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hannie-dul-set · 7 months

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the breakup soup [preview].

SYNOPSIS. you and jeonghan get into an argument in the middle of the meeting. the rest of your organization’s officers slowly start to realize that this isn’t just about whether the mountains or the sea would be the better venue for your event.

PAIRING. yoon jeonghan x female! reader. GENRE. lovers to exes to lovers, humor, romance, mild angst, orgmate! jeonghan, college! au, a whole lot of forced proximity, there is only one bed trope will be sprinkled in there somewhere. WARNINGS. written breakup (obviously), so much swearing, sex jokes, will add more as i move forward. WORD COUNT. preview: 2.8k | full fic: est. 15k.

RELEASE DATE. november to december. TAGLST. send an ask/dm/reply to be added.

NOTE. had a bathroom thought. wondered "wouldn't it be funny if a couple breaks up during an org meeting" and it has led me to this dumpster fire. i think it's funny. i hope you think it's funny. i understand that there might be some unfamiliar org jargon here and there, so please feel free to ask me for clarifications if some things are unclear so i can fix them in the final fic!

preview under the cut.

“TODAY IS SEPTEMBER 7, 20XX. THE MEETING WILL NOW PLEASE COME TO ORDER. Mr. Secretary, please call the roll.”

The words robotically fall out of Seungcheol’s mouth as he turns over the pages of his clipboard, marking a precise, red dot next to the word ‘agenda’ on the page. Another day, another meeting. He can’t wait for the moment he can finally retire from this god damned position. Every single time he repeats his presiding officer script, it feels like a digit gets added to his age.

“Yes, Mr. Chair. Please say ‘present and voting’ once your name is called to be acknowledged.”

Wonwoo starts the roll call, and Seungcheol is desperately trying to cover his yawn with the clipboard, else Seungkwan is gonna grate at him again for dozing off in his own meeting— the aforementioned straightening himself in his seat when his position is called.

“Public Information Officer 1?”

“Present and voting.”

“PIO 2?

“Present—” says Joshua, flicking a paper clip across the table and into Vernon’s nth latte of the day. “—and voting.”

“Next. Assistant Business Manager.”

“Prese—”

“Okay, got it.” Chan brandishes a look of offense when Wonwoo cuts him off. “Business Manager?”

“Present and voting. Do we really have to keep doing this one by one?”

Mingyu has a point, Seungcheol mentally agrees. But his god damned seniors wrote in the damned constitution and bylaws that every meeting of SVT (Society of Virtuous Timetravellers. He’s in the process of renaming it because your organization that’s supposed to be for history and culture is attracting weirdos instead— and two of them are Soonyoung and Seokmin) must abide by strict parliamentary procedures, so he has no choice but to suck it up and listen as Wonwoo continues to read out the succeeding positions on the attendance list, and it’s starting to sound a lot like a lullaby.

“Secretary, yours truly, present and voting.” The scratch from Wonwoo’s throat signals Seungcheol that it’s to zone back in. “Vice Chairperson-External?”

“Present and voting.”

Your voice draws Seungcheol's attention. He turns his head towards you and he notices the sheets of binded up papers you have in your hands, straightened with a few taps on the table surface before you settle them back down, a swell of pride when he sees what’s printed on the topmost page.

It’s impeccably organized, the task he assigned to you only three days prior. Hell, you even have page tabs sticking out of the sides of every page. Your work ethic never fails to impress him. On top of that, you’re always so professional— able to separate your personal and org life with strict barriers in between because even though you and Junhui have been friends for ten years, your sharp glare holds no reservations when you catch him folding paper turtles with sticky notes right next to you when inside the meeting room.

“Sorry,” Jun breathes out. You retract your leg from under the table after giving him a discreet kick.

Anyway, Seungcheol has high hopes for you, and he’s eyeing you to replace him as SVT’s Chairperson next year (he’s already in the process of manipulating you into taking the job: the compliments he gives away aren’t for free). You’re perfect. You’re flawless. There’s no one else fit for the position but you.

Which is why the next course of events comes as nothing less than a shock to him.

“Vice Chairperson-Internal?” Wonwoo calls out but is met with silence. He looks around. “VCI?”

No answer. You scoff.

“Alright, moving on. Mr. Chair?”

Seungcheol stiffens, second-guessing what he’d just heard, but the near-invisible crooked twitch of the corner of your mouth proves that no, that wasn’t just his imagination. You just scoffed. A sharp noise laced with derision and contempt. That should’ve been the first sign that something is off.

“Present,” he coughs out, resigning his attention back to the meeting he has to preside over. It must be nothing. Even you can get annoyed sometimes. Maybe Jun is fucking around again and you’ve just had about enough.

“There are thirteen out of fourteen officers present, Mr. Chair. We are in quorum.”

“Thank you. Seeing that we are in quorum, it is now legal for us to conduct business. Mr. Secretary, will you please read to us the agenda for today’s—”

The office door swings open.

“Sorry, I’m late!”

And Mr. VCI rushes in with his white coat still hanging off his shoulders. The meeting is put to an abrupt pause as Jeonghan hastily walks up to his assigned seat, trying to explain the reason for his tardiness. “Our lab session took longer than expected,” Jeonghan huffs out, dragging out the chair next to him. “Dr. Han wouldn’t let us—”

“It’s common decency to enter the room and sit down quietly when you’re late so as to not disturb the ongoing meeting. Especially when you haven’t informed the body beforehand.”

Seungcheol flinches when he hears the interruption of your sharp tone. His head quickly snaps to your direction before gleaning Jeonghan’s reaction. His friend’s jaw tightens but he says nothing. That should’ve been the second sign.

“Mr. Chair, may we proceed with the reading of today’s agenda?”

He eyes you carefully and, with a hesitant drawl anchoring his tongue, proceeds with the meeting while Jeonghan quietly settles into his seat. “Mr. VCI, you may send your excuse letter later for record keeping. Anyhow, Mr. Secretary, please read to us the agenda for today’s meeting.” Wonwoo does as instructed. The problem is, Seungcheol can’t hear anything that he’s saying. Not when his seat is exceedingly uncomfortable at the moment.

It’s not his seat. It’s the two people cornering his seat that’s the problem.

Cold sweat breaks out from his forehead. The air is stuffy. You and Jeonghan lock eyes for zero-point-five seconds and there’s a chill in the atmosphere that only Seungcheol can feel. What the fuck is going on?

“Thank you Mr. Secretary. We’ll begin with the first agenda— SVT’s Orientation and Membership Training. Alright. As you all may know, this will be our organization’s first event for the academic year, thus I am expecting everyone’s undivided cooperation in making sure that this event will be a success. We have already discussed the initial details of the event during the previous meeting, and we also distributed the tasks to the officers and committees.” He flips through a page and clears his throat. “I believe our Vice Chair External was tasked to scout for the venue. Ms. VCE, have you prepared your presentation?”

You nod, rising from your seat. “Yes, Mr. Chair. I’ve prepared a comprehensive list of all our options.” Okay, Seungcheol breathes in through nose. You seem normal now. Maybe he was just overthinking things. “I ask for everyone’s assistance in distributing the copies.”

Seungcheol looks at the text written in bold when you pass a copy to him— SVT ORYE & MT 20XX: VENUE PROPOSAL. While everyone is passing the paperclip-bound photocopies to each other, you take the liberty start speaking. “If you look at the second page, you can see the overview of the entire document. I’ve listed five possible venues and compiled their respective addresses, rates, inclusions, menus, and of course, pictures for your reference. We’ll look at each of them one by one, starting with—”

You pause. Jeonghan is raising his hand. Your eyebrow twitches. Seungcheol gets a bad feeling. “Yes, Mr. VCI?”

“Thank you for the acknowledgement,” he says. “I’d like to ask why exactly are all of these venues located in the mountains? Don’t we have other options? It would be fine if it were just us officers, but I believe holding the event in such terrains would be far too inconvenient for more or less a hundred people.”

A very bad feeling.

“I appreciate your insight,” you respond. Uh oh. Your smile is strained and Seungcheol knows it. That’s the smile you wear when you’re about to pulverize a representative for a disadvantageous partnership to the ground. “However, I’d like to bring to your recollection that the theme of this year’s Orye is traditional South Korean folklore. That considered, I came up with the judgment that the mountainous and forested areas would be the most appropriate and immersive venue if we wish to bring this concept to life. I hope that is clear, Mr. VCI. Anyway—”

“It’s still impractical, Ms. VCE.”

Your face stiffens.

Jeonghan just cut you off.

Shit, he just cut you off.

He stands up, leveling you from across the table. “What about our members with asthma? Heart problems? What if it rains on the day of the event? Do you expect everyone to climb up a mountain trail in all these conditions?”

“If you read through my document before inadvertently interrupting me, Mr. VCI, you’d know that three out of the five venues offer uphill transportation in order to get to the accommodations. And although I understand your reservations about the possibility of inclement weather, may I remind you that it’s also the driest season of the year. You’re being unreasonable.”

Fuck. Seungcheol thinks he needs to butt in but he can’t find the timing when there’s literally an invisible fucking electric fence deterring him from reaching the both you. He catches a glimpse of Joshua’s concerned eyebrows. ‘Do something,’ his friend’s eyes say. He’s about to until you drop a sentence that shoots the tension off the roof.

“Furthermore, I’ve surveyed all of the officers through text if they agree with my venue proposal and I was met with no objections. You’d know if you opened any of my messages last night, Jeonghan.”

Holy fuck.

Holy fuck, you called him by his first name.

You never call anyone by their first name. At least not during meetings and it’s very clear that this is a reason for alarm because everyone else’s eyes fly wide open. Except Jeonghan’s. He just looks pissed— mirroring your very own expression. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong and Seungcheol is slowly starting to realize that this argument isn’t just about the venue conflict.

“Ahem.” He clears his throat for the nth time, a wound might break open. “We will take our VCI’s concern into consideration. If you believe holding our Orye in the mountains is impractical, where do you suggest we should hold it instead?”

Jeonghan’s shoulders relax. He gives you a momentary look before settling back into his seat. “Thank you, Mr. Chair.” You do the same. Seungcheol breathes out a sigh of relief. “I’d like to suggest that we hold it by the beach and sea. Not only would it be more accessible, it would also be considerably cheaper considering there’d be no extra expenses for transportation up the hiking trail. There are also more options if we hold it on the beach. I already have contacts from last year’s set of events. We don’t have to worry about negotiations.”

Seungcheol nods in response. He’s about to say something but once again, he hears an unmistakable scoff from your direction. “Of course, you’d go for the low effort option.”

Oh no. Oh god, no.

Jeonghan’s eyes dart towards you. “What was that?”

Seungcheol doesn’t get paid enough for this shit.

“I’m just saying that it’s so like you to go for the easy way out.”

He doesn’t get paid for this at all.

“What are you trying to tell me here, Ms. VCE?” Jeonghan’s tone is getting more pointed, and the rest of the table are starting to pick up on what’s going on. Mingyu is slowly inching off of his seat and finding the right time to book it. Chan and Seokmin are nervously flitting their eyes back and forth between Jeonghan and you. Minghao hao stopped paying attention. He’s got his airpods on and scrolling through his phone.

“The sea is not theme-appropriate for our event, Mr. VCI,” you firmly press on. “There are myths and folklore that reference the sea and ocean, however as an introductory event for our organization we should defer from making far too uncommon references since most of our members are beginners to our advocacy.”

Vernon is about to be swallowed by his chair. Seungkwan has his face in his hands. Seungcheol’s phone vibrates and it’s a message from Wonwoo. Should I include all of this in the minutes? he asks. Seungcheol isn’t even sure if this argument is still about the venue.

“May I also add that beach events are overused. Everyone holds acquaintance parties, Christmas parties, sensitivity trainings at beaches and beach resorts. Should we follow that template, I doubt our event would be memorable enough for our members to remember.”

“Then it’d be the obligation of the program committee to make it memorable.” The said committee flinches upon hearing Jeonghan’s words. Joshua and Junhui don’t look like they agree with the additional burden. Jihoon’s forehead is wrinkling from secondhand stress. “We don’t need to sacrifice the affordability and accessibility of our location in order to hold a note-worthy event. And, may I also reiterate that we should consider our members with health problems, Ms. VCE.”

This is enough. This is probably enough. Maybe it’s time for Seungcheol to intervene.

“However, I understand,” Jeonghan continues. “I understand that it’s not easy for you to be considerate.”

But how the fuck is he supposed to do that when you two fucks won’t stop provoking each other?

“Oh, for god’s sake!” It’s hopeless. It’s gone out of control. Your voice has bordered on yelling ang Seungcheol himself is afraid of being caught in between. “Are you still mad about the cat thing?!”

What is the cat thing? What in the hell is actually going on?

“This is not about the cat thing and you know that.” There’s a ruffle in Jeonghan’s voice. He lets out a groan and throws his head back with his fingers digging into his hair. “Fuck. Let’s talk later.”

Yes. Yes, please just talk later so we can move on with the meeting.

“Did you just swear at me?”

Nevermind.

There’s a second silence. One second— until the corner of Jeonghan’s mouth twitches and he expels a huff of incredulity. It’s ominous. It’s a harbinger of uncomfortable destruction. “So swearing is crossing the line, but refusing to let me meet your parents and forcing us to keep this relationship a secret is completely justifiable?”

Well shit.

This meeting is done for.

Silence washes over the office once again. Wide eyes are being exchanged and not even Wonwoo is filling the tension with his incessant typing on the laptop. Chair, I don’t think I should include this part in the minutes, Seungcheol receives another message from him. Of course he shouldn’t. A relationship reveal isn’t part of the agenda. Neither is a breakup but he fears it’s teetering to that outcome.

It’s uncomfortable. It’s suffocatingly uncomfortable and Seokmin looks like he’s about to cry at any moment.

“Well,” you simmer. “I guess it’s not much of a secret anymore, isn’t it?”

“Damn.” Soonyoung receives an elbow from Jihoon. He gets hushed down very quickly to make room for another agonizing exchange between you and Jeonghan.

“Is that literally all you have to say? You’re so insensitive, it drives me fucking nuts. This is why it’s so hard to keep seeing you—”

“Oh, so you think I’m not having a hard time? If you can’t understand why I had to do that, then let’s just stop seeing each other!”

“Fine, I’m glad we’re on the same page this time.”

“Great!”

“Great.”

“Your clothes better be out of my closet by tomorrow.”

“Throw them away, I don’t need them.”

“I will! Thanks for the suggestion!”

Things have now gone beyond the point of salvation and he can’t even interject to formally end this disaster of a meeting.

“Mr. Chair, I apologize, but I’m afraid I will be leaving early today.” Oh, so now you remember his existence. You’re fuming, slinging over your shoulder bag and haphazardly collecting your things from the table, and Seungcheol simply massages his temples and nods in acknowledgement to your sudden leave. “Please go through the document at your discretion and I’ll be respecting whatever decision the body makes. Thank you and have a good day.”

Just like that, you’re gone. Jeonghan also starts collecting his things. “My phone lines are open in case you need anything. Goodbye.” With that, he also disappears with the harsh swing and slam of the door, leaving behind another blanket of uncomfortable silence for everyone else to drown in.

Seungcheol sighs. He feels a headache kicking in.

“So...are we having the event in the mountains or by the sea?”

He groans.

Is it too late to file a resignation?

THE BREAKUP SOUP. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

#seventeen x reader #svt x reader #yoon jeonghan x reader #jeonghan x reader #svt #svt scenarios #yoon jeonghan scenarios #jeonghan scenarios #seventeen x you #svt x you #yoon jeonghan x you #jeonghan x you #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #yoon jeonghan fanfic #seventeen college au

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holy-puckslibrary · 3 months

Text

━ 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐈𝐀𝐍.

main masterlist

pairing(s) — MITCH MARNER x reader (est. relationship) wc — 4.5k synopsis — think hilary duff’s balcony engagement circa 2007

note — this belongs to the i don't remember this bar collection

specific content warnings below the cut.

cw — profanity and other vulgar language, taking the lord’s name in vain + other religious-ish imagery, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected PIV intercourse (multiple) + creampie/breeding kink, discussion/thoughts of cum play, outdoor sex and mention of previous exhibitionism, mention of previous choking + breath play (f!reader receiving), pain kink situation (both), one line of blood play (f!reader receiving), justified violence (not directed at reader!!!), slight d/s dynamics, and possessive!mitch being a domestic little horndog

“Before we talk about that beautiful, game-tying goal in the tail-end of the second and your overall command of the offensive zone throughout tonight’s game, I first want to congratulate you on some major life news. A few weeks belated; my apologies.

For those who don’t know, you came back from the All-Star break with more than just a tan; you came back with—and as—a fiancé.”

Mitch does nothing to dim his megawatt smile or to dull the sparkle in his eyes. The mere mention of you coaxes out an impossibly giddier version of himself, unencumbered by the stress and pressure of a waning season. It’s always been that way.

It's difficult to remember a time before you. He doesn't want to.

