think about making something extra to eat

because of this, his snack pantry was filled quite generously (despite his semi-strict diet)

this was a major bonus on days you needed a little something extra

the two of you definitely made sure to make the trailer look cozy 

before filming the two of you went shopping (despite tom’s protests) to pick up a few extra things to have on hand

you ended up getting TONS of soft blankets

you wanted to make everything as comfortable/neat as it could be since the two of you would be spending most of your days there

seeing tom act behind the scenes was a VERY rare opportunity for you

marvel is a very secretive company when it comes to their cinematic department and that fact doesn't change whether you happen to be dating a member of the cast

could you even imagine accidentally leaking s:ffh? i’m sweating just thinking about it!!!!

you felt like you had to sign about a zillion confidentiality contracts to JUST step foot on set 

it didn’t seem to matter that your only intention was to stay out of everyone else's way

though the set had catering, you often found yourself going to pick up special orders

the catering was normally very good, but some days you just craved something else — it’s really that simple

it first started with a simple request more of a look from zendaya

“hey z! i’m heading to the store to get some trash bags for tom’s trailer, do you need anything while i’m out?”

she’d only smile and YOU ALREADY KNEW WHAT SHE WAS GOING TO ASK OF YOU

“yes i’ll pick up that grilled avocado sandwich you like so much from the place across the street.”

you literally could not deny the queen herself a salad

i don’t actually know if she likes grilled avocado sandwiches oh well

she’d give you a big hug and a polite ‘thank you’ before scurrying to her own trailer

after all, the place was just across from the shop you were going to

one extra stop wouldn't be too much of a hassle

little did you know that this little habit would then prompt tom, jacob and harrison as well

“hey baby, z told me you were going to get something to eat?”

“well, i’m going to the store then picking something to eat for her and i. why?”

you already knew what was coming

tom only handed you a small folded piece of paper that was wrapped around his credit card

you unraveled the paper and noticed that it had three sandwich orders messily scribbled upon it

you playfully rolled your eyes and gave him a disbelieving look

“really, tom?”

he then just kissed your cheek and sprinted off shouting behind him as he ran down to his trailer, “THANK YOU! LOVE YOU!”

you honestly didn’t mind that much because it was usually on days you needed to run errands anyway

tom doesn't have a lot of downtime in between takes which means he is constantly tired

plus, some days the shoots run into very early morning hours

tom loves his job — he gets to be spider-man! — but sometimes all he wants to do is retire to his trailer, plop down on his bed and sleep for three months at a time

it isn’t uncommon for you to come back from running errands and find a sleeping tom completely wrapped up in a bundle of fluffy blankets while snuggling with tessa

sometimes trailer cuddles symbolized a cry to get comfortable

tom loves to cuddle in general but on some days he really just needs you to lay beside him in order to fall asleep and get a good rest

if he's had a particularly stressful or frustrating day, he’ll ask you to be the big spoon which you, of course, agree to

there are many occasions where tom only gets an hour for a break, which is hardly enough time to have a proper nap and snuggle, so you two do the best you can with couch cuddles

the trailer’s couch is in no way fit for cuddles, but you both make it work somehow

because the trailer is space limited, the couch is fairly narrow and can hardly fit the two of you lying horizontally

you’re either squished between tom and couch’s back or dangling off half the couch’s front

tom didn’t mind though, as long as he could get his daily cuddle in

literally being friends with every single person in the cast/crew

even on tom’s off days the two of you still manage to find yourself hanging out with jacob, zendaya and harrison

because you’re friends with pretty much everyone in the cast, it’s really hard to find alone time with tom

it seems like there's a constant stream of people coming in and out of the trailer even if they’re coming to just visit you

you didn’t mind all that much . . . well, except when you and tom are trying to get away with a quickie before he has to go 

you’d think the two of you would learn by now that doing it in what seems to be a secure area may not be all that secure 

or privacy protected

there had been a few close calls; once with zendaya and once with harrison

zendaya had just wrapped her shoots for the day and wanted to see if you wanted to grab dinner

the intention was pure but definitely not at the right time

the knock at the locked trailer door made you jump out of your own skin

the knocking only continued as you gave tom a frightened look

“IM COMING!” you called out, hearing tom snicker as you shot out of bed, scrambling to put clothes on

“correction, you were coming,” tom softly said above a whisper which causes you to throw a wide-eyed expression over your shoulder

trying to regain your composure, you answered the door to be met by a confused zendaya

at that point there was no sense in hiding, zendaya knew what was happening (she knows everything), but thank god she didn't say anything later that evening

hey she gets it, she’s a human too

who am i kidding? she probably brought it up a week later as a joke

and we love that about her

harrison, on the other hand, was completely oblivious to what was happening

haz had never been one to barge into tom’s trailer even if he was taking an excessively long pee break but tom REALLY needed to get back to set

the fact that you and tom thought you have time to get one in before he had to go back to set was quite funny looking back, but at that moment you just couldn't help yourselves

it was quite embarrassing but you’re pretty sure harrison permanently erased it from his memory (which is probably for the better)

honestly, you love going to set because it’s the little things that bring you and tom together

i wanna visit tom on set :(((((((

permanent tag list: @embrace-themagic  @ofserien

(if you’d like to be tagged in future posts or wish to be taken off the tag list, please message me here!)

#tom holland #tom holland imagines #tom holland x reader #tom holland fic #tom holland headcanons #tom holland hcs #tom holland headcanon #tom holland hc #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland writing #tom holland drabble #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland blurb #peter parker imagine #peter parker hc #peter parker headcanon #peter parker x reader #peter parker

[garretsyndrome]

An Ode to that one time I tried to enroll for a Tom Gurney RP

Okay so here’s the deal: a cool uwu ( @relicunth ) from the CCE tag saw my Tom Gurney draws and that one Tom/Trent thing I did and wondered how in the hell I was able to come up with that fucking wild af pairing. Well, now you’re about to find out.

As most of you don’t probably know, I love Tom Gurney with every fiber of my being. I may not draw him as much as smops but Tom has been one of my favorite babes ever since the beginning of time. Actually, my favorite clique in the whole game are the Bullies so that’s not much of a surprise. There are also only two characters I tried to RP for in the peak of the 2012-2013 CCE era: Ethan and Tom. I planned on making a Trent ask blog once but that didn’t come into fruition because I don’t draw fast at all. 

Anyway, here’s the long ass supposed-to-be-ficlet-turned-full-on-story-draft about Tom Gurney that I wrote for that RP thing. It’s like an enrollment essay but funnier. Also, it’s what started my spiral into the Torent (eh? im good at this im telling you) madness back in the day. I would post more ficlets if y’all liked it. More like drafts cos I was a messy aspiring fanfic writer during those years.

Enjoy!

The First (and Probs Last) Chapter

BAM!

BAM!

BAM!

I woke up to the sound of a loud banging on my bedroom door. 

I lay still for a moment, my eyes wide open as it scanned around the room for anything that might be wrong or out of place. What in the freaking hell is happening, that I don’t know, but one thing’s for sure – I bet my own ass that it’s going to be a very long day.

“C’mon, man! Open up! Something’s happening outside!” I heard Trent’s voice come up from the other side; his fists ceaselessly pounding at the door. 

Feeling dizzy as hell, I blinked a few times to get rid of the grogginess I felt when the sound of yelling and cheering from the outside seeped through my unwilling awareness. Though my curiosity gave me a minor urge to go and check it out, my utter laziness was having none of it. I tried to ignore the uproar, as I was far more concerned with getting back to sleep, but I also knew that Trent’s incessant pestering wasn’t about to stop. However comfortable I may be laying in my bed and very much against opening the damned door, I knew Trent wouldn’t back down until he sees my bruised face out some stupid door crack and drag me to wherever it was he’s so excited about.

And so I groaned and fixed my polo shirt – I must have slept in my school clothes again – and looked for my shoes.

“TOM! YOU ALIVE IN THERE?!” Trent shouted, and I was really tempted to yell back a loud and obnoxious no just to shut him up. Although I’m a bit thankful that the door was somehow able to subtly muffle his noise, it can’t cover the fact that it was still annoying as fuck. “DUDE, HURRY UP!”

“Shit," I cursed and ran my fingers through my hair, forgetting about finding my shoes and stormed to the door. This dude needed some serious shutting up.

“What, Trent? Whad’dya want?” I kept my voice as calm as I could, keeping the tone of irritation from spilling out. But, unfortunately, it didn’t exactly go the way I wanted to and came out more like a snarl than that of my usual lazy tone.

“Eesh. Sorry, dude.” He looked me up from head to toe, completely ignoring what I said, and stopped to stare at my face. “Man, you look like shit. Were you sleeping?”

“What do you think?” I deadpanned. 

