#other tropes piled in here include:

[neocitycafe]

Home After the Holidays (Mark)

♡ genre: hot cocoa - fluff, sweet and steamy hehe; a bit smutty with too many thoughts; i guess "new year’s time pensive cheese" is a theme for me (here’s haechan’s version from last year) ✎ words: 2.1k ✓ summary/notes: busy idol husband Mark finally returns home :’) and you’ve missed each other. a trope that i love lots. @d-nghy-ck to bronwyn, here’s a slice of pensive cheese(cake), especially for you! this cafe would probably not be here if not for this first customer who came by and said hi! wishing you all the love in the world~

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It’s that awkward time in late January when you’re not sure whether it’s still socially appropriate to include “Happy New Year” in your greetings. Mark had told you not to come to the airport. The weather was frigid all week and it’d be way past midnight by the time he got out of customs, and then there was the long cab ride home.

But he missed you. 

Closing the front door gently, he looks down to find his old lace-ups where he usually left them, as if he were home this whole time. Your favorite pair is set neatly next to his, and a smaller set of shoes next to those. Ones with velcro and lights that he bought a couple months back, but it felt much longer ago so quickly. You’d replaced the original laces with neon green ones, and all of Mark’s teammates cooed at how cute that was. 

The lights are dimmed and Mark finds you on the couch in a pile of blankets, where you cozied up while waiting. His heart suddenly aches thinking of you with only a little cup of chamomile tea to warm yourself and get to bed. 

He had been so busy working lately, loving what he did, creating music, making crazy new connections, show after show, press conferences, collaborations. Had he done anything for you lately? His mind races.

From where you’d dozed off, you find Mark frozen by the door. After years of knowing him, you could see his raised brows and the running thoughts behind them. His lips pressed into a thin line and his eyes shifting to the side meant self-doubt. You want to erase those worries and pour love into all the spaces where he thought he was not enough. 

“I wanted to get you flowers.” His voice cracks and you get up to close the distance between you.

“Oh Mark... I have you now.” The cold from outside has clung on to his coat, but you ignore it and wrap your arms around him more tightly. “It’s the middle of the night, silly. I don’t need flowers.”

You feel him shake his head against you, “And I wanted to be home for the holidays,” he says with a bit of a whine. 

“You’re here now.”

Looking into his eyes, you brush the hair away from his forehead and peck him on the nose. The end of the year meant holiday tour stops, special shows, concerts, and awards nights. The holidays meant the opposite of holidays for entertainers like Mark. It meant he couldn’t really be with family until afterwards. He follows you into the kitchen where you set your mug in the sink. 

“Did you miss me?” You turn when he wraps his arms around you from behind. 

You’re momentarily caught off guard by his boyish smile and a pang of longing wells up, an emptiness in your chest that had been there behind your smiles when he had video called. The answer is a thousand times yes, but you bite back the truth in favor of not worrying him. You shake your head playfully. “I don’t have to. I get to see your features in our son’s face every day.”

Mark breaks into a grin that you can’t help but match. “Is he asleep?”

“Yeah, but he sure begged to stay up! He can be a little headstrong sometimes. Like someone.” You give Mark a long look and he pouts in response. “But he finally fell asleep a couple of hours ago.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being my home.”

“You’re sappy, Mark Lee.” Nonetheless, you’re more than willing when he tilts your head for a deeper kiss. He runs the tip of his tongue along the seam of your lips and you part them to let him taste you. A familiar heat stirs in your belly, and you reach your hands up to tangle them in his hair and pull him closer. He groans into your mouth and presses you back into the kitchen counter. From this position, he places pressure where your bodies are connected, where you want it. He rocks against you once, twice, slowly, fluidly, and you pull him even closer. 

Mark’s hands knock into the stacked pots and pans behind you on the drying rack, and you’re grateful for your husband’s quick reflexes. He steadies a pan, preventing what would’ve been a huge clatter. You both freeze for a moment. 

“Easy, tiger,” you tease while throwing him a wink. “Or baby lion or cheetah or whatever small big cat you are.” 

He responds with a playful growl that is both adorable and sexy, his nose scrunching up. 

A delicious thrill runs through you as his gaze locks on you again. Knocking your legs apart and then lifting you onto the counter, Mark reminds you of how he wanted you everywhere when you were newlyweds. A tender bite between your neck and shoulder reminds you of how he wants you now. You make a mental note to call Jaemin for some babysitting this coming weekend, because you wouldn’t mind some more alone time like this. 

You tug on Mark’s hand and he knows what you mean. You slip off the counter and try not to trip over each other as you eagerly make your way to the bedroom. It’s a familiar but exhilarating path, like a choreography that your bodies move to automatically once the music starts playing.

When he finds a towel already laid out on the bed, he raises a seagull of a brow, and you can’t help but laugh. He teases, “Oooh, so you were prepared!”

You lean in to whisper in his ear, feeling cheeky and bold, “Well, my husband gets messy.”

The look in his eyes and how he kisses you next is the response you were hoping for. When you fall back into bed, it’s easy and slow. You take your time wriggling out of your clothes, and you laugh at his cute shimmy while pulling his jeans off. The both of you sigh in content when his body is above yours, skin to skin. 

Mark’s fingertips trail patterns along your sides, his left hand’s calluses from guitar playing are a little rough, but soothingly so. You map out the constellation connecting the mole on his neck, on his cheek, the tiny one on the corner of his mouth. He spends his time with his lips on your neck where you crave them, wet kisses with a slight bite that have you feeling hot all over and in want, and then you’re grateful they’re chasing paths over the crests and valleys of your body. 

Mark travels down until his face is settled between your thighs, his warm breath causing you to shiver in anticipation. He takes your hand and kisses your wrist, your palm, your fingertips, slowly and thoughtfully. He moves to do the same with your other hand. The love in his gaze staring up at you is too much for you to handle, so you close your eyes and lay your head back. And then he’s lacing your fingers together, holding your hands as his perfect mouth dives in eagerly. 

Mark isn’t shy about playing with your wetness and giving you what you crave. He laps at you with the intent of pushing you to the edge, like there’s nothing else he wants but for you to feel good, and you can’t help but arch up towards him. 

When he tires, he keeps stroking your clit with his fingers, keeping the contact consistent and insistent, and then switches back to working you with his tongue. He keeps going even when you cry out his name, your thighs close around his head, and your hips lift off the mattress as you succumb to the overwhelming pleasure.  

When he comes back up to face you, he’s surprised to find the tears falling down your cheeks and into your hair. You don’t notice it yourself until he starts worrying. 

“You okay? Did I hurt you?” 

You shake your head. “No, that was amazing.”

He rolls to his side and pulls you into his chest carefully. His eyes search your face.

The words are tumbling out before you can stop them: “I missed you. Mark… I missed you.”

You finally let yourself go.

Going to your son’s first winter concert at his school alone. You’d even saved a seat for Mark, but his filming schedule got delayed that evening. Opening holiday presents with Mark’s parents at their home, without him there. Counting down to the new year by yourself while his team celebrated their album of the year win. How you never wanted to burden him. How you understood his career and wanted to be his steady support, and yet... “I missed you so much.”

“You know you can tell me that. I’m not afraid of how you feel.” He pauses to dry your tears with gentle hands and a kiss on your cheek. “I want to know. I want to love you better.” He holds you tighter, as if capturing every bit of the emotion pouring out of you. It’s like Mark knew the exact words you needed to hear. While being laid bare and vulnerable, you feel safe and known, and now, ever grateful that your relationship is one you are both committed to growing and working out together. “Let’s talk more in the morning after some rest, yeah?”

“Thank you, Mark.” You gaze up into his shining eyes. 

“For what?”

“For being home.”

“Look who’s being cheesy now,” he teases back. 

You tug on him beneath the covers in response and Mark lets out a surprised moan. 

“Mmm, in the morning’s okay too… ah, babe. I mean, do you still want to make love now?”

You nod against his chest and laugh at his insistence on calling it lovemaking rather than sex or anything else. “Do you?”

He nods too and the boyish grin you love so much is back. You push at his shoulders and move so you’re seated above him, your thighs settled over his.

I love you, I love you, I love you. He seems to say, and you feel it in your soul. 

When you sink down onto him, you fill his presence with your closeness, as he fills yours with his. And it’s like the time and space between you disappears. All you hear is Mark, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as he loses himself in loving you, and you him. He aids with your rhythm with his hands holding your hips, and then makes the switch so you’re under him. 

There’s the softness of the sheets, his lips, your fingertips, the moonlight shining in, the sound of rustling and sighs pulled from deep within. The flush of his cheeks, your parted lips, the thrum of beating hearts, and later, the patterns slowing steadily into dreams together.

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You’re gladly surprised by the warmth in your bed when you wake up in the morning. Mark kicked off his side of the covers in the middle of the night as usual, leaving a mountain of blankets on top of you, so you pull them up to cover his bare chest. You probably should have showered after last night, but it was too comfortable being cuddled up. Mark’s discarded shirt is closest, so you pull it on, mind reveling in everything for a moment: his scent, his return, his closeness, your shared love. 

Your thoughts are interrupted by the bedroom door swinging open. Little hands, messy morning bed head, and eyes shining as they peer in. (You’d have to remind your son about knocking on the door again.)

He’s quick to spot the lump next to you under the blankets. “Dada!”

You smile and hold a finger to your lips. 

“Mm-hmm, yes dear, come here.” You sit up better and he clambers into your lap. “Shhh. He’s sleeping.”

His eyes are wide and he whispers rather loudly, “He’s snoring.” You cast a wistful gaze over the relaxed expression on Mark’s face, not knowing when the last time it was that he slept well. 

“Let’s let him sleep more.” You ready yourself to sneak out of bed. Your son was really getting too heavy to carry. He’s squirmy and ticklish, and of course he starts giggling almost immediately when you try to lift him, the sound bubbling out uncontrollably. Someone else you knew laughed just like that. You’re trying to get up quickly when you feel Mark’s arms wrap around you from behind. 

“Come back....”

The way he holds you tickles, and the added weight of your son makes you lose balance, so you fall back onto Mark’s chest, effectively making your family a little sandwich. Mark lets out a small grunt from the weight but he doesn’t really mind. His heart is as light as can be. His eyes are bright and his smile mischievous. He wriggles around and declares, “Love attack!!!”

There are lots of kisses and shared silliness, and you laugh until there are tears in the corners of your eyes, little crystals breathlessly kissed away too in the moment. 

—

"And at last, I open my arms wide again to give you warmth. I'll do anything to make it right. Those stars are shining on us. I'll cherish this moment, all of it, my baby. I’m gonna love you… Love doesn't come easy, girl, but loving you is easy.  Every day without you feels hollow. Because our memories refine even our imperfect moments into treasured times, I reflect, calling love a beauty."

#mark lee x reader #mark lee smut #mark lee fluff #mark lee scenarios #mark lee imagines #mark lee fanfic #nct smut #nct fluff #nct imagines #nct fanfic #nct scenarios #nct 127 smut #nct 127 fluff #nct dream fluff #nct dream smut #happy new year~ and…“I’ll be your home” 💗 #wishing you love even when it doesn’t come easy #hot cocoa w/ sea salt foam top--the kind where you get cream on your upper lip when you take a sip and reenact the scene from secret garden

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // part twelve

summary: may the odds be ever in your favour.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.9k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, r is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: i can't believe we made it to the end of s1! i am so, so excited to move on to the next era of this story! this is a reminder if you love this series and you haven't already please reblog this or the masterlist! it makes such a big big difference for me and my fellow writers know it all too well lol.

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist

Coriolanus wakes up, head on the open pages of Romeo and Juliet as people start to flood in, everyone anxious about what would happen to you.

He rubs the sleep out of his eyes, quickly casting his view to the screen ahead, camera view still locked on you. There was no one else for it to be tracking, after all. Except now, you were on Lamina's beam, lying down with your eyes closed. He wasn't sure if you were awake, or when you had even made your way down into the clearing, but you don't move. He can see the steady rise and fall of your chest as you lay with his scarf bunched up behind your head. Tigris was right, you had survived, but you wouldn't have without him. You looked peaceful- not at all like the girl he had seen crumbling apart on the same screen just a few hours prior.

"I feel as though I should inform you, they'll be going in very soon." Highbottom says, grabbing the boy's attention. "But I'd put my money on those boys being dead in there. Congratulations, Coriolanus. This means almost nothing for you."

He walks away before Coryo is even done processing what he had said. He wouldn't get the prize, most likely, but he would still have you.

You don't stir until you hear the peacekeepers entering the arena, sitting up and seeing them with guns pointed in your direction. "Don't move." One of them spits at you and you nod, eyes wide as you raise your hands. You watch as a designated team in different uniforms make their way up to enter the vents, and others spray something over the piles of snakes, stilling those that were still showing any signs of life.

"Is it over?" You ask, confused.

"Not until we can confirm you are the only remaining tribute." One of them answers and you nod, chewing on your lip as you watch the men disappear into the vents.

"Okay... Thank you."

You know what they would find in there, the bodies of the two boys trapped behind your salt line. You could tell them where the boys would be found, but then you'd be outing yourself. You had only confessed to Coryo. Only he could know. Last night, you didn't care. You have to assume he was the only one who witnessed your breakdown, your confession, because if anyone else had, you'd likely be dead by now. You have to hope your secret is safe with him if you want to go home.

The morning drags on forever as you sit there with guns pointed at you from the ground, and Coryo is pacing in the hall. There were many people around, excited to see if you would be crowned as the victor. People were rooting for you, and he was proud of that, but support didn't mean that you were promised a win.

Vipsania and Domitia were the only other two remaining mentors, whispering to each other across the room after they came back. It was eerily silent.

Then, one of the men emerges from the vent, turning all heads including yours as he just nods toward the peacekeepers watching you.

"Alright. Come on down." The same peacekeeper addresses you and you nod, a tear falling down your cheek.

"She did it." Coryo whispers to himself, realization forcing a grin onto his face.

Lucky laughs, clapping his hands together. "She's won! Y/N Y/L/N from District Twelve!" He calls out, making his way over to Coriolanus. "Coriolanus Snow is the Victor of the Tenth Annual Hunger Games!"

Coryo laughs in shock, smiling as the man pats his shoulder. He catches in the corner of his eye as his two classmates storm out, and he's quickly crowded with congratulations and praise.

"I won?" You ask quietly, feet landing on the ground again.

"Yes, they were found." He nods, and quickly your arms are being grabbed as you're led out of the arena.