Despite of meeting on arguably one of the worst nights of his life, somehow, all he feels when the memory rises to the surface of his mind is joy.

He remembers your laughter, warm and buoyant, and the way the low light painted flattering shadows across your kind face as you spoke animatedly about your passions and dreams. He remembers being treated like a person before anything else, not some character in a video game or a pawn in someone else’s fantasy league, and he recalls your fervent, genuine interest in his off-ice hobbies. Not once did you ask anything invasive or demand he share more than he was willing.

Nor did you fish for tickets.

For Mitch, privacy was paramount, and the sentiment echoed throughout your lengthy relationship. It was your through-line, and it should’ve blanketed the intimate proposal in safety.

He gets hot under the collar just thinking about it.

Mitch will entertain the host’s questions to an extent. Because, despite his insistence on privacy, he will never pass up an opportunity to sing your praises or brag about his luck.

“Did you bring anything else back? Any special souvenir to commemorate such a momentous occasion?”

Mitch is instantly hard, his pale cheeks ablaze, eternally grateful that the camera is filming from the chest up.

Carried in on a warm evening breeze, the evocation is so palpable he can taste the blue curaçao on his tongue and feel its muted burn in the back of his throat. The air smells of pineapple and your fragrant shampoo, a comforting scent that clings to him like a second skin. The phantom of your touch sends a shiver down the expanse of his sore, sweat-drenched back.

“—holy fuck.”

The crinkled, two-word curse tumbles from Mitch’s mouth with little effort.

Every modicum of tact was either battling against the warm rum coursing through his body or fighting to keep his guttural, damning moans at bay.

They are getting hot and heavy on a patio, after all.

Mitch knows this isn’t smart. He knows he should’ve moved the celebration indoors, that he should've waited until you were curtained in safety to give in to his desire and your wandering hands.

He knows, he knows, he knows.

The problem is he just doesn’t care.

Mitch wasn’t about to delay the appreciative mouth of the woman he was going to make his wife, not even for a second.

Even if she dropped to her knees with only a hedge to play look-out. A line of decorative foliage is their first and final defense, the leaves carelessly swaying between them and the rest of the luxury resort he booked for All-Star weekend.

It’s difficult to make sound decisions when the hand wrapped around your cock is newly weighed down by five carats.

The dazzling rock shines proudly in the concluding rays of a setting sun. Glittery and perfect, like the woman who wears it.

Mitch hisses when the tip taps the back of your throat for the first time that night. The sensitive skin melts into your tongue like an ice cube, the creamy droplets of anticipation swallowed greedily by your ravenous mouth. He sees stars in the cotton candy sky peeking through the palm trees.

It hasn’t been that long; his day began with your nose nuzzled against his pelvis, his head limp against the cool tile of the shower a few feet away.

When it comes to you, nothing is ever enough to curb his appetite.

Always needy, never satiated—a pair of perverted peas in a pod.

Your tongue repeats the delicious motion it had previously, too, lazily tracing along the underside of his length until he’s whimpering with no regard for anything besides spilling himself down your throat. He feels you smile around his thickness, pleased by the ease of his undoing. You were damn good; you deserved to be proud.

In all honesty, it took very little effort on your part to make him weak in both his knees and in his resolve.

However, there was a special kind of magic in your pretty face, now dusted by a salty sheen, nestled against his taut abdomen, his cock engulfed by the vice-grip of your throat.

Mitch is close already.

White-hot sparks descend through his quads and calves to zap his sandy toes. Electrified, his hips sputter of their own volition, but like the godsend you are, you accommodate every jolt and tilt in stride.

With one hand braced against his hip and the other gently massaging the heavy weight of his balls cradled in your palm, you peer up at him through a fan of fluttering lashes.

He whines—at the mischievous glint in your glassy eyes or the bite of your manicure as you sink your nails into his burnt skin, he can’t be sure.

Some of your fingers curl into the nasty bruise eating up his lower back, the by-product of a gruesome communion with the ice a few days prior. Sharp nails nip at the fragile skin. Mitch doesn’t know if the twinge of pain was intentional on your part, but he loves it either way. Perhaps a little too much, he thinks to himself as he twitches violently in your grasp.

And perhaps you aren't the only one with a masochistic streak. It's clear from the heaviness of your lids the converse applies to you.

His sweetheart's sick and sadistic. He's never been prouder.

“Get off,” he husks. Abruptly, he steps out from your embrace.

In retrospect, Mitch could’ve been nicer about it. At that moment, however, he was far too desperate for chivalry.

Staring down at your wide, despondent eyes—a pup deprived of her favorite bone—your fiancé amends, “Calm down, sweetheart. I’ll give it back soon. There’s no way in hell I’m wasting a load in your mouth when I know how good your pussy feels around my cock.”

Heat scales Mitch’s spine as he spreads you wide open against the chaise. Your folds glow brighter than the jewelry on your left hand.

With the tip of his finger, he tests the waters. Gingerly, at first, like he's still unsure you'll be able to take him. That charade hardly lasts, but tonight, it's barely a blip.

Your body eagerly welcomes the attention, mouthing at him before sucking the touch past the taut, elastic ring of your entrance. Your faint groans elicited by the intrusion harmonize so sweetly, so perfectly, that Mitch’s eyes fall shut in tranquil bliss.

When your hips rock against his palm, they snap open.

Blinking at him hard and fast, your teeth sink into your bottom lip, turning the plushness a sickly shade of pink—of desperation. Tears crowd your lash line but never cascade down your shiny cheeks; they, like you, are impatiently waiting for reprimand.

Mitch almost laughs. You did jump the gun, so he can't fault you for expecting the corresponding punishment. But it's a special occasion—you're celebrating, so it never manifests.

And Mitch wants to do more than just spank you silly. Plenty of time for that later. A lifetime's worth of it.

Instead, with the flick of his wrist, Mitch encourages you to take your pleasure.

The subtle, tantalizing movements, building in speed and ferocity with each pass, beckon him forward until his sunburnt skin is close enough to burn yours. Feeling you beneath him, feeling his weight rest against your body, feels better than heaven, and he’s barely started.

Like before, Mitch is painfully aware he won’t be able to last long. Judging by how silky-slick you are against his palm, you won’t be either.

With his free hand, he catches your jaw and, with little resistance, tilts your head to keep your gaze from straying. Your mouth falls open when he slips another finger inside. Mitch grins down at your lust-blown pupils and the feel of your hot breath against his lips. He leans down and licks into your idle mouth. A third finger causes your bottom lip to tremble between his and your forehead to ease, every little muscle going soft and pliant between the cushion and his chest.

“Atta girl,” Mitch praises. His lips press briefly to your cheek before beginning their descent along your throat. The touch is featherlight and sends a shiver down your spine, coaxing your chest further into his. “—love seeing you like this, all beautiful and open. And all fucking mine.”

Mitch wouldn't necessarily consider himself a territorial person, and he can't recall ever feeling possessive of a partner. Until he met you.

It had nothing to do with trust or a lack thereof; you were his the minute your eyes met through the crowd, and you reassured him of that fact constantly. It was never you that needed a reminder—it was everybody else.

The men who openly leer at you from every corner of Scotiabank Arena. The NHL hopefuls in your Instagram comments shamelessly flirting as if he didn’t exist or wasn’t in the photo, too. The unprofessional commentators who found ways to sneak in a lecherous comment or two under the guise of camaraderie whenever they spoke about his prowess.

You weren’t some object to be won or bought. You made a choice, and he’d make sure they knew and respected it.

Sure, the engagement ring will aid in this up-hill endeavor, but a little due diligence never hurt either.

“Tonight, it's gonna take. I’m making damn sure of that, sweetheart.”

Your walls squeeze his digits in recognition. Mitch chuckles, dark and dry, against your shoulder. You might like the implication more than he does.

You two weren’t trying, but you weren’t not trying either. Seeing you wearing his ring—the one he picked and purchased—kicked him down a perverted spiral. Flipped the last switch, cut the final cord. He wanted to complete the picture. He wanted to give those good-for-nothing losers one more reason to keep their mouths shut and their eyes to themselves.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Love for me to fill you in a way that’ll last? C’mon, sweetheart, tell me what you want. Tell me how badly you want to be stuffed full of me, how much your pussy needs it—how badly you want to be heavy and swollen with my kid."

Mitch tends to your clit, keeping you borderline incoherent as he tickles your ears with more filth before you can reply to the first goading.

Your eventual responses are muffled by a long, primal whine.

When he has you swaying on the brink of collapse, he’s painfully hard against your inner thigh. There's an iridescent river pearling from the weeping head, freely flowing down to pool beneath your ass. It beams in the dim light like a beacon.

Transfixed and desperately in love, Mitch could cum right now. Just like this.

But staining a stupid fucking cushion would be more of a waste than shooting himself your throat. So, much to your chagrin, he, once again, retreats back onto his knees.

“C-come back,” you whimper with a loud hiccup. The choked sound is as pitiful as your attempts to reach for him. “Please, please, please—”

Satisfaction spreads over the bridge of his nose, leaving him rosy from one cheek to the other. He pins you with a heated, half-lid stare as he strokes himself.

His palm doesn’t feel as good as yours, but Mitch is grateful for that. He wants to drag this out. Instead of rutting into you like a teenager in the backseat of a car, or like himself after a long stint away.

That can’t—and won’t—happen if he keeps touching you. He has to back off before he loses his ever-loving mind.

“Stop being a tease,” you chide. Irritation weighs heavily on your voice. “Haven’t I waited long enough?”

“There’s something I want you to see first, you little brat,” he replies, adopting your sharp tone as he brings his open palm down on your inner thigh.

You shriek, but your eyes beg for another. Maybe he shouldn't have cut you any slack earlier...

He grants your silent wish with a matching blow to the other side before guiding his rigid cock to rest over your body.

And it was better than Mitch ever imagined.

He groans at the sight, “Can you see it? Can you, sweetheart?”

Mitch waits patiently for it to click in your mind, but the confusion that swiftly overtook your fucked-out features never dissipates. Eyes rolling, he shifts forward. Hand still wrapped around the base, Mitch leans over until the full length of him sits against your bare stomach.

Your body quivers over the contact, so he has to hold your hips down to keep you from wiggling and ruining everything.

“I know you can feel it, but I want you to see it. I want you to see how deep I get inside of you, sweetheart. All the way up…” Mitch trails off as his hands glide from your outer hips to the center of your abdomen.

His voice is so deep. So hungry. Your whole being—mind and body—goes weak at the foreign richness.

With tender thumbs, he applies pressure beneath his swollen tip. “—here.”

Mitch moves slowly at first, as if he'd just been sheathed inside of you. With each careful thrust, his stones caress your aching clit, all puffy and pouting.

It feels wonderful to be touched again, even if only in short bursts. But it's not enough friction or force to do much more than aggravate you further. Even when he picks up speed, it’s more hurtful than helpful.

Still, you cannot tear your eyes away from the angry, ruddy head dribbling out ropes of arousal or voice a shred of discontent. The opaque beads form a nonsensical pattern, but it's mesmerizing nonetheless.

If you were any less needy, you’d take your time running your fingers through the milky mess. Swirling around in the evidence of Mitch’s desire until you had enough to lick clean.

As if privy to your thoughts, he pins your wrists at your sides again.

Mitch isn’t faring much better than you. His eyes are trained on the shadow bisecting your middle. Locked, laser-focused. This little…exercise was as much for his amusement as it is for your education. He knows how far he can reach inside of you—knows how fucking fantastic it feels to be buried at the root, but seeing just how deeply he can fuck you is something else entirely.

It's enough to make him question why and how he ever stops fucking you. He’s an idiot for depriving himself. For neglecting you. An exercise in frustration as much as his fruitless effort to shun the rose-colored perversions dancing wild in his mind, Mitch has wasted so much time.

Fuck penance and fuck propriety—it would be a sin to do anything other than worship at your altar as a devoted acolyte. Cardinal, even.

His stomach tightens as he considers how empty you must feel in his absence—and how deliciously whole you must feel when he drives home. He wonders how forlorn your folds must look right now as he keeps what you covet just out of bounds. His body obstructs the view, but Mitch knows you’re open and fluttering around nothing, pleading for mercy.

If he were a cruel man, he’d ignore your begging and continue on like this until his balls were empty and your chest was covered in ivory threads. Lucky for you, your future husband is of the clement variety.

Before you can get another babble, his mouth is back on yours. He keeps your arms tight to your sides, so you’re incentivized to convey your fervent need for more—of anything, really—through your lips and tongue.

Mitch is greedy when he kisses you and needy while lapping up your fire—happily, and without pause. His head pounds like he finished a handle in a single sip, but he doesn’t want it to stop. Ever. It’s disorienting, and yet, he can’t seem to get enough no matter how much of you he drinks down. Mitch wants to spend the rest of his life drunk on your lips.

Begrudgingly, he tears his mouth from yours. Then, tanned chest heaving, he positions himself between your glistening southern lips. Mitch looks down at you, and when your vision finally focuses, his eyes have been shadowed in darkness by his hulking brow.

His prior impatience dwindles ever so slightly even though he's on the precipice of complete satisfaction. Mitch hasn’t gotten a good look at you since your nimble hands relieved him of his shorts some twenty minutes ago, and you are glorious. A celestial nymph with dominion over his heart, devastatingly beautiful and all-consuming in every conceivable way. The hold you have over him is dangerous, verging on obsession. There isn’t a thing he wouldn’t do or say if it appeased you so.

He isn’t fearful. He’s honored. The gratitude he feels knowing that you were, and remain, receptive to his devotion is overwhelming. And now, watching the lucid waters of lust ebb and flow in your glazed eyes, he’s never felt luckier.

Mitch thumbs the gem resting atop your finger, and you shudder as if it were the one tucked between your thighs.

His other hand lingers around your right wrist, though not as tightly as before. With his pulsing head shallow in your heat, he knows you’ll behave. Disrupting him now would only prolong his teasing. A lesson you learned—and were often reminded of—the hard way.

As his fingers trace the metallic band, warmed by the tropical sun and his furnace-like touch, Mitch pushes his hips forward, slow and steady, until he’s fully enveloped by your wanting walls. With your snug, pillowy softness stretching and constricting to accommodate his generous blessing, his grip on reality slips.

“You’re a fucking dream,” your fiancé rasps.

His hands are now splayed wide on either side of your head, effectively caging you beneath him as he builds a faithful rhythm. Teeth clenched, he works diligently to fashion a tribute worthy of your ethereal beauty and power.

“—always so warm and wet for me, just begging to be split open on my thick fuckin' cock. How long have you been this needy, sweetheart? Since I bent you over on the boat? Right over the railing where anyone could’ve seen you?”

You nod, bruised bottom lip pinched between your teeth. Tears well in your eyes.

Your afternoon tryst had been as quick as it’d been rough. Sundress bunched high, the fragile fabric wrinkled between your hips and the cool metal railing as Mitch’s right hand wrapped around your throat. His talented fingers pressed firmly into your sun-kissed skin, relentless in their torment, as he pawed at the pathetic knot struggling to hold your bathing suit in place. His mouth curled into a smirk as it whispered a heady mix of degradation and praise. All while you preened for him, a large crowd just steps away.

That wasn't the first orgasm you were robbed of today.

The hem of the thin material that clung to your anguished body floated demurely above your ankles, landing just shy of the bone. The sullied garment hid the incriminating evidence that inched down your sore thighs with every step you took. The irony was not lost on you as you walked back to your room.

“D’you know how hard it was to stop myself from fucking you in front of all those people? To hold back like that—to not bend you over and take in broad daylight? Of course you do, you sweet, sadistic minx. You always know how to rile me up—and you always find a reason to.”

Mitch grins against your lips before his teeth momentarily replace yours. They nestle into the grooves as if that was the expressed purpose of the faint indentations.

“With the way you’ve been behaving, I’m willing to bet you want a better souvenir than a gift shop tchotchke, hm? Y'gotta be patient for me, though—good girls wait for their rewards. Jus' wait… Oh, I don’t know, nine months? Give or take? Think you can do that for me?"

He’s being cheeky on purpose. He likes the way gentle irritation plays out between your legs—always has and always will.

Mitch releases your lower lip again, but only after he’s nicked it with his canines. A dainty bead of crimson materializes. Covetous, his tongue laps it up without pause. Painted lips kiss from cheek to cheek.

Your back arches. Your hips lift to rock in time with his thrusts.

“God, I can’t wait till we get those fuckin’ keys,” Mitch mumbles, almost absentmindedly.

The lean muscles of his upper body ripple as he sits up to grab ahold of your jaw, a calloused hand on either side. He has an unimpeded view of your dazed, saccharine countenance. His hips slow until they match the thumbs stroking escaped tears into your cheeks.

“—m'gonna take you in every room, against every surface. That way, there won’t be a single thing in our home that—fuck—that doesn’t remind you of me and how well I take care of you—you and your tight cunt.”

With little fanfare, he threads his arms under your dewy legs. Mitch uses the newfound leverage to tug your body even closer.

A shriek rips through the firm seam of your lips as his length traverses an unexplored depth. Your knees snuggle against the pit of his elbows, pleased to be so close in spite of the pain.