Wasn’t it pretty obvious? What else could I be possibly doing in here? Well, of course, that is when you scratch out the ‘extracurricular activities’ I do to pass the time. I’m a growing boy and you know how someone like me can have these… needs every so often. 

Sighing, I scratched my cheek and yawned as my other hand went down to rub my stomach.

“What were you yelling for, man? Surely, you didn’t come here just to piss me off – though I wouldn’t put that past you…” I said the last part under my breath, turning around as I continued the search for my frickin’ shoes. I hate those damn things but I might as well get dressed properly – and by properly, I meant the usual way I dress with the inclusion of them on my feet – before Trent gets all jumpy again and remembers what he was going to tell me. I found my right shoe hidden under the bed, but I can’t seem to find the other one…

“Holy shit, yeah! Fix yourself already, man! You can’t miss this!” he excitedly relayed, jumping like a ten year old who was on an extreme sugar rush. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.” 

And then he grinned. There it was – the “full-on sinning” grin. I sighed once again and rolled my eyes.

“Yeah, yeah – sure. Just let me get thi –” I didn’t even get to finish my sentence when he abruptly grabbed my arm and pulled me up towards the door, my other shoe lying isolated beside my clothes’ cabinet. I struggled from his grasp and dragged my bare foot against the floor, hoping to slow him down, as I craned my head to my open dorm room.

“Trent! What the hell, man?! What about my fucking shoe?” I barked, but he didn’t even look back nor gave as much of a glimpse at me as he continued to drag me along the corridor and towards the double doors. As we passed the hall, I noticed a group of students walking and running around in circles, obviously hyped up about something. Some were talking amongst themselves while some were running about to tell their own peers – as what Trent did to me. The noise from outside was getting louder as we neared the door, and I can’t help my own faltered curiosity to spike up a bit.

“Forget about it! You have your socks on, right? Bear with it for a minute,” he shot back, eyes focused on where we’re walking and trying to evade, punch, or elbow the kids also passing through. “I’m telling you, there’s some big shit going on.”

I wriggled my arm out of his hold until he let go, which was the only time he finally turned around to see what was happening behind him. He stopped in his tracks and then gave me a confused look.

“Alright,” I said, relenting to his ‘annoyingness’. “I’m going with you – but you don’t have to drag me there. I can walk by myself, man.”

He nodded curtly like he had just correctly answered the 10th question of Hattrick’s math problem in today’s pop quiz and grinned at me, then put his hand just on the surface of the double doors, like he was about to present the greatest surprise of the century.

“It’ll be a riot, man. I’m tellin’ ya,” he assured me one last time, before finally pushing the doors open and leading me outside.

If the ‘fun’ he was talking about involves beating the crap out of others, then I’m not so sure if I’d really enjoy that. I know I’m a bully – I like my friends, I like how we are and I feel like I belong with them. They accept me and I accept them; we respect each other. But I still can’t help but feel a little too tired with our clique’s rough ways and the crap we give others. There have been a lot of times when I found myself thinking if what we we’re doing to new kids, little kids, or to the over-all student population in general, is still worth all the fun or fuss. They might think so…

But I don’t.

Wow, that’s... pretty deep. I didn’t even realize when I started to feel slightly guilty of what we do. I just started feeling it like it was some kinda parasite that slowly grew inside my chest; and now, although I still beat or scare the living shit out of people, I don’t get to enjoy them as much as I did back then. I’m afraid that I’ve gone a little soft – too soft – from what I was used to. I sometimes feel like I deserve to somehow pay for what I’ve done – maybe that’s why I think others are always out to get me. I’ve got enough bruises and a permanent black eye to be wary of – I don’t need more scars and marks on the rest of my body to haunt me for the rest of my life. But on the other hand, I could say that these 'sore spots' have helped me numerous times as a reminder to always watch out for myself. I do have to admit that it still sucks, though.

Hell, I can’t even get a girl to like me – or, at least cyber with me – ‘cause of these frickin’ contusions. I think that’s where it kinda stings the most.

As we set foot on top of the stairs, the yells and cheers got louder and nearer and I can see a group of kids rushing in to the side of the dorm, probably to get a glimpse of the ongoing riot. Trent and I hurried down the steps to the increasing huddle of students, who were shouting curses and cat-calls and such, and tried to get a glimpse of our own.  

I stuck my head through an opening above the shoulders of two Preps – I didn’t even care who they were; I just wanted to see what was happening even if it meant getting close to those goddamned stuck-up, spoiled, little pukes. Good thing they were too caught up with what was happening, or I would have had to punch their mouth shut if there ever was a complaint or two. I know what I said, doesn’t mean I'll have to be a saint about it. 

I saw a snatch of two brawling bodies getting it on at the center of the cheering crowd, a small one in a green vest and a larger one in a white shirt. There were a throw of punches in the air, growls of struggle, and a series of clawing nails at each other – and from what I could see, the smaller one was completely being destroyed.

I tried to see more, but the snob-fairies were getting rowdier by the second, hitting me in the jaw and cheek as they jumped up and pumped their fists with excitement. I was about to shove them aside when I heard someone call my name. I backed up a step and looked around.

“Dude, over here!” Trent called, waving his arm at me from an open space in a corner, almost near the wall. I quickly went to him, absent-mindedly hitting the humongous head of one of the fairies, and slipped my way through. When I got to him, we ducked through the thrashing limbs and bodies of another array of wild students and sneaked to the front; crouched to our knees.

“What’s going on, man?” I asked him, shoving an arm out of my way that almost hit me in the head again.

“Not sure, but I think someone’s making a mess outta somebody – bigtime. Look at all the hype!” he exclaimed, grinning stupidly as we pushed our way through legs and legs of students. As we reached the front, we immediately stood up and looked to where the crowd’s focus was on, our eyes growing wide with the scene we caught sight of.

The white shirt guy appeared to be Davis – who’s pounding the shit out of a kid I’m sure I hadn’t had the chance of knowing. I guess he was a new one – ‘fresh meat’ – as they would say. The kid was covering his head with his arms, scratching and kicking at Davis – trickles of blood coming down from his mouth. He was struggling and thrashing with all his might; trying to land, at least, one punch or kick on Davis’s body.  

Trent was already cheering along with the crowd, rooting for Davis all the way. Even though I’m used to seeing this kind of activity around Bullworth, as I do them myself, I can’t help but feel sorry for the new kid. Geez, he was clutching his body like he was holding on to the very last thread of his life for God’s sake! And if that didn’t count for something, I don’t know what will. Looking for someone to agree with me, I grabbed Trent by the arm and told him that we should stop Davis’s mad rampage before it got worse.

But he only gave me a weird look and shrugged.

“Why the hell would you want to do that?” he asked disbelievingly, as if I’d gone crazy or something. “Dude, chill out – Davis ain’t gonna kill the kid. He’s just giving him a taste of the old Bullworth spirit.”

After a worried look at me for a slight second, he shrugged and went back to cheering in on them as I groaned and continued to watch; my mind saying I should go do something about this but my body doing the opposite and staying glued to its spot. Oh, man. Where was Jimmy when you need him?

I watched for a few more minutes, my whole body itching to do something – anything – to stop the beating. But if I did do something, what would my friends think? What would they think of me? What will others think of me? What – Aaaah, hell. 

I need to stop this.

Waiting for Jimmy or for some miracle to happen won’t help the kid from Davis’s pummeling fists, so I gathered my shit up and marched to where they’re rolling on the ground. I dodged the limbs that went flying my way and got a hold of Davis’s shirt, took a tight grip on it, and pulled him off of the kid, taking the chance to slide my arms under his pits and hold him up by the shoulders. Davis kept kicking and punching the air, and I’m sure I heard gasps and murmurs run through the crowd like wildfire. I glanced at Trent and I saw this funny, stupefied look on his face – I’m sure he’s also confused of what I was doing, ‘cause I sure as hell was, too.

Davis flailed around violently, trying to get a glimpse of who was holding him up and directing his punches at me this time. I was lucky to evade the first three punches, but not quite lucky with the last two. I hope I don’t get another permanent black eye from this.

“Davis, cut it out! It’s me, Tom!” I shouted, realizing that I could’ve calmed him down already if I had introduced myself in the first place.

“WHAT THE HELL – TOM?! LET GO OF ME!” he roared, eyeing the kid still lying on the pavement. “That kid needs a dose of ass-whooping!”

I wasn't about to give him another chance of having a go at the kid so I pulled him up higher, his shirt rumpling upwards as he tried to break free. “I SAID LET GO OF ME, TOM! GADAMMIT!”

“Like hell I will! Stop it, the kid’s already had enough!” And really, I wasn’t kidding. The kid was looking like a thousand buffalos just ran over him - leaving him coughing and writhing on the cracked cement like a soiled, pathetic taco.