"Do you know, did Coriolanus get his prize?" You ask them, but your question is ignored as you walk down the hall toward the exit, looking back over your shoulder as the gate is closed behind you.

Just outside the gates, you don't get much of a taste of freedom before you're being pushed into the back of the same truck. Empty. Bigger. Lonely.

"Empty your pockets." The peacekeeper tells you, standing at the entrance.

You do so hesitantly, holding up the compact on a shaky palm. "I'm sorry to ask, but can I have some water? Please?" You ask, once again ignored as the compact is pulled from your hand. "Please, sir, that was a gift... If you must take it can you return it to my mentor? Coriolanus Snow?"

He opens the cold metal, pulling out the piece of paper and unfolds it, quickly scanning it's contents. "That is for him, too. Though, if I had the chance now I would change it." You explain. You knew you both would be in deep trouble if you were caught for what you convinced yourself was no more than salt, and clarity came to you enough to lie about what the compact had contained all this time.

The peacekeeper hums, closing it up again and shoving both items into his own pocket, pointing the gun at you again. "Clothes off."

"Ex-excuse me?" You reply, taken aback by the request.

"Clothes off. Now." He repeats and you nod, swallowing the lump in your dry throat as you begin to slide off your dress, letting it fall at your feet. He moves the gun again, gesturing for you to continue. With trembling hands you remove your underthings, your shoes, and the scarf, placing them on the floor in front of you. He quickly gathers them, taking a step back and nodding to someone outside.

He moves out of the way and you stand there confused, watching as he shakes out your clothes and searches them, when suddenly you're being sprayed down with a hose. You yelp from the fast contact of the cold water pelting against your skin, but it wakes you up. After the initial shock, it actually feels good to be somewhat clean again.

You pant as the water is shut off, catching your breath and rubbing your arms to try and warm yourself again. Your clothes are tossed back into the truck at you before the door is slammed, and you use the scarf to try and dry yourself off a little bit before tying it around yourself the same way Coryo had. By the time you pull the second strap of your dress back on, the truck is moving and you're lurching forward.

You're driving for a while before the door is opened again, and you're relieved to get some fresh air. It was cold in there, and you were shivering in your small dress that was now also damp from your skin.

Once the doors open you're staring down the barrels of more guns as the peacekeepers usher you out and into the train station, right where you were let off all those days ago. Days... or weeks? You don't even know anymore.

"Lay off, why don't you? She's been through enough." A man in a black suit comes into your view, and they drop their weapons and let you go.

He steps in front of you and you wrap your arms around yourself to try and warm up. "Thank you, Sir." You smile, nodding at him politely.

"Nothing to thank me for..." He sighs. "I'm Dean Highbottom from the academy, it's a pleasure to meet you. Congratulations on your victory." Surprisingly to you, he doesn't seem inconvenienced. Someone other than Coryo and Sejanus seemed to be willing to talk to you, to treat you like a human again. When he congratulates you, he sounds sad.

"Thank you, Sir." You nod again. "Do I... Will I be going home now?"

"Yes. In just a few minutes." He nods, gesturing for you to follow him toward the train. "I am extremely familiar with your mentor, Coriolanus Snow." He tells you as you join his side.

"Oh, wonderful!" You force a smile. "I have some things for him, just a note and something he leant to me. I gave them to that man over there. Would you mind making sure they make it back to him?" You point out the peacekeeper as you follow him toward the train.

"I'll see to it that he gets it back, yes." Dean Highbottom nods with a slight roll of his eyes, stopping next to the stairs that would lead you onto the passenger train. "But... if I may offer you some advice?"

"Please." You nod, urging him on.

"Be grateful you survived him."

You want to ask what he means, but the anger you saw behind your friend's eyes that night in the arena would haunt you and you knew that. Surely, that's what the Dean is talking about.

"Yes." You agree, unsure what else to say when he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a stack of cash.

"Take this, your prize, I suppose." He hands it over to you. It must be hundreds of dollars. Maybe over a thousand. With this, you could do so much for your family. "Oh, and Miss Y/L/N... You wouldn't happen to know anything about the rat poison that was in that compact, would you?"

You tense up, tilting your head at him with a confused smile. "Poison? No... All I had put inside was salt." You reply. "Sejanus Plinth gave it to me, with food from his Ma. Salt is good for protection, you know, so I kept it for later. Keeps you safe from evil and harm." You ramble on, panic and shock in your tone. Sejanus had given you salt to put on some vegetables and sandwiches he brought you, but now that you're trying to piece the story together, you don't remember even opening the compact until you were in that vent. Coryo had told you not to open it, so you wouldn't have. Your own memory is confusing you.

"I've heard that." He nods, eyeing you skeptically.

The train horn makes you jump before you can even thank him.

"Go on, now." He urges you onto the train, deciding to let slide however you had came across the rat poison. Clearly, you didn't know what you had done. Or you were convincing yourself you didn't remember. "Enjoy your freedom."

You nod and step up onto the stairs. You were hoping you would get to see Coryo again, it disappointed you that you never would. Maybe it was a good thing you wrote your goodbye note, even if you had survived. "I give you, upon my knees, a thousand thanks." You smile to the man still standing on the ground below you who just nods in acknowledgment before you close the door behind yourself, Coryo's scarf still wrapped around your waist.

"Y/N?" Coryo calls out, walking into the high biology lab. He was told you had something for him, no doubt the scarf and the compact.

"She's gone." Dean Highbottom cuts in, just before Coryo spots him in the poorly lit room.

"I was told-"

"I know what you were told. Here." The Dean tells him, pointing to the metal compact on the table.

Coryo looks at it only briefly before returning his gaze to the man who offered it to him. "Where is she?"

"I wouldn't worry about that, Coriolanus. Your work is done." He explains vaguely. "Were you aware that she cheated?"

"Cheated?" Coryo asks. "How?" He feigns ignorance.

"The boys in the vents didn't die from snake venom, or violently, or, naturally- for that matter." The Dean tsk's. "It was rat poison. Which, before you argue with me, cannot be found inside the arena or even within reach of the monkey cage at the zoo. I checked. So be honest, you have no idea how she got her hands on such a substance?"

"No, I don't." Coryo lies. "But she did what she could to survive- don't take it out on her because she somehow cheated your games. Next year give them uniforms, or up security or something."

"Just thought I'd ask. She told me she got it from Plinth." He waves him off, and Coryo ticks his head in slight confusion.

"Sejanus? No, he-"

"She really... declined, in there." Highbottom cuts him off, making it evident that he at least believed that Sejanus wouldn't do such a thing. "Told me it was only salt. Genuinely, it seemed like she didn't know. Or, she forced herself to forget. A sweet girl like that, it doesn't surprise me that that's how she would rationalize her actions."

"Is she alive? Because if you killed her for that I-"

"You'll what, Mister Snow? I thought you said you just wanted the prize."

"She deserved better." He states simply, swallowing the anxiety building in his throat.

"She does. I agree." Highbottom nods. "Which is why you won't see her again."

Coryo furrows his brow. "I... I don't understand how that could be relevant."

"Oh, I know you do, Mister Snow." His superior replies, a condescending edge to his words.

Coryo snatches the compact off of the table and quickly pockets it, storming out of the room. At least he hadn't been caught for helping you cheat, though he was sure Highbottom knew better. Now, he didn't have the Plinth Prize, and he didn't have you.

When he finally got home, he couldn't help but slam the door behind himself.

"Coryo?" Tigris calls out, excited as she puts down the project she was working on and rushes to the entranceway to meet him. "I didn't expect you home so soon! Did you get to see Y/N?" Her smile fades when she sees his expression. "What's wrong?"

"They wouldn't let me see her. She's already gone." He explains, pulling off his blazer.

"Oh..." Tigris frowns, taking the blazer from him to hang it up. "I know you really wanted to say goodbye. I'm so sorry."

"She'll never forgive me." He shakes his head slightly. "If she's even still alive! I doubt they would tell me!" He laughs, bringing his hands up to rub his eyes with his palms.

"They wouldn't kill her, Coryo. People loved her too much." She is quickly reassuring, reaching out to rub his shoulders. "You did nothing wrong... You did all you could for her. She'll forgive you."

"Not that." He mutters. "It's what I told you. You didn't see the way she looked at me, Tigris. Like... Like I was a monster."

"She was already scared. She was way out of her element. I think now, that she's safe, she'll find the space to see it reasonably." She tries to soothe his worries as best she can. "You're a good friend to her, and she's a kind person. She'll understand."

"But I'll never know for sure that she does."

"You might one day... Don't beat yourself up about it, and don't give up on her."

After a long, two-day journey curled up on a bench on the train, you recognize the building the train is stopping at. Suddenly, all your energy is returned to you as it slows to a stop, and you're already waiting at the door. You hear the latch unlock and you couldn't get off fast enough.

No one you knew were there, not that you expected any kind of greeting party. You inhale the fresh air, once again surrounded by the trees and your own people. You walk out of the train station and down the street, in the general direction of your home. You tried waving at a few folks you knew on the way, but people just stared, for the most part, jaws slack with surprise. They had already grieved your death. Sometimes you were met with a sad smile, but no one wanted to speak to you. You understood. You were used to that after your time in the Capitol.

"Y/N Y/L/N, is that you?" An excited voice called after you resigned yourself to a quiet walk home, twenty minutes from the bustle of the train station. You turn your head to look up at the back entrance to the Hob, a wide smile taking over your face when you see the speaker.

Your friend is already barrelling toward you, throwing her arms around you as your eyes fill with happy tears. It was refreshing. "I never thought I'd see you again..." You sniff, resting your chin on her shoulder as you hug her back.

Rhythmically, your best friend sways you back and forth. "Oh, I know, I know, sweetheart..." She hums, rubbing your back reassuringly. You can hear her voice crack too. "But you're home now. You're okay..."

She lets you break down as she practically holds you up as you cry in each other's arms. From happiness or trauma, you're not sure. "I did some awful things, I regret it all..."

"Don't regret a thing." She shushes you. "You did what you had to."

"No, no... You don't know... You didn't see..."

"I watched, Hun. When I could." She pulls away, placing her hands on your cheeks to wipe your tears. "You did nothing wrong. All that matters is that you're home now."

You sniff again with a slight nod. "I fear too early, for my mind misgives; Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars, shall bitterly begin."

"No... Y/N/N. You're safe here. You are forgiven." She assures you, rubbing your arms. "Now, let's get you home. A good rest will do you well, your parents have been waitin' on you." She waits for you to nod before stepping to your side, guiding you in the right direction with an arm around your waist.

"Thank you, Lucy Gray." You mumble, allowing yourself to lean into her hold.

taglist: @soulessjourney , @that-veela-girl ,  @dreamyysouls , @rockstarbfs , @maysileeewrites , @baybieruth , @kitscutie ,  @fratboyharrysgf0201 , @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @drewsandsebastianswife , @niicole-87 , @queenofshinigamis , @innercreationflower , @nallasstuff , @scorpiolystoned , @iovemoonyy , @thatmarvelchick19 , @wearemadeofstardust0 , @regulusblackcore , @puredreamagination , @fantasticchaosthing , @becauseseaotters , @secretsicanthideanymore

okay suddenly tumblr isn't letting me tag more people than this so i just made some cuts unfortunately :') i just left the max amount of people i could whose users i recognized and see in my notifs all the time :) if you're not on here and you should be i'm so sorry!

also this taglist is closed now!! if you’d like to get a notification when i update, turn on my post notifications!! i promise i won’t spam y'all :,)

#tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader #tbosas fic #hunger games #thg series #thg #thg fanfiction #the hunger games #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus fanfiction #coryo snow #coryo x reader #snow x reader #snow lands on top

[randomshyperson]

Mess is Mine - Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Being divorced from Wanda Maximoff implies never getting over her.

Warnings: (+18), language, brief smut, divorced ladies who are very still much in love with each other, unspecified age gap, marriage going wrong, hopeful ending, mild angst, fluff.| Words: 3.949k.

A/N-> There's this divorced couple in a Brazilian soap opera with so much chemistry in their scenes together because of the intimacy gained during marriage (even though that didn't work out) and they won't leave my tik tok ; at some point, my brain thought about this fic. I would love to write more of this trope in the future.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

--//--

Wanda had a persistent migraine, and the pile of work in front of her was not helping.

Still, all her stubborn brain could focus on instead of her real job was the stupid headline of the gossip magazine on her desk.

A cheap and badly angled photo of her ex-wife with colorful captions that read 'The newest business killer couple?" and dozens more insinuations about a secret high-society romance made her stomach churn.

Wanda tried not to be affected by the gossip, but you looked so happy in the photo that she couldn't help it.

The sudden opening of her door made Wanda jump in her seat, in one quick pull close the magazine and sigh with relief when she saw it was only Natasha.

"Why are you here?" Her long-time friend and co-worker asked. Wanda frowned in confusion.

"It's still my company..."

Nat rolled her eyes, walking into the office and taking long strides to her desk. "I meant in here, smarty-pants. The event is starting in an hour, the staff wanted some words of encouragement or something."

Wanda sighed wearily, massaging her forehead with one hand. "Can't you do that for me, Nat? I gotta make some calls."

Nat hummed in agreement, but her gaze caught the closed magazine on the table and she raised a brow at her friend. "One of those calls includes your ex-wife, I suppose."

Wanda chuckled dryly, taking the magazine out to one of the drawers and adjusting herself to reach the desk phone. "There's nothing else for me to say to her."

Her friend hid a smile that said that she didn't believe this one bit. "Okay, whatever you say. See you later, boss."

Wanda waved goodbye, with the phone to her ear. Her immediate instinct was to dial known numbers but she shook her head to push that ridiculous idea away and went back to work.

Several hours after the peak of the event when the company was filled with guests, from potential clients to journalists looking for any news like vultures at the carrion, Wanda was at her second glass of champagne, trying to keep the rest of her patience intact after having answered so many questions for gossip magazines regarding the headline from earlier in the day.

She absolutely did not want to discuss a possible romance between her ex-wife and the heiress of Bishop Industries. 

Years before, any of them would have been afraid to question her about something so ridiculous, but that was before you came along. And melted your way into the Business Ice Queen, the untouchable Wanda Maximoff, or whatever insensitive nickname they invented about her back then. Before breaking down all of Wanda's walls, making her a better person, and of course, before you left her.

It was definitely the alcohol's fault that she was thinking about this, and with these stupid tears welling up in her eyes. Wanda swallowed all the emotion, burying it deep and making sure that no one had noticed her broken expression. With an excuse to a group of investors who were boring her into a corner, she retreated to an area far away from the company's outdoor gardens, taking a deep breath to calm herself. The beautiful view of the state lake was most welcome.