Mitch holds your gaze, reveling in your silent screams. He winks, then slowly lowers himself down until your body is folded squarely beneath his. Your muscles burn with the fury of budding resentment, which you’ll surely feel towards him in the morning after this unprompted foray into acrobatics, but the new angle is too good to do more than just... take it.

His hands are glad to have been relieved of their duty and, eager to take advantage of their newfound freedom, palm your chest as his mouth descends on your poor neck. The delicate skin is utterly defenseless against the desire thumping deep within his chest and spilling over his ribs.

Mitch wants to stake his claim—to mark his territory. A stammer of expletives accompanies the vulgar jut of your hips when he rolls your sensitive nipples, swollen and begging for attention, between thumb and forefinger. Bracketed by his forearms, you surrender completely.

Mitch hums at the lewd, sucking sound made by your arousal. Wet squelches ricochet off the adjacent wall with each and every thrust.

“I’ve really made a mess out of you, haven’t I?”

You nod, eyes pinched in concentration.

You’re close. He can feel your body trying to milk him dry. Fortunately, Mitch isn’t far behind. You feel too fucking good to prolong the inevitable.

He brings a hand to your clit, and it moves in messsy circles as he speaks, “Not done yet, though. Gonna flood this pretty cunt—gonna leave you all sticky and hot. I know you want it, but I need you to cum for me first. Go on, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

You unravel on command, your chin falling to the side in ecstasy. Mitch’s firm hand is quick to wrench it back; he needs to watch your face contort as you crumble like he needs air to breathe. Mitch won't be able to think straight until he reaps the rewards of fucking and rubbing you through it.

The sob that wrecks your body is high-pitched and perforated by little gasps, and the rush of wetness is more pathetic than any noise you could and would make in your lifetime. More than you ever thought your body was capable of, more than your new fiancé expected, more than either of you anticipated.

He's soaked in a matter of seconds—as are you and the cushion dripping onto the concrete.

Mitch's climax comes in quick succession but, unlike yours, without warning. Undoubtedly, his peak was triggered by the gush of your undeniable satisfaction.

Drained dry, Mitch hunches over to capture your lips once more, determined to distract you from the inevitable bodily ache on the come-down. Delicately, he places your trembling legs onto the chaise and nestles into the space they vacated. He feels every little muscle twitch and spasm when he hugs you tightly to his body.

The world is muted, fuzzy around the edges, and drowned out by the aftershocks, so you miss most of his sweet-nothing rambling, but the relief and contentment that flood your spent body is reply enough.

He isn’t sure how long you stay like that—tangled together in paradise. You doze off, dipping in and out of consciousness, and wake just after the buttery sun slips entirely behind the horizon. Through the darkness surrounding your bare bodies, silvery moonlight replaces the golden rays of sunshine, but you—and your ring—shine as if nothing's changed.

You keep up a quiet conversation. Nothing of importance is spoken; it's carried on purely for the enjoyment of one another’s voice. Mitch peppers your skin, sticky from humidity and exertion, with tender lips, and you return the favor tenfold. You’re both smiling so wide, so happily.

And you keep grinning into the night, even when your cheeks begin to ache. It’s only when the light breeze ghosts over your bare skin that either of you consider relocating. In no rush and reluctant to leave your deep warmth, he’s leisurely about moving into the dim suite.

Mitch freezes abruptly. His stomach splatters at his feet when his mind catches up to his instincts. Murmuring. He hears murmuring. Terror races down his spine like an ice-cold chill. It's quiet at first. Almost as if the evening wind picked up a distant conversation yards away and softly settled it in his paranoid eardrums. He can’t make out any particular words—except his last name.

His mood sours beyond repair with the realization that the juvenile whispering is much too close, the giggles muffled only by the permeable wall of greenery bordering the suite’s ground-floor patio.

“We just wanted to be the first to say congratulations!” A teenage voice devoid of tact and respect calls out above a chorus of snorts and giggles.

Mortified, you bury your head into the crook of his neck. His chain is cold in comparison to your shame.

Mitch growls and reaches beside the chaise. He shouts something that would’ve made even the most shameless of shit-talkers blush, then sends a half-empty bottle of Dom Pérignon clear through the leaves. It shatters, and the crisp bubbles spill out on the concrete, sending the herd of inconsiderate assholes scattering like mice.

“I’ll go pick up the glass,” he sighs, knowing you’ll chastise him for the mess. "—later."

Mitch couldn’t be honest with the journalist.

He wouldn’t even if he could.

He shares so much of himself and his life with the world already—a hazard of the flashy, public-facing occupation he chose—and you’ve offered up far more of your world than he’d ever ask of you. He doesn’t mind a photo here or a video there, sometimes a press junket or two in a philanthropic context, but Mitch won’t bring the media into your private moments beyond where they’ve already encroached.

Especially not for a leading question intended to bait him into saying something stupid. Or to prematurely announce the impending arrival of your first child.

So, instead, he simply says, “Towels. But if the Four Seasons—or my future wife—asks, I’m totally joking, and I definitely put them all back.”

⤑ to my inbox💌

⬸ back to the catalog (writing masterlist)

⬸ back to the main blog

All of the stories and fantasies written or discussed on this blog by the owner or by followers are purely fictional and are not intended to offend any parties.

©2024 holy-pucks, all rights reserved. I do not give consent for any of my work to be copied, re-posted, or translated here, on Tumblr, or on any other platform. Reproduction of any content from this blog is considered plagiarism.

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90363462 · 1 year

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So...15 Men Told Me About What They LOVE During Sex

Ever wonder what men think about during the actual act?

Shellie R. Warren

Sep. 17, 2021 06:18PM EST

I've got quite a few male friends. Also, because of what I do for a living, I have many male clients too. While there are a billion-and-one reasons why I'm actually grateful to be able to say this, probably my top favorite one is that I get to hear a lot of men's innermost thoughts — things that sometimes they are hesitant to say because they're not sure how we'll take it and/or things they've never really felt comfortable being very open about and/or — and yes, this happens — things they never get asked their thoughts on and so, they never bring those things up.

Interestingly enough, this is something that falls into the "Door #3" category. Do men talk about sex? Y'all already know the answer to that. Yet when I asked 15 of them (middle names were used; usually are) about what they actually adore about what transpires during the actual act, I found the answers to be "Oh, really?" enough to share with y'all. With their permission, of course. #wink

Chavez. 25. Single.

"This is my kinda topic right here. Damn, I can only mention one thing? Hmm. I think what I like the most about sex is right when I enter into a woman. The sound she makes, the way our breathing shifts and how our bodies flow — damn, that's my s — t right there."

Kiran. 33. In a Relationship.

"This question needs to have a qualifier — if you're in a relationship or not. When I wasn't only having sex with one woman, I liked the newness of learning about someone's body that I had never been with before. That's seductive as hell. Now, I love to find a 'new spot' on my partner. It's like pushing a button that you didn't know led you to someplace you didn't realize you wanted to go."

Glenn. 27. Single.

"Assertive women are what I like. Someone who is like, 'We're gonna do it this way and you're gonna like it'. Women who just kinda lay there are boring. But a woman who likes to switch up positions, doesn't mind doing some tying up and tells me when it's time to go another round…that's the kind of sex that I'm all about."

DeShawn. 39. Married.

"I like it when a woman knows the difference between when I ejaculate and when I cum. My wife is really good at that. When she is able to give me an orgasm, my favorite part is trying to 'one up her' by trying to give her at least three more right after. Going down on her is my favorite way to do that."

Harold. 42. Divorced.

"It might sound wild but the thing I miss most about my ex is our sex life. Let's not get into all of that, though."

"Let me just say that what I liked was her dirty talk — barely above a whisper, nasty as f — k and super confident. People always talk about how visual men are. Yeah, we like to hear s — t too."

Armon. 35. In a Relationship.

"There is nothing like opening your eyes and seeing a beautiful woman on top of you. She's looking you dead in the eyes with a smirk on her face and riding you like she's about to eat you alive. Damn."

Gideon. 28. Single.

"Two things that a woman can't fake are her vagina contracting and her body getting wetter. That's why I don't understand how men can't pick up on ladies that fake it. Anyway, those are my favorite things. When you are in a zone and you can feel that you're turning your lady on, that s — t is absolutely amazin'."

Merlin. 29. Married.

"You ever spoon until you both cum and then fall asleep spooning in the same position afterwards? When you are so connected that you can have an orgasm at the same time and then you don't want it to end, so you let your man stay inside of you and you fall asleep like that? Get someone you can do that with all of the time. Nothin' better."

Michael. 44. Married.

"I like how my wife smells. I don't mean when she has an essential oil on. I mean, just her regular scent. It's crazy because when we're having sex, it's like I want to get as deep into her skin as possible — just take her all in."

Patrick. 23. Single.

"I like the time before intercourse happens. You both know that's where it's headed but you try and build up the anticipation for as long as possible."

"I know I probably seem young, but I've been having sex for a while and learning not to underestimate foreplay is the ultimate sex hack. When two people make each other want each other, that's when the sex is really great."

Orrin. 32. Divorced.

"I like getting my head pulled in. You know you're doing a great job going down on a woman when all she can do is breathe really fast and pull your head in. Hell yeah."

Hayes. 48. Single.

"There is nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, like the taste of a woman. Her mouth tastes one way. Her skin tastes another way. And her walls — there's nothing like it. I can just lick and kiss for hours and be perfectly content. What's crazy is while women might think it's for them, it's actually for me. Tasting a woman is what I love the most."

Kristopher. 32. Single.

"'Round three is what I love about sex. The first one is all about getting the stress out. The second is about building some stamina. Three? That's when it's all about just enjoying your partner. There's no rush. There's no pressure. You're just 'in it'. I like being in it."

Danyel. 40. In a Relationship.

"You know what I really like? Undressing a woman. I like lingerie but I honestly don't care what she has on. It doesn't matter how long I've been with her either. The build-up of seeing different parts of her body as I go at my own pace…it's like unwrapping a Christmas gift, damn near every time."

Everson. 36. Single.

"Whenever a woman trusts you enough to let you literally enter into her being, there is no higher privilege. Might sound like a line to some but it's the truth. Being one with someone whose energy and spirit you vibe with already gives you a climax before one ever happens."

"Will never know how to get enough of that."

Join our xoTribe, an exclusive community dedicated to YOU and your stories and all things xoNecole. Be a part of a growing community of women from all over the world who come together to uplift, inspire, and inform each other on all things related to the glow up.

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Shellie R. Warren

Shellie R. Warren is a lover of quotes, lip gloss, graphic t-shirts, silver jewelry and Pumas. She's an author with two published books (thus far) on matters of the heart. In fact, 2019 was the 15-year anniversary of her first release ' Inside of Me: Lessons of Lust, Love and Redemption' (she's seriously mulling over penning a sequel to it) and 2020 marked her 20-year anniversary of being a (mostly) full-time writer. Aside from that, when Shellie's not tellin' all her business, she's helping couples (marriage life coach) or assisting with birthing babies (doula). Her byline is all over cyberspace, but where you won't find her is on social media. Like anywhere. At all. If you need to hit her up, she's (usually) reachable at missnosipho at gmail.com, though. HOWEVER, pitches for xoNecole need to go to editor@xonecole. Hit her up for *strictly* Shellie-related stuff. Again, pitch article ideas to the site addy NOT HER. Much appreciated.

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dejwrites · 2 years

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♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — i would never expect that i would reach over 2k followers on here. a blog that i started last summer (got shadowbanned two weeks after making the account lmfao) and highkey made this account just to express myself creatively. here i am months later with amazing mutuals, people enjoying my writing, and over 2k followers. i'm just grateful to be able to write content for y'all and just be mrs. comedian on the dash. so, this is my thanks to all of you.

𝐃𝐄𝐉𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎.

→ during this event, you will be receiving a drabble of your selfship written by the one and only me. you guys know i'm always being hella nosy when it comes to your selfships. aka with the constant sqotd. but wait, there's more i will be creating a cute lil edit for your selfship also based around your drabble that i will write.

→ when it comes to the drabble you’ll be able to choose between three categories. those categories are nsfw, angst, or fluff. then once you choose which category you want your drabble with your selfship to be centered around/about just let me do my magic.

→ when it comes to the edit, i'll be asking for any information i need in the google forms you babes have to fill out. i don't want to spoil the edit i have planned.

𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒

→ you must be following me to participate in this event, i don’t think it’s fair to write a drabble for a person who isn’t even following me. that drabble could have gone to a person who actually follow me and read my content. i will be checking.

→ please do not reblog this. i do not want y'all to reblog this and y'all followers who wasn't following me...follow me just because they see this post and try to slide their form in as if they have been supporting me before i posted this event. if you reblog the post, i will be ignoring your entry form.

→ there will be a deadline to get a drabble. the form i will be releasing will be open for 24-25 hours. once that 24-25 hours is up, i will no longer be accepting any entry forms. there are no excuses. i'm releasing the link at noon on a friday and closing it down at noon the next day due to everyone being in different time zones. i’ll be removing the link to the post as soon as time runs out. plus on the google form it will close as soon as the time runs out. i will be reblogging this post every hour once it's only 5 hours left to get your form in.

→ for nsfw drabbles, you must have your age in your bio or pinned post. i will be checking. if you don’t and you request for nsfw, i will be selecting at random between an angst or fluff drabble.

→ please do not rush me to get yours done, i do anticipate getting a lot of these, so please bare with me. i’m only one person and i also work and have a social life. please don't pester me about it either, i will fight you okay. just give me space and i'll get it done.

→ during the time of this event, i will not be accepting requests of other things. i want to focus on getting these done. however, i will be updating my fics and doing my wips.

→ all drabbles will range from 100 to 400 words. keeping them short so i can do everyone.

→ all self ships posts will be tagged under #deja’s 2k followers event. tag.

( &. if you read over all the rules, please click this to fill out the form. )

→ ( &. forms open: jan 21st, 2021 12pm est — forms close: jan 22nd 12 pm est )

#deja’s 2k followers event.#( — pls don’t reblog. )

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iantxrry · 4 years

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@artsy-man-today @bbfloss @bigbrothermermaid @cole-medderz @flungevictee @iorivalenti @julieeexcheeen @marcdjr00 @remember-caltoru @rennyforpresident @shaolinbynature @wheremy--demons--hide @brentrobinson @ianterrylovemail @kaysarswhore @paymeincashnottears

Welcome to BIG BROTHER SIM!

THE HOUSEGUESTS

The returning houseguests, @brentrobinson, @ianterrylovemail, @kaysarswhore, and @paymeincashnottears, will each get to pick three new players to join their team. These players will then have to play as a team for the next four weeks. Let's see who the veterans choose.

@brentrobinson has stacked his team with @marcdjr00, @julieeexcheeen, and @bbfloss.

@ianterrylovemail chose @cole-medderz, @bigbrothermermaid, and @remember-caltoru.

@kaysarswhore has picked @shaolinbynature, @wheremy--demons--hide, and @iorivalenti.

Finally, @paymeincashnottears has @rennyforpresident, @flungevictee, and @artsy-man-today.

SAFETY COMP

Ride the Rocket

Each team must climb onto their rocket and hold on as long as possible. If all four members of a team fall off, that team is eliminated. Let’s see how our teams do.

@ianterrylovemail‘s team has won a week of slop and cold showers. They will also have to compete for safety in the next series of comps.

@paymeincashnottears‘s team came in third and must now wear absolutely scandalous pixel costumes for the next week.

@kaysarswhore’s team didn’t make it to safety, but they did win $10,000!

Congrats to @brentrobinson’s team! You won and are now safe for the next two evictions.

HOH/ELIMINATION COMP

Hit the Road

Round One: The goal is to build a 15 piece sand castle pyramid. Three members of your team will hold ropes attached to your platform. The fourth member of the team will dig in their team’s sandpit, retrieve a piece of the sand castle and place it on the suspended platform. You must then change places with a teammate and the process repeats. The first team to build a pyramid with 15 sand blocks and hit the button will be safe from the first eviction.

@paymeincashnottears‘s team effortlessly pulled out the win in this comp and are now safe from the first eviction.

Round Two: Scattered around your team’s platform are sand castle pieces. The object of the competition is to work together solving this puzzle to build a sand castle. The first team to build their sand castle and get all four players into the safe zone will be safe for the first eviction.

@kaysarswhore‘s team just barely managed to grab this victory, but they’re now all safe from the first eviction.

Round Three: Each member of Team #2 will be stranded on their own island. On the sound of the horn, you will climb up your tree, retrieve a coconut and deposit it into the SOS outline on the ground. Once all of your coconuts are in place, retrieve your flag to lock in your time. Each step you take moves the island and can cause coconuts to fall out of your SOS. The last houseguest to complete the competition will be evicted.

It was a close competition, but @ianterrylovemail was just able to secure her safety. Sorry @cole-medderz, you came in last place and have been evicted from the BBSim house.

Team #2 must now choose one of their own members to be the first HoH of the season.