“ALRIGHT, WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?!” All the noise that went with the commotion immediately stopped, as a voice shouted out all the way from the back of the crowd. The circle of students watching the fight immediately looked behind and froze – seeing the boss pissed as hell was never a good thing.

“Who the fuck started this shit?” Jimmy demanded, storming his way through and shoving onlookers aside blocking his path.

Everyone was still and wide-eyed, exchanging fidgety glances while waiting on that brave someone to speak up and dared to tell him the details. He pushed his way through until he got to the middle -- stopping midway when he saw me, Davis and the bloodied, new kid on the ground. His eyes went to the kid first, then to us, then to the kid again, then back – and I was thankful that Davis finally stopped thrashing around, and was looking more like a little kid caught by his mommy doing something ‘not very nice’. 

I saw Jimmy’s jaw set as his frown went deeper, and I knew right then that we seriously ticked him off. I know someone’s gonna have to be at the receiving end of it – but I just hope it won’t be me.

“All of you – SCRAM! GET OUTTA HERE!” he ordered, and everyone was suddenly up and about, leaving no trace that they were even there, and disappeared in a flash. It was funny watching them scramble around and bump into each other, hurrying and scurrying their scrawny, whiny asses to leave and get out of Jimmy’s sight.

“FASTER!”

Davis started to struggle out of my grasp and I let him -- but still kept an eye out just in case he tried to sneak another hit at the kid. He snorted and fixed his clothes, wiping the little blood that oozed from his lip after, which was probably the only injury he got from the brawl. Jimmy waited until the vicinity was cleared before turning to us and spoke.

“Okay, tell me. What the hell happened here?” He crossed his arms and scowled. “Anyone care to explain?”

Before either of us can answer, though – for the kid was barely conscious to even speak up, I think – we heard the sound of a pebble rolling on the ground, as if someone had kicked it, and a slightly audible curse came from just behind the wall.

“Where do you think you’re going, Trent?” Jimmy called out, not even turning around to see who it actually was.

Davis and I cocked our heads to look behind him, and there we saw Trent slowly emerge from the wall, where I think he was hiding to eavesdrop on us, and chuckled nervously.

“O-oh, hey there, Jim!” he greeted, smiling sheepishly as he slowly backed away. “Nice seeing ‘ya. Well, it’s getting pretty late. I guess I better get –”

“Get your ass over here.”

Trent sighed and looked defeated – if only I wasn’t this ass-deep on Jimmy’s bad side, I would’ve laughed at his face. He dragged his feet forwards and stopped just a few meters away from Jimmy, his eyes glued to the whimpering kid.

“So, as I was saying, care to tell me what happened and why’d you suddenly beat the shit out of this kid for no fucking apparent reason?” he asked again.

Man, was he scary.

Davis fidgeted and looked elsewhere, distracting himself to avoid having to answer that, as if Jimmy would just magically disappear if he ignored him. I could tell he was in a right amount of nervous – if it was me, I sure as hell would be. Though, we’re in good terms – well, tolerable terms – with him most of the time, he still didn't stand for any of the shit we did. So every time he comes running after us, we know our asses are in grave danger of a total beat-down.

“Well?” he growled, eyes focused on Davis who was biting his inner lip as he glared at the ground.

I nudged him by the elbow to get his attention and then gave him a sharp look.

“Man, tell him already,” I hissed, actually a little pissed that he wasn’t going nuts in defending himself like he used to. “What’re you waiting for – a fist down your throat?”

“The fuck am I going to tell him?” Davis hissed back. “That I fucking punched the kid for being stupid-looking? He’ll roast my ass over a fucking fire, dude!”

“You should’ve thought of that before you started swinging your fists, idiot,” I told him. His eyes narrowed after that and I knew he was cursing me with every fiber he had in his body. Davis is too stubborn at times that even I stress over it.

“Hey. I’m right here, dimwits,” Jimmy said, calling our attention. “Why don’t you just say it to my face rather than relaying your half-assed excuse to Tom there. What, ya want to call your lawyers up or somethin’?”

I looked back at Davis and pursed my lips, pointing them at Jimmy as I slightly nod my head forwards. There was a scowl etched on my face, which was probably now equal to what Jimmy always wore – well, I dunno, I don’t like keeping eye contact with Hopkins when he’s apeshit pissed.

“Dude, I’m not a lawyer. Talk.”

© 2013

So that’s it. Comment and subscribe. Give it a thumbs up and rate 5 stars if you like me. Thanks. ;)

#canis canem edit #bully scholarship edition #bully canis canem edit #bully #tom gurney #bully cce #i kind of made this like a hole for everything tom gurney is #and it's set after jimmy becomes official royalty in bullworth #so i made him as op as he was featured in the last chapter before gary turned everything to shit #happy halloween

[notthetoothfairy]

He’s Got You High

For @a-simple-rainbow. ♥♥♥

She wanted something based on this post: Kurt sends an email to his TA while high on pain meds after a wisdom teeth extraction.

read on AO3

Blaine is in the middle of his theatre history class when his phone signals a new email in his inbox. Discreetly hiding the phone from his instructor’s view by keeping his hands behind a stack of textbooks on his desk, he goes to his email folder and checks the sender.

It reads, Kurt Hummel.

He has to bite his tongue to stop the smile forming on his lips. Kurt is a sophomore, only a year behind Blaine, and takes improv and stage combat class with Blaine. He’s also a student in one of Mme Tibideaux’s more advanced voice studio classes that Blaine miraculously got to be the TA for this year.

To say that Kurt is Blaine’s favorite student would be an understatement – in fact, hopelessly crushing on him is probably more accurate.

It’s not like Blaine is planning to do anything about it, at least not while he’s Kurt’s TA. It would be inappropriate, unprofessional, and probably also really awkward, especially if Kurt isn’t interested.

So, he’s not fooling himself into thinking that Kurt’s email will be anything out of the ordinary. Probably a note of absence or questions about the final exam… though, as Blaine notices with a frown, the subject reads “Paper Eggstension”. Autocorrect maybe? There’s no way Kurt’s spelling is that bad, Blaine has read and graded most of his MUS105 papers.

Glancing at the teacher to ensure he’s still unobserved, Blaine opens the email, intrigued and a bit concerned now. He scans the first few lines and – oh, wow.

Everyone at NYADA knows Kurt is full of surprises and he’s certainly made an impression on Blaine more than once but this…? This has Blaine blushing, giggling under his breath, shaking his head fondly and wanting to check up on Kurt all at once.

To: Blaine Anderson

From: Kurt Hummel

Subject: Paper Eggstension

---

Dear Mr. Blaine,

sry, I forgot your last name because Rachel calls you Mr. Dreamboat! And y would I use your last name anyway? You told us to call you Blaine. Thats a nice name. Blaiiiine.

You said other stuff too. Like that we could send you our MUS105 paper before we send it to Mme Tibidibideaux (I wish she let us call her Blaine too) but only if we dont miss the deadline. Now I gotta tell you: No can-do. But I have an excuse!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I know you don’t believe. But you should. Cuz Blaine, u see – I got my teeth removed. The smarty ones. The wisdom teat. Anyway. I got them out. It was brutality. So much pain, worse than when I watched you unfairly lose Midmight Madnesssss against that senior douche, whatever the fuck his name is again. You should have won Blaine. You were better. I think Rachel bribe the judge bc she went out with senior douche… what is hid name? Bobby? Barney?

But PLEASE could I get a few more days, could you ask Mme T.…??? I really wanna do well bc… you see, Mme T., she scares the hell out of me. Ha that rhymes, triple! Cuz I’m awesome. Yes, I am. You can just accept that as fact or you can also go out wih me and see how awesome I am for yourself, your choice (but pick the latter!). But anyway please please pls pls pls can I hand it the paper a bit later? I really cant submit something bad -- and Im afraid they pulled out my brain with the teeth!!!!!!!! I can’t write a well paper without a brain!

My doctor says Ill regret writing emails while Im hai (thats German for shark, funny fact) so I’m gonna stop and hope that you will say yes! Please bro? Oh! Brody. Brodouche. Midnight Madman. Destroy him next time! (He broke up with Rach, he deserves it.)

Thank you, Mr. Blaineboat. I really like you.

Kurt xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Blaine reads the email three times before deciding that he should wait until after class to type out a response. In the state he’s in right now, he’ll probably do something stupid and just write back, Yes to all.

He wants to, of course. He’d give Kurt an extension on his paper and say yes to a date with him in a heartbeat but… he knows he’ll have to convince Mme Tibideaux, sort out his personal TA-student dating policy (and maybe ask around if NYADA has an official take on it) and make sure Kurt really meant to type this and didn’t just do so in the spur of the painkiller-induced moment.

The class can’t end fast enough but as soon as it’s over and Blaine finds a quiet corner in the library to think of what to respond, he blanks, drafting several replies but ending up deleting all of them.