So of course the reason for her almost minor breakdown had to show up wearing her favorite suit.

"Are you running away from your guests, Maximoff?" Your tone was casual, the smile provocative. She snorted to herself, crossing her arms and keeping her eyes on the lake. You didn't mind, walking over to her at a slow pace until you were beside her on the edge. 

"I just needed some air." She merely replies. With one hand in your pockets, you adjust your own hair, and Wanda hates that she can smell the shampoo, her body betraying her and shuddering as if your scent were addictive. 

"You're avoiding me today." You comment lightheartedly, studying her face. "I arrived an hour ago and it took me almost all this time to find you."

Wanda forced a smile, finally facing you back, but her angry look made you hesitate. "I thought your chaperone was keeping you busy."

You glanced back at the party, stealing a quick check on Kate at the food stand, chatting with a blonde girl, before turning your attention back to Wanda.

"I forgot how hot you get when you're jealous."

Wanda huffs away, her cheeks burning which she tries to hide by staring at the lake. "Don't even start." She warns between teeth. 

You chuckle, rolling your eyes, but don't insist. You turn your attention to the lake as well. "I wanted to let you know that the boys have already arrived in King Cross. I spoke to them and Charles on the phone."

"I know, Pietro texted me." She retorts more harshly than she meant to and bites the inside of her cheek as she sees you lower your head in upset. With a sigh, she mumbles, "I meant, thanks for letting me know."

You smile, nodding before turning your gaze back to the party. "What do you think of Miss Bishop?" 

Wanda locks her jaw; How dare you honestly. A list of curses lays ready on the tip of her tongue, but she remembers where you two are, and takes a deep breath. You were clearly trying for some kind of reaction from her, and she's not going to let you have this victory today.

"She's beautiful." Wanda replies. "As young as you were when I met you."

You chuckle shortly, raising an eyebrow at her. "What are you implying, Maximoff?"

Wanda shrugs her shoulders softly, turning to leave. "You're quite clever, Y/N, I'm sure you follow." She hits back, but you step forward into her path. You are suddenly too close, and Wanda finds herself holding her breath. She needs to take a step back to avoid stopping breathing for good.

Your eyes stare into theirs. "Not that this is any of your business, darling, but my relationship with Kate is strictly professional."

You assure her in a low tone, and Wanda swallows hard as your gaze moves down to her lips for a long moment before focusing on her eyes again. A smile forms on your mouth next. "Besides this, I've always had a thing for older women."

Wanda sighs heavily, using all her mental control to pull away at once. "Go pay attention to your chaperone, Y/N. Especially if she's a potential client."

You roll your eyes at the business tip; you already know them by heart, the vast majority learned from Wanda. And your ex-wife makes mention of leaving, so you slide your hand down her forearm gently, taking some amusement in seeing the way she shivers.

"I wanted to talk to you about something, Wanda." You let her know, with a serious tone but a tender look. The redhead swallows dryly at the closeness of your faces now that you're standing side by side, your hands connected. "Later, after the party, okay?"

"I-I..."

"It's important." You assure her, knowing her hesitation is so as not to break your agreement about relapses. With a gentle expression, you insist, "Please, it won't take more than five minutes."

She licks her lips, and you almost kiss her. Lucky for her she agrees and walks away because God knows you would have done it, right there in that garden for all the New York reporters to have a week's news about.

Without Wanda's perfume around you, you take a deep breath and try to clear your mind, having to wait a few more minutes in the garden for your heart to stop beating so fast.

As the event nears its end and Wanda needs to give a closing speech, you say goodbye to Kate before the parking area. You ignore all the journalists who try to insinuate something about you having taken the girl to the car and exchange a glance with Wanda in the small crowd before moving toward the elevator.

Wanda has always known you so well, and with a nod, she knows exactly where she has to go.

Her work floor is completely deserted as she makes her way to her own office. But she still closes the door as she enters, letting out a tired laugh at your figure sitting on her armchair.

Her smile fades when she sees what you are reading.

"Headlines nowadays are getting creative..." You wryly chuckle, laughing at your ex-wife's caught expression. "It says here that I might have an eye to the Bishop's fortune. How silly, you gave me almost half of yours in the divorce, why would I need more money?"

"Very funny." Wanda dryly retorts, reaching up to snatch the magazine from your hands with a tug, and raking the item into the trash afterward. She crosses her arms as she looks at you. "What did you want to tell me?"

You flashed a small, sideways smile. "You used to be more polite when you wanted to sleep with me. At least offer me a drink."

Wanda chuckled dryly, rolling her eyes and begrudgingly moving to the personal bar in the corner of the room. If she leaned over more than necessary to grab one of the whiskey bottles, aware that the position in the chair gave you a full view of her ass, neither of you said anything about it. She hid her satisfied smile as she heard your breath hitch at the image, and you hid your own reaction as you cleared your throat and looked away.

Shortly thereafter, two shots of whiskey were served on the glass table in front of you. But before the toast, you declared:

"I'm leaving."

Wanda frowned, and when you made mention of taking the glass, she placed her hand on your forearm. "Speak."

You chuckled, staring her in the eyes. "I closed a contract with the Ten Rings folks. They want me in Korea for the next four months."

Wanda lets go of your arm as if she had been burned and steps away from the table with an indecipherable, but very disturbed expression.

"B-but the boys.." She tries to formulate, but you rise from the armchair with a sigh.

"They'll be at school." You retort, even though firm, your gaze is almost pleading. For what, Wanda doesn't have the heart to wonder. "It's not as if they stay with us all the time, Wands. The boarding school takes up this time quite well. It will only be four months, and they've already invented the telephone and internet, you know?" You try to joke, but Wanda hugs her own body and faces you.

"Why are you here, then? You've traveled before."

"Not for that long." You say, taking steps toward her, and mentally thanking heavens that she doesn't pull away. "And not... not since we made the divorce official."

"Y/N..."

"I know, I know." You murmur with a sad smile, raising your hands to her arms uncovered by her dress. "Maybe it's stupid, but I wanted to make sure we're okay. That it won't be something...I don't know, that hurts us."

"More than a divorce? I find that difficult." She replies with restrained emotion in her husky voice. You sigh.

"Wanda..."

"No, you're right. It was stupid." She cuts off, pulling away so you don't see the tears welling up in her eyes. "Of course it's okay. But I appreciate that you respect the concept of shared custody. I imagine the kids already know?"

"Yes, I told them before I took them to the airport." You mutter upset, watching Wanda walk away to the window. "But Wands, I wanted to tell you in person..."

"And why is that, huh?" she retorts with an impatience that makes you flinch. And for this, Wanda loses it for good. "You know, I don't understand you! You left me! You filed for divorce, you wanted to break us up. But you keep showing up here, and at home, and everywhere, and now you want to come here and say you care-"

"I care, Wa-"

"Then why did you leave me?" she shouts back, almost regretting it when she sees the tears in your eyes. You laugh tearfully, shaking your head.

"We've had this conversation dozens of times, Wan." You say, much calmer than she is. "But you just can't accept that you're wrong, can you?"

"Right, I forgot that I'm the villain in your story." She sneers, wiping her face with the back of her hand. You give another sad laugh.

"I wish it were that simple, darling." You tell her, taking slow steps toward her. "If you were just the villain, the bad wife, the evil boss, everything would be easier. I could hate you, curse your names to all my friends, and spend all the divorce money on expensive, empty things out there, but it's not like that. You forget the part that I love you and tried to fight for us until the last second."

Wanda sobs quietly, looking down at the floor, "Don't do that, Y/N."

"But it's true, baby, you know. I'm not the one who broke any promises, Wands. I just got tired of begging for crumbs of attention from the person who swore to spend the rest of her days with me."

Wanda lifts her chin, and the determination in her gaze doesn't do justice to the tears. "You knew how much my career meant when you said yes."

You smile sadly, taking one last step to get close enough to hold her face. Wanda shudders as you wipe away her tears, as you have done so many times before, as if no time has passed and everything was fine.

"I am so proud of you, Wands, for all you have accomplished with your work. I only wish I had been as important as this building." 

You place a long kiss on her forehead, pulling away afterward. You offer her one last sad smile before closing the door on your way out. Wanda starts to cry as soon as you have done so, even though she tries very hard to keep her tears away.

–//–

You burned a pancake to answer the door, but all the irritation over the ruined dish vanished when you saw Wanda standing in front of you.

It had only been a few days since you had last seen her, and now all the furniture in your apartment was already packed away and covered with rags, prepared for the time you would be away. Wanda's party dress gave way to a casual suit that made you swallow dryly and become self-conscious of the sweatpants and sports top you were wearing. Wanda wouldn't have picked anything better.

"Are you going to let me in, detka?" Wanda asked with some teasing for your moment of shock. You immediately recovered, making room for her to enter and closing the door once she was in the hall. "Sorry for disturbing your breakfast. I wanted to see you before your flight."

"Oh, don't worry about it. And I'm not going until the afternoon." You clarified somewhat clumsily by her presence, one hand still holding a spatula and the other adjusting your hair. "I made pancakes if you'd like..."

"I would love it." Wanda assured with a smile that made your stomach twist. It wasn't fair that your ex-wife got more beautiful every time you looked at her, honestly.

Wanda followed you back into the kitchen, and to both your surprise, you fell into a light conversation about work and the boys while preparing and serving food, completely different from the tone of the conversation the last time you had seen each other. 

But it was a time bomb, of course, so you weren't surprised when Wanda suddenly bit her lip, assuming a more tense posture. 

Finishing chewing your pancakes, you asked:

"Why are you here, sweetheart?" 

Wanda raised her eyes to you, and you stared back at her, patiently for her to clarify. 

"I wanted to say goodbye to you properly." She said, spinning her own stool around first before tipping her hands around yours to spin you toward her. You raise a brow in curiosity, but the question of what she was doing dies in your throat as she leans in and brings your lips together. 

It has been exactly three months, eighteen days, and sixteen hours since you last kissed Wanda, and you only realize how much you missed the feeling when she does it again. It's as intoxicating as it is overwhelming, and you gasp into her lips, breaking the kiss at once as you stand up, taking good steps away from the countertop.

"Wanda, we talked about this." You remind her in a husky voice, pressing a hand over your face. It's ridiculous how much your skin is burning and your heart is racing for something that lasted less than three seconds. "No relapses. You promised-"

"It's not a relapse." She assured, reaching up and grabbing your hands to place them around her waist. You grunted at the sensation, closing your eyes as Wanda slipped hers over your shoulders, too close for you to think about anything other than her. "It's a parting gift. So you'll have a reason to come back."

"W-what...?"

Wanda presses closer and brings her mouth to your ear. "Just stop overthinking it and accept the gift, detka."

With encouragement, she bites the lobe of your ear, and you give up resisting.

With a tug on her waist, you bring your mouths together in a kiss much hungrier and more passionate than the first, which elicits loud, almost primal moans of need from both of you. Wanda pushes and pulls, and by the time you stumble to the back of the living room couch, your pants are already open and there's nothing covering your torso; much like the woman in front of you, who as soon as she throws you sitting up against the cushions, your breathing out of rhythm and your lips swollen from kissing hard, makes a show of removing the rest of her clothes.

She has time to smile mischievously at your look of pure adoration at her completely naked body in front of you before you pull her onto your lap by her thighs. Wanda climbs on you with a needy grunt, burning from the inside out in anticipation for you to touch her again.

Your touches are almost desperate, your kisses mark her skin. It is your gift, but you also seem determined to make sure that Wanda has the memory of this morning for quite some time. 

When your mouth closes around her nipples, she whimpers to the ceiling, arching her back and steadying her hands in your hair, a soft plea that you not stop.

"Yes, baby, just like that." She encourages over the stimulation on her nipples, breaking into an excited whimper when you simply use your free hand to masturbate her. At any other time, you would have taken your time to work her up until she was begging for your touch, but now, in the urgency you two were sharing, it wasn't necessary. She was ready for you. 

Your fingers penetrate her without delay, and Wanda digs her nails into your shoulder, breaking into a breathless moan. You give one last hickey on her hardened nipple before you move your face back up to hers, kissing her with intensity as your fingers dance inside her walls with the mastery of one who has done this a dozen times, one who knows her like the palm of the hand she so deliberately grinds against in the intention of relieving herself.

"G-god, detka! Right here!" She breaks the kiss into an affected moan, practically meowing as you repeatedly hit that sensitive spot inside her. The wetness grows in your palm, Wanda oozes into you, and to help her, you bring your free hand to her hip, coordinating her movements as she begins to fail. "I-I'm going to..."

"Don't talk, show." You interrupt her with a proud little smile, moving your mouth down to bite the sensitive spots on her neck. "Come to me, baby, I've got you."

That's all she needs to reach the first climax of the morning, and she is not surprised that you don't stop at the first. Or the second, or the third.

You are on your knees on the living room floor when your first alarm goes off. Breathing as out of breath as Wanda, on the couch with her torso exposed and her legs spread from which you against your will need to remove your face to turn off the alarm when you pull away.

She covers herself when you disappear to the kitchen because she knows it's because of the flight, and when you return, the cell phone goes on the coffee table and you sit on the floor next to her on the couch. 

There is a long silent pause, where only your breaths can be heard. Wanda skirts a hickey on her own thigh and you sigh.

"We shouldn't have..." But you can't complete, it because your voice fails you as if you are going to start crying. You look away, and Wanda lets herself fall to your side on the floor, where she reaches for your hand.

"Detka, look at me." She asks, and you have to wait a moment until you sniffle and do so with difficulty.

"I told you it hurts me, Wands. I can't-" You take a deep breath. "I can't heal if this keeps happening. There’s no getting over you if we keep doing this”

She shakes her head. "I don't want you to get over me." She says and you huff, trying to pull her hand away, but Wanda squeezes. "I love you, you know I do."

"Love is not enough." You retort bitterly, your eyes filled with tears. "Loving me doesn't mean you won't hurt me. Nor that you won't ignore me. Those are just words, Wanda. I haven't felt loved by you in a long time."

She releases your hand from the shock of your words, and watches you create a physical distance between you as you walk away. You slip away to the bedroom, muttering that you need to get ready for the flight, and she tries to make a decision the whole time you are in the shower.

When you return to the room, wearing a set of travel clothes, Wanda is wearing your sweatpants and her own dress shirt. Your chest aches to see her wearing your clothes again.