Because @remember-caltoru finished the last comp first, his team has chosen him as HoH.

NOMINATION CEREMONY

@remember-caltoru: I have nominated you, @artsy-man-today, and you, @rennyforpresident, because of how well you did in today’s elimination comp. It’s nothing personal, it’s just not good for my game to have two comp beasts in the house. I respect you both and I hope you’ll fight your hardest to win Veto.

With the nominations done, @remember-caltoru can relax and enjoy his HoHness without worry. Unless...

ROADKILL COMP

Take It Off

Your goal in this competition is to take off your clothes and get down to your swimsuit as fast as you can while driving the RV. You have to keep three buttons pressed while changing. If you keep all three buttons pressed, your timer goes at normal speed. Let go of one button and your timer will go 30 times faster. Let go of two buttons and your time goes 60 times faster. If you don’t have any buttons pressed, your timer goes 120 times faster. The person who finishes with the lowest time will win the Road Kill competition.

@bbfloss killed the Roadkill comp and may now secretly nominate a houseguest.

@bbfloss has secretly nominated @flungevictee for eviction because of how well she did on the Hit the Road comp. This means that all of team #4 is on the block except for @paymeincashnottears. Could her veteran status be protecting her?

VETO COMP

Dizzy Dog

On go, you must chase your tail by spinning your stand and swirl. Once you have spun around 15 times, you will have 45 seconds to race across the yard and start stacking doggy treats on top of your dog house. You must get back through your doggy tunnel and hit your button before you clock hits zero. If you fail to do so, you will be eliminated. The first to stack 40 doggy treats on top of their dog house and hit the button will win the Power of Veto.

Unbeknownst to the other houseguests, this is @bbfloss‘s second individual comp win.

After the Veto comp, @remember-caltoru approached @bbfloss about using the Power of Veto on @flungevictee. @remember-caltoru was scared that she’d be evicted instead of one of his main targets, @artsy-man-today or @rennyforpresident. @bbfloss was vague about what she would do, making @remember-caltoru suspicious of her.

VETO MEETING

EVICTION

@artsy-man-today: I have had the best time with all of you in the house, I would be so so grateful for you to keep me here so we can keep having fun together. You all know I’ve fought so hard to stay this week, I hope you all see that and know how badly I want to be here. Thank you, and I hope I can count on your vote.

@rennyforpresident: Hey everybody! So I just want to start off by saying how much I love and respect every single one of you. I know you all have to vote according to what’s best for your own game, but I hope that means saving me. My time here has been awesome given the circumstances, and I’m so thankful for this opportunity.

@flungevictee: Okay, let’s get right down to it. I’m only on the block right now because some snake in this house nominated me in secret. I truly believe that it is not my time to go yet, I hope the rest of you see that too. Don’t help some shady person’s game, keep me in the house.

Let’s see how the houseguests vote.

@kaysarswhore and @julieeexcheeen have both voted for @rennyforpresident, meaning he now has two votes to evict.

@bbfloss has, surprisingly, decided to vote for @artsy-man-today instead of @flungevictee. Could this be a true change of heart, or simply a strategic game move?

@paymeincashnottears, having to make the tough choice between her own team members, has voted for @flungevictee.

@rennyforpresident has racked up two more votes because of @brentrobinson and @iorivalenti, meaning he now has four votes in total.

@ianterrylovemail has given @artsy-man-today their second vote.

@wheremy--demons--hide has chosen to vote for @flungevictee, leaving her with two votes. Let’s see how the rest of the house votes.

@shaolinbynature has cast her vote for @flungevictee.

Both @marcdjr00 and @bigbrothermermaid have voted for @artsy-man-today.

@flungevictee will live to see another week in the BBSim house, but @artsy-man-today and @rennyforpresident are still in danger.

@remember-caltoru: I respect you both so much, and I wish I didn’t have to get rid of either of you. This is such a difficult decision, you’re both such strong competitors. I’m sorry @rennyforpresident, but I’m going to have to vote for you.

And with that, we’ve finished week one. The game is already heating up. Two houseguests have already been evicted, but perhaps not permanently. Tune in today at 3 pm est for week 2. From way outside of the Big Brother house, I’m @iantxrry. And remember: You never know what or who is lurking in the shadows, hungry to pounce. Goodnight.

#bb22 #bbsim

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be-better-writing · 4 years

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Daily Writing - Prompts List

Here is the list of various prompts I am using. They are themed around positive growth, personal and professional. There are also a few that take a little break from growth, but still help with it. There are only 260 right now, but I plan to add more as submitted, and as I come up with new ones. Until then, you can reuse them as you see fit. Used prompts are bold with the date used next to them.(At the time of writing, it’s 1:09AM EST, so only 6 prompts have been used thus far. Also, I started before New Year’s, so I’m ahead of schedule anyway.) I will post the responses soon, and as I go.

How do you define personal growth? After defining the word, write about why it is important for people to strive to improve themselves. 12/29/19

Write about a time when you were unhappy with the way you responded to a particular situation. Then, explain what you would do now if you encountered a similar situation.

Think about something big you’ve accomplished in the past year—and write about how you managed to do it.

How can you tell when a person has grown? Write about the qualities that people who demonstrate great personal growth show on a regular basis.

What is one area of your life that you would like to improve in? What can you do to better yourself?

What is one area of your life that you think you already excel in? Write about why you are so good at that one particular thing, and how you can continue to succeed in that area of your life.

Write about someone you know who has shown great personal growth in an area of his or her life. How did that person achieve growth?

Why is personal growth so important? 12/31/19

Is it possible to help someone else with his or her own personal growth, or can people only grow on their own? Why or why not? 12/30/19

What is your best habit? Why?

What is your worst habit? Why?

If you could improve any single skill or talent you have, which would you choose? Why?

Have you ever helped someone else to get better at something in his or her life? How did you encourage that person?

Think about one way that you have grown over the past year. How did you accomplish growth?

What is one thing you can do to improve yourself today? Write about what you will do, and then write a second reflection tomorrow about your experience.

What is one thing you can do to improve yourself in the next month? Create a plan for what you will do each week for the next month, taking care to think about the steps you will need to meet to reach your goal.

What is one thing you can do to improve yourself in the next year? Think about what you would like to have accomplished in one year from now, and then consider the one action that would truly make the biggest difference.

Write about a time when someone complimented you for showing personal growth. How did their recognition make you feel?

When you are working on improving yourself, it’s especially important to recognize your achievements. Write a congratulatory letter to yourself about one thing you’ve been doing really well lately.

It’s also important to take care of yourself when you are focusing heavily on self-improvement. Write about one thing you can do to help yourself relax and have fun after working hard.

As a way of growing personally, many people like to focus on growing and developing the relationships in their life. Choose a friend or family member and write about how you could improve your connection with him or her.

What is the best way to form good habits? What can you do to make good habits more likely to stick?

Make a list of 10 things that make you happy. How can you experience these things more frequently?

What is your greatest talent? How can you use it to help others?

Do you think personal growth is difficult? Why or why not? 1/2/2020

What is the most difficult aspect of personal growth? What could you do to make that aspect less challenging?

Think about the part of your life that you are trying to improve right now. As you get older, how do you think your focus will change? What other ways will you try to grow in?

In what area of your life have you grown the most over the past three years? What do you think helped you change?

Imagine that you are talking to your younger self. What accomplishment would your younger self be most proud to see that you’ve achieved?

Think about the experiences you’ve had while working to improve yourself. What is the greatest lesson you’ve learned in relation to personal growth? Why was it so important to you?

What is your life philosophy? What can you do to ensure that you are living it every day?

What do I need more of in my life?

What do I need to let go of? (Fears, toxic energy, toxic relationships)

What are some of my limiting beliefs that might be holding me back?

What are 10 things I am grateful for today?

What are 10 positive things about my life? (Things I absolutely love about my life)

What are 5 ways that I can go out of my comfort zone this year?

What are 7 things I am really good at?

Write out 15 positive affirmations (ex: I can achieve anything I set my mind to.)

If money wasn't an issue, what would my ideal life be? (Where would I live, what would my career be, what would my family look like)

What motivates me to keep going?

How would I describe myself to someone who has never met me before?

What are 3 of my life passions? (hobbies/things that set my soul on fire)

Where is my favorite place to go? Why?

Who is my biggest inspiration and why?

Where will I be in 5 years?

What does my ideal day look like?

What unhealthy habits do I need to cut out?

What do I love most about myself? (5 things)

What is something I've been wanting to do but have been too afraid to try? (Why am I afraid?)

What are my top 3 goals for this year and how can I achieve them?

What do I struggle with the most?

What are 5 words that describe me best and why?

How can I add happiness to my daily life?

What animal describes me as a person and why?

What do I need to forgive myself for?

What does success mean to me?

How can I show myself more love?

What am I going to achieve next month?

What negative mindsets do I need to let go of?

Write out 50 things that make me smile.

What would I do if I knew I could not fail?

What do you most desire for your life and the future?

What is the ONE thing I can do to move forward with my goals? 1/1/2020

List the things you SHOULD do versus the things you WANT to do.

What is the book you wish you could write?

List 20 things that make you smile

Write about 5 things you are grateful for this week. In addition, you can write a monthly, quarterly and yearly gratitude list!

What are your greatest strengths and weaknesses?

Reflect on how you have changed since 5 years ago

Are you addicted to social media? Assess yourself honestly and explore how it impacts your life and what changes, if any, you can make.

What is something that has impacted positively on your life?

How do you maintain balance in your life? For example, are there any changes you would like to or NEED to make?

If you were stranded on a desert island, what is the one thing and the one person you would choose to have with you and why?

Go for a walk with your phone/camera and take some photos. Afterwards, sit down and reflect on one of the photos you took

If you could relive an experience in your life, what would it be?

How was your day?

What does growing older mean to you?

How do you look after your physical health?

When do you feel happiest in your skin?

Where is your favourite place in the world? It could be a country, town, place, room in your house or something else!

Reminisce about your first love. P.S. It could be a car, a person, or something else

My favourite way to spend the day is …

Describe your perfect day

How do you handle a bad day?

Reminisce about your wedding day

What scares you?

How do you look after your mental health?

Write about your top 3 goals. What are they, how will you feel when you achieve them, and finally, what will your life look like?

List the things you need/want to achieve in the next week

What do you consider your greatest professional success?

What do you consider your greatest personal success?

Who inspires you?

Try your hand and write a poem.

What advice would you give your 20-something self?

My dream vacation is

I feel amazing when …

What was the defining moment in your life?

Choose 3 photos of yourself across your lifetime and write about how you feel looking at them. On reflection, what were you doing in the photo and what you were like at the time?

Are you a city, a country or a beach person?

Write a 99 things you love list.

If you could invent something, what would it be?

What was the best concert you have ever been to?

If you won lotto tomorrow, what would you do?

What memory do you cherish the most?

Write about the place you grew up. How has it shaped you?

Pretend you are a tourist in your own town. Head out for a road trip with your camera, take some pics, and write about it

What makes you you?

What is the best gift you have ever given or received?

When you are feeling down, what picks you up?

How do you manage stress? Explore what has worked for you and what hasn’t

What are your top life hacks?

Are you an introvert or an extrovert? How has it shaped your life?

If you had a theme song, what would it be?

Write about a cause close to your heart, and why it is so important to you

What is a habit you would like to change?

What is the best compliment you’ve ever received?

What is your favourite season and why

How does it feel to be the age you currently are?

Write about the first time you saw/held your newborn

Interview yourself or ask someone to interview you

What is on your bucket list?

I couldn’t live without …

What is your biggest weakness?

In what ways have you grown as a person this year? What/who has influenced you? And what have you learned?

What excites you about the future?

Write about a book, movie or song that has made a huge impact on you

What is your earliest childhood memory?

What is your greatest strength?

Name three things you couldn’t live without

What are you really good at?

Head out to a cafe or somewhere public, sit, and people watch. Write about what or who you see. Let your imagination run free. Write about the history of the people you see, what is happening, what they are thinking, what there future will be

Do you have a pet? Write about them! 1/3/2020

Write a letter to your son or daughter

I feel most satisfied when …

What do you wish others knew about you?

What was the funniest thing you saw or heard this week?

Do you have a routine or are you a person who hates routine?

What is the best advice someone has ever given you? Furthermore, what impact did this have on your life?

The most important things in my life are …

List your top wellness tips

Who do you look up to, and what do you admire most about them?

Write a letter to your teenage self

If you could have a superpower, what would it be?

What is your life motto, or what words do you live by?

Write about something you have never told anyone about before

What do you want to be remembered for?

How will you commit to taking better care of yourself next year?

What brings a tear to the eye? (It could be happy tears!)

Of all of the books you have read this year, which has been your favourite, and why?

What does success mean to you?

If you struggle with procrastination, what do you think causes it?

What does it mean to live an authentic life?

What is something you would love to learn how to do?

Are you a spiritual person? Describe your beliefs and how they affect and define how you live your life.

My favourite childhood memory is …

Write the top 5 things in your life that are causing you stress. For each stressor, write what you can do to change it

Name 4 little things that always make you happy

Do you prefer to read fiction or non-fiction? Why?

What friends are you most grateful for? List what makes each friend so special

What do you love most about your partner? List them

My favourite way to spend the day is …

What are the 3 biggest distractions in your life at the moment, and how can you go about reducing them?

Sit down and do a life audit. Work through every section of your life and assess what is working well, what isn't, and any changes you could make

List 5 things you love about your home

How has each member of your immediate family helped to shape your life?

Describe your dream life.

Where do you see yourself in 5 years from now?

Write a life admin list and then get to work on ticking those items off of your list!

My favorite way to spend the day is…

If I could talk to my teenage self, the one thing I would say is…

The two moments I’ll never forget in my life are… Describe them in great detail, and what makes them so unforgettable.

Write the words you need to hear right now.

Write about a moment experienced through your body. Making love, making breakfast, going to a party, having a fight, an experience you've had or you imagine for your character. Leave out thought and emotion, and let all information be conveyed through the body and senses.

The words I’d like to live by are…

I couldn’t imagine living without…

Make a list of 30 things that make you smile.

Make a list of the people in your life who genuinely support you, and who you can genuinely trust. (Then make time to hang out with them.)

What does unconditional love look like for you?

What would you do if you loved yourself unconditionally? How can you act on these things whether you do or don’t?

When I’m in pain — physical or emotional — the kindest thing I can do for myself is…

Name what is enough for you.

If my body could talk, it would say…

Name a compassionate way you’ve supported a friend recently. Then write down how you can do the same for yourself.

I really wish others knew this about me…

What always brings tears to your eyes?

Write about a time when work felt real to you, necessary and satisfying. Paid or unpaid, professional or domestic, physical or mental.

Using 10 words, describe yourself.

What do you love about life?

What can you learn from your biggest mistakes?

I feel most energized when…

Write a list of questions to which you urgently need answers.

What’s surprised you the most about your life or life in general?

What’s one topic you need to learn more about to help you live a more fulfilling life? (Then learn about it.)

I feel happiest in my skin when…

Make a list of everything you'd like to say no to.

Make a list of everything that inspires you — from books to websites to quotes to people to paintings to stores to the stars.

Explain what productivity feels like and means to you as vividly as possible.

How do you deal with feeling unmotivated? Are you someone who needs a lot of inspiration to get started on a task?

What is your priority in life at the moment?

Make a list of everything you'd like to say yes to.

What are your three biggest distractions, and how do/will you go about reducing them?

List three things you did today that bring you closer to where you want to be in five years’ time.

What is your biggest accomplishment over the last week, and what do you wish to do better over the next?

Name five values you strive to personify.

Talk about an obstacle you overcame today.

What is a habit you want to develop? How will it help your long-term goals?

What lesson did you learn from the last book you read?

Name five people who have inspired you recently, and explain why.

Identify your biggest time management mistake.

List five ways you have changed since this time last year.

Name the last three instances when someone gave you feedback. How did this make you feel, and what did you learn from it?

Give an example of when you helped someone else achieve one of their goals.

Discuss a big decision that frightened you initially, but paid off in the end.

How do you respond to setbacks and failure? Why? How would you like this to change?

Name one way technology enhances and hinders your productivity.

When was the last time you listened to your intuition, and what was the outcome?

Reflect on the happiest moment of your life. Explore where were you, what were you doing, and who were you sharing it with? Reflect on every detail.

What is your most treasured possession and why?

If you could run any business (and the business would be a guaranteed success), what business would you run?

How have you changed from the person you were 5 years ago?

When you think about your future, what do you fear the most?

When you think about your future, what do you hope for the most?

You partner is not giving you something you need. Do you tell them or suffer in silence?

Describe a time you felt especially valued and loved.

When’s the last time you used the word “busy” or “stressed out” about yourself? Is there a way that you could make things easier on yourself?

What have you been complaining about most lately? Is there a way to see that differently?

What brings you joy every single day?

What time of day are you most productive? Why do you think that is?

List the 5 people you spend the most time with, why, and how they’re affecting you — your behaviors, your thoughts, your life.

List the top 5 people you admire, and why.