“Goddammit,” he mutters to himself. “Just write something.”

In the end, “something” doesn’t really compare to Shakespeare but Blaine figures that at least he won’t risk his job over it, either.

And maybe, just maybe, Kurt will catch the ambiguity in his words.

-

“What are you working on?” Rachel asks when she comes back to the loft, arms full of grocery bags that Kurt hopes are filled with veggies for him to make soup with. He seriously craves eating something that isn’t liquid but mushy veggies drowning in hot water really is the maximum of cheating when it comes to his pained cheeks. He knew it was a bad idea to get both upper wisdom teeth out the same day. But it’s too late to complain. At least he has a best friend who brings him soup.

Kurt sighs at the laptop in front of him.

“My paper for Mme Tibideaux,” he responds. “You know I love Sondheim but interpreting his work while physically injured makes me want to kill him.”

“He’s in his mid-eighties, Kurt,” Rachel tells him. “Let an old man be.”

“Ugh.” Kurt rubs his eyes. “The meds are making me tired, though.”

“Why do you even bother writing the paper when you got an extension from Mr. Dreamboat?”

Kurt frowns at Rachel. “Extension? When would I have gotten that?”

“In your email?” Rachel frowns back. “Come on, don’t tell me you chickened out just because you’re in love with him. He’s still our TA, he could probably do something about that deadline, so-”

“I don’t remember writing an email.” Kurt goes to student email and punches in his username and password. “Or getting one back, for that matter. Like, wouldn’t I rem-” He blinks in surprise, catching Blaine’s name in his inbox – twice, even. How high was he, exactly? “Wait, what did I…?” Clicking on the email, bits and pieces come back to him, and he suddenly grabs the couch cushion next to him, holding onto it for dear life. “Oh my god, no.”

“What?”

“Rachel.” Kurt feels the blood draining from his face. “Oh, Jesus, please tell me I didn’t write that…”

He scrolls through the quoted email below Blaine’s short responses (Dear Kurt, thank you for telling me! And yes, of course! I’ll talk to Mme Tibideaux, and get back to you once I know more. Get well soon! All the best, Blaine, and the more recent Dear Kurt, I got a yes from Mme Tibideaux, you’re getting one more week! Best, Blaine) and cringes when he reads the first line.

“I did. Fuuuuuck. Oh god, now I wish Sondheim could kill me.”

“Again, the guy’s, like, 85…” Rachel says slowly. “And why would you- whoa, is that your email to Blaine?”

Kurt doesn’t answer, instead opting to hide his face in his hands.

“You did not tell him we call him Mr. Dreamboat.”

Kurt whimpers.

“You did not ask him out!” Rachel squeals.

Kurt lets out a miserable whine.

“Oh my god, Kurt, you did not tell him you like him and signed the email with a dozen kissing faces!!!”

“WHAT?!” Kurt’s hands fly back to his laptop. He didn’t re-read that part. “Oh my god! I ju- Rachel, I can never go back to that school. I’m such a failure at life, Jesus Christ.”

“You’re very religious all of a sudden.”

“Don’t just sit there mocking me,” Kurt begs. “Tell me it was all just a bad dream.”

Rachel gives him a look of deep, genuine pity. “I really wish I could but I doubt my eyes can never unsee that email. Also, I know you wrote that while you were high on pain meds but I am a bit upset you never told me you didn’t like Brody. Might have saved me some trouble.”

Kurt rolls his eyes at her. “You honestly believe I never brought it up? What do you think we were we having that flea-market chair argument for? And don’t even pretend like you would have called it off with him just because I said something.” Rachel opens her mouth to speak but Kurt shakes his head violently. “It doesn’t matter, anyway – what am I going to do about this?!”

Rachel shrugs. “Kurt, it’s out there. All you can do now is roll with it.”

“In my grave, you mean?”

“In class. To which we’re going tomorrow since you’re so much better already,” Rachel tells him sternly. “Judging by Mr. Dreamb-”

“We can’t call him that anymore,” Kurt says quickly.

“Fine.” She sighs. “Judging by Blaine’s reply, he’s not bothered by it. Who knows, maybe he’s flattered. Or happy about it. It’s not every day you get an email from a cute guy confessing he’s crushing on you.”

“Yeah, right,” Kurt mumbles into the sleeve of his sweater. “As if I stand a chance with him.”

“No time like the present to find out,” Rachel says with finality. “Now, I’m making you soup, and you’re going to put on some Sondheim so you can work on your paper with some fresh insights and maximum concentration.”

It’s a nice thought – but Kurt doesn’t get anything done that night.

-

Blaine carefully keeps his eyes on his notebook when Rachel and Kurt walk into his class.

He was expecting Kurt to come back today (and no, he did not google how long it takes for people to recover from wisdom teeth extraction – he just asked Sam, who had gotten it done right before moving to New York), and he might have put a little extra effort into looking good today. He never got a response from Kurt, so he figures the guy has either silently acknowledged the paper extension, avoided Blaine for a number of possible reasons or forgotten about the exchange entirely.

Whatever the motivation behind it, Blaine will not despair over it. He’s Kurt’s TA, and as such won’t try anything anyway. NYADA doesn’t seem to have any policy against TAs dating students but nevertheless, he doesn’t want to put either them in an awkward position.

Which doesn’t even take into account the fact that he still doesn’t know whether Kurt remembers asking him out, whether he actually meant it, or whether he intends to ask again.

He might want to wait until Blaine’s no longer his TA as well. That’s alright with Blaine. After all, there’s a month left to this semester, so he can wait. He totally can.

He looks up from his notebook with a smile.

“Hi everyone,” he greets the class. “How are you doing? So, the deadline for your papers is Friday so I hope you’ve all sent me your drafts in case you want me to read them.” He can’t help but let his eyes wander to where Kurt is sitting. “Unless there were any reasons to hand them in late.”

Kurt blinks really quickly at the sudden eye contact, and lets out a nervous laugh.

And Blaine realizes he really totally cannot wait a whole month to get answers to his questions.

Before he can stop himself, he adds, “Everyone with extensions on their papers, please come see me after class.”

Of course, that’s just Kurt, but the class won’t know. Okay, Rachel might know, seeing as she elbows Kurt so hard it almost sends him flying off his seat. Kurt almost doesn’t seem to notice it as he’s busy staring at Blaine with a bit of a twitch in his eye.

Blaine suppresses a groan. This isn’t the plan. What is he doing?

-

“Blaine, I am so sorry!” Kurt exclaims in misery when the rest of the students slip away after class is over.

He’s beyond glad that Blaine didn’t make him sing any of his pieces today because apart from already being nervous whenever Blaine does ask him to do that, today his anxiety probably would have been the final straw. He might have run off or broken out into tears in front of everyone.

Blaine looks at him with a small smile. “You’ve got nothing to apologize.”

“Uh, yes, I do,” Kurt says stubbornly. He’s beyond mortified; the least Blaine can do is let him apologize properly. “I really didn’t mean to-”

“Oh.” Blaine looks down on the pile of sheet music he was stacking. “Yeah, right. Uhm, seriously though, I know how bad pain killers can be, I don’t blame you for-”

“Oh thank god, you know it was the pain meds,” Kurt breathes out in relief. “I was afraid you’d think-”

“No worries,” Blaine cuts him off. “It’s alright if you didn’t mean any of it.”

Kurt hesitates for a second, and gulps as he takes in Blaine’s slightly shaky hand movement as he stuffs the sheet music into his messenger bag.

“If…?” he asks quietly.

“I mean that,” Blaine says, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Sorry, that, of course.”

Kurt’s at a loss. He’s getting mixed signals, and just judging by the last bit of the exchange – if that was the only thing that had happened, his stupid email and the fact that Blaine is his freaking TA forgotten – he might even be encouraged to inquire further.

But he can’t just admit to meaning all of it, right?

He settles for the safer topic. “So you wanted to speak to me about my paper?” he asks.

“Uh, yes.” Blaine smiles, though he still looks distracted. “I just wanted to ask you whether you had any questions about the material since you couldn’t join us for the last two sessions.”

“I…” Kurt shakes his head. “No, I think I’ve got it covered. Rachel caught me up.”

“Alright. Well, if you have any questions, you can send me an email.”

“Or not,” Kurt says quickly. “I think I’m swearing off emails for a while.”

Blaine laughs, the sound warm and pleasant in Kurt’s ear.

“Right,” he says. “I know this is a bit awkward but… it could have been worse. You could have written that to Mme Tibideaux or Miss July.”

Kurt is so relieved that Blaine is able to joke about it that he replies with a mindless, “Yeah, except I wouldn’t have told them I liked them, so…”

Blaine gapes at him, and Kurt realizes a second to late what he’s implying yet again.