"Wanda, you'd better go, my flight-"

"I love you, detka." She cuts you off with eyes bright with determination as she stares at you. You swallow dry, but can't resist when Wanda reaches up to touch your face. "I will make sure you know it. You'll know it so deeply that you'll be able to feel it in your bones. And you'll never doubt it again."

You sniffle lightly. "Wanda..."

"Don't worry about it now, detka." She interrupts you more gently, caressing your face. "Have a great trip. I'll be here when you come back home."

You sigh, and Wanda doesn't let you say anything more, kissing you in a calmer, but somehow much more intense way than before. 

She leaves the apartment before you, with a wink and a request that you call the boys before and after the flight. 

And even before she gets to the first floor, Wanda has already texted Natasha about her early retirement procedure after her well-deserved family vacation.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda maximoff oneshots #marvel imagines

[dailyadventureprompts]

DM Tip: The Trouble With Treasure/ An Alternate Wealth System

If you’re a player or dungeonmaster who’s at all interested in game design you might’ve noticed D&D’s treasure and economy systems suck. You also might have noticed even if you’re not interested in game design, because the longer you play d&d the more it becomes glaringly obvious that the game doesn’t actually HAVE a treasure and economy system despite pretending otherwise.  This is a major problem given that seeking riches is one of the default adventuring motivations, and largely stems from the fact that back in ye-olden days gold was directly related to experience points, so wealth accrued exponentially in line with the increasing cost of levelling up. This is why magic items cost to damn much despite being not only a staple of the genre but absolutely necessary to the long-term viability of certain classes (as I discuss here in my post about gear as class features).  

After being cut lose however, nothing was really DONE with gold in d&d from a gameplay perspective: Treasure generation largely fell to dm discretion or random tables, and the useful things a party could buy steadily shrunk to the point where characters could be stuck with their starting equipment for an entire campaign.  “Too much gold and nothing to spend it on” became one of the major criticisms of d&d 5e, but only touched on the problem that without something worthwhile to spend treasure on the party has less and less reason to venture into the dangerous unknown, take dodgy contracts, or perform any of a half dozen other plot beats that make up traditional adventuring.

 The system likewise breaks down once you pass a certain threshold of wealth, or once you try to model larger economic activities: divvying up a lockbox full of dungeon plunder to reequip your heroes before launching out on the next mission works great for the first couple of levels, but completely falls apart when you're dealing common enough story tropes such as running a business, transporting cargo as merchants, or caring for the estates around a castle.

What I propose is splitting d&d’s economy into two halves: Wealth, which represents the piles of GP and other coins the party carries with them, and Resources, more abstract points which chart how plugged in the party is to local systems of production, trade, and patronage.

If you’d like an explanation of how these systems work, and how they can improve your game like they improved mine, I’ll explain both of these mechanics in detail below the cut, as well as subsystems that let your party open businesses, operate estates, build castles, and make a living as merchants.

Wealth:  I wanted to limit the amount of money my players kept with them without instituting an encumbrance system that might drag things down. Instead I wanted to rely on a more “common sense” method of tracking wealth, and get them thinking about their stores of gold as a physical object rather than a nebulous point pool they can dip into.

Conveniently, every character starts play with a coin pouch, which can hold up to 300gp (about 6 pounds). I use this as a “soft cap” for how much money a character can be expected to be carrying around with them, not including jewellery or small valuables like gems.

Theoretically a person could have more than one coin pouch, carry their wealth around with them in a chest (15,000gp) or a cartoon sack with a dollar sign on it (1500gp), but this becomes increasingly cumbersome and provides a greater and greater chance that the party will be targeted by thieves. I don’t need to add any more mechanical crunch to this factor, I just inform the party “ hey, you look like you’re carrying a lot of money, better be careful going forward” and plan my encounters accordingly.

Instituting this cap likewise prevents gold from losing all meaning once the party is high enough level to have found their second or third treasure hoard. Sure, they might be living it up in an aristocratic lifestyle back home, but when it comes to set out into the wilderness they suddenly have to think of GP as a resource along with spellslots and hitdie. Getting robbed, forced to give bribes, or simply losing their coin pouch suddenly becomes an actual threat to them regardless of level.

Resources:  The party has a pool refereed to as resources, representing their holdings, relationships with patrons, and personal enterprise. The party’s total resources are pooled, and are represented on a scale from 1-50.

Every week, provided they have contract with their economic network, each member of the party party receives earnings equal to 12.5 gp x (the party’s total resources) representing them drawing a living from the connections they’ve already made (working a trade, doing odd jobs, getting payouts from investments) 

In order to obtain a new level of wealth, the party must either invest 500gp per point of wealth they which to obtain into a new or ongoing business project (either their own, or that of a trusted contact).  Alternatively, the party can get their resource pool boosted by forming agreements with tradesfolk or wealthy patrons, who may grant the party such agreements out of friendship or as part of a reward for doing quests. Resources are recorded with a number beside them, representing how much of the party’s total resource pool they represent. This is so that if something happens to jeopardize that resource, the party knows exactly how much of their earnings are up in the air.

For example, a party that saves a merchant captain from pirates early on in their adventures might be rewarded with a share of her ship’s takings, gaining 1 point of resources. In the future, they may pour some of their adventuring loot into her business, increasing their total amount of holdings with her to 6, and their weekly payout to 75gp. If that captain and her ship were then lost in a storm, those resources would be frozen, halting the party’s payouts and encouraging them to discover just what it was happened to their friend as the base of a new adventurehook. 

Buying against Resources:  D&D is weird in that it prices magic items, ships and castles like they can be bought off the rack, when in any pre-industrial society most “new” things would have to be constructed from scratch with labours and artisans paid a steady amount over months or years until the thing was complete and then delivering it directly into the hands of the one who commissioned them. Sure a weaponsmith or apothecary would likely have a storeroom full of items to sell to clients walking in off the street, but shipyards aren't spending years churning out galleys to leave them waiting for a buyer like a used car lot.

Because plenty of games involve at least a section where a party might establish a fortress,  fix up a ruined estate, or commission a magical artifact, it helps to have a guideline:  Find the base price of the item, chop it in half if the party or one of their business contacts can source the resources (or if they’re fixing something that’s broken) Next they need to pay for labour, “reserving” points out of their own resource pool to hire on workers and supplementary materials, divide the item’s price by (500x the number of resource points the party is willing to spend) to find how many months it’ll take for the item to be finished. Note that during this time, the party’s effective resource score is reduced by the amount they’ve reserved. This makes it possible for a mid level party to start refurbishing their dream castle early, rather than having it simply poof into existence once they’re too high level to really get use out of it.

Ongoing Services: Rather than worry about keeping track of hirelings, or a number of other factors, I let my party reserve points off their resource pool indefinitly to retain the services of NPCs. Each “holding” the party has (buisness, ship, estate) likewise requires one resource kept in reservation for general maintenance, unless the party want to take a month off and maintain it themselves.

A party that owned a tavern then might reserve one resource to maintain their establishment , another to pay for the staff, and begin to think about hiring on some guards for a third as something is causing fights to break out more frequently.

Another party which owned a pirate ship, they’d reserve one resource to maintain the ship, another to pay the crew, and a third to bribe the harbormaster who looks the other way when they bring unsanctioned goods into harbor. After hearing about their big score however, their corrupt contact asks for yet another resource worth of bribes, potentially stretching the party’s resources a bit thin.

Using Resources to be a merchant:  If pirates come up often in this post it’s because I drove myself half mad several years ago trying to run a skyship campaign, and the logistics of hullspace v supplies v the staggering price of trade goods v market demand drove me up the wall. I lacked a simple system that would let my party FEEL like they were high-risk traders without having to slow the game down with accounting. Here’s my Alternative: there’s a special type of resource called “goods” connected to caravans and trade vessels, which can be expanded like any other. At the end of every month who’s ever in charge of that venture (Player or npc) makes a mercantilism roll ( possibly charisma, possibly wisdom, + some relevant proficiency) for each of those goods based against a DC set by the dm regarding how good trade is doing in that region.  If it’s a success, the markets are flowing, and the goods rating goes up by 1. If it’s a failure, they go nowhere, as no profit is made. If they fail by 10 or more, those goods loose one point due to bad investment, and if they succeed by 10 or more, the goods double. When the party receives their payment, they can chose to cash out for 500gp per point of good, possibly then reinvesting in the venture.

#dm tip #dm tips #dm tools #writing advice #Merchant #caravan #pirates #dm advice #the loot overhaul

[novelbear]

a list of common tags or specific tropes that are easier to sort through here rather than piling up in the masterlist!!

hurt/comfort prompts - for your classic hurt/comfort scenarios!

friends to lovers prompts - best friends or just friends to lovers in general!

enemies to lovers prompts - a tale as old as time. and a good one at that. 

love prompts - for all your romantic needs <3

couple prompts - specific to your otp! 

crush prompts - for that one person your oc just can’t stop thinking about

roommate prompts - for your otp living together! 

rival prompts - rivals to lovers...or just good old rival related prompts!

angst prompts - 💔💔

argument prompts - for when your otp have their disagreements.

sleepy prompts - prompts including your favorite relaxing, sleepy scenarios. 

confession prompts - for when your character needs to say it right then and there!

school prompts - for your school aus :) 

summer prompts - for when your otp wants to have fun in the summer sun!

fall prompts - filled with cozy autumn scenarios 

sibling prompts - prompts for your siblings to bond :) 

seasonal prompts - full of holidays and other season-based fun!

parent prompts - prompts for your characters raising their little ones!

domestic prompts - calm and domestic prompts for your otp!

#novelbear #tag guide

[drafthorsemath]

Antidote (TBB Tech x afab Reader)

Tech x AFAB Reader (use of she/her pronouns), but all of the Batch included

Word Count: Five words over 3.3k

Warnings: Sex pollen but not the usual trope (no sex and an alternative is found), suggestive sexual language and situations but nothing acted upon, restraining for safety, some strong language, frank description of biological processes, creative use of a tampon, some feelings of shame but they are addressed, NSFW, younglings begone

A/N: I can’t read sex pollen fics. I tried. It wasn’t my thing, but then I got an idea and @staycalmandhugaclone encouraged me so here we are. This is not a call out or meant to be negative toward any sex pollen fics. This is just a different take.

Also on AO3.

You met the Batch on Pabu and in the months since, found yourself spending more and more time with them. This was especially true of Tech. You found his thirst for knowledge and direct nature easy to understand and get along with. Though, you were doing more than getting along. You weren’t sure how to tell him, but you had fallen for him.  His brothers all noticed, but he seemed not to. What you didn’t know was that he simply didn’t know how to bring up his feelings just yet.

The boys had decided to visit a nearby planet and since there didn’t seem to be any danger, no one had any objections to you coming along.  You hadn’t been on a ship since you first traveled to Pabu and you loved watching as you flew through hyperspace. Tech landed just outside of a city and you all headed toward the market. Hunter and Echo went in search of supplies while Wrecker, Tech, and Crosshair all helped buy food to bring back to Pabu. You were particularly interested in the local fruits and vegetables that didn’t grow on the island you called home.

“I think this is enough,” you said, putting down the last crate next to the pile.

“Is it,” Wrecker asked. “I could eat all this in a couple days.”

“Yes, but we’re just getting what we can,” Crosshair responded. He didn’t want to make more than one trip back to the ship.

“Well, we can carry more,” Wrecker retorted. “At least I can.”

Crosshair gave him a half-hearted glare but helped purchase a few more crates.  Wrecker easily carried most of the load.

You turned around to look for Tech.  He was busy scanning some kind of contraption that caught his eye one booth over.

“Ready to go, Tech?”

“In just a moment,” he replied.

Wrecker and Crosshair walked ahead, catching up with Hunter and Echo who were waiting near the edge of town with some ship parts.  You knew a moment for Tech could mean anything from a few seconds to much longer than that but wanted to stay with him.

He put the item down and walked with you. “The wiring on this new style datapad results in faster computations. I want to see if I can rewire my own and achieve similar results.”

“That didn’t look like any datapad I’ve ever seen,” you replied.

“Ah, the outside is only meant to grab your attention. It is a new model. The inside is what interests me.”

You smiled at that.  Tech offered to carry the crate you still had, and you kindly accepted.

Once back at the ship, Wrecker took the crate from Tech. It was decided you all would spend the night on the ship and head back the next day.  Tech cleared his bunk so you would have a place to sleep, insisting he could sleep in a chair.  While you felt it was incredibly nice of him, you also couldn’t help but wonder what it might be like to share a bunk with him.  The thought left your mind as he asked if you wanted to come with him to document some of the local flora.  After dinner, the others stayed around the campfire while you and Tech walked over a few hills and to the edge of a forest.  He excitedly took pictures and samples, telling you about each plant and its properties.

“This one has several medicinal uses,” he said, handing you a pink flower. You smiled at it and then back at Tech.  You gathered several and put them in their own storage bag for transport.  Multiple species of flowers were packed before you looked a little further into the woods.

“Tech! Come see!”

He walked over and immediately noticed the large teal blooms that opened as you walked by.

“Fascinating,” he said. He took a picture and noticed that as he got closer to you, the flowers seemed to open even further. He scanned them, looking for any known properties. His face dropped as soon as the results showed up.

“We need to go, mesh’la!”

“What? Why?” You sneezed.

“It may be too late.” He took your hand and briskly walked you out of the woods. Your face suddenly felt hot and your throat burned.

“Tech, I don’t feel well.”

“We must get back to the ship,” he said nearly panicking. “I believe those flowers create an aphrodisiac that specifically affects females of several species.”

No sooner had he said that, and your limbs felt like jelly and you fell against him.  Something wasn’t right. You could swear you felt all your blood rushing to your groin and let out a moan. You tried to run, but felt a great weight on your ankles. Tech lifted you like you weighed nothing and ran toward the Marauder. Hunter stood as he saw his brother carrying your body. Preparing for the worst, the boys all stood up asking what was wrong and following Tech on to the ship.

“A large flower opened, spreading pollen,” Tech stated. “I believe it is an aphrodisiac and it has already started to work.”

He sat you down, scanned you, and confirmed your symptoms. The others stood behind him, looking rather helpless. He sighed and gave you a rundown of what to expect. Very brief fever followed by extremely high libido and high energy until satisfied.

Crosshair looked from you to Tech and asked, “Isn’t there a way she can take care of this on her own? You know? Manually?”

“Negative,” replied Tech. “Based on the information available, orgasm does not help in mitigating the symptoms. It appears this particular pollen only effects females and it does not wear off until either sexual intercourse with a male is completed or her hormones shift with her next menstrual cycle.”