What is your favorite song/musical piece and why?

What is an affirmation that can help you today?

What was your childhood dream and why? What happened to that dream and why?

Define the following: Success. Wisdom. Love. Faith. Truth. Courage. Joy

List all the things you think you SHOULD do, that you don’t want to do.

If you didn’t have to worry about money or people’s opinions, what would you do with your life?

If your house burned to the ground, what are the top 1–3 things you would want to save? Assume family and pets are already outside and safe.

A mental challenge I want to take on is…

How can you show yourself love?

List all the things you do that you shouldn't.

What is something you haven’t forgiven yourself for? How does it affect you now?

What is something I struggle with?

Create a forgiveness list of those who have done you wrong

How can you show yourself respect?

Name the top 3 emotions you are feeling in this moment and what causes them. If negative emotions, how can you turn them around?

List your top 3 fears and the reason behind them. Do you think you'll overcome these fears? Why or why not?

When do you feel the most at peace?

What gave you energy today? Drained your energy? Can you do anything to prevent the drain? Explain.

In what ways do you still need to invest in yourself?

Describe your environment. How can you improve it?

What steps can you take today to progress your personal growth?

What is the best piece of advice you’ve gotten?

How do you remember your childhood? Does it hold impact on your present self? What can you do to change that?

Describe your self care routine. Below your current routine, describe your ideal self care routine. Are there things you can change?

Describe your morning routine. Are there other habits you can implement for a better day?

Are you living your life authentically? If not, what needs to change for you to live authentically?

Describe your social life and how it impacts your mental and emotional state.

Pick a memory that makes you feel negatively and reflect on it. How did it change you? Does it impact your day to day life now? If so, while you are reflecting on the memory, forgive those involved that caused pain, accept the pain it once inflicted, and leave it in the memory. While you're reflecting, give yourself the chance to see from the other people's point of view, and outside of the situation as well. Imagine what they felt during that moment, how they saw the situation. Define the lesson from that moment in life, and apply it to your life today.Pick a memory that makes you feel positively and reflect on it. How did it change you? Does it help you keep a positive mindset and standpoint? Describe the memory, and the things involved that make you feel good. Reflect how you've changed since you lived that memory, and what you would like to see come from the positive emotions and mindset.

Pick a memory that makes you feel positively and reflect on it. How did it change you? Does it help you keep a positive mindset and standpoint? Describe the memory, and the things involved that make you feel good. Reflect how you've changed since you lived that memory, and what you would like to see come from the positive emotions and mindset.

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bts-love-sweat-tears · 6 years

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Tickled Pink (Follower Celebration Fic #4)

Title: Tickled Pink

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

Type: Fluff, ultra-domestic! Joon

Rating:G, except for gratuitous language. I think you can say the f-bomb once in a PG-13 movie, so this would probably be R if it were a movie. Sorry not sorry! :P

Word Count: 1,505

A/N: Namjoon fluff as requested by a lovely anon! Spot who’s whipped for Namjoon’s fashion choices. Yes, yes, c’est moi. I’m so sorry for the delay! I moved home and started school back up and it’s leaving me a little tired and uninspired. But please enjoy the fourth of five for my 200 follower milestone. If I don’t get the Tae fluff out quick, I might have to roll right into my next milestone lol. You guys have been so good to me, honestly. I know I’m terrible at chatting (infp problems), but I’m truly grateful for each and every one of you and the comments you leave <3

Well fuck. You’d been trying to help Namjoon out before he went on tour, doing his laundry while he was at the studio trying to wrap a few last-minute things up. He hadn’t asked you, but you had planned on surprising him by taking at least one thing off of his admittedly very long to-do list. What you hadn’t been planning on was one of your errant red socks making its way into the load as well, and now all you had to show for your well-intentioned efforts was a load of clothes tinged faintly pink. And not just any pink clothes: all his favorites that he’d been planning to take on tour with him. VISVIM, WTAPS, MASTERMIND, YAMAMOTO. The further you dug through the load, the more the dollar signs were adding up in your head. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. You knew he wouldn’t care about the money, but you cared about it, as a matter of principle. Not to mention his sentimental attachment to the brands that comprised his carefully curated wardrobe.

Your boyfriend was basically the god of disaster, so maybe you should have been expecting something to this effect, but you hadn’t realized that such a dubious distinction apparently applied to you through association. You sorted through the items again, trying to determine the extent of the damage. Bleach might work, you mused, but of course there was none in the apartment the two of you shared. Much to your mutual chagrin, it often sat empty, with Joon’s high profile career leading one of the world’s most popular idol groups, and your own consulting work. The two of you treasured the time you spent in the apartment together, away from the eyes of the world and the pressures of work, but what that meant now was that you didn’t have normal things that most people likely had at their disposal. You decided that you would take it to the dry cleaners and let them work whatever black magic (and strong chemicals) they had at their disposal. What you should have done originally, had you actually thought it through.

Before you were able to put your emergency plan into action, you heard the signature beep of your digital lock, and the door swing open and hit the wall, Joon’s cursing muffled as he kicked off his shoes in the entryway. Panicked, you scrambled around the laundry room, burying the recently dyed load under some sheets you’d been meaning to get to.You would just have to take them to the cleaner and ship them to him later.You tripped/skipped out of the laundry room, swooping in for a hug. You stayed there longer than strictly necessary, breathing in the comfort that Namjoon always provided. Even though you both of you had been through it (what felt like) a million times before, you always missed him like crazy when he went on tour. It never got easier. Thinking about the tour reminded you of your misadventure in the laundry room, and you felt a guilty blush paint your cheeks.

Fortunately, Joon didn’t seem to notice. He released you and began to putter around the apartment, throwing things haphazardly into the duffle he was responsible for. You had no idea how he even knew what was in the duffle bag later, or how he found the power-cord that you knew would inevitably fall to the very bottom of his bag. You used the stackable travel cubes, clips, ziplock bags, and anything else that might make the journey as painless as possible. After two near misses with his passport, you had bought him a passport holder he could wear under his clothes, but unsurprisingly, he had lost that almost immediately as well. Opposites attract, or so they say. He was lucky that BigHit staff handled most of the mandatory stuff or might be missing a shirt when he went on stage. But tonight it worked in your favor, since he probably wouldn’t even realize that he had packed different shirts than he had originally intended. Regardless, every minute he putzed around, you expected a confused, “Babe, have you seen the shirts I set aside earlier?”

You tried to stay up as long as possible, not trusting your luck thus far. But your eyelids soon dropped closed, soothing voice of whatever TV personality lulling you into a dreamless sleep on the couch. Joon usually stayed awake the night before a long-haul flight, with the intention of adapting to whatever new time zone he would be in (and to make the godawful travel time seem a little shorter). If you couldn’t be sleeping next to him, the couch was your next favorite spot, the back and arms of the chair caging you in comfortingly.

Some time later, you felt a gentle kiss press into your forehead, and a warm presence moved a blanket onto you. You stirred slightly, struggling to move after whatever REM cycle you’d just interrupted.

“Shit, babe, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Joon looked repentant, voice with that late-night raspy edge that you loved.

“What time is it?” You murmured, voice almost as scratchy as his.

“Four,” he replied softly. “I have another hour or so before I need to leave. Since you’re awake now, should we take this to the bedroom?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively but from the lightness in his tone, you knew he had something else in mind.

You grinned back. “Joonie, you know I can never say no to cuddles.” The two of you relocated to the master bedroom a few doors away, and you spent your last night for three-ish months wrapped in each other’s arms. Perfection.

You had been together for a long time, but you would never get tired of his cuddles. Though sometimes you felt like his long limbs were everywhere when you were trying to sleep, always snaking their way to “your” side of the bed, they were perfect when you wanted to be tangled up in him. He idly rubbed small circles in your back. Normally, you weren’t touchy, and your friends used to ask you what you would do when you met someone and didn’t want to touch. But what they didn’t understand was that you didn’t want casual touches from people you didn’t know well. Joon and you were like halves of the same whole; puzzle pieces with different edges but fundamentally the same when it came to the big picture. You exhaled and moved even closer, knowing that it would be months before you felt this way again.

What felt like moments later, he gently slid you to the side, shuffling around to find his slippers. It was still dark outside, and while Namjoon had turned on a few dim lights, the shadows felt foreboding. Or maybe it was just because you knew a long separation was coming. You dozed lightly while he got dressed, dreaming that you could prolong the inevitable.

Joon laid a gentle hand on your shoulder, alerting you to the fact that it was time. You used to want to go to the airport to see him off, but with the pushing and shoving of the fans (and the fact that they two of you had to be relatively covert), it no longer seemed worth it. He brought you in, tighter than usual, and he seemed just as unwilling to let go. You arched your neck up, peppering kisses along as much of his face as you could reach. He smiled, dimples out full force, and though it killed you now, you knew you would make it through this, as you had before. Thank God for FaceTime.

A car horn honked outside, signaling that he really had to leave. With a final kiss, he grabbed his bag and shoes, and was out the door. A mix of dejected and exhausted, you plopped back into bed, hoping to get a few more hours of sleep before your own workday started. You weren’t fully awake, so you hoped it wouldn’t prove too difficult.

Hours later, during your lunch break, after a productive morning trying to take your mind off a certain lanky boy’s absence, you found yourself perusing Naver for any interesting headlines, and that’s when you saw it. The airport photos had been posted, and Namjoon had opted to wear a (new) pink shirt with a unique dye job. Media outlets were speculating whether it had been custom-made for him. You snorted. It was custom, alright. He had paired it with a pink beanie, his whistle, and some pink Converse. You snorted-this was not what you had in mind when you had hidden it at the bottom of the laundry bin. But he looked damn good, and you smiled as you opened your text messages, seeing that you had an unread notification.

Hey baby, what did you think of my outfit today? ;)

Your cheeks were as warm as the hue he had been photographed in.

#follower milestone fic #bts scenarios #bts x reader #namjoon fluff #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you

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diveronarpg · 5 years

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Congratulations, KIERSTEN! You’ve been accepted for the role of IMOGEN with a faceclaim change to Brittany O’Grady. Admin Kaitlin: Oh Kiersten... It’s no secret to anyone who asks how much I am in love with Isabella Gagliano. They are such a fascinating character. They bring this vibrancy, this sheer tour de force with them around every bend, carry their thirst for justice with them around every corner--their pen as their sword and paper as their shield. And you, Kiersten, my sunshine angel you brought them to us full throttle. I am particularly in love with the plots you’ve laid out for them, all the ways they seek to raze Verona to ash for the sake of the truth, no matter how bloodied it may be. I absolutely cannot wait for them to bless our dash. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER:

Alias | Kiersten

Age | 20 (dub club, baby!)

Preferred Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | 6.5/10, give or take a number depending on assignments, muse, mood, and all that jazz! I’m getting ready to go back to school; however, I think I’ve managed to keep activity up pretty well, in spite of that. Anyway, I have burning passion for writing (and pain)–and DiVerona! And along with my burning passion comes guilty pleasures–that is, prioritizing replies over not-so-important (but aren’t they all supposed to be important? c’est la vie!) assignments.

Also… I’m just gonna slide this here… https://catherinedaly.tumblr.com/ :)

Timezone | EST

IN CHARACTER:

Character | Isabella Elena Gagliano (with a FC change to Brittany O’Grady, pleeeeease!)

ISABELLA

origin: Spain

meaning: pledged to God; God is bountiful

“Qué linda, qué hermosa–nuestro amor. Gracias a Dio.” These are some of the earliest phrases that she can remember coming from Candela and Emilio Gagliano throughout her childhood. Affectionately nicknamed Bella from an early age, the Gagliano child has never been a stranger to beloved adoration. Every morning, her parents would shower the beautiful babe with kisses; every night, they would get on their knees and pray at the side of the crib, thanking God for the gift He deigned to give them.

ELENA

origin: Greece

meaning: shining light; the bright one

Candela Gagliano knew what she was doing when she looked down at her darling baby and decided to gift her with a middle name full of light and brightness. That is what Isabella was to the Gagliano family: a bundle of light that, when cultivated as sweetly as she’d been, would one day righteously burn anyone who dared to try to snuff her out.

GAGLIANO

origin: Italy/Germany

meaning: joyous; brave

There’s bravery in looking the hurricane in the eye and now cowering, but winking. There’s bravery in relying on words and ink rather than guns and bullets–this ideology has been absorbed by the little canary who prefers to sing her truths rather than fight battles that she knows she’s unequipped for. She takes immense joy in dealing justice–a rarity, especially in a place such as Verona.

What drew you to this character? | Would you believe me if I said a bit of my heart has always belonged to Isabella Gagliano? I’m no better than Eros leaving Psyche to tend to her as she so rightfully deserves. When I began toying with the idea of applying for a second character (yes, I know I’m tardy to the party), I told myself that I would look for someone who pushed me out of my comfort zone of innately soft characters. By no means do I consider Isabella rough, but she’s brazen in a sort of “it’s better to ask for forgiveness rather than beg for permission” kind of way. There’s a fire inside of her that I’m dying to get ahold of. And, after going through the list over and over again, I realized that I couldn’t turn a blind eye to Isa anymore.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? | Where do you see this character developing, and what kind of actions would you have them take to get there? 3 future plot ideas would be preferable.

SEE, I’VE COME TO BURN YOUR KINGDOM DOWN: Isabella is no stranger to injustice or loss; she’s had more than enough of her fair share of both while living in Spain. Her move to Verona was meant to only be an escape, to rid herself of the plaguing thoughts of her mother and father, but the seasoned man who took her underneath his aged wing implored her to write, she could not refuse. She wrote. The Verona Giornale took note of the little canary and offered her a place, promising her as much anonymity as they can give under the moniker of Imogen, and she greedily took them up on her offer, promising herself that she would EXPOSE THE MOBS FOR ALL THAT THEY’VE DONE. And may God have mercy on the souls who find themselves immortalized in ink by Isabella Gagliano; for, if they want to live like gods, she will assure that they are crucified like them—painfully, magnificently, and publicly.

YOU HOLD MY HEART, YOU HOLD ME DOWN: Isa was the one to force her beloved to choose between her heart and her family, for she was under the guise that she meant more to Celeste than the family that left her with no choice but to marry and join the likes of the Montagues. But if there was one thing her parents taught her, it was to never make assumptions; and yet, the Gagliano woman did and got burned in the end. Casting Celeste out of her house that night was the most painful thing she’d ever done, and I’d like to see how she could come to terms with it. Logically, of course, it makes sense–Isabella cannot afford to lose herself in a woman that can never fully be hers, but her bleeding heart cries for its stellina, cries to have the other sweetly nestled against the contours of Isabella’s body, even if only for a night. EXPLORING THE RELATIONSHIP WITH CELESTE is something I’m dying to do, especially since I see Isa as a rather possessive person; will she cave for Celeste, or will she go out of her way to try to make the Duval woman jealous? Will she seclude herself because of her battered heart and work twice as hard to expose the evil doings of the mobs?

CORRUPT A MAN’S HEART WITH A GIFT–THAT’S HOW YOU FIND OUT WHO YOU DEALIN’ WITH: I’d like for Isa to LOOK FOR WEAK LINKS WITHIN THE MOBS’ ARMOR, for both her own sanity and her publications. Though Fate has been cruel to her in the past, she’s loathe to believe that it could continue to be; surely, Isabella believes, not everyone involved in the work of Damiano or Cosimo is there because of their own volition. Surely, she believes, there are some willing to sing their song for her, so long as she offers something in return. While neither of us are sure what will be offered, I’d love to get the chance to flesh it out and figure out just how far Isabella will go to get what she thinks she needs.

Are you comfortable with killing of your character? | Only if it’ll cause the maximum amount of pain possible.

IN CHARACTER INTERVIEW:

What is your favorite place in Verona?

Wrapped under plush blankets, arm strewn lovingly across a frame she’s mapped dozens of times–that’s her favorite place in Verona. But, there’s power in a name and in the unfettered truth that she’s too selfish to give up; to remedy, Isa keeps the truth tucked close to her chest out of fear that, if she shares, she’ll lose it and Celeste. So, Isabella settles for something far more bland, but still honest: “My office– at home or at the Giornale.” The answer is far more bland, but it’s still honest. Both places scream Isabella Gagliano, for they’re littered with pads of paper marred by her loop-filled handwriting and her walls and desk are decorated with pictures she’s taken in her down time (however, her office at home dons more intimate photos–candids, true moments of happiness–than the one at work). “There’s something liberating in sitting down in a space that’s wholeheartedly your own and and just… Being able to write and to be. It’s cathartic, really.”