“Oh,” Blaine says. “I, uh-”

“I’ve got to go,” Kurt cuts in, ears burning. “Can I go?”

“Uh, uhm, well, yeah, of course,” Blaine stutters.

As Kurt turns around and gathers his stuff, he can hear Blaine mutter something to himself. Kurt’s almost out the door, when Blaine calls out, “Kurt?”

Kurt turns around gingerly. “Yeah?”

“I really didn’t mind.”

“Okay...”

“Like, really really.”

Kurt wants to scream, But what does that mean?! Instead, he takes a deep breath, collects his thoughts, and says, “Okay… see you in improv, I guess?”

Blaine nods quickly. “Yeah. Later, Kurt.”

“Later, Blaine.”

-

Blaine is early to improv class, even though it’s all the way across campus. But he didn’t stop for his usual coffee, grabbed a salad to-go instead of lunch with his friends from his dorm, and also maybe, possibly hurried to get to class because Kurt is usually early to everything.

Blaine is the first to arrive, though, so he grabs his usual seat and gets out his salad. He’s about to slice the egg when he hears Kurt’s voice from outside the classroom.

“Talk to you later, Rachel.”

“Okay. And, Kurt, remember to ask-”

“Bye now!”

As soon as Kurt’s through the door, his eyes land on Blaine and he freezes.

“Uh, hi,” he says. His cheeks are slightly red, probably from the cold weather outside. “You’re – uhm, early.”

“Yeah.” Blaine looks down briefly, willing himself to just go for it this time. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Again?” Kurt bites his lip. “I thought-”

“Kurt, when I said yes in the email, I meant yes to both.”

“Both?” Kurt frowns. “I don’t-”

“Both questions. Or requests, I guess.”

Kurt’s eyes widen. “You mean…”

“Yeah, I mean,” Blaine says with as much conviction as possible. “At first, I didn’t want to say anything because, you know, TA and all, but… seeing you in class, knowing, or well, hoping that you meant it, and… I don’t know, I couldn’t wait those four weeks until the semester is over. So I asked you to stay after class but then that felt super shady, too, so… I don’t even really know what I’m doing right now.”

“Do you know what you’re saying, though?” Kurt asks breathlessly.

“Well…” Blaine can’t suppress a grin. “Unlike some people, I’m not on pain meds right now, so, yeah, I’m pretty sure I have full control over my words.”

Kurt glares at him but it’s mostly façade, especially considering he’s still looking like Christmas came a bit early this year, and Blaine… well, Blaine is floored at the thought of being the one to actually make him look like that.

“Well, apparently those pain meds at least made me confess something neither of us could admit to sober, so…”

“Hey, for the record,” Blaine says, getting up to stand in front of Kurt, “I fully intended to ask you out once the semester was over.”

Kurt’s eyes are locked on Blaine with sheer intensity, and Blaine isn’t proud to admit it makes his knees a bit weak.

“Really?” Kurt asks, clearly intrigued, then sighs. “So my email was completely unnecessary.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Blaine says. “I got so many laughs out of it.”

“Oh god, shut up.”

“No, I mean, it – eggstension?” Blaine chuckles. “Wisdom teat? There were some good ones there.”

“What part of shut up-”

Waiting really isn’t Blaine’s strong suit, he realizes, as he leans in to kiss Kurt, four weeks too early to be completely professional, yet about half a year too late considering how long he’s had his eye on him.

Kurt’s protest is muffled against Blaine’s lips, and dies down completely once they press closer together to get better access. They part for air briefly, and Kurt whispers, “When I got up this morning, I would have sworn this would be the last thing I’d ever say, but I’m pretty proud of myself for writing that email now.”

Blaine licks his bottom lip, chasing the faint taste of Kurt there. “I’m glad you wrote it, too.” This whole thing between them has lasted about a minute but he wants more so badly he feels like he’s physically incapable from drawing Kurt back in and kissing him again.

They keep at it until other students start to trickle into the room, and even then they share meaningful glances and press their ankles together between their chairs.

Between all the talking and kissing, Blaine didn’t get to eat his salad, so about halfway through the lecture, his stomach starts growling.

Kurt turns to him with a grin. “Forgot to eat?”

“I guess I was distracted.”

“Hm, by what, I wonder?” Kurt asks cheekily.

Blaine eyes his untouched salad in amusement. “I guess I got pretty egg-sited over this boy I like.”

It’s totally worth all the frustrated elbowing he gets in response.

#a-simple-rainbow #klaine fic #klaine #klaine fanfic #klaine AU #klaine prompt #my klaine fics #THIS IS SO SILLY YET AGAIN #I'M SORRY RAINBOW I APPARENTLY CAN'T WRITE NON-SILLY ANYMORE #but shhh Blaine really loves puns - pass it on #(there might be typos too - they're all unintentional unless they are part of Kurt's email :P)

[birlcholtz]

for the better

read it on Ao3 (part of the Zimbits Airport AU-verse) (I would recommend reading this on Ao3, actually, because of the formatting, but it’s here too for convenience) (also let me know if the link doesn’t work? bc i’m not 100% sure about it)

Jack’s been planning this day for a long time now. He even made a Twitter account for it, two months ago, and tweeted occasionally to build up a following (it was easier once he got that little check mark thing next to his handle). He has a few thousand followers, which is enough to get the message out, and he even has his tweet drafted.

The first draft of it was ‘hello everyone, I just wanted you to know that I am bisexual.’ Tater had taken one look at that and vetoed it. With every extra revision Jack suggested (adding an exclamation point, saying ‘you all’ instead of ‘you,’ et cetera, et cetera, et cetera), Tater had still shaken his head. So Jack took it to Georgia.

“I mean... it’s okay,” George had said, furrowing her brow at the screen. “It’s a little terse, though.”

“But I don’t need to say anything else to get the point across, do I?”

“Well, no. But it’s still very detached.”

Still, after a lot of reworking (and, okay, George does scrap that entire thing and make him start from scratch), they come up with something acceptable. Something that Jack might even say is good.

And then it all gets ruined at the last moment.

Monday morning at around ten o’clock (he’s been given the day off from practice to sort everything out), Jack opens up his Twitter account, intending to post the string of tweets that he and George have planned out, but the first thing he sees is a tweet from Kent.

Kent V. Parson @kparse

tired of all the marriage proposals from women, so i’m just gonna say it: i am both gay af and not taking offers of marriage at this time

Kent V. Parson @kparse

#sorrynotsorry for stealing ur thunder @jlzimmermann

Jack sighs and texts Georgia before composing a tweet as well.

Jack Zimmermann @jlzimmermann

disappointed in @kparse for ruining my announcement

Jack Zimmermann @jlzimmermann

he *did* already know i was going to come out as bi today, so this is quite rude

And then he leaves it like that and texts Georgia that he’s already gone ahead with the plan. She still hasn’t replied to the first one, so she’s probably either working out or so exasperated with him that she’s just decided not to reply. He also silences his phone, then texts Bitty, who’s back at Samwell.

Jack: I did it.

Bitty: congratulations!! <3 on twitter?

Jack: Yeah.

Bitty: you seem kind of put out?

Jack: Kent Parson came out before I did.

Bitty: hold on i’m going on twitter rn

Jack waits for a little while, long enough for Bitty to plausibly have read both Kent’s and his tweets, and then sends a text back.

Jack: Very rude of him. Now I can’t even be the first out player in the NHL.

Jack: That’s probably why he did it, to be honest. He likes being first.

Bitty: it might also work well for u, though

Bitty: take away some of the backlash maybe?

Jack: That’s true, but it doesn’t mean I can’t still be annoyed at him.

Bitty: yeah ofc, i would be too

Bitty: anyway i gtg to class so i’ll ttyl, take care of urself today ok?

Jack: Yeah.

Bitty: text me if u need anything, have a good day <3

Jack: You too <3

Bitty: :)

Georgia calls him about half an hour later and outlines the steps that the Falconers’ management are going to take, then promises to text him when they’ve released their statement and makes him promise to take care of himself today, just like Bitty. She also requests that he leave the apartment as little as possible, preferably not at all, so reporters don’t try to corner him in public. No sooner has she said goodbye and hung up than Jack hears knocking on his door. A glance through the peephole reveals it to be Snowy, Tater, and a case of beer, and he opens the door.

“Good job today, Zimmboni,” Tater says as soon as the door opens, shoving the beer into Snowy’s hands so that he can hug Jack. “Poots said to tell you he is proud. He is with trainer, pinched nerve. He will be here soon.”

“Everyone else is scrimmaging, or at least they were when we left,” Snowy adds as Tater releases Jack and steps past him into the apartment. “I don’t know if they saw us leaving and decided to let it go or genuinely didn’t notice.”