“Next period?!” You really started panicking. “I can’t feel that way for that long!” You wanted to cry and yet you could feel that you had to fight to remain yourself even now. You knew it would only get worse. “Look I… Tech I…” You searched for words, feeling overwhelmed. This was not how you wanted to have this conversation, but it seemed like you had better get it over with. “Tech, I have feelings for you. I really like you, but I don’t want to have sex with you or anyone right now, for that matter and I’m afraid of what I might say or do in the next however long.”

Tech quickly processed the information and couldn’t help but smile. “I believe the feeling is mutual,” he said, still kneeling in front of you. “I promise no one will do anything you would not want done in your healthy state of mind. You have my word.”

“That’s great,” chimed Echo, “And I’m really glad for you two, but how are we going to fix this without waiting?”

“I have an idea,” Tech replied.

No sooner had he said that and the fever hit. You felt like you were on fire and cold as ice at the same time. Wrecker stepped toward you to hold your hand. “It’s gonna be okay,” he said. “If anyone can solve this, it’s Tech.”

You tried to nod. Your whole body shook with fever, but within a few minutes the fever was gone. You knew that you weren’t yourself, but there was no way to stop it. You looked at all five men greedily and started to take your shirt off.

“I want Tech first,” you said with a smirk.

“Now now,” Wrecker said, still next to you and taking your hand away from your shirt. “None of that.”

You tried to stand up and looked at each member of the squad. You giggled to yourself that you just thought about the word “member.” They would do nicely, but you would give anything for Tech to throw you onto his bunk and fuck you through the bottom of the ship. You walked closer to him and he adjusted his googles.

“I know this is not you,” he said.

It quickly became clear that you were going to be quite a handful.  Tech did research as fast as possible, finding flowers that reacted similarly.  Wrecker held you in his lap with his arms wrapped around you after you tried to jump on Hunter as he walked past to assist Tech. He was also trying to keep you from acting out your latest threat of walking up to Tech and sitting in his lap naked. You made several comments about each of the men, but would not stop talking about how much you wanted Tech.

“We know,” Crosshair said, sitting next to Wrecker.

You turned your head toward Crosshair and smiled like an idiot. “Jealous,” you asked him.

“I didn’t say that,” he replied in annoyance.

“It’s okay if you are,” you countered in a sing-song voice.

Your body then decided that since you were sitting on a man’s lap, you might as well start thrusting your hips.

“Nope,” Wrecker said, lifting you off his lap. He was strong, but you were giving him a run for his money with how much you were squirming.

“We’ll sit with her awhile,” Hunter offered, dragging Echo with him. “Crosshair too.”

“What? Why me?”

“Because you’ve only sat next to Wrecker. I think we’ll all have to take some limbs or something.” Wrecker sat you down on the bunk and Hunter held you back before you could lunge at Tech. You nearly yoinked him halfway across the Marauder. Hunter managed to sit you back down with Echo holding one arm, Hunter the other, and Crosshair sitting on the floor hugging your legs.

“This is ridiculous,” you giggled. “Just let me fuck your brother. Just once.”

Hunter sighed. He knew you were going to be upset later. Tech had already discovered that there is no lapse in memory for this particular drug, so you would remember every moment of this.  He hoped you would find solace in the fact that they all knew this wasn’t really you. 

They were all getting tired and while Wrecker wanted to help Tech, he knew there was little he could do, so he tried sleeping until it was his turn to hold you again. Tech worked furiously through the night. He grimaced when you hit the next stage and complained you felt throbbing.  You had gone from flirty to begging for someone to put your out of your misery “with as much cock as possible.” When that didn’t work you cried. He knew it must be painful by this point. He couldn’t stand to hear you cry.  Your body was simply reacting to a drug. He felt guilty for not knowing this plant was in the vicinity, but it had never been documented on this side of the planet before. How could he have known?

In the middle of the night, Wrecker woke to stay with you while Hunter, Echo, and Crosshair tried to get some sleep. You made a lot of noise, but they tried. Wrecker had to admit that he didn’t do any more than doze. They were all worried for you, but being in war and under stress, they had learned to sleep when they can and then get up and do their part when it was time. They got what sleep they could.

You wailed when Wrecker held you, trying to scramble away to get to one of the men. He just kept apologizing and telling you he was keeping you safe. You managed to turn in his lap and wrap your legs around his waist.

He sighed. “I know you don’t want that. Not really.” You started crying again and all you could seem to feel was your pulse between your legs and a chemical drive that would not go away.

At the front of the ship, Tech started to make some progress.  He smiled to himself when he found a research article on this species of plant. He needed one of the pink flowers you’d collected earlier along with two drugs from the med kit.

Hunter hadn’t done much more than close his eyes, but he sensed the med kit being opened and went to try to help his brother.

“Will you restart the campfire,” Tech asked.

“Sure. What progress have you made?”

“We are not able to create or obtain the hormones needed to trigger her menstrual cycle and end this using that method. However, it is theorized that the reason sexual intercourse causes the pollen to cease its effect is because of the presence of semen in the vagina. Specifically, one protein found in seminal fluid. Now, obviously that is not an option for us, but it appears a similar form of this protein can be synthesized using the pollen of some flowers we collected. While not ideal, there are some items in the med kit that can help this chemical process.”

“Great, but how do we get it in her,” Hunter asked.

“We don’t,” answered Crosshair, now standing behind them. “Put whatever you make on a tampon and ask her to do it herself.”

“Would that work,” Echo asked, joining them.

“I believe it is the least invasive option,” Tech replied.

They all nodded. Hunter went outside to start the campfire.  Tech sterilized some equipment and joined him.  It seemed simple enough. He only needed part of the flower and then the heated wound disinfectant along with bacta gel would cause the protein to be isolated. Hunter dug a tampon out of the emergency supplies.

Echo and Crosshair helped Wrecker who held your legs, while the other two sat on either side of you. You were tired, but still acting ravenous. Your method had gone even further in the direction of complaining about how you were hurting, and you just wanted all this to be over. 

“It doesn’t have to be Tech,” you declared. “I’ll take any of you. Please!”  You then melted in Echo’s arm and looked at him with stars in your eyes. “Changed your mind yet? Any of you?”

He simply shook his head, trying to show he cared, and held on so you couldn’t pounce on anyone.  You turned to Crosshair on your other side. He held your arm and tried to help keep you still as best he could. You quickly moved to try to bite his neck and he pulled away. “No thank you,” he said. “I’m saving that for someone special.”

You were trying so hard to fight the drug coursing through your system, but it was a losing battle. After what felt like ages, Tech seemed satisfied with the concoction. There wasn’t much of it, but once it was cool enough he dipped the end of the tampon in the gel and walked back onto the ship. The boys let go enough for you to walk toward him. Your flirty symptoms appeared again, and you wanted Tech so badly. You looked up and down his body with no shame. He really took your breath away.

Tech found your glances made him nervous, but simply cleared his throat.  Just as he was about to explain why he was holding a tampon, you started sniffing the air.

“That smell,” you said.

The men all looked at each other. “Can you smell it,” Hunter asked. “The protein?”

“Whatever it is, I want to sit on it,” you replied with a grin. You homed in on the tampon.

Tech cleared his throat again and explained, “I have created what we hope will reverse the effect of the drug, but you need to insert this yourself.”

Crosshair and Echo were still each holding your arms, but not too tightly. You seemed to calm and they let go. You took the tampon and went to take your pants off, but everyone stopped you. Tech opened the refresher door and you walked in. He closed it and everyone sighed.

“I hope this works,” said Echo. “All I smell is floral bacta gel.”

In the ‘fresher you regarded the tampon with a little suspicion, but your body seemed to be on autopilot. You placed the tampon and immediately the ache started going away. You took slower breaths. You washed your hands and realized your nerves had been on fire for hours.  You looked at yourself in the mirror and felt the heat in your face start to drain. Instead, you realized all that you had said and done, or tried to do. All kinds of emotions flooded your system. You were sure that Hunter could sense the change in you from the other side of the door, so you made no effort to report what was going on. You weren’t sure you wanted to see or talk to any of them yet. You were covered in sweat from all your activity and wanted a shower.  You stripped off your clothes and briefly stood under the water. Just enough to clear away the feeling on your skin.  When you got out, you noticed someone had left you the spare clothes you’d brought, and you slowly put them on. After a few more minutes of staring blankly into the mirror and letting the antidote work, you finally reappeared.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “I didn’t mean all that.”

“We know,” Wrecker said, pulling you into a hug.

“Glad you feel better,” Hunter said.

“Been thinking we might all get some shut eye before we leave,” Echo suggested.  Crosshair nodded with a little smile on his face. For the first time all night, he popped a toothpick in his mouth.

You nodded, thanking them for helping you.

“Especially you, Tech.”

He wasn’t sure what to do. Should he hug you? Hold you? Keep his distance?

“Here,” he said. “If you find you need more to counter the drug, I will put this in a safe place.” He showed you a container with the small puddle of gel he had made using the flowers. You smiled at him.

“How did you figure it out?”

He walked you to the cockpit after closing up the ship as the sun rose. He sat you down, noticing how physically weak you looked. Sitting across from you, he told you about his research and how he found a way to mimic the protein structure that seemed to shut down the drug.  You smiled. Of course Tech would figure it out.

“I’m sorry again,” you said.

“Cyar’ika, you have nothing to be sorry for,” he said, reaching for your hand. He gave it a soft squeeze and smiled at you. “None of this was your fault.”

You returned the smile and sat back, looking like you might fall asleep.

“Let me help you to bed,” he offered. You took his arm, needing it to steady yourself. Your legs felt like jelly for a whole different reason this time.

You got into bed. In his bunk. The others were already sleeping. Tech sat on the end of the bed, but looked conflicted. When he originally offered to sleep in the pilot’s seat, he didn’t know all of this would happen.

“Tech? Can you stay? Is that okay?”

He nodded, but suddenly seemed a bit nervous. He had never shared a bed with anyone like this. What he said earlier was true. He had feelings for you and knew you had feelings for him. He wanted you to feel safe, so if you wanted him close, he felt it would be alright now, although he wasn’t sure what he was doing as he laid down.

“How would you like me to, uh…”

“Like this,” you replied, taking his hand and laying it across your middle. Not too close or tight, but just there. “But however feels right. I trust you.”

He softly smiled and relaxed. “Goodnight mesh’la.”

#tbb tech x reader #tbb tech x fem reader #tbb tech x afab reader #tbb fanfiction #the bad batch #tbb tech #tbb tech fanfiction #can you believe I'm out here posting on main #sex pollen #without the sex #reverse sex pollen #i don't know what else to call this #reader insert #period #menstruation

[oc-challenges]

WELCOME TO THE OC HALLOWEEN CHALLENGE!

Calling all the monsters, it's time for the OC 2023 Halloween Challenge! This challenge has been hauntin' you for five years, and we're wantin' you to participate!

If you're new here, here's what you need to know: This is an event that takes place over the 31 days of October and presents oc creators with Halloween-themed challenges to get the creative juices dancing. It is open to creations for both fanfiction and original ocs, and if you want to participate you don't have to every one or even in order. It is brought to you by @purpleyearning / @aliverse, @elmunson, and includes suggestions by members of our discord! (special thanks to @endless-hoppington for helping with some descs)

Rules

DO NOT copy others edits.

If you are doing crossovers, PLEASE make sure that the creator of the other oc is okay with crossovers.

If you want your post to be reblogged onto this blog, it must contain the hashtag ohc2023.

Feel free to ask questions, I promise I’m more treat than trick.

Everything is up to the creators interpretation, although I have tried to include some examples for help!

Have fun!

RANDOM/THEMELESS (1st–5th) Some of the challenges that don't coincide with each other.

Day One: Life In Plastic

It's fantastic! Is your OC more of a Barbie or a Bratz? Maybe they go to Monster High, or they're an American Girl Doll with an inspiring story? Perhaps you want to make a Funko version of your OC? To put it simply, this day is about dolls as an ode to the best movie of 2023; Barbie.

Day Two: Lights, Camera, Action!

For day two, we're combining oc as canon, oc as celebrity, and oc's social media into one day where you get to choose which of those challenges you would like to do... maybe even all of them!

Day Three: Born In The Wrong Century

Movies depend on a lot of things, but time and place helps create the ominous feel for it. Like Crimson Peak that belongs to the revival gothic period of 1880s or Jason Voorhees waking up on a spaceship in the year of 2455, give your character(s) a new decade to explore and even monsters to face.

Day Four: Twisted

From reality episodes where two people experience switching roles with one another to an alternative reality where their roles are different from their home's universe, make your character experience life through a whole new perspective by making your hero the villain or your villain the hero.

Day Five: Vampires, Werewolves, and Witches... Oh My!

From Godzilla to Dracula to The Mummy, the monster-verse is rich with lore. Today we focus on those monsters that never go out of style, after all they’re called classics for a reason. Is your oc Frankenstein or his monster?

OH, YOU WANNA PLAY PSYCHO KILLER? CAN I BE THE HELPLESS VICTIM? (6th–12th) Due to its popularity last year, we're bringing back the horror character tropes week.

Day Six: The Harmless Antagonist

Ah, a classic in more than just horror; the mean gorgeous holier-than-thou character; more specifics of this are often The Jock, The Cheerleader, The “Slut”, The Bitch, The Rich Kid, etc. While they may annoy the main character or make their everyday life difficult with academic rivalry or teasing, they’re really nothing compared to the new enemy; the thing or person killing everyone. Which one of your ocs is getting brutally knocked down a peg… or the stairs?

Day Seven: The Comedic Relief

Honestly, they make even the scariest movies bearable. They're almost never the main character but almost always the most liked. They say laughter is medicine for the soul, so which of your ocs soothes the characters and the situation with a joke made at the worst of times?

Day Eight: The Denier/Non-Believer/Skeptic

It doesn’t matter the subgenre, there’s always one. They don’t believe a killers out to get them or their friends despite the fast growing pile of bodies, they claim there’s a natural explanation for the supernatural event terrorizing everyone, they just refuse to get with the program. This often combines with the cop or older-than-everyone-else character. Which one of your ocs will get killed by their stubborness before their loyalty?

Day Nine: The Harbinger

We hear about omens of death in every kind of mythology. Irish folklore warns you of hearing the wailing woman and German myth tells you to never find your doppelganger. Even Western Society in America will drift from their path if they see a black cat on the way. So which of your ocs stands outside of the haunted house and tells the redheaded twins “you’re going to die in there”?