2. What does your typical day look like?

“I don’t really have a set pattern of what I do every day.” Isabella prefers to keep a healthy amount of change in her life, just in case someone starts to trail her. Writing under a moniker offers more protection than her given name, but it doesn’t offer invincibility; she wishes to follow in her parents footsteps, but in her own way: stealthily, creatively. It’s not easy living in Verona without mob protection, but she makes do with what she has; besides, she’d rather die a martyr than a murderer. Languidly and cat-like, she places an elbow on the arm of the leather chair, lips jutting out in thought. “But, first and foremost,” the curly-haired brunette begins, “I wake up. The time varies, depending on what I have planned for the day. If I have a ridiculously light schedule, I’ll lounge in bed ‘til noon or I get hungry—whichever comes first.” Playfully, she chuckles at her own admission before continuing, “But on ‘normal’ days, I head to Giornale, I interview people, I write. Maybe I’ll find time to visit a few friends or just wander around the city. I’ve been here for a few months, sure, but every single day I feel like there’s something else–something new–that I learn. And that’s a journalist’s dream, no?”

3. What has been your biggest mistake thus far?

“So what—this is it?” Disbelief colors her words and she’s grateful; without it, she knows without a doubt that Celeste would be able to hear the begging undertones, the wretched part of Isabella that wants nothing more than to love and be loved in return.

“Mi amore, what do you want from me?” Celeste’s voice is tired, worn. “You know me better than I do myself; you know—“

“What do I want? What do I want, Celeste?” Exasperated hands slam against her countertop, causing the other to jump in her perch on the couch. “You! All I want is you! How many languages do I have to say it in for you to understand it? How many times?” Isa rakes her hands through her curls to calm herself, but it’s no use; panic and vexation have settled deep within the marrows of her bones, for she knows deep down that this is the end.

“I can’t leave Tomas—“

“You don’t even love him.” Isabella’s voice cracks as it stumbles over the four letter word, the four letter word she’s breathed countless amounts of time against the soft skin of Celeste’s neck, at the insides of her thighs. Isabella closes the distance between them, brown eyes imploring as she nestled beside her lover on the couch, fingertips reaching and finding purchase on the other’s hands. “You love me. Why—why am I not enough?”

For the first time since the conversation began, she swears she can see guilt in her lover’s alluring eyes. Celeste says nothing, and the silence is as loud as anguished screams. Because you can’t provide for me in the way that my family needs like he can, Isa supplies mentally, because you have no merit in Verona. Because you are neither Capulet nor Montague aligned.

Because you were too late.

“Then go.” She all but snatches her hand away from Celeste’s and she abruptly stands. “Get out. Get out.” Heavy footfalls thump against the hardwood floors as she disappears down the hall to their—no, her—bedroom. A few moments pass before Isabella rounds the corner, Celeste’s belongings carelessly bundled in her arms. “Leave,” Isa hisses, all but throwing the clothes at the redhead, “and stay gone. Stay with him in that big, grand house of yours.”

The Duval woman can only comply. With clothes in her hands and tears in her eyes, she casts her beloved a longing look before leaving. And as soon as the door slams shut, Isabella crumbles to a heap of bitterness, of brokenheartedness. She pulls her knees to her chest and raggedly sobs until her throat is raw.

———

“Signorina Gagliano?” the interviewer prompts, brows furrowing.

She blinks—once, twice, then murmurs, “Perdonami—my mind has been elsewhere as of late.” Then, to remedy her inappropriate silence, she flashes a grin and admits, “Honestly, it’s a bit unnerving being on the other side of this. I’m much more comfortable in your position, caro mio.” His chuckle reveals that he’s not upset, not even bothered. He just wants answers, Isa tells herself.

All anyone ever wants is an answer until it’s not quite that they want to hear. She swallows thickly.

“My biggest mistake would have to be giving people the benefit of the doubt.” Doing so with Celeste had left a gaping hole in her chest that she knows will never fully fill. “When somebody shows you who they are the first time, amico mio, you better believe them.”

What has been the most difficult task asked of you?

“To write,” she murmurs softly, brown eyes more vulnerable than she’d like to admit. It comes as easily as air to her, that writing, but it brings so much pain, so much misery. It dredges up memories that she has spent years trying to bury. “It’s a gift and a curse, you know.” To equally love and hate what you do, to know that it’s the best thing to do–even if not for your own gain. She knows this better than many at the Giornale, for they write from a distance with no ties to the mobs, but she writes from unwanted connections: her lovesick heart, her bitter soul. “But, you know what they say: Nothing easy is worth having, or something along those lines.” And truly, deep down, Isabella knows this as well as she knows the sky is blue and the grass is green, but it doesn’t make it any easier to stomach.

4. What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

This is the one question that leaves a metallic tang in her mouth—the mention of the mobs in what she thought was lighthearted practice for one of the newer interns has driven her to lock her jaws until she bleeds. This is all they do: they kill, they steal, and they lie—for trivial, worldly possessions. Money. Fame. Power. Her fingertips twitch involuntarily, the minuscule movement born from irritation and disdain. And this is why I’m here—to strip them of it all, to remind them that the pen is far mightier than the sword.

Isabella clears her throat and her mind by extension; to blatantly admit something that bold, even in the face of a comrade, would be the final nail in a casket she’s not yet prepared to lie in. “I’m not sure if it’s fair for us to have a say on a world that we know nothing of,” she breezily lies, fingertips absentmindedly tugging at her dark brown curls. A brow arches, however, asking the question that she knows better than to voice and he knows better than to answer: Don’t you know better than to ask about the work of the Devil?

Nonetheless, glossed lips tick upward at the corners, just enough to indicate a smile. “My thoughts are based on facts and facts alone when it comes to things not prominent in my own life, so I’m sure that makes them rather bland.”

Extras: If you have anything else you’d like to include (further headcanons, an inspo tag, a mock blog, etc), feel free to share it here!

EXTRAS:

MBTI: ENTP - The Debater

ZODIAC: Libra - October 11, 1994

MOCK BLOG:

https://isabellagagliano.tumblr.com/

PLAYLIST:

https://open.spotify.com/user/r7z4vyhjr8g2jp2t30pkapvwf/playlist/6eVrYzXLiF281uOg3GeqI1?si=PPb1kT6lQp6ZTCDGgA3sqw

HEADCANONS:

Isabella has a tiny, scripted-font “C.” behind her left ear. One drunken escapade quickly led to another, and before either Celeste or Isabella knew it, they were in a hole-in-the-wall tattoo shop. Isa held Celeste’s hand as she got her tattoo—“I love you, stellina, I love you,” the brunette had slurred with a lazy grin throughout the process.

The Gagliano woman is possessive, to say the least; but who can blame her—the child who lost what was most important to her at the time to outside forces, to greedy hands that only sought to take?

Along with journalism, Isa enjoys photography in her free time.

She’s fluent in Spanish, Italian, English, and she knows conversational Russian.

The man that took her in and encouraged her to write recently passed; she visits his grave at least once every two weeks.

#accepted #accepted: imogen

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shcotingstar · 6 years

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what’s up, i’m blossom, i go by any pronouns, and am currently in the est timezone ! i got benched for a week today, but at least soon i get to get a little bit closer to my goal of taking a shot in every country, so there’s that ! i’m really not that interesting or funny, but sometimes i say dumb things & people think i’m joking ! that’s all there’s to know about me. FIND HER PINTEREST HERE.

moving to the main attraction: andy ! the world’s piss poor job of a psychic. i’m extremely excited for her, and hope you come to be, too ! check under the cut for a short bio & some wanted connections.

( LANA CONDOR, GENDERFLUID, SHE/HE/THEY ) — ✧ that looks like ANDROMEDA ISLEY-QUINZEL! they’re the TWENTY-ONE-YEAR-OLD CHILD of PAMELA ISLEY & HARLEEN QUINZEL (ADOPTED). [ they are also an UNDERGRAD at paragon. ] i hear they’re DEBONAIR & GREGARIOUS, but tend to be CALLOUS & RANCOROUS. their file says that their power is PRECOGNITION.

tw : ( parental ) death, ( family ) abuse, blood ment, teen pregnancy, dissociation ( sort of ), mentions of depression

born on a blistering gotham day, andromeda was the child of a sixteen-year-old heiress with a long string of bad choices behind her. she was seen as an inconvenience, a stain on their family’s spotless reputation.

she was very barely tolerated in her own home. any fraction of disobedience or insolence was seen as ungratefulness. she was constantly having her mother’s actions thrown against her, even at such a young age.

but andy didn’t let it break her spirit. she worked harder, trying to reach a goal she couldn’t even see. she was put into ballet when she was only four-years-old, a sort of penance.

she was not good at it — she excelled. by the time she was seven, ballet was the only thing she did that got her the attention she so desperately craved. but between practices, when she knew she wasn’t going to get caught ( because andromeda was armed with the knowledge that it would definitely get torn from her perfectly painted nails ), she would draw.

pencils and markers and anything that she could get her hands on. she’d create collages sometimes, or flowers, men made of hearts & women made of smoke. she made universes with strokes of a brush.

it’s then it happens. she’s seven & has a rehearsal in a few days and that’s all that matters in her life. not school, nor health, nor sleep. just practice. a part of her knows this is wrong. that she’s a kid, that she’s not supposed to be working this hard for a dream that’s starting to seem unreal, but she ignores it. thoughts like that go nowhere in her life.

it’s almost like a dream. one moment she is sitting, eating dinner with her grandparents, her mother gone ( as she frequently is these days ), and she looks up to her grandmother for a flit of an eye, then away. suddenly, she is gasping, filled with mental images that aren’t fitting to what she knows the bands of her imagination to be.

❝ blood, ❞ she says, reeling, the word coming out before she even means it to, ❝ why are your hands covered in blood ? bà, why are your hands covered in blood ? ❞ her grandmother, of course, demands to know what she means, and when andy tells her she does not know, sends her away, back to her room without finishing dinner on the promise she gets some rest.

two nights later, in the middle of the night, her grandparents get an urgent call from the hospital with words of andy’s mother and an accident. she’d be in a passenger in the car of a drunk driver, and upon impact into another vehicle, had been thrown from the car and through the windshield.

by the time they get there, it is too late. they barge into the room, doctor’s standing all around, grim eyes set to the floor. a moment of silence one sees only in movies.

andy can’t take her eyes off her mother’s, glazed and empty. she’s rooted in the stop. her grandmother, however, has no such qualms. she lunges forward, grabs onto her only daughter and yells for the doctor’s to do something, uselessly pressing to a wound that had caused her to bleed out.

it is only after the fact, hours later, after the bui family leaves the emergency room, goes home, that the night’s second tragedy occurs.

the door shuts, and andy walks on numb feet towards the stairs. her eyes hurt from crying. she wasn’t close with her. her mother had not been much of a mother at all, never showing her interest or even bare minimum affection. but she was a kind, sensitive person, and the thought of her being gone hurt so badly.

( and though andy refuses to admit it to herself. there’s a nagging part of her head that knew this was going to happen. that saw it coming in a way she does not understand. )

her grandmother turns on her, looking so tired, but there’s something behind her eyes that scares the younger of the two. it looks like hatred. like fear. ❝ what are you ? ❞ she hisses. ❝ what have you done with my cháu ? meant to lead us astray ? how did you know ? ❞

andromeda has been so upset, she hadn’t noticed, but now she does. her grandmother’s hands are covered in blood, just like she had said. it doesn’t feel like some sort of coincidence.

vile is spewed at her. accusations she cannot begin to wrap her head around. there’s only so many times one can deny something without sounding uncertain, and the truth is that andy has no idea either how she knew that. she tries to explain, but all she does is further prove how much of an outsider she is. something evil. something to pray against.

they put her up for adoption the day after, and andy never gets to go to the funeral. she bounces around after that, and by a fated chance, lands in the arms of the isley-quinzels when she’s only nine.

they meet her as andromeda rosalie, the kid with the 100-watt smile with pockets of sunshine to hand out. maybe a bit sad in the eyes, and a bit too willing to speak her mind, but it all adds to the endearing qualities.

andy instantaneously grows attached with the smallest bit of preference towards harley, though she’s eternally grateful for them both. she’s adopted only a few months after that, but it isn’t until she’s eleven does she tell her family about that thing in her head.

she sits them all down, laying it all down as it as, and as she knows it. she calls it her ‘ khùng ‘ ( vietnamese for crazy ). she doesn’t think of it like it is but hopes they can understand. and she tells them even more, things she never admitted out loud.

about how she gets dreams and flashes of pictures and sometimes she sees people she knows aren’t real, but none of it ever makes sense until it’s too late. andy shows them pictures in her sketchbook, the nice one harley & pamela bought her, the kind she drew in that state. she tells them the meaning behind the ones she can.

the thorns she drew before an upsettingly ended friendship. the mirrors in the practice room of her new dance academy before she even stepped inside. the long tidal wave she drew in such a hurried frevor the day before being overcome with an overpowering cold.

andromeda is expecting the worst. but she knows she can never live here with these amazing people who help her and don’t push her in bad ways if she can’t tell them her secret. she understands they will want to see her gone, too, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

but. they aren’t angry. happy, rather, that she felt comfortable enough to tell them. and entirely willing to help andy understand herself better, and what’s going on better. her mutation. the one thing she had never considered.

without the weight of it so pressing, now knowing she has her family’s support, andromeda is a new person. she is finally given time to grow up, at her pace, and does it in every way she can. tries thousands of things she wasn’t allowed back when she was younger. she never quite realized how much of the world she was kept from.

she gets enrolled into dance academy and learns to enjoy ballet without having to constantly focus on the idea of being the best. she takes art classes on the side, grows a collection of brushes and paints and pencils.

she always paints and draws in color, but when her visions come over her, it’s in black and white. she doesn’t like to think about it, though.

she’s widely surrounded by the sort of degenerates you grow used to living in gotham, but it’s not a lifestyle that she’s ever given much thought to. she rather enjoys focusing on her hobbies, more so than causing trouble.

when andromeda gets into her teenage years, she’s attracted all kinds of attention. an overachiever & a generally beautiful person, especially with such an interesting power ― that’s what they all think of precognition. the bags under her eyes, the days of worry, the chronic migraines do not speak for themself.

along the line, she’s dubbed shooting star. affectionate, at heart, but she hears this: one day she’s going to burn up in the atmosphere. andromeda chooses to take it, run with it, wears it like a brand. she calls it her secret identity.

she’s told that in a week, it won’t matter anymore. she’ll get over it. she doesn’t.

after graduating from the academy, she takes a gap year. she calls it her forgotten year, but only to herself. she makes up elaborate stories of a string of parisian lovers and rowboating in bangladesh and a beautiful mountain in ireland.

the truth: she doesn’t remember half of it. she remembers taking a plane to europe. backpacking towards north. for months at a time, it fades out. she remembers waking up in spain in a room covered in finished canvas. zoning back in at a cafe in the netherlands with pages of her calendar missing. this is the year she learns to fear her powers.

she forces herself to go home, or at least the next best thing. paragon, double majoring in art and dance, trying to keep herself busy. andy isn’t interested in slacking, is just trying to stay awake.

soon after that, she meets them. her first real relationship. to this day, she calls them her first love in her head. it burns fast and bright, and after they end it, she’s heartbroken. rejection isn’t something she can deal with without an entire relapse in personality.

she’s told she’ll get over it in a week. it’s been five years.

andy starts looking for love in places it’s not. she wears her heart proudly on her sleeve, the perfect place for the thieves of gotham to pick it off. she falls in love with a new face every day. she’s never interested longer than a week.

it’s the kind of activity that gains a reputation. it only cheers her on.

when her brother dies, things change. andromeda’s convinced she should have known. if she could only understand her powers, maybe she would have been able to do something. if she could try harder, she’d be able to figure it out, before it’s too late.

she’s so tired of it always being too late.

but she’s spent years covering her sadness, so much so her friends become worried for her mental state even during such clear tough times, and it’s ugly and it’s terrifying, but it’s the only thing she had. during it, she took more time away.

a part of her wanted to be gone again. she went the latin america this time. brazil, then venezuela, and then colombia. but she doesn’t stay gone long. she doesn’t make peace with it, either, but she can’t let herself fall any deeper. it feels like it’s been years since she’s felt like herself.

by the time she gets back to paragon, so is quin. she doesn’t believe it at first, but soon realizes it makes sense. she’s been drawing amorphophallus titanums for days. corpse plants.

she gets back into the swing of things. starts painting in color again, for her, not whatever has been eating at her that day. she’s starting to feel a bit more human again. a lit less like something being controlled.

widely known as ‘ the dramatic one, ‘ andromeda is overly friendly with her same old love fever attitude. she makes friends of all types, as well as enemies, and even does a few palm readings on the side.

wanted connections :

best friend ! someone who she gets along with more than complacent fakeness. someone who gets her a bit more than she’d probably like. someone who gets it.

exes ! she has literal LITERAL hundreds. a new one each week, she’s the type to string someone on, but when she’s doing it she devotes the passion of a thousand suns to every molecule of their being.

gotham kid ! a person who knew that interesting little human with the sense of naivety that only creeps up on her sometimes these days. whether she enjoyed their presence or not, or even knew them before becoming an isley-quinzel, there’s plenty to work with.

something precog-y ! maybe, for once, she got it right, or at the very least tried to forewarn. or maybe she played it for kicks and gave them a fake as hell psychic reading for shits and giggles. dealer's choice.

anything else ! i’m always done for plotting, and you can message me here or at discord @ 2857.