“They’re welcome to come over too once practice is over,” Jack says, stepping back to let Snowy in and then shutting the door. “But not before they’ve showered. Also, they should bring their own beer. I don’t have enough.”

Snowy nods. “I’ll text them.” He pulls out his phone and texts the rest of the Falconers, but then checks on something else and bursts out laughing.

“What?”

“Parson started a hashtag.”

“A hashtag?”

“Yup. A fucking hashtag.” Snowy shows Jack his phone screen.

Kent V. Parson @kparse

@jlzimmermann It had to be done. #StealJacksThunder

“Great,” Jack sighs.

“But that’s not all.”

“There’s more?”

Tater pokes his head out of the kitchen. “You are talking about hashtag, yes? Many people are using it.”

“Like who?” Jack asks. “And what are they doing with it?”

“Rob Jeffries from the Schooners did,” Snowy says before Tater can answer. “Jack, just check Twitter for yourself. There’s way too many of these for me to tell you all of them.”

Jack does.

“Holy shit,” he mumbles.

Rob Jeffries @rjeffriesnhl

@jlzimmermann Sorry, man. I’m bi too #StealJacksThunder

Las Vegas Aces @lasvegasaces

Proud of @kparse for starting his own hashtag. The Aces organization supports players no matter their orientation #StealJacksThunder

Aleks Olsen @aleksolsen

maybe not first out LGBTQ+ NHL player in league, but am first on Oilers & officially first out aro/ace NHL player #StealJacksThunder

Providence Falconers @pvdfalconers

The Falconers organization stands with & supports our LGBTQ+ players. Congrats @jlzimmermann for starting this whole thing

Las Vegas Aces @lasvegasaces

@pvdfalconers Excuse you, @kparse came out first

Providence Falconers @pvdfalconers

@lasvegasaces Excuse *you*, it was @jlzimmermann ‘s idea. Don’t try to #StealJacksThunder on our watch!

Besides the team Twitter accounts bickering with each other, it just goes on and on and on— NHL players deciding, on the spur of the moment, to come out on Twitter, and all of them using that same hashtag. The one that makes Jack almost drop his phone, though, is a string of tweets from someone he knows very well.

Bob Zimmermann @mrbadbob

Extremely proud of my son @jlzimmermann for having the courage to show the world who he is. Cannot fully express how happy I am for him

Bob Zimmermann @mrbadbob

There were LGBTQ+ players when I was in the NHL, there always have & always will be & now we are free to be ourselves

Bob Zimmermann @mrbadbob

& say what you like @kparse but @jlzimmermann started this, u just made a hashtag :P

Bob Zimmermann @mrbadbob

I’m almost done I just have one more thing to say, and that is: sorry, son, I’m pansexual #StealJacksThunder

Jack looks up slowly, aware that both Snowy and Tater are staring at him. “My dad just came out as pan on Twitter. And he used the goddamn hashtag.”

“I love your dad,” Snowy says as Tater howls with laughter. “Oh, that reminds me.” He taps at his phone, and when he turns it off and puts it back in his pocket Jack checks his own— sure enough, Snowy has mentioned him in a tweet.

Aiden Snow @asnowynhl

@jlzimmermann im gay #StealJacksThunder #sorryjack

“God damn it, Snowy.” Jack doesn’t mention that as far as he knew, Snowy wasn’t out to anyone— him included— before just now. Maybe saying it through a screen is easier for him.

“At least I apologized in the tweet,” Snowy says. “Let’s open that beer, I suddenly have a need for one.”

They do pretty much nothing for the rest of the late morning and afternoon. Poots arrives about an hour after Snowy and Tater did, and the rest of the team barrels in through the door at around four, which is before practice was supposed to end. Jack doesn’t ask. They have, in fact, showered and brought their own alcohol. Jack turns on the TV and somehow finds his way to a TV show about hunting sasquatches, which works well as background noise, and every so often someone pulls out their phone and announces the latest NHL or ex-NHL player to have come out via Twitter. It’s an impressive list.

When there’s another knock on the door a little after six-thirty, Jack looks around, confused. Practically the entire roster is here, except Socks, who’s got a mild concussion and is staying home. Regardless, he gets up to answer it.

“Jack!” Bitty cries once the door opens, practically glomming onto him like a koala and wrapping his arms around Jack’s neck. “I saw the hashtag, and all the players, and your dad— how are you doing?”

“Okay, considering,” Jack says, holding Bitty up with one hand while he closes the door with the other. “I’ve only been looking at the hashtag, haven’t checked any of my mentions.”

“That’s probably smart,” Bitty says. “You can put me down.”

“Do you want me to put you down?”

Bitty considers. “Not really, but my arms are going to start hurting if I keep dangling off of you like this.”

Jack swings Bitty’s legs up so he’s in bridal style. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Fine, Zimmboni,” Tater shouts from the living room.

“How do you know I’m committing a fineable offense?” Jack yells back.

“Is obvious. Bitty is here.”

“Fair enough.”

Just then, a sasquatch-y howl emits from the other room— probably the TV. Bitty raises one eyebrow. “What on earth was that?”

“We’re watching a TV show on locating Bigfoot,” Jack says by way of explanation. “It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense and the reenactments are awful but it’s a pretty good distraction.”

“We? How many people do you— don’t tell me, the entire Falconers roster.”

“Yeah. Except Socks— Sokolov. He’s staying home because of a concussion.”

“I must say I never took you for a partier, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty says, smiling up at him. “We’re just learning more and more about each other every day, aren’t we?”

“Oh, yeah. Friday evening I learned your deepest, darkest secrets, Saturday I learned how good of a baker you are, Sunday I learned your favorite color, and here we are now. Seems to me we’re doing things in reverse order.”

“Who said there had to be an order?”

“That’s true.”

Bitty nods towards the living room. “Let’s go that way. I want to see this sasquatch-hunting TV show.”

“As you wish.”

#jack zimmermann #zimbits #airport au #omgcp #my stuff

[banzaikun]

RP Talk:

I decided to write this post and constantly put it on queue so that old and new followers have a chance to read. I hope this doesnt really occupy too much of your dashboards, but I really dont want to put it under a read more because I feel like not many people would take their time to open my page and check out the content behind it. Anyways

as some of you have noticed, I am not hopping here as often as I used to. And that’s because, aside from not feeling Banzai as much, I am facing the same three problems everytime I log in here. With all of them, combined, makes me prefer to either die a lot in dark souls, or just grind my servants in fate/GO. So I’ll list those three problems, and hopefully they will stop incoming once I express myself.

1- Tumblr has become really shitty to use. I dont know if its because of xtoolkit, but it is taking a looooooooot of time to just refresh a single page. That time is even longer when I am saving replies on my drafts or rebloging. Sometiems I cant put pictures because the reblog button turns dark and unclickable, other times I have to hit the button twice....I dont know. Tumblr used to be better. Does anyone know how to fix this?

2- Anonymous trying to talk shit about me. Every now and then some anons that I get are kinda nice and sweet (like the Tifa anon, or the one that makes Aki inflate and shapeshift and etc.). I’m talking about other types of anonymous, as in the ones that actually think they have the right to callout me or my muse just because they don’t agree with that he says. This happened a few weeks ago: someone said that the tifa!anon was “painfully obviously just me sending messages to myself”. And after that day, coincidence or not, the tifa!anon that always seemed to send me something once a week stopped contacting me. Maybe the anon behind the messages felt guilty, or something. That really pisses me off, because its as if I am blaming that person. I’m not, I’m just angry at that anon who just went out of their way just to diss me as an incognito. 

Yesterday another case happened: an anon went to my inbox and callout on Banzai for just assuming one female was a lesbian just because she wasn’t into it. I know what that anonymous meant, but....really? do you really have so much time in your life to actually read my stuff that were NOT meant for you, only to do the “politically correct patrol” on me? If that was with a total new roleplayer, then yes, I would have properly apologized. The problem is that, I know that person behind the character, he has been a good friend for over an year already. So if I do some slipups, its totally unintentional. And I think it’s really tiring to discuss those subjects, especially in a language I am not native of. 

With that said, I hope these anons actually stop coming over. Wether they are just trying to be nice, or they really want to hurt me, its just not working. If you dont have enough guts to call out on me personally, then I dont need to take your shit.

3- At last, Roleplayers ignoring me and my OCs. I understand people having preferences on canon character over OCs, that is not what I am complaining. What I am, and this will be quite hard to write down, is when people simply lack the respect of giving me a proper message regards whether they want to RP with me or not. I am soooooooooo tired of seeing RPers ignoring my messages, even thought I’ve read their rules, I searched upon the character and even send the stupid (sorry, but it is) “password check” just to clarify that I read everything, AND YET they dont give me an answer. They walk away and have fun with all their more popular friends as I have this stupid dumb face and keep constantly refreshing pages and sending IMs just to be sure that they received it and Tumblr didnt eat my fucking asks. 