Day Ten: The Accomplice

You never saw it coming, but you should’ve. There’s not just one killer you have to worry about, there’s two. This is the person whose been helping the killer since the very beginning, pretending to be your friend the entire time until the plot reached its rising action. You’re heart broken and the very ground shakes under your feet, the good person you once thought you knew is gone… or worse, had never truly existed. Which of your ocs is not only willing to help a friend hide the body, but kill it too?

Day Eleven: The Killer

They’re haunted and bloodthirsty, compelling in a dangerous way. Everyone has a monster within but due to some tragic backstory of abuse, hate, or ridicule, these people – or things– let the monster win. Whether they done a mask or turn your dreams into sentient nightmares, they’re the main reason why anybody shows up to movie night. Which one of your ocs looks into the reflection of the knife in their hand, and pictures themselves chopping up human bodies instead of vegetables?

Day Twelve: The Final Girl

It’s all come down to this, the last stand. There’s two people left, or at least two important people left; the killer and the final girl. She’s fought tooth and nail, and grief has made way for rage. At first she was just another potential victim, now she’s in the killers way and she won’t go down easy. In the beginning she just wanted to survive, but like Laurie Strode now she wants revenge. Which oc becomes the monsters monster?

WRONG PLACE, WRONG TIME We're exploring classic horror locations. Throw your ocs into a horror story that take place in these locations, or make up your own story.

Day Thirteen: Have Killer Fun At Summer Camp! (Location: Summer Camp)

It's Friday The Thirteenth... literally. For today, the location is a summer camp like the one Jason Voorhees terrorizes. Counselor, killer, or camper? Whatever role your oc plays, they certainly didn't read this in the brochure.

Day Fourteen: Vacation Nightmares (Location: Hotel/Island/AirBnB, etc.)

An island that magically speeds up your aging, a hotel with corridors that lead to nowhere, a psychotic airbnb host; Today is about horror in locations that are supposed to be a break from the horror of everyday life, but instead introduces you to whole new horrors.

Day Fifteen: Home Is Where The Haunt Is (Location: House or Apartment)

A home can be a place to make memories and some memories leave a scar. Focus on your characters when a place they call home is threatened.

Day Sixteen: She Doesn't Like It In The Barn (Location: Farm/Ranch)

Samara Morgan was forced to stay in the barn's hayloft to keep her burning images out of her adoptive parents minds. Framer Graham Hess had to defend his home and family from aliens that threatened to kill his son. Pearl craved to be a movie star and experienced a psychotic break where she killed those who denied her her dream. What deadly passages does the farm bestow to your characters?

Day Seventeen: Death is a Mystery and Burial is a Secret (Location: Cemetery or Tomb)

Cemeteries and tombs are the places we put our loved ones to rest, but in horror movies we find that final resting places are not so restful after all. Whether it’s ghosts, zombies, psychotic gravekeepers, or grave robbers ensuring no witnesses; how do your ocs go from mourning to trying to survive until morning?

Day Eighteen: What's The Opposite Of Miracles? (Location: Places of Worship)

Places of worship are supposed to be places of good, where people go for guidance and safety, places full of good beings and devoid of sin. But what if the bad beings sneak in or the sinless place is just a hiding place for those full of sin?

Day Nineteen: This Won't Hurt A Bit (Location: Hospital and/or Asylum)

In season two of American Horror Story, we were welcomed to Briarcliff, an asylum that became ‘home’ to the misunderstood and the criminally insane. Much like other hospitals of the past, many attempts of healing were there to disguise the evil hiding in plain sight. How does your character deal when the place that was supposed to heal them becomes the place that harms them?

Day Twenty: The Trees Have Eyes (Location: The Woods/Forest)

Shadows of the trees cast illusions, the cracking of sticks cause hairs on the back of your neck stand. The wind howls which sounds of a voice, and the birds no longer sing. The woods are creepy, desolate, and you find yourself lost in the sea of their trunks. What happens when your ocs are stuck in the woods?

RANDOM OUTLIER

Day Twenty-One: I Want To Play A Game

Some of the most recent hits in horror history have been not movies, books, or shows, but video games. From Dead By Daylight to Until Dawn, horror fans have been able to experience immersion at a whole new level by trying to make all the right choices as a character. Now, it's time to put your oc into a horror game AU. Will they live, or will they die? Only their stats and choices will tell.

STRANGER THINGS HAVE HAPPENED (22nd–27th) Character tropes are fun and all, but for the next six days we're focusing on genre tropes.

Day Twenty-Two: Solitude Causes More Wounds Than It Was Meant To Heal (Trope: Isolation)

Fear is increased when one is alone by themselves, or cut off from civilization like an reclusive island. Focus on your characters in the horror of isolation; are they forced to recognize who they truly are on the inside? Do they practice the law of nature or nurture? Do they keep their morals or own laws?

Day Twenty-Three: The Apocalypse Is The Best Thing That Ever Happened To Me (Trope: Apocalyptic)

Just as everything must begin, it also must end. This, unfortunately, includes humanity. What will happen when the world as your oc knows it ends, when that world goes from millions of people to tens or perhaps even one? Will they be forced to adapt, doomed to die, or perhaps even thrive?

Day Twenty-Four: You've Killed Me Before (Trope: Time Loop)

The best thing about the sun setting is that it will come up again in the morning, and a new day will begin. But what if the sun comes up and an old day begins? Whether your oc must solve their own murder, solve somebody else’s murder, or face difficult truths about those around them, it’s time to put them into a time loop.

Day Twenty-Five: Better You Die Than I (Trope: Doppleganger)

In real life, seeing your “doppleganger” is said to be an omen of misfortune or good luck. In horror movies, dopplegangers usually take a more direct approach in ruining the lives of their lookalike. Whether they’re an omen of bad things to come or trying to steal ones life, give your oc a doppleganger and explore the horrors of a stranger that shares your face.

Day Twenty-Six: No Wonder Everyone Keeps Invading You (Trope: Extraterrestrial)

Whether your oc was a believer before or not, life from another planet has arrived to Earth on this day. These so-called aliens come in all shapes, sizes, and colors; They can even come in a human disguise, as a deadly plant, as a machine, or even as little green men. No matter where they came from or what they look like, humanity is not ready for them. Whether we try to hurt them or they try to hurt us, how does your oc deal with extraterrestrial life on Earth and the problems this arrival presents?

Day Twenty-Seven: All Politics Is A Personality Cult Now (Trope: Cult)

What simply starts as a simple dinner meal, a visit to a secluded area where people celebrate, or deciding to reunite with the estranged side of your family, can easily be your steps toward a cult. Have your characters fight to stay alive against those who have welcomed them with sinister intent.

COSTUMES TELL A STORY

Day Twenty-Eight: Let's Be Weird Together

We all know of an iconic squad that so many people are just dying to be a part of. Well, it’s your ocs and their friends chance! Day 28 is group costumes!

Day Twenty-Nine: That Could Be Us

Love isn’t in the air but maybe it’s in the fabric of costumes! It’s time for couples costumes!

Day Thirty: I Can Be Anybody I Wanna Be

If your oc could be anybody, who would they wanna be? Well, for one night only, they can be! It's time for your oc to dress up!

TRICK OR TREAT!

Day Thirty-One: I'm Just Here For The Boos

Halloween is a time for tricks and treats, for ghost to walk among the living and us to disguise ourselves. But it can be killer, and the transference of evil can be achieved. Give your shape to another, gift them and you shall receive in turn. Ocpotluck awaits.

#origin post #ocappreciation #allaboutocs #h: 2023 #ohc2023 #halloween challenge #tw flashing lights #flashing lights tw #admin: ali

[shares-a-vest]

💖 Fic Writing Review 2023 💖

I was tagged by @penny00dreadful @rocknrollsalad @cranberrymoons and @unclewaynemunson Thanks everyone! You all smashed it in 2023. Here's to more words wording and fun fandom times with our faves.

Tbh, it took me a good month minute to work out how to do this, seeing as I don't post much to ao3 (something I intend on mending in 2024). I'm very much going with the 'feel free to show whatever stats you like' aspect of the rules.

But before all that, I'd like to use this post as an opportunity to acknowledge everyone who enjoys my writing. I kinda just fell into writing in this fandom and discovered that I love it!

I'm also sending love and appreciation to my beloved moots and everyone in the stwg discord server. Here's to another year of creating, sharing and interacting 💖

This fandom really is my happy place a lot of the time, a much-needed creative outlet and a space where I can talk to people who let me be my silly little old self.

I have so much I want to write in 2024 (including some in-the-works stuff listed below). One goal I know I have in 2024 is to write what I'll temporarily title, 'The Origin of Joanie Munson'. I would really like to knuckle down and write a looonnnggg fic this year that would tell that story.

Anyway, enough of me talking, I'll stop before I get too sappy...

Top 5 Posts by Notes:

Wayne and Claudia to Steve's Rescue

I'm Dating Garfield

My Prince

Eddie gets stuck in Steve's shower after the power goes off

Eddie Munson: Sparkly Vampire Boyfriend

Proudest Work & Reflections:

Wayne and Steve get hearing aids: This post was very much inspired by my pop's ongoing struggle with his hearing aids. HoH Steve is a beloved headcanon of mine so I was happy to receive so much love for a little ficlet that came from a very real place.

Steve spends Father's Day with the Buckleys: If there's one Steve trope I will write, it's Steve Has Bad Parents™. I always find myself writing this trope and getting Steve all sad and angsty as a personal coping mechanism/outlet for irl Dad Stuff™. I was a pile of goo over the tags and comments saying this ficlet resonated with readers! We really are just out here projecting onto our blorbos to get through shit.

Joanie Munson's First Word: I love my Joanie Munson AU. And one thing I love writing into it is Wayne being a doting Grandpa. It was a WIP for quite a while and I remember waking up at like 3am, unable to sleep and bam I finished it, proving that sometimes it's worth letting something linger in the drafts until the moment strikes.

My Fandom Events in 2023 (I did a sprinkling of others, but these I completed/worked on consistently):

Spicy Six Fanworks Challenge SPRING and SUMMER

Steddie Week 2023

Steddiemas

Upcoming Works & Events (aka, next in the pipeline):

Spicy Six Fanworks Challenge WINTER

Clarkson Mixtape Fic

STWG Hozier Project

Tagging some precious moots (plus those above) to send my love and good New Year vibes to! @thefreakandthehair @tboyeddie @steventhusiast @imfinereallyy @hbyrde36 @spicysix @momotonescreaming @withacapitalp @farahsamboolents @hellion-child @sidekick-hero (also feel free to do this tag game too if you'd like/haven't already!)

Rules: Feel free to show whatever stats you have. Only want to show Ao3 stats? Rock on. Want to include some quantitative info instead of stats? Please do this. Want to change how yours is presented? Absolutely do that. Would rather eat glass than do this? Please don’t eat glass but don’t feel like you have to do this either.

#lily talks #writing wip #tag games #pinned post

[ashen-crest]

self-publishing pros and cons

@earlronove and @antique-symbolism had some interest in this topic, so here I go!

I would love for other indie authors to weigh in as well. (zero pressure, but tagging in case you’re interested in adding insight: @authorlaurawinter @author-a-holmes @natalieironside @maxkirin @spacetimewraithwrites @dnbryn @thebibliosphere @b-a-pigeon and anyone else I’m forgetting right now!)

The pros and cons I’ve noticed so far in my itty bitty time as a self-published author thus far:

Pros:

you have more creative control over not just your writing, but your cover, your illustrations, your formatting, etc.

related to that: if you have a book that isn’t perfectly ‘to market,’ or isn’t following all of today’s Super Hot Tropes, you can still get your book out into the world. You're not dependent on the whims of agents and editors.

you also have more control over your profits/how you get paid, rather than being under a publishing house. in self-pub, you’re choosing the distribution system, the price, when to do sales, etc. (this can also be a con- see below.)

you’re not beholden to the timeline of trad publishing (eg- several years to get the book out)

it’s a cool thing to do! I am proud of the fact that I wrote and self-published a book that otherwise would have just gotten buried under a pile of query letters.

Cons:

re: book content (editing, formatting, cover) - it’s a lot of work to do it yourself. and if you don’t want to do it yourself, it will cost a certain amount of money. (range of cost varies wildly depending on what you want and what your bandwidth is.)

you won’t have a publishing house assisting with marketing, distro, all the business aspects, etc. that will be on you as well. this is something that’s harder to outsource and has a learning curve.

I find marketing & visibility to be the hardest part. that includes writing blurbs, setting up a website, social media, ads, newsletter swaps, etc. It’s really tough to do it all yourself, it doesn’t really end, and can also cost a lot of money.

(the one positive to marketing: you have time to experiment! it’s not like the book has an expiration date. you can continue tweaking your blurbs, covers, ad strategies, website, social media strategies, until you find what works.)

another downside is that I find that the self-pub authors making six figures (so I guess the most ‘traditionally successful’ self-pub authors) often adhere more to current formulas and tropes than even trad authors do. they basically find what works in a specific sub-genre, often romance, and just churn out books that follow precisely what people are looking for there. one person I know literally uses the same outline for every book. now, as a business strategy, it’s clearly working for them. but from a creative perspective? that’s not why I got into self-publishing.

Anyhoo, this is just me blabbering! I hope some of it was helpful!

#self publishing #indie authors #writeblr #writblr

[chickenwaffles17]

have you seen the hordes of people thirsting for this man on Tumblr? (myself included)

Here's a list of all the tropes (I think) he falls into

Morally grey or villainous anti-hero ✔️

Young twink in the early series ✔️ (ig father figure in the later ones?) ✔️

Queer-coded ✔️

Dead ✔️

Found some more on Sexypedia so let's see

4th wall blurring (in BTE) ✔️

Angst (are you really a Red Dwarf fan if I need to elaborate here) ✔️

British ✔️

Deadpan Snarker ✔️

Distinctive Voice/Distinctive Speech Patterns ✔️

Divorced (from his parents) ✔️

Egotistical ✔️

Ensemble Darkhorse (?) (the trope where a character gets a lot of recognition among the fandom despite the way this character is presented) ✔️

Glitching ✔️

Fanon Splintering (where the fandom will take a character and make them interact with other versions of themself like they're different people but it's actually canon in this case) ✔️

Hot-headed ✔️

Johnlocked (with Lister) ✔️

Nonhuman (he's a hologram for most of the series and in the first episode he's also a pile of dust) ✔️

Neurodivergent-Coded ✔️

Pathetic ✔️

Parental Issues ✔️

One-Winged-Angel (the trope when a character powers up or goes all out) (The Mighty Light) ✔️

Retro (he's from the 80s) ✔️

Smart-Dumb ✔️

Tall (5'11") ✔️

Technically Antagonist ✔️

Theme Song (I suppose the Rimmer munchkin song?) ✔️

Thin ✔️

Traitor ✔️

Upper-Class (he's the highest ranking technician on the ship) ✔️

Well-Dressed/Uniform ✔️✔️✔️

#red dwarf #arnold rimmer

[shadowofchwe]

sovereign sin | vernon chwe

Lust born from a mutual loathing. All the prince wants is your crown. You'll never give it to him. But that doesn't stop you from giving him everything else.