#sidekick.intro #* ━━ ◤ ᵀᴿᴱᴹᴮᴸᴵᴺᴳ ᴮᴱᶠᴼᴿᴱ ʸᴼᵁᴿ ᴼᵂᴺ ᴳᴿᴱᴬᵀᴺᴱˢˢ / isms . ◢

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kingdomofbretonxrpg · 4 years

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Congratulations Mel! We are delighted to welcome Emery Sutherland to care for the children in the care of the Pediatric Oncology of the Children’s Hospital of the Kingdom of Breton. Please complete our after acceptance checklist. We are looking forward to seeing you develop her! Please send in her blog on or before 31 December.

Out of Character

Alias: Mel

Preferred Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 33

Timezone: EST

Anything else?: tw: rape and sexual abuse are the main things // Hopefully I didn’t miss anything here? Errr… lemme know if I did.

Character

Name: Emery Sutherland

Birthdate and Age: Birthdate - October 23/ Age - 33

Preferred Pronouns: She/Her

Faceclaim: Emilia Clarke

House Affiliation: House Nantes

Profession: Nurse working in Pediatric Oncology in a hospital (inpatient) setting.

Claim: Unclaimed

Children: No

Designation: Submissive

Sexuality: Heterosexual

What is their symbol?: A moon and stars ring she can wear at all times. A delicate moon and star necklace she wears in addition when she isn’t working.

Kinks: Multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, sexual exhaustion, marking (not permanent), biting, blindfolds, light bondage, hair pulling, spanking, etc

Anti-kinks: Bodily fluids (urine, vomit, or blood), vore, scat, rape

Biography:

Verona used to be home. Growing up, she’d been lucky to live a fairly privileged life. This was something that never crossed Emery’s mind when she was younger. To her, the life she had was normal, and so were the opportunities and things that came along with it. She took for granted all of the things that she had, but despite the fact that she took what she had for granted, she was never unhappy with what she had at her fingertips. As a young girl, Emery was happy, shy, and sweet although her privilege would often times show in her inability to relate to certain people’s trials. Making friends did not always come easily for her thanks to the fact that she had a difficult time pushing past her shyness enough to have a genuine connection with other people. Looking to her family, and her older brother, she attempted to find ways to legitimately connect with others around her but found that as she grew older it was harder and harder to have a good relationship with her brother.

With every year, as Emery got older, she slowly began to realize that she was craving one thing, and that was something that gave her life purpose and made it feel meaningful. She had spent so much of her life blind to other people’s needs, and that fact made her feel guilty. Emery began to volunteer in charitable events, trying to find something that might make her feel as though she were on the right track to do something that truly interested her. It was during one of these events that she was truly introduced to the life of nursing. The career wasn’t one that many would have associated her with, despite her general optimistic attitude, she had never seemed like the sort of person to care for people’s health. Still, every day nursing remained on her mind she knew it was the right thing for her.

Seeing her brother leave Verona, Emery saw the departure as an opportunity for her to follow her own dreams and finally achieve her goals and finally give her life more purpose. Her time away from Verona gave her a chance to focus on a nursing program, and on herself. Somehow, leaving the city and taking herself out of everything she’d been used to having while she had grown up allowed the freedom for her to look at the world in a new light. Being away from everything she had been comfortable in had also forced her to open herself up in a way she never would before. Emery had always been so shy before, quiet, and fairly reserved. The fact that she was out in the world on her own meant that she had to push herself out of her comfort zone. Not only did Emery go through a nursing program on her own, but she slowly found herself opening up and being much more comfortable beginning conversations with people she never knew.

The time that she spent away from Verona saw growth, and change, both of which she was extremely grateful for. The slow transition to being more open to talking to others helped in her chosen career path. Emery found that she was able to establish strong bonds with her patients, and her continuous optimism worked as a positive force for those around her both in her peers, doctors she worked with, and her patients. Where others would usually push for the possibility of nursing in the surgical field, or hospital setting, Emery was comfortable in a practice setting. She could see patients as they returned at regular intervals, where in a hospital setting, she had always felt so rushed, and any professional relationship built with her patients was only short-lived due to the fact that when a patient was discharged, they very rarely came back.

After spending years away learning, growing, and finally feeling as though she had meaning in her life, a longing to return back home a completely new person settled in her. The decision to leave the life she had built for herself away from Verona was not an easy one. She didn’t have much waiting for her in Verona, but she still couldn’t fight the drive to go back to her hometown. For everything she was before she left, she still loved it there, or so she had thought. Although Emery had found herself a job that she enjoyed, and had established relationships, there was still a nagging urge for her to continue following her dreams. After events of the riot she had experienced, she struggled with the need to have others help her, and also with the fact that she had been abandoned by her family. The people who had offered her assistance during this time were people she’d only just met after having returned to the city and it became increasingly evident that any sort of hope for a family life she had wanted was impossible.

Although she had established some relationships with people, she felt that only one had any sort of importance. She wanted more from life and staying in Verona wouldn’t be it. Leaving the city behind, with her portion of the family funds, Emery sought more education. Using this time to finish obtaining her RN, and getting more training in Oncology, she found herself with the opportunity to follow a path in nursing that she truly wanted to do. Having made further connections in the medical world, she found herself being offered the chance to go to Breton if she wanted. Two years of training under her belt, she thought about whether she could attempt a return back to her hometown, or whether it would be best to branch off on her own and continue towards a new life.

In the end, the opportunity to branch off on her own and see where life would take her, while being able to maintain her sense of independence. There wasn’t enough to take her back again, this time she looked forward. Accepting the chance to get a job in a new place, traveling out of the country for the first time, Emery looked to Breton and the opportunity that it held. She was going to have the chance to work in pediatrics, helping the children work through their terminal illness. The fact that she had an uncanny ability to remain positive still felt like an ability that would come in handy when working with people who were facing such a terrible and difficult diagnosis. Although it was a difficult specialty to work in, Emery remained certain that this was where she needed to be, and where she could make the greatest difference.

Packing up her life, yet again, Emery found herself traveling towards the unknown. If there was one thing that could be counted on, it was that she was optimistic about what was to come. Now that she was going into a place where she wouldn’t have family, she had to push herself to forge new relationships. Her hope was that she would finally be able to create a home in this location. Without family, and no longer having school to occupy her time, Emery had her first true chance to settle down in a more permanent manner. This could be her new home. She could only hope that things would work out this time.

#emilia clarke #bretonaccepted #accepted

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shinyoliver · 6 years

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Verse 3: A shrine to underground punk

At 7:23, Reg stepped off the bus onto the curb and got his first sight of Three Stories Public House. The brick face of the two above-ground stories stared down at him with orange-glowing windows. The clear night, though free of any snow falling from the crispy sky, bit at his cheeks with cold. The windows had gold-leafed lettering proclaiming it the Three Stories Public House, est. 1932. The glowy light from the inside looked warm, which attracted Reg. The deep breath he took, to steady his nerves, made him cough. The cold air hurt his lungs.

He trudged to the door of the bar, walking with care across the damp-looking sidewalk, unsure if it was wet or covered in ice.

The inside smelled warm and wooden. The floors were wood, the ceiling was wood, and all the chairs and tables were wood. Some people played pool at one of two tables in a deep corner of the main room, and Reg could hear the clicking balls even over the music. The music wasn’t too loud, probably because it was still early in the evening.

Unless his ears deceived him, the song was “Humans Being” by Van Halen, which comforted Reg somewhat. In his experience, bars might play Van Halen fairly often, but he’d never heard “Humans Being” in public. He didn’t know why nobody seemed to like “Humans Being.” Reg thought it was a solid Van Halen song.

Seeing as it was not quite 7:30 on a Thursday, the crowd in the bar hardly filled the main room. The people at the back playing pool made up most of the crowd. Five guys in button downs and slacks laughed over a couple pitchers of beer at a table. Aside from a few other individuals scattered around, the floor had plenty of room for even the most aggressive elbows swinger to have plenty of space.

Lounging at the bar, where Reg had pretended that his attention had not been immediately drawn the moment he walked in, Poppy Swicker watched the door. She wore pants of black satin with redundant zippers and metal loops on them, and a shiny silver shirt with no sleeves. Her bare shoulders looked strong.

Thick, dark makeup around them made her eyes bright in the dim bar. A smirk pulled half her face up when her gaze lighted on Reg. He walked toward her, although it felt like stumbling.

She reached behind the bar when he got close.

“Can I get a drink?” Reg said.

“You drink water, soldier-boy,” she said, slapping a moist bottle of the stuff into his chest. Picking up a black satin jacket equipped with as much redundancy in the zipper and loop department as the pants, she led him through the bar to the top of a set of stairs. They went down to the last story of Three Stories Public House.

The long, claustrophobic room smelled faintly of drywall and old beer. It had a dark, unoccupied bar at one end, and a dark stage at the other that loomed by being so very, very motionless.

Between the bar and the stage, maybe fifteen people sat around on folding chairs at folding tables. Barks of laughter punctuated their murmuring.

Reg somehow liked smaller crowds least. Big crowds kind of faded into faceless mush. Little crowds had expecting eyes and easily seen sneers and just, generally, made the whole experience of nobody liking his material more real. He tried not to muse while he walked toward the stage about how his idea of comedy would probably never entertain anyone. He tried not to think about it, because that way lay despair and the decay into “jokes” and “topical humor.” That was the path of the sellout.

And the fact that Reg struggled with it every time he thought about doing a gig might be something Reg should pay attention to.

Too deep in now, he decided. He took a long swig off the water bottle from Poppy. It barely wetted his throat, but he felt grateful for it anyway. His hand shook around the bottle.

“Want to give me your jacket?” Poppy asked. She stopped at an empty chair at a longer table at the front of the crowd, set up like it was for the judges to sit at for some competition or other. The sight of it and the several people at it facing the stage, one with a legal pad and a pen, sent his wobbly nerves on a little dance.

Yeah, weird was the right word for the gig.

Swallowing again, Reg handed Poppy his coat and scarf and his bag. He sweated without them anyway.

“Well, there’s your arena, soldier-boy,” Poppy said, gesturing toward the stage. She lounged into her chair and relaxed into her smirk. The cockiness radiated so hot off her it itched.

Reg took another swig of the water. The walk to the stage felt like a dream-lengthened slog through pudding. Reg tried to see the funny side.

He climbed onto the stage with slow care. A microphone stood in the middle—it put Reg in mind of a stripped sapling leftover from storms of mediocre acts. It was, aside from that, empty, and dark. He set the bottle of the water at the back of the stage, and took half a second to look around.

He saw scratched messages in the wooden cases for the amps mounted on the walls. Messages from bands, scratched into the wood or written in thick marker, sometimes around and sometimes over and sometimes through a patchwork of stickers—The Windermeres, the Potato Pirates, TV on the Radio, Tattooed Strings. He saw scratches on the floor in distinctive patterns—here the persistent hollowing from a base drum and pedal, from a snare, over there the less consistent clawing of a guitar stand.

He stood in a shrine of the underground punk scene, a place of rage and noise. It gave him a brush of calm so he could walk to the microphone without tripping.

A spotlight flashed onto him. He would have liked the drama of a large, mechanical clack to go with it, but all he heard was a little click from the sound and light board off on the side.

When the light flashed on, Reg shied, throwing his arms up to block his eyes. “Gah! I’m melting!”

Dead silence. It was satisfying in that it felt so familiar.

“Wrong crowd for that one, I guess,” Reg said. “Maybe there are some real vampires in the audience who take umbrage at people making light of their daily problems. Or should I say nightly. Am I right?”

Still nothing. Someday, he felt like he might learn.

Swallowing, Reg tried really hard not to let his hand shake. He took the microphone out of the stand. “Good evening, lefties and Genevans. It is true, I am only a part time vampire. I would have gone full time, but the hours sucked. What?” This last word he said in a raised voice to the shadowy audience, because somebody had said something.

“Is that true?” they said again in a deep voice. He did. Him or a very large woman with a voice like a volcano.

“That I’m a part time vampire?”

“Yeah. How true is it?”

“Well, if you’re asking in the existential sense…” Reg started, assuming that they weren’t asking in the existential sense.

“Yeah, let’s go with that,” the voice said.

Unsure how to put a comedic spin on it just then, Reg zoned out for a second. “I try to be more of a giver than a taker, I think,” he found himself saying. “Although I will take all of your tips,” he said, snapping himself out of his little reverie. “But just the tips. Whoops, that came out wrong. A little like your tips in her mum.”

One, solitary snort from some dark corner of the room accompanied Reg’s sigh of shame from the cheapness of the dirty puns. He worked hard not to roll his eyes. He considered dirty puns the basest and least worthy form of humor, and they always made him laugh, so he often indulged in them.

“I was going to do a lot more vampire based humor in this set, but I’m thinking maybe not. So here’s my racist stuff. Everyone likes some racist stuff, right? I know what you’re thinking: but Slim Jim (can I call you Slim Jim? I had better be able to, there, Slimmy Jimmy). But Slim Jim, you’re thinking, isn’t it too late in the year for casual racism? I hear you thinking. Isn’t this the season of going balls out with everything? Because if you don’t you may as well just bring in a crash test dummy, for all the good you’ll do. Ain’t that right, Slimy Jemima? I bet that’s what you’re thinking. To which I say, ah-hah, but I’m one step ahead of you. Because, you see, I only make racist slurs about Canadians. So pull up your plaid, folks, it’s aboot to get polite in here. What was that?”

Reg raised his voice again because someone had something to say. Reg decided to listen, more the fool that he was.

“Do you know any Shakespeare?” said the deep voice again.

Reg stood stiff, one foot back, and shaded his eyes to peer off the stage. He always hoped, but rarely believed, he looked like Buster Keaton doing it.

After a moment, he could see well enough into the gloom to make out the people at the table, only just. At the far left, a big Samoan had almost a smile on his face. His dark eyes almost twinkled. He looked as ready to dismiss Reg with a crude grunt as to start chuckling. Something about him seemed merciless, like he would as readily laugh at Reg’s failure as his jokes that worked.

Reg raised the microphone to his lips again.

“As wicked dew as e’er my mother brush’d with raven’s feather from unwholesome fen drop on you both,” Reg said. Or, rather, recited, not at first giving the words any life. “A south-west blow on ye and blister you all o’er.” His voice gained a little confidence as he went, and sounded more natural and louder. “Be patient, for the prize I’ll bring thee to shall hoodwink this mischance: therefore speak softly. All’s hush’d as midnight yet,” His voice began to rise. The long suspicion that he was being screwed with lent energy to his words. “Nor fetch in firing at requiring; nor scrape trencher, nor wash dish ’Ban, ’Ban, Cacaliban has a new master: get a new man.”

He finished the bit o’ Shakespeare and stared into the continued silence from the scant audience.

For a few heartbeats, he felt like he’d broken into some barrier. Everyone out there stared at him. He felt their eyes. They didn’t stare awkwardly, or incredulously, or derisively. He didn’t see any smirks—except on Poppy’s mug, but that seemed to have stuck there. Although nobody seemed particularly impressed either. It sort of felt like the silence after the rant from someone who had just had it up to the neck and couldn’t take it anymore, and everyone else got it, everyone else felt it, but everyone found it a little irritating that he had pointed out some social injustice that they’d been ignoring.

Then he felt embarrassed. He swallowed and cast his eyes down.

From out there he heard a weird, earth-deep sound—like a repetitive rumble. Reg couldn’t identify what it was. When the Samoan stood up, scraping his chair back on the cement floor, Reg identified the source of the earth-deep sound: the Samoan’s chest.

He turned away.

“I’ll warm up the car,” he said.

His movement broke up the silence. The few people further back in the room broke off staring and began their murmuring conversation again. Poppy started talking to the people at the table with her.

“Bonzer, you got what you need?” she said. The person with the legal pad nodded, then left the table and followed the Samoan. “Reiki, get what you need to keep lookout, right? Hurt’s got nothing to gain ambushing us, but ain’t no reason to trust him.”

A tall woman with black dreadlocks stood from the table and hurried away, saying something about knives in the dark.

“Could you turn that spot off the half vampire? I can smell him roasting from here.”

The spotlight darkened. Reg fell for a moment into the unbalanced dark of a strong afterimage. It started to clear up in a few seconds. Reg had always had a quick recovery time between dark and light and light and dark.

“Come along, dear. We’ve places to be,” Poppy said, holding Reg’s coat and bag out to him.

“Where—” Reg stared.

“I’ll explain on the way,” Poppy said, leading him by the shoulders to a door marked “Employees only” where the Samoan had gone, and Bonzer soon after.

Rethinking what she said, Poppy amended it. “No. I probably won’t, now that I think about it,” she said.

“Explain?” Reg asked.

“You’ve got it, gammy-fingers,” Poppy said.

She hurried him through a dark storage room, mostly empty except a few shady shapes—here a table, there a bed. They went out a door onto a set of stairs that led up into the alley behind the Three Stories. A large town car fluffed fumes in the alley. The Samoan sat in the driver’s seat, and Bonzer got into the back seat on the passenger side. Poppy opened the door to get into the back seat behind the Samoan, pulled Reg in behind herself, and slammed the door behind him.