Seriously, people who are selective about OCs, you all should be careful when you put that on your rules page, because even if you are selective, that doesnt mean you have the right to ignore someone you dont even know and just want to make new friends, especially if you’re gonna do those stupid password checks and expect people to send you asks with that specific word. It’s disrespectful and mean. If you don’t want to be any of that, then please be more straight forward and say that you don’t want to roleplay with certain OC. It is your choice, but untill you dont say it, there’s no way that we will possibly know. 

---

And those are my major complaints I have at the moment. Again, I’ll queue this post and constantly putit here in case someone hasnt read it yet. 

#mun speaks

[ecotone99]

[FN] The Day of Night

little aside here, but hello! this story is one im quite proud of, and was in fact written for my writing fiction class at university. i hope yall like it, but it is a pretty rough draft so to speak; i know it can be fixed up, but i dont know what to change, so thats why i want to share it with yall. thanks for reading and i hope you enjoy!

The Day of Night

O, darkest day, O, Day of Night,

Thine Terrors bring man's nobl’st fight.

The rain will flood lands of no lords,

As legions arm with spears and swords.

O, darkest day, O, fearful night,

What reason have you for this blight?

As children die and soldiers tire,

You watch us suffer in your fire.

O darkest day, day of no light,

Your reign will cease before our might!

O, darkest day, O, Day of Night,

Your death is now! Behold our light!

- Ancient Ipiarian Hymn

“Tonight,” bellowed a cleric, “The Malice will bestow itself upon our humble lands, wreaking havoc in its wake! The day of darkness, the Day of Night, is upon us!” The cleric’s words were heard by all within the capital city of Grendar, as the Ipiarian man’s sun-soaked skin housed a practiced lecturer’s booming voice.

The vendors stood behind their wares with anxiety as the mothers herded their young ones out of the central marketplace. Soldiers hesitated as they climbed the stairs of the central dais to the old, white-robed man. They rest their hands on the swords mounted to their hips, but do not draw. The old cleric ceases his preaching.

“Oh my, I must be going, by the looks of things,” he chuckled.

“Don’t move!” Shouted one of the soldiers, drawing his longsword and pointing it to the old man’s nose. “We can’t just let you go free. This is not the first time you’ve scared the citizens with your… your… your terrible sermons!”

The old man stroked his snowy white beard and mumbled to himself, “Not terrible, per se, but I suppose they can be unpleasant…” He perked up and pointed his finger to the sky as he exclaimed, “I will no longer preach in the square. I apologize for the inconveniences I have caused. When you perish as victims of the cataclysm, beg not for my help!” With that, the old man began laughing hysterically, sending echoing reverberations through every home and alleyway before he snapped his fingers and— Poof! The geezer was gone.

The soldiers sighed and returned to post. It had been a long day, but the sun was now directly above; they were halfway home to their wives’ home cooking and… well, one is familiar with the home life. The day was looking to become much easier, until another Ipiarian man arrived at the square, stood upon the same dais as the cleric had before, and drew a sword from his hip.

The sword was like none the guards had seen; it had been set ablaze! — or rather appeared as such, anyway, as its silver blade shined brilliantly in the hot, golden light of the sun. The gold hilt had been ornately crafted, bearing swirls and small spikes in a beautiful, symmetrical shape further adorned with radiant jewels embedded into the fiery metal.

The man appeared similar to the old preacher who stood previously on the dais: a long, white robe, common leather sandals, a red rope serving as a belt tied around his waist, and the distinctly rich, desert-baked skin of an Ipiari. The man’s face, however, looked like that of a fairy-tale prince, with a firm, sharp jaw and blood red irises in his sky-gazing eyes.

The guards followed suit, looking to the sky above them. Now, where the sun once flew, a dark hole pierced the sky. The sun disappeared as its crown of light transformed into a swirling maelstrom of darkness. The black streaks whipped through the sky, revealing streaks of brilliant colors in the now violet sky. Deep blues and reds stained the heavens; gashes of brilliant yellows and greens cut through the sky above. The man then pointed his blade skyward, and shouted thus:

“O, Malahasi, fateful blade of legend, grant me the power to confront this evil! O, darkest day, day of no light, your reign will cease before our might! O, darkest day! O, Day of Night! Your death is now! Behold our light!”

As the you man’s voice rang in the ears of every man, woman, child, and beast, he gripped his sword with both hands and held it to his face, the blade dissecting his image. He let out a roar that pierced the heavens and the earth before his blade was struck by a blinding flash of purple lightning that hurled itself down from the center of the dark portal in the sky. The man began glowing a with a vibrant light and proceeded to levitate above the city.

“Soldiers! Now is your time! Gather all of your strength, all of your hope, all of your love, and use it to vanquish these armies of shadows as they approach. Defend your world, defend your country, defend your city, defend your family, defend us all!” spoke the flying man. The soldiers were dumbfounded by his command, but quickly obliged when They came.

The sky wept. A furious tempest suddenly arrived in the city, falling from a dark, cloudless sky. From the portal in the sky, quick jolts of black lightning came striking down all around through the city streets, leaving behind tall, slender silhouettes that bore sharp claws. The figures, known simply as “Them,” began running toward anyone they could find quickly tearing them down.

The front line of soldiers had all but become fodder for the armies’ bloodlust. The rivers that rushed through alleyways and down boulevards due to the unfathomable downpour became streaked with crimson as the blood of soldiers and innocents alike fell into the water. Thankfully, the remaining soldiers knew what they were to do. They drew their various arms – swords, spears, axes – as did the civilians –their hoes, rakes, pitchforks and knives. All as one, soldiers and their families began to grapple with the dark armies, with Them.

Our robed hero saw from above; the city had begun fighting back before he flew away into the portal in the sky. Even he, our hero of legend, knew not what lay before him through the unholy gate, but he knew he must pass through.

The hero had never before known a pain so severe as that which he felt passing into Their realm. His limbs were torn off tenfold, despite being visibly attached to his body. His eyes were blinded not by light, but by a maddening darkness that consumed all he could see. A piercing, deafening silence rang through his ears. As he felt these pains, he felt his very soul being torn from his body. Had he met his end? Had he come all this way to fail?

But, as quickly as he experienced this eternity of pain, it disappeared. He was standing on the stone dais in the center of Grendar again, red rain pouring down while bright, black flames consume the landscape around him. They, however, were not to be seen. The townsfolk were nowhere found. All that was before him was a silhouette.

He gazed at the shadowy figure, trying to understand what it was. It on another stone dais, opposite to himself, and held a longsword in its right hand. Clutching his own blade in his own right hand, the hero called out to the figure.

“Who are you? Where are we? What is happening?”

The figure stood silently and opened its eyes, revealing glowing, crimson irises in its eyes as its mouth formed a sly smirk.

The figure spoke with a gravelly tone, “Merle, my boy, you know exactly who I am. You know exactly where we are. You know exactly what is happening.” As these words graced our hero’s ears, the shadow around the figure dispelled and revealed a terrible face.

Merle, our hero, gasped as he realized that he does, in fact, know who this is. It was his father, Gundren, the creator of the Malice in which they stood.

“You knew this day would come, didn’t you, Merle? The time has come for you to make your ultimate decision: will you surrender and die in dignity, knowing you can’t defeat me, or will you fight and die in humility after I smite you for daring to oppose me?”

Merle spoke defiantly to Gundren, “Father, you told me when I was a boy that, when confronted with an ultimatum, I can always forge a third option of my own.” And, with those words, he did.

Merle and Gundren leapt toward each other at impossible speeds, their swords ringing with a loud clang! as the blades meet between their glowing vermillion eyes.

“So, your death will be in vain, I see! What a spectacular son I’ve raised!” growled Gundren as he stepped back and reset his sword.

“No, father, yours will!” Merle lunged toward his father, blade pointed out at Gundren’s heart, when suddenly Gundren raised his sword to parry. Just as their swords are to connect, Merle invokes Malahasi’s magic powers and suddenly appears behind his father, swinging at his father’s exposed rear. Merle, however, is familiar with their weapons’ magical powers and swiftly turns around to block his son’s strike.

“That’s my boy! No matter how futile, you stand to your opposition with bravery! It’s just like when you were a boy,” shouted the deranged Gundren with glee. “To die in vain is impossible, is it not? Futility breeds honor!”

The son continued his attempts to teleport around his father, to swiftly redirect a feigned blow, to overpower his father’s raw strength, but to no avail. Merle found himself on an equal playing field with his father, their strategies always the perfect counter to each other’s. Whenever Merle would attempt to land a blow, regardless of the new fashions to do so he would formulate, his father always seemed to block or dodge in the nick of time, remaining unscathed. However, Merle was able to do the same vis a vis his father’s offense, always deciding the perfect way to avoid taking a hit.