👑 Pairing: prince!vernon x princess!reader

👑 Word Count: 3.6k

👑 Genre: Enemies to lovers (with emphasis on the enemies), mainly pwp, smut, royal au

👑 Rating: 18+

👑 Warnings: Mention of arranged/forced marriage, explicit language, mention and presence of weapons (sword/dagger), the enemies to lovers is strong, a very drawn out tension filled lead up, mention of hating each other/wanting to kill each other, hard degradation including multiple uses of whore and one use of bitch, groping, brief spanking, brief grinding, biting/marking/scratching, dirty talk, manhandling, making out, mention of blood being drawn from rough kisses, restraining hands (f receiving), explicit sexual content, unprotected sex (pls be safe), rough sex, hate sex, brief choking, these two basically hate each other but love fucking each other 🤩, the prince has a name kink 🤭, we love remembering that we still want to kill each other after post nut clarity 🫣

A/N: So I've unfortunately been stuck on Bounty for a while but the prince Vernon vibes with the new white tour outfits has really been fucking me up lately so here's this 😂 Bounty is still coming though so thank you for being patient 🫶🏻 This was my first time trying this genre and really trying to dive into the enemies to lovers trope so I hope you enjoy it if you decide to give it a read 🥰 Thank you as always for being such lovely and supportive readers 🥺💙

Masterlist

Your heels echoed down the halls of the palace with each step, and all you could see was red as you strode past rows of windows and tapestries. You shoved the door open to your chambers before quickly shutting it behind you. You couldn't remember the castle ever feeling so suffocating. Even with its countless passageways and rooms upon rooms, it had never felt harder to breathe in your home.

You chalked it up to mainly being an unfortunate side effect of constantly having to share the palace with the various "eligible" bachelors that your parents were determined to marry you off to. You were more than grown, but that hadn't stopped the king and queen from parading you around like some kind of prize to be won. All of your days lately had been filled with failed attempts of suitors trying to woo and charm you. Honestly, you just found all of it to be absolutely fucking exhausting. And pointless. Because you weren't even remotely interested in a single one of them.

Most of them had one of two goals. The crown. Or finding their way into your bed. A rare, ambitious few even strived to achieve both. You especially despised those entitled bastards. You belonged to no one, and you had no intentions of a forced marriage changing that anytime soon.

Your body was trembling with your anger as you stripped off the outer layers of your gown, letting the material gather in a pile around your feet. You stared back at your reflection, now clad in only your corset and under skirt, and had the urge to scream at the top of your lungs. Of course, someone would come storming into your room in alarm the moment the sound left your mouth, so you refrained.

You looked around, even though you knew you were currently alone, before stepping up to your bookshelf and running your fingers along the spines lining the wall. You suddenly felt desperate for the only place in the entire castle that you knew you could truly be alone. A gift from the palace architect. A secret project you'd had commissioned years ago. A room hidden behind your bookshelf that only you knew about. A brief escape that allowed you to temporarily catch your breath again.

The tightness in your chest loosened significantly as you slipped soundlessly behind the bookcase, pulling the door shut to conceal your hiding spot. You reached up to light the single lantern, and it bathed the room in a dim glow. The hair on the back of your neck immediately stood up as the startling realization washed over you. You weren't alone.

Your hand instinctively curled around the small dagger wrapped around your thigh, "I would suggest stepping out of the shadows, unless you fancy having your blood spilt."

"No need for violence, your highness."

The voice that came from the darkest corner of the room sent a chill through you. However, you no longer felt threatened, so you released your grip on your weapon as the intruder stepped forward to reveal themself.

"I don't know how you got in here, but I'm really not in the mood for your games today, prince." came your cold greeting.

The silver haired man smirked back at you and stepped closer.

"Aw, what's the matter, princess? Another bad day of suitors boring you to death?" he quipped back, and you scowled at him.

The amusement dancing in his eyes made your blood boil, and you found yourself rethinking going for the dagger at your hip.

"Leave me," you snapped, "I have no desire for you, or your vile company."

The prince chuckled before moving closer and taking a loose strand of your hair between his ringed fingers. You felt your breath catch in your chest.

"Oh, your highness, we both know the answer to all your problems is staring you right in your pretty little face." he taunted, giving you a knowing smile as he twirled the lock around his finger.

You wanted to slap that annoying grin right off his face, and you had done just that on more than one occasion. Your hand shot up to wrap around his wrist as you fixed him with your icy gaze. Challenge lit up in the prince's dark eyes, but he let your hair slip from his grasp.

"I'm not letting you anywhere near the crown. This kingdom will never belong to you." you spat back, unintentionally tightening your grip on him.

He frowned at you, and in the next moment the power had shifted as he caged you in against the nearest wall. You let out a surprised gasp as a subtle adrenaline began coursing through you. But it wasn't fueled by fear…

"At least you know that I can satisfy you. Can you say the same for any of these other poor bastards?" the prince pressed, his warm breath tickling your ear.

"I told you, prince," you shot back, but your voice betrayed you, coming out shaky, "I'm in no mood today."

He hummed to himself before dragging his fingertips along the much too thin fabric of your under skirt, "Tell me, princess. Do any of your other suitors make you feel even half of what I make you feel?"

You could feel the goosebumps rising up all over your skin, even without having his hands directly on you. Damn this prince. You truly despised him, and you knew he felt the same. But somehow you kept finding your way back to each other, ever since he had first shown up with the other suitors. Some unknowable, but powerful magnetic force drawing the two of you together. The only thing he wanted from you was your body, and even more than that, the crown.

You wanted to burn each other alive, but you had an undeniable attraction and chemistry that felt like the two of you would burn everything around you to the ground. It was addictive. And electric. And no matter how much you both hated it, you craved each other. Even now, you could feel it.

The prince's gaze was focused on the rise and fall of your chest, your breasts spilling out slightly from the top of your corset. His eyes flicked back up to meet your own, and the hunger you saw in them had you pressing yourself harder against the wall.

"Do any of them touch you the way I do?" he went on in a hushed voice, free hand gripping your chin before his thumb brushed across your bottom lip.

Every look, every touch, had you closer and closer to crumbling in his grasp. The way you always inevitably did.

"I wonder, do they know?"

"Know what?" you asked back, barely louder than a whisper.

His hand slid beneath the fabric, and you could feel that familiar fire starting as his fingers trailed higher and higher before coming to rest along the inside of one of your thighs.

He drummed his fingers against your skin, "That their sweet little princess is actually a filthy little whore."

Before you could think better of it, your hands were roughly grabbing hold of his shirt.

"You will not speak to me that way. Do you understand me, prince." you seethed, but his face was now so much closer to yours, and you could feel your anger evaporating as your eyes lingered on his smirking mouth.

The silver haired man leaned closer, your noses practically touching, and his free hand pulled teasingly at the strings holding your corset together.

"Tell me to stop, princess." he murmured, lips ghosting over your own and making you suck in a sharp breath.

"I loathe you." you reminded him through your teeth as a last ditch effort.

He laughed, that infuriating laugh.

"That may be so, your highness, but you're still dying for me to fuck you. I bet I could even get you to beg."

"I would never," you retorted icily, "especially not to a cocky little prince like you."

"This mess between your legs says differently, princess."

Your reply died on your tongue when his fingers swept through your folds, a gasp escaping you instead.

"Plus, you made it so easy for me today. No usual challenge of those giant, ridiculous gowns that you always wear. So many annoying layers." he continued as his hand curved around to squeeze your ass.

"Well, maybe, if you weren't such a brute, I wouldn't be running out of excuses for my poor seamstress as to why all my dresses are in such disarray."

The prince used his hold on you to yank you closer, fingers digging into your flesh, "Oh, but you like when I'm a brute. You find pleasure in the pain. The princess likes it rough, just admit it."

"What I am, prince, is growing tired of your games. Fuck me or leave, your company is beginning to bore me." you fired back, doing everything to make your tone sound convincing.

The look he gave you in return sent a fresh surge of heat through you, something truly wicked gleaming in his chestnut irises.

"As you wish, your highness."

He made a show of removing his belt, as well as the sword sheathed at his side, letting them fall to the floor with a clatter. You reached out to help pull the jeweled jacket off his shoulders, the prince raising a curious eyebrow at you as you did so. Just as your hands went for his pants, he caught you off guard by flipping you around to face the wall, his chest pressing against your back.

Without wasting any time, he roughly hiked up your under skirt to expose your lower half. You hissed when he delivered a harsh slap to your ass, the presence of his rings making your skin sting that much more. His large hand kneaded the flesh a moment later, and you could feel his hot breath on the back of your neck.

"Spoiled, bratty, little princess." he remarked before his hand came down on you again.

You bit back a moan, refusing to give the bastard the satisfaction. His fingers suddenly went to the dagger at your hip to disarm you. Your weapon joined his own on the floor, the metallic clang of the blades ringing out in the room.

"Scratches and bite marks are one thing, but I'm afraid I really don't fancy being stabbed."

You scoffed in mock offense, "You really trust me that little?"

His hair tickled your skin as it brushed the side of your face.

"About as much as you trust me." he whispered back before grazing his teeth against your ear.

You hummed and pushed your ass back against his crotch, immediately relishing in the feeling of how hard your little back and forth routine had made him.

"You know what they say, prince." you started, rolling your hips just to torture him further, "Keep your friends close…and your enemies-"

You were cut off by your own yelp when strong arms wrapped around you. One draped itself over your chest, and the other circled around your waist before roughly pulling you back to be flush against the prince's broad chest.

"Well, your highness, it doesn't get much closer than when I'm inside of you. Stuffing that insatiable little cunt of yours." he said, his voice like velvet as his lips trailed the length of your jaw.

You cursed yourself for the way your body came to life under his touch. His mouth wreaked hell on your neck, biting and sucking your sensitive flesh, while his hands went back to trying to undo your corset.

"Fucking hell, who laced this thing?" the prince growled in annoyance as he struggled with the ties.

You couldn't help but giggle at his frustration, but it turned into a cry when you felt his teeth sink into your skin.

"Maybe your seamstress is onto us. I swear this corset was tied by a member of the royal guard." he complained further, and you burst into a full on laughing fit, quickly using your hand to try to muffle some of the sound.

"Performance issues today, prince?" you teased, flashing him a smug gaze over your shoulder.

The piercing glare he gave you in return could have burned a hole right through you.

"Oh for fucks sake." he gritted out before finally losing patience and using his hands to just shred the garment all together.

You opened your mouth to scold him for his brutish behavior, but instead a moan slipped out from his hands immediately harshly fondling your breasts.

"Bet you're still sensitive from our last romp, aren't you, princess?"

He flicked his thumb over one of your nipples, and you hissed in response. His other hand came up to curl around your jaw and jerk your face to the side.

"Give me your mouth, your highness." he commanded gruffly, his lips meeting yours in a bruising kiss.

The familiar taste of him on your tongue had the flame burning inside of you stoking higher and higher. One of your hands reached up to snake into his silver locks as your mouths devoured one another. His hands roved all over your body, squeezing and kneading your exposed flesh. You were on fire, and the only thing you could do was burn, burn, burn.

His teeth nipped at your lip, and your nails scratched against his scalp, making him groan in pleasure. You dug your nails in harder. His bites turned rougher. Both of you consumed in an inferno of pleasure mixed with pain.

You tasted blood, and it was impossible to tell if it was his or yours. The prince pulled back suddenly, looking absolutely wild. His eyes were dark and blown out, hair a disheveled mess. His mouth was swollen and stained a faint red, as you were sure yours was as well.

"Fuck," he hissed, wiping at his crimson lips, "I don't think I've ever had a woman draw blood on me before."

You wiped at your own mouth, giving him a knowing look, "Looks like I'm not the only one who enjoys pain, prince."

The prince's eyes lit up in mirth, and his maroon lips curled into a wicked smirk. His tongue poked against the inside of his cheek, gaze never leaving your face as he made quick work of undoing his pants. As always, you stood there, mesmerized at the way his cock sprang up against his stomach. He didn't let you admire for long though before he was pushing you back up against the wall, his body pressing on you from behind.

He teasingly dragged his cock through your folds, one of his hands coming up to gather both of yours and pin them against the wall above your head. The other one rested on your hip, fingers flexing around your skin. You held your breath, waiting for the familiar stretch.

"Don't worry, princess." he said sweetly right next to your ear, "I'll make sure to hurt you just the way you like. Fuck you like the whore you are."

You let out a sharp cry when he pushed all the way into you in one swift thrust.

"Fuck. You're always so fucking tight." the prince grunted behind you as you felt him start to draw back out.

Your hands were already shaking in his hold, and he gripped your wrists tighter before slamming back into you. You swore loudly, followed by a string of breathy moans as the prince continued to snap his hips against yours.

"None of those other suitors appeal to you because you know none of them can fuck you like I can. I'm the only one who can satisfy you. The only one who sees you on your knees. The only one who's tasted you. The only one between your legs and buried in your cunt. You don't want anyone else, admit it, princess." he went on cockily, splitting you open with each harsh stroke.

"I didn't ask you to speak." you rasped back, "I asked you to fuck me."

You heard the prince growl, and then his hand left your waist to wrap around your throat instead. He squeezed slightly, his rings digging into your skin, "You only deny me because you know I'm right."

You clenched hard around him, and he hissed out a curse.

"Fuck you, prince."

His pace turned punishing as he increased the pressure around your throat.

"You bitch! It should be me. I should have the crown. This kingdom should be mine." he snarled out, practically fucking you into the wall.

"It will never be yours. I will never allow you to rule, you entitled, narcissistic bastard!" you spat back as your walls spasmed around him.

It always worked this way. The more hostile you were to each other, the better the sex was. The hotter the flame burned. You'd fuck until you both finished, or finished each other.

"I…hate…you." the prince panted out, his hand loosening around your throat, but his brutal pace never stuttered.

"I…loathe…you."

You were close, and you could tell he was too. Just like it always did, the anger and hostility dissolved into overwhelming pleasure as you both neared your highs. You could feel his heated breath on your bare skin, and both of his hands moved to grip your waist, fingers determined to leave their mark on you.

"Vile…prince." you breathed, your body noticeably trembling now.

The prince's head fell forward to rest against your shoulder, "My name, princess. Say it."

Your broken sob filled the air, and you quickly used your hand to try and muffle the sound. The prince moaned as he reached the deepest part of you.

"Say it."

"Vernon." you whispered breathlessly, and you felt his cock twitch inside of you.

"Fuck. Again." he requested as his thrusts started to lose their rhythm.

More cries left your mouth. You were moments away from snapping.

"Vernon."

You were falling apart as soon as his name finished falling from your lips, and one of Vernon's hands covered your mouth to quiet your sounds of pleasure. Even behind his hand, you just kept chanting his name in a hushed voice, like it was the only thing that made any sense to you in the moment.

"Fuck, princess." Vernon swore, his strokes growing even sloppier.

You hummed dazedly as you nearly went slack in his arms, "Vernon."

"Fuck, Y/N." the prince gasped before you felt him filling you with his own release.

He let out a sound of panic a moment later when you lost your last little bit of strength and collapsed in his hold. Vernon carefully helped maneuver you to the floor. This was the closest he had ever come to actually holding you after sex. It made some strange, new sensation stir in the pit of your stomach. You decided to just blame it on how out of it you were currently feeling. That had to be it.

Vernon looked down at you and chuckled softly, "You know, your highness, it would be so easy for me to kill you right now with how weak and helpless you are."

"You're right," you agreed dreamily, "but you won't."

The prince raised an inquisitive eyebrow at you before shaking his head and laughing to himself once again.

"I suppose that would take all the fun out of it. You and I both love the fight after all."

"That we do." you said back with a tired half smile.

Something flashed in the prince's eyes and you could've sworn he even grinned back at you, though both were probably just your post orgasm haze playing tricks on you. The prince got to his feet suddenly and began readjusting his clothes before retrieving his belt and sheathed sword from the floor. You slowly sat up as you watched him, surprised when he held your discarded dagger out to you. You took it, and then held onto the wall for support as you stood on still shaking legs.

Vernon turned to slip back out behind the bookcase, but you put a hand on his arm to stop him.

"Don't let anybody see you." you reminded him.

He smirked mischievously back at you, "Never. Besides, I did find your secret little hiding spot all on my own after all."

"Mmm, yes, about that, prince. If I ever find you in here again I will kill you." you threatened, keeping your voice pleasant.

"God, I love when you talk violent to me. You know it gets me all hot when you threaten my life, princess." Vernon quipped back, and you felt the urge to slap his smug face resurfacing.

He pulled you back into him in one quick motion, crashing his lips furiously against yours and stealing any of the air you had regained in the last several moments. You pretended to melt into the kiss so that you could catch him off guard when the tip of your dagger poked at his shirt. Vernon immediately jumped back, staring at you in shock. You just grinned deviously back at him, "Leave me, prince, before I really draw some blood on you."

Challenge danced in his eyes. He gave a small bow in farewell.

"Until next time, princess."

The thing about the prince was that even when he left, he never really left you. His scent on you lingered, as well as his kiss on your lips. All the little marks and bruises covering your body were a neverending reminder. Vernon. You had let your enemy in again, and the worst part was that you knew it wouldn't be the last time. Actually the worst part was that you didn't want it to be the last time. You would keep feeding the flame. Even if it ended up burning everything and everyone around you to ash.

#seventeen #vernon #seventeen smut #vernon smut #seventeen fic #vernon fic

[oathkeeperoxas]

Codywan rec list – fics I had open in my browser for 4+ months in 2022

Surely I’m not the only one who opens fics and then leaves them open for ungodly amounts of time before I read/comment on them... anyway I have cleared my browser out as a first act of 2023, and I am here to share with you some of the gems that I found there which deserve more appreciation 😤 please find several excellent codywan fics below!

Dream you not of broken men [38.9k] by aceofsuns

Clones are disappearing from the Imperial Army. CC-2224, haunted by the memories of the man he loved and killed, decides to investigate. Its a question of what exactly is up with the clones' medical examinations, what has happened to the missing troopers, and how CC-5052 is mixed up in all this. (Featuring Imperial Clone Commander CC-2224, Cody and Obi-Wan trying to navigate what they are to each other during the Clone Wars, and the clones doing the best they can to support each other despite everything else)

Only read this if you want to cry 👍 no but for real it messed me up in the besttttt way like oh my god this fic is so excellent in everything it sets out to do – the POV of an Imperial chipped Cody is so tense, and the flashbacks to the clone wars and codywan’s developing relationship will tear your heart out. Tragic codywan my beloved!!!!!!!!

Travelling at the Speed of Light [32.2k] by @anaclastic-azurite

Cody’s General has feelings for him. It’s not a problem. *** In which Cody spends the years of the Clone Wars dealing with things that are a problem, and then a little longer afterwards dealing with the things that are not. OR: A festering pile of loosely connected one-shots following the years of the Clone Wars, featuring (mostly) one-sided pining!Obi-Wan and Cody, who very much does not have the time to deal with his General’s shit on top of his own.

Honestly contender for favourite fic of last year, this one just has everythingggg the humour is packed in alongside the angst and the developing relationships so so well. I love slow burn codywan, and this delivered – the trust and the friendship between Cody and Obi-Wan in this feels so earned and so real, and makes the cumulation of their feelings at the end even more sweeter for it!

when our truth is burned from history [23.6k] by writerforlife

"'You are so good at protecting others, my dear, that you often forget to look after yourself.' Kenobi hesitates, then briefly, briefly enough that Cody thinks he has imagined it, squeezes Cody’s shoulder. 'I am not keen to leave you in the ice.'" Or: When a mission to a snow-and-ice-covered planet goes wrong, Cody and Obi-Wan are forced to flee across treacherous terrain with only each other for warmth. Along the way, they confront all the things they have been avoiding -- including their feelings.

Every cold weather trope you could want, plus a few more on the side! This has great prose and some juicy scenes to sink into, the hurt/comfort is exquisite and the set up for codywan and Cody’s character particularly is awesome

Good Man of War [16.2k] by @ooboowoonkoonooboo

During a medic’s first mission with the 212th, everything goes wrong. In the midst of it all, Cody deals with his growing feelings towards General Kenobi.

Very very good!! The mission here was very tense and the punches kept coming. Mind the gore/violence tags though, the author is very much not kidding about that, but I adored every OC in this fic, and loved loved loved how Cody was written in it!

The Raephens’ Gifts [8k] by @lttrsfrmlnrrgby

After the end of the Empire, after seeing the remaining clones and Jedi and a rebuilding Republic to something stable and close to real peace, Obi-Wan and Cody take some time away from their duties and take a vacation on a backwater planet in Wild Space to rest and recover. They sleep a lot, catch up on the last decade's books, go for long walks, and work to enjoy just being them, instead of Generals on whose shoulders the galaxy rests. They also make friends with some smart local birds.

A soft epilogue for my boys!!! I adore post-canon fics, and domestic established relationship, and healing and dealing with what happened in canon, and this is a fix it on top of all that deliciousness. Excellent prose and a unique set up finishes off this lovely treat.

deep in your marrow [2.7k] by @redminibike1

Huffing out a chuckle, Obi-Wan stood, moving across the small space to Cody’s cot and resting one knee on the mattress. Pressing his palms to the indented cheeks of Cody’s helmet, he sought out the catches, releasing them with a quiet hiss. “Head up,” he murmured. Obliging, Cody propped himself up on one elbow, blinking sleepily as Obi-Wan tugged the helmet up and off. “Hi,” he rasped, eyes warm and melting in the low light. Or: After a long and difficult campaign, Obi-Wan seeks out his commander. For Codywan Kiss Bingo 2022: kiss on the stomach/fingers/[redacted]/lips

Obi-Wan taking care of Cody hits soooo good, and this is a very soft get together that has lots of layers going on underneath. The contrast between how Obi-Wan deals with what he’s feeling and how Cody deals with what he’s feeling is sooooo much like oh okay I’m going to have shrimp emotions about this ship just thinking about it!

#codywan #fic recs #codywan fic recs #thank you beloved authors for my many stories i love you

[twisted-tales-of-all]

What Really Matters

Summary: After losing your long-term partner in an accident, your mourning spirals into a quest to bring him back at any cost - and you actually manage to do it, but he's not quite the same. Pairing: Lee Minho x gender-ambiguous Reader Genre: Angst (Hurt, No-Comfort) One-Shot Tropes: non-idol!AU, established relationship, husband!Minho, occult/black magic themes (resurrection), loss of a loved one Word Count: 4K Contains: use of black magic, occasional cursing, use of pet names (both romantic and platonic), constant theme of dark and heavy topics (including death, grief, emotional outbursts, allusion to miscarriage) A/N: Please assess your mental state before reading this. The themes of this piece are heavy and dive into emotions that could pertain to similar real-life scenarios and could be triggering to those in similar situations. Approach with caution.

After a long day of repetitive condolences and far too many tears for your reddened, swollen eyes, you want nothing more than to collapse into your bed. But as you lie here, you realize the unbearable loneliness it brings. He's no longer taking up half of the cramped quarters. The coldness of the sheets reminds you that you can't siphon warmth from him any longer. Unable to think of anything other than his passing, you curl into yourself under the blankets, tears and snot streaming messily onto your pillows. Before you know it, your exhausted body gives in to the lull of peaceful slumber.

You wake in the same little ball, your body sore from the awkward position. As you peel your head off of the pillow, you feel the crusted-over liquids all over your face. With a heavy sigh, you drag yourself out of bed and into the bathroom. You run the shower and begin to undress. As you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you hear his voice in your head.

"Well, don't you look interesting this morning? Did your fairy godmother's magic wear off at midnight?"

His little jabs always made you smile. Even now, you find your lips lifting on the edges. But as quickly as his memory comes, it fades, leaving behind the burning feeling of your emotions welling up in your chest. You shake your head, desperate to avoid crying, and step into the steaming hot shower. You simply stand there for a moment, letting the water hit the back of your head and run down your body as you focus on breathing and mentally preparing for the day ahead of you. You're thankful that your boss offered extra time off to grieve, but you need to do something so you aren't mulling over him all day.

"I'll clean. That's it, I'll clean!"

Welcoming the mundane task, a bit of energy sparks inside of you. You quickly work through the motions of the shower and walk around your home, taking note of the sub-tasks you need to get to and putting them in an order best suiting your mindset. Deciding to start in the kitchen, you immediately hit the dishes. You look at the mess in the sink and breathe out a heavy sigh.

"If you'd just wash them right after you use them, they wouldn't pile up, y'know."

Stop. Stop thinking of him.

You begin furiously scrubbing the dishes to disguise the fact that you can still hear his predictable statements clearly voiced in your mind. That you can't pass him the rinsed items to dry. That nothing's the same without him - even something as simple as the chores. As your scrubbing slows and your vision clouds from the tears building once again, you find yourself frozen. 

But time does not stop. Not for you. Not for him. Not for grief. Not for pain.

The small saucer slips from your hand, clanking rashly against the porcelain countertop. Normally, a noise like this would shock you straight, but this time you don't even blink. You simply stand there, frozen in place, in a world that refuses to stop with you, until the strength in your legs falter. You clumsily make your way to a chair, pulling it out and falling into it. Thanks to the sheen of your tears, you nearly fumble your landing, but you refuse to move.

Staring at the floor in front of you, you acknowledge the light slowly adjusting its positioning as the sun rides carelessly across the bright blue sky. In the movies, rain and storm clouds would accompany one's grief, but you get no such pleasure. The world goes on without him, even if you can barely function.

In the far-off distance, your ears catch hold of your phone's ringtone. Odd, because it's in your pocket. As you fish it out without the sound increasing, you understand that your intense grief is dulling your senses. Seeing your mother-in-law's name across the screen, you answer and place the phone in your lap, setting the sound to speaker phone.

A hoarse voice travels through the speakers, one almost entirely drained of positive emotion, "Y/N? Hello, honey. How are you holding up?"

You want to scream, to cry out about life's unfairness. But she knows. She knows just as much as you - maybe more. You had to send off your husband yesterday, but poor, sweet Mrs. Lee had to send off her son.

After a few seconds of silence between you, you find your voice. However, you do not find words. Instead, a manic fit of depraved laughter fills the room. The dull, repetitive laugh sends shivers up her spine, but she understands. After all, what a ridiculous question to ask not even 24 hours after the funeral, but it was all she knew how to ask, with sorrow clouding her senses all the same.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I understand. Remember, we're here with you. Please, don't hesitate to reach out. I'll hang up now, but remember not to beat yourself up too much. It's not your fault. It's nobody's fault."

She doesn't wait for a response. You don't have one to give. After the ending tone fades, silence envelopes you again, this time joined by the reddened glow of the sunset's fading light. Where did time go? How is today already ending? Didn't it just start?

Accepting defeat, you stand up and drag yourself to your bedroom. You stop at the doorway to stare at your unmade bed. He made it every day, so coming in to see it exactly as you left it this morning stabs you straight in the chest. But you don't have tears to cry, not right now. So you stand. You stare. You silently hurt.

At some point, your body must've remembered how to function and resorted to autopilot, because you wake up in bed the next morning without any memory of moving from your position in the doorway.

7:23 AM. It's early. You don't have plans for the day, so waking this early only means more time to kill, but you're up. There's no chance of falling back asleep. So, you pull yourself out of the warmth of your soft bed and decide to leave the house. If you go somewhere he's never been, maybe he'll leave your mind for a moment; maybe you'll have the time to breathe a sigh of peace.

Making your way into the forest near your home, you choose a trail you haven't taken before - something easy and peaceful, but deep enough into the foliage to let your mind turn blank. As you glide down the trail, you finally feel the weight lifted off your shoulders a bit. To your surprise, your plan actually worked. For the first time in a while, something finally goes your way. As you reach a small rest spot, you sit down to breathe that breath of fresh air, only to find tears silently streaming down your face, plopping onto the fabric covering your thighs. You don't feel the tears; there's no lump in your throat, no pain in your chest, but the tears fall nonetheless.

"Oh, hun, are you okay?"

Looking up towards the voice, you find an older lady looking down at you with pity painted on her face. You quickly swipe your forearm across your face to remove any indication that you may not be happy. You try to blow off the question with excuses, not wanting to burden a sweet old lady with your life's troubles.

"Honey. Don't