There was a feeling of finality to that door slamming, like a cleaver coming down on a chicken’s head.

Reg swallowed. He’d left his bottle of water on the stage, and wished he hadn’t.

The tall woman with the black dreadlocks got into the passenger seat in the front. Her door slammed.

“Is this like those scenes in movies where the hero gets into the car he shouldn’t have and only discovers later that he should have been listening to the ominous swell of the music, while the audience screams about how stupid he is?” Reg asked.

“Oh, yes,” Poppy said.

“Why don’t I leave,” Reg said.

Poppy smiled a slow smile. It had a little twitch of a slim eyebrow. Better than any words could, the smile said danger ahead—and you will enjoy yourself in that silent language reserved for women like Grace Kelly, Gillian Anderson, and Poppy Swicker.

Reg swallowed again, and he decided not to get out of the car.

The Samoan put it in gear and started to drive.

Earlier that same day, a man called Hurt sat at a small table on the patio of a café. He sipped a cappuccino as if he did not mind, for today at least, the mere reminder of the café in Florence where he went to get a proper cappuccino. He wore a pale grey silk suit and black wool raincoat, and he wore them in a manner like he never did and never would wear anything else, except on a warm day when he would leave the raincoat behind. His vague expression—nearly a smile and halfway towards a sigh—generally inspired people to begin to question themselves and act like they had nothing to prove, which came across as disingenuous because it was acting.

He looked at peace. The view from the patio was a long, sprawling view of this young city, this relatively little cluster of angular, glinting hives on the face of these Great Plains. He looked east, and he could see all the way past the city to the long, far empty that even today stayed sparsely populated. You couldn’t do that with Chicago or New York or Los Angeles. You could barely get high enough to see to the ends of them. And no city in the old world—where the magic was old and the ownership was old—had such youthfulness. Not a single thing visible had stood on this land for more than two hundred years. The land had barely noticed the presence of humans yet.

It looked ripe to Hurt.

Falling hard on his reverie, two big hands clapped on Hurt’s shoulders. It did surprise him, but he expressed it only by closing his eyes and cocking his head a wedge or two left. The fact that he had been surprised at all told him who it was. Hurt always had wards of defense and warning maintaining his personal bubble. Only a few people could evade them, and only one of those people smelled of black licorice that had been tossed into a charcoal fire.

The one that everyone knew as Jack Ketch flopped his long, broad body into the other chair at Hurt’s little table. Mr. Ketch also wore a pale grey silk suit, but he wore it like he had stolen it and it would please him if everyone knew that. His small eyes and gorillarish jaw had a dangerous effect on people who tried to outwit him. People who had tried gave him his air of always being about to smile a mean smile. The smile never quite came alive to replace the liar of an expression usually wearing his face: brutishness trying to avoid the effort of thinking.

For a while, Mr. Ketch looked out at the city with his unfaltering expression of thoughtlessness, and Hurt looked at Mr. Ketch without trying to hide his dislike.

“Somehow, I think this conversation will get going when you say something like ‘word on the street is…’” Hurt said in his precise voice.

“Now, why would you have to say that?” Mr. Ketch said. He had a calming voice, fit for reading poetry, that did not go with his face. “An old friend can’t visit without you coming over all suspicious?”

Hurt’s mouth flicked into an expression that had the shape of a smile. It couldn’t be called anything else because of the shape, although it only hinted at that. It lacked any of the emotions that a smile usually conveyed.

“Fair enough—that wasn’t much better,” Mr. Ketch said, his voice seeping through the air like the steam from warm mint tea. “We are creatures of unforgiveable cliché at times, Hurt,” he said, almost with a sigh.

Hurt had nothing to say to that. He didn’t agree.

A long time passed when neither of them spoke. The cold breeze wafted the winter around. It carried smells of snow and running heaters. When it wound around and drew air from behind them it carried the smells from the café. The smells of coffee and the long-lingering smell of bread could not quite hide the wicking smell of the bleach that doused everything in the shop after closing hours.

The cold didn’t seem to bother Hurt or Mr. Ketch. When a harsh gust came up and slapped them, Hurt’s only reaction was to take a deep breath and let it out slowly in what looked like a growl but made no noise. Mr. Ketch did not react to it at all in spite of having no coat over his suit.

Both these men generally communicated by waiting for the other person in the conversation to explain the situation to themselves. When they sat down to speak together it became a battle of wills where they would always see who would break the silence first.

Due to their natures, Hurt almost always lost. Mr. Ketch had most in common with a stone, sat in the middle of a desert that had once been a sea bed and before that been miles under ground. Heat may beat on him—cold may freeze him—water may work him. But he would still be after.

Hurt was a flame, and he shared many of his character traits with that element. Including the low smolder that never quite went out.

“Have you bought property here yet?” Hurt asked. He gestured with two fingers, barely lifting them off his leg, and managed to encompass the countryside for a hundred miles in every direction with the gesture.

“A little,” Mr. Ketch said.

“Did you like your realtor?” Hurt asked.

Mr. Ketch looked at Hurt for the first time since sitting down.

“I never met her,” Mr. Ketch said.

“And yet you know she’s a woman,” Hurt said.

Mr. Ketch’s stony face had not gained a new expression, and it did so in an expressive way. He looked back out at the city.

“Erica Hernandez,” Mr. Ketch said. “I guess I like her. Goat never complained.” Goat was one of Mr. Ketch’s aides.

“Do you think I could get her card?” Hurt said. “It can be difficult to find a realtor who respects our particular needs.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Mr. Ketch grunted. “I’ll have Goat send you her digits.”

Hurt nodded his thanks.

They sat for a few more quiet seconds. Hurt sipped his cappuccino.

“So you haven’t,” Mr. Ketch said.

Hurt offered another of his smile-shaped frowns.

“Bought any property here yet, I mean,” Mr. Ketch said.

Hurt’s not-a-smile lingered.

Mr. Ketch grunted deep in his throat. A knowing noise.

“Sent you out here without a plan, didn’t he?” Mr. Ketch said. “Ah, just like the old wizard.”

The old wizard, Ronan Craw. The capo at the top of Hurt’s organization.

It was just like him to send Hurt with only half a plan. Because Dr. Craw operated according to a different idea of urgency than Mr. Ketch did.

Hurt knew that Mr. Ketch only prodded at the point because Dr. Craw’s business, overall, represented one of Mr. Ketch’s main competitors. Hurt knew that he ought to be able to rest on that with confidence.

Dr. Craw’s enigmatical calm wasn’t here now, though. Mr. Ketch’s gruntish, disarming face was, however.

And Mr. Ketch irritated Hurt.

“You’ll land on your feet,” Mr. Ketch said. “You always do.”

Hurt turned the whole, limp force of his ghostly non-smile on Mr. Ketch. Mr. Ketch obligingly ignored it.

For a while longer, they looked out at the silver and stone outbreak of acne on this cheek of the world. Hurt spent the whole time wishing that Mr. Ketch would leave.

The sun set behind them. The earth breathed out cold, and shadows from the mountains clawed across the city.

Soon enough, Hurt had to leave to make his way across town to his next appointment.

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gleeredorp · 7 years

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Welcome, JEN, you’ve been accepted to play the role of ARTIE ABRAMS. Please check the new member’s checklist, and send in your account within the next 24 hours, or your role will be reopened!

⇒ OUT OF CHARACTER INFORMATION:

NAME/ALIAS: Jen

AGE: 25+

TIME ZONE: EST

ACTIVITY: 7/10. I work a full time job and sometimes have a social life but I’m mostly home..

ANYTHING ELSE?: Removed.

⇒ IN CHARACTER INFORMATION:

DESIRED CHARACTER: Artie Abrams

AGE & BIRTHDAY: 16. November 9th.

SEXUALITY: Heterosexual

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single

OCCUPATION: Student

LOCATION: Lima, Ohio

SHIPS: Artie/females

ANTI-SHIPS: Artie/males

EXTRA CURRICULAR ACTIVITIES: Each student must at least have a minimum of one extra curricular activity, and a maximum of four.

NEW DIRECTIONS

THE GOD SQUAD

AV CLUB

POETRY CLUB

CHARACTER TRAITS: What’s your character’s personality like? Include at least two positive & two negative traits to describe your character.

+DRIVEN:

+SELF CONFIDENT:

-NAIVE:

-CYNICAL:

⇒ CHARACTER BIOGRAPHY:

Arthur Abrams Jr. was born to Arthur Sr. and Nancy Abrams on November 9th at 11:07pm, weird right? He was their one and only child and his mother liked to refer to him as a miracle baby since she wasn’t even supposed to be able to have children. Even though he wasn’t planned he was surrounded by love and never wanted for anything. His parents made sure his life would be as easy as possible.

One winter night when Artie was eight, he and his mother were driving back from his grandmother’s house when the car hit a sheet of black ice. His mother lost control of the car and it rolled over a hill into a bank. Even though his mother managed to escape with nothing more than a few broken fingers and bruises, Artie wasn’t as fortunate.

Even though being paralyzed isn’t a walk in the park, especially when half the world isn’t wheelchair accessible, he doesn’t like to complain. Even though his parents did their best to accommodate him as much as possible, something he is grateful for, he knows his mother still blames herself for the accident and he hates it.

Overall Artie’s friends would probably describe him as the coolest nerd they’ve ever met. He’s never been ashamed to show his interests, even if no one else is interested in it and that somehow makes him even more likable. He knows he’s not the most popular kid in school but he likes that. He’d rather sit back and observe anyway, it’s how he gets most of his inspiration.

⇒ IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE:

Please answer the following questions in character for the character you are applying for.

IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN TIME AND CHANGE ANYTHING IN YOUR PAST, WOULD YOU? WHY? WHY NOT? +WHAT WOULD IT BE?

Well I remember that I liked to dance a lot as a kid. I guess if I could change anything maybe the accident that put me in the wheelchair. My mom would feel better and I couldn’t probably be the backup dancer to Janet Jackson or something. That would be cool.

IF THERE WERE TO BE A MOVIE MADE ABOUT YOUR LIFE, WHO WOULD YOU CAST TO PLAY YOU?

Have you seen me? Obviously The Rock. I mean who else could pull off this body? Besides… that would be awesome.

WHERE DO YOU SEE YOURSELF IN 10 YEARS?

I’ll be 26. Hopefully on my way to become the worlds best movie director. I better have at least two full movies written by then. Writing that in the air right now.

#grd:accepted #accepted applications #submission

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tdaviscole · 7 years

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The Break Down Of A Gigantic Online Business Empire

New Post has been published on https://www.tdaviscole.com/2017/09/break-gigantic-online-business-empire/

The Break Down Of A Gigantic Online Business Empire

Recover, Reboot, Rebuild . . .

I was totally shocked to discover the demise of The Gigantic Online Business Empire Empower Network. I’m sure there are tons of people out there who are devastated because Empower Network was the go to network marketing business for so many people. Tons of investments had been made and a lot of people had high hopes and big dreams as to what this industry leader could provide.

I’m sure disappointments are high and many people are pointing the finger at the company for setting their expectations high and then dropping, them to the lowest points of their lives. The scriptures reveal that “hope deferred makes the heart sick.” Yet, online entrepreneurship can cause deferred hope more often than many of us would like to admit.

I for one invested thousands into the company, but I feel as if I got millions in return. Well, how could I say that? David Wood let us all down right? Wrong? Too many people depend on others for the manifestation of making their own dreams come true. Let me explain . . .

When I first joined Empower Network I was sucked into the bright and shiny wonder of possibility. It was the first time that I found an actual pathway to being a 7-figure earner.

The sales funnel was flawless:

Lead Magnant: $25.oo Blogging Platform

Trip-Wire Upsell: $100 Inner Circle Audio Collection

Core Products: $500 Costa Rica Mastermind, the 15-K Formula, and the Master’s Course

Money Multiplier: $19 per month Affiliate Fee

Now that I understand more about Sales Funnel Mastery, this sales funnel was perfect. In fact, it’s the best sales funnel I’ve ever seen. The whole idea of starting customers on their online entrepreneurship journey for $25, then through mentoring and coaching scaling them up to $3,000 and multiplying profits on the back-end is simply phenomenal.

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Take-Away-The -Good- Keep-It -Moving

Call it greed, but in all honesty, we’re here to provide value in exchange for monetary resources right? In that sense, David Wood built an incredible funnel for profits. As a previous customer, I can say I learned a lot from Empower Network. I discovered some of the greatest leaders in the industry there such as Nicole S. Cooper, Tracy Walker, Lawrence Tann and many others, not excluding David Wood. Yet, I learned early on that I wasn’t going to put the responsibility for my success into their hands solely. I started paying more attention to what they did versus what they said.

What did their sales funnels look like?

How were their blogs set up?

What was the structure of their marketing content?

In addition to investing in the training modules and coaching programs; I began thinking: ” How do I build an online business?” I knew up-front that I didn’t want to build my entire income based on what someone else did or didn’t do. I never really focused on recruiting people but rather masterminding with them, because I was more interested in how to create my own products and services that I could sell for 100% profit. I wanted to get money for every sale I made without trying to keep others motivated to make a sale so I could get paid.

Yet, I invested in David Wood, because he was just a kid who had figured it out:

Be yourself

Offer people products and services they needed

Solve their problems

Get Money

Take Responsibility For Your Own Success

Early on, I decided to take responsibility for what I wanted versus being sucked into what someone else wanted for me. In reality, it’s no one’s fault if you choose to put your future in their hands. Truthfully, every relationship has risks, but you have to believe that whatever happens whether good or bad is an opportunity for greatness to emerge. There’s always a blessing in the storm, and the sun will shine again.

I’ve Been There . . .

If it’s any comfort to you, I’m not talking from my head but rather from experience. I’ve suffered homelessness and dealt with the family crisis, and much more during this process of building my online business. It “aint” been no bed of roses, but I discovered that where I’ve been is far scarier than where I’m going. I’ve set a torch to every ship back to land, so it’s sink or swim. Even though I’ve shed many tears in the process, I choose to swim.

I’ve decided come hell or high water, I’m going to reach my destiny. Have you? Here’s the deal, if you were a part of Empower Network, let David Wood have his human moment. Take what you’ve learned and apply it to your life, to your business, to your new venture whether it’s with him or somebody else. Don’t you ever put your future into someone’s hands solely, but rather grab the golden nuggets they offer you and put them to work in your process.

Always remember, when someone has poured into your life as David Wood and other leaders of Empower Network has, be sure to keep them in your prayers, be grateful for what they’ve taught you, see if you can serve them in any way during their time of need, then do the 3 R’s of online entrepreneurship break-down:

Re-Cover

Re-Boot

Re-Build

We all need grace, Mike Dillard a new Billionaire in the Online Business space talked about how he lost it all once. He had trusted someone and invested a lot of money from clients, into a well-known investor, only to later find that the guy was a scam artist. He was hit with multiple lawsuits, his partner almost died from stress, he lost his family and more, but he didn’t let it take him out. He rose up from the ashes and built other phenomenal businesses in spite of the devastating losses he’d endured. He publically admitted his mistakes and apologized for everything. Many people bashed him, but others loved him through his human glitch.

I’m sorry if you were looking for the next big strategy to getting rich online, but my heart was just aching for a dear leader who just lost his way momentarily and who knows how long the path to recovery will be. . .

Yet, it’s up to you to pull yourself up by the bootstraps and move forward with your goals because it’s up to you to make them happen not anyone else. . .

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If you’ve been devastated by your online business building process or you just need a little encouragement to keep going check out the resources below

When You Feel Like Giving Up By Motivation Grid

How Bad Do You Want It By Eric Thomas

It’s A Mindset By Teresa Cole

You Gotta Be Hungry by Les Brown

How To Reach Your Goals In The Face Of Obstacles By Teresa Cole

I know that these resources will encourage you and help you rise above the challenges whatever they are so that you can do what you came to the internet to do. . .

I know it’s hard to determine what to do next, especially if you’ve done the same thing for so long; therefore, I’ve made it super easy and inexpensive for you to join me. I don’t care where you’re at in the process of building your online business, together we can make it. I can help you leverage the internet for profits in spite of what you’ve been through.

Follow the 3 simple steps below, and I’ll meet you on the inside of your comeback.

Join the Online Business Builders Library & Grab Your Coaching Tools HERE

Connect with the BRAND NEW Online Biz Builders Reality Group HERE

Program this number: (515) 604-9000 and Enter Pin# 691998 into your phone & commit to the Online Biz Builder Coaching Calls, every Tuesday night, @ 8:30 pm CST or 9:30 pm EST

Need to convert your time zone: Click Here

Are you outside of the USA or Canda: Click Here

About The Author

I’m just a single mom who got tired of choosing between work and family. As an Online Business Strategist, I get to spend my time doing what matters most to me. I discovered that most people don’t want money, but they want the freedom that money can buy. Let me help you build your lifestyle business so you can focus on what matters most to you.

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