The father and son exchanged swings, dodges, parries, and counters with their blades for a time immeasurable. Their lightning-quick dance of lunges, stabs, swings, back steps, flips, teleportation, and strategy continued for what must have been eons, or perhaps only minutes, before finally coming to a fateful close.

Merle and Gundren found themselves on their respective daises again as they once had when their battle began. The leapt toward each other once again, blades meeting directly in front of their faces as Gundren spoke to his son.

“Merle, when will you give up?” Gundren sighed before he continued, “No matter how honorable, how righteous, how glorious, how heroic your actions may be, they are still futile.”

Merle stepped back and lowered his sword, sulking on the dais he arrived upon. With a heavy sigh, Merle spoke with remorse, “I suppose you are correct. Malice truly is power. Had it not been for my own reservations, had I not refused to give in to my anger, my malice — perhaps then I could have won.” Merle tossed his sword to his father’s dais, landing with the blade pointing directly back at Merle, the handle ready to be clutched by Gundren.

“Son,” Gundren spoke softly, “It is time you join me.” As soon as he finished his sentence, Gundren lunged almost instantly toward his son, the point of his blade near to penetrate between Merle’s eyes. He would kill his son and claim Merle’s power as his own. Gundren would transcend his humanity— he would become a god!

As Gundren’s sword landed on his son’s skin, Merle disappeared. Gundren quickly swung himself around to face his rear, bringing his blade with him to cut down his son. To his surprise, however, his blade cut through only air and Merle’s blade was through his heart before he had time to even notice what happened.

“I’m sorry, father,” Merle whispered into his father’s ear, twisting his sword. “You were so close. Did you really think I would strike unarmed?” Merle chuckled as he asked his father the ridiculous question.

“No, son,” Gundren choked as a tear rolled down his cheek from one of his glowing eyes. “I am sorry. What kind of father am I to attempt my son’s own life in the name of— what, power? Some cosmic good?” Gundren sobbed as he continued, "I am not a god, I am a fool.”

Gundren ripped his son’s blade out his chest before throwing it aside and sitting down calmly on the ground. Before Merle could protest, Gundren smiled and closed his eyes before falling over limp.

The city – no, the entire world – fought back against them in a fierce war for an equally imperceivable amount of time. How long had these soldiers fought? To some, they felt as though the Malice arrive with Them merely moments ago, others must have been fighting for centuries. They were all but extinct, only a few shadows continuing to slaughter the humans with particularly futile determination.

Then, the storm stopped, the sky no longer weeping to forge rivers. The flames extinguished themselves instantly. The vivid colors staining the sky all retreated into the terrible portal high above, the violet hue following as the sky became a gentle blue once more. They fell to the ground and disappeared, leaving no trace of their monstrous form.

Men, women, children, and beast rejoiced as the darkness faded away, as life was restored to its true beauty. Citizens of Grendar whooped and cheered as Merle descended onto the central dais with angelic wings outstretched.

The Ipiarian man disappeared as quickly as he arrived. Nobody knew, nor has anyone known since, where he went. However, while Merle of Ipiar was never seen again, he would be immortalized throughout the ages as a mysterious, legendary hero who fought a foolish god before becoming a god of his own.

Posterity treated Merle’s likeness as nothing but sacred and awesome. Statues of his stature were raised in every temple and city square, novels were written recounting various authors’ own versions of his journey in The Malice, paintings captured the image of Their arrival and the final confrontation between Merle and his father, the once revered cleric and preacher Gundren, who once warned the world of the very evils he would later incite. Merle had unified the world and ended his father’s reign of terror.

O darkest day, day of no light,

Your reign has ceased before our might!

O, darkest day, O, Day of Night,

Your death has come from our light!

- Contemporary Ipiarian Hymn

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[ijnhoons-blog]

HER; 17 HOURS

She was the subject of my mind All day and All night — Night was falling deep and i thought i had nothing else to worry about. As i close my eyes and enter another world, i had seen a new image; it was dark and full of screams. A girl crying for help, i could hear her but I couldn't find her. I kept running and hoping i'd see her beyond all the darkness that surrounds me. I was woken by the sunlight; my blankets warm and cozy but my forehead was dripping sweat. It seems like I wasn't able to. Discomfort covered me as I wanted to recall details from the alternate world, just to see if even for a flash i'd get to see the girl's face. But it was nearly impossible for she was covered by all my worries that flood my mind as soon as i wake up every morning. Maybe i'd see her again during another nap and there, I'd be able to lend her a hand. I shifted in bed as I think of how much the thought excites me. As I stood up, I remember hearing my brothers unconsciously moving from their bed earlier— they rushed to the hospital, an emergency regarding mom probably. I go through my normal routine: get down, eat and watch japanese animes or korean groups all day. But as I was on the climax of a shoujo animation, my dad had arrived home and asked me to come with him. I had no questions for I know where we were going—to the hospital, to stay with mom. I was growing tired and I wanted to go to my bed to sleep but tonight it was another story. I opened the door to her ward; I was previously advised that she wasn't alone and that she was with three other women in the room. I let it pass because I thought they were all older than mom and that I'd just have to stay the night then go back home. But i guess i had no luck since i was wrong again. Beyond the door, there was a beautiful lady. She looked fragile and weak; but it was given since she was indeed in a hospital. Okay, i did find her beautiful but nothing else comes after that comment, or so I thought. Through the night, I was trying to shift my attention to anywhere else but her; but to my dismay, I guess I couldn't do that for there was a series of eye contacts, sudden smiles and a small amount of attention given. And that was enough to make me feel better to sleep here, for there she was, on the next bed to my mom and she was smiling at me. Many times i caught her eyes looking my way but I have no proof to assume so because she would easily swat them away as if my eyes were poison and she'd suffer if my eyes caught hers. Maybe staying overnight wasn't that bad after all. It took me so much time, trying to find sleep but then discomfort flooded my mind and so I couldn't. As I was trying, I hear low sobs, cries, which were similar to the alternate world from the night before. Maybe this girl was around me, the next room maybe. But i was wrong, she was on the other bed. I raised my head and I looked at her, she looked so different from awhile ago, from the hours before when I was watching her. Was this possible? For me to hear cries from my sleep while I am awake and conscious. I wanted to stand up and embrace her. At last, I found you. But again, i am awake. I could't embrace her. I couldn't stand up and so I was stoned. I had to endure her soft sobs even though i want to approach her. I reminded myself: she was fragile, she was weak— too weak for me to handle. Sleep was nowhere near and I was growing frustrated with myself hearing her sob in pain. Since when was I affected like this? The feeling felt foreign, who was she anyways. Her soft sobs started to subtle down, she breathed more evenly and at the same time more thoughts flooded my mind, of how was she or why was she suffering or how do i help her, my eyelids started to feel heavy and there I embarked on my mind: Please let me see her in my world tonight. Dimmed lights, and a slow wind breezing but I can see myself from third point. I looked lost amidst the dark and there I realized that I was in a tunnel and there was only one way out. I don't know how I was able to insert my conscious thoughts into my world but either way, it benefited me. A figure was at the end— hum, you were there. I run faster, there you were and god knows how much I needed to embrace you. But as i reach my hand to grab your shoulders, the nonexistent ground jumbled and you fell down. Did i fly? Why can't i ever get to you? Then I was awoken again, you were sleeping soundly. How were you so beautiful while you were asleep? Was it possible? I accidentally bumped my head on the bed, your eyes fluttered open. Were you still beautiful? Your eyes were bloodshot red, they seemed anxious and fearful. Oh what have i done! I whispered a silent sorry and you flashed a bright smile at me. No wonder, you truly are a beauty. Time passes, same series of eye contacts, sudden smiles and a small amount of attention given. A true beauty in my eyes. People went in the room, to check on you if you were feeling better and i overheard on purpose that you will be discharged today. Was it wrong for me to feel disappointed? It meant that I couldn't look at you as long as I want to, your smile would just be a memory and your eyes—I'd never see them shine so brightly. But this was probably ill fate, for you to leave. I should be thankful that you got better and now you are going home. I wanted to tell you that everything's okay and you wouldn't have to be scared anymore. You shot me a quick smile before you left the room, my mom was getting discharged tomorrow. Maybe in my short nap would I get to protect you, to embrace you in arms, to see your eyes shine brightly in front of me. I guess i never had luck, for again I was wrong; no doubt you were more than a common beauty. ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ date written: 07 NOV 2016 date posted: 22 AUG 2017 i was cleaning my phone when i found this in my drafts. its long overdue and its quite messy but im still proud of it. i just want to share it bc this blog is for my word dumps and posting it means a lot to me ❤️❤️ dont expect too much from me ok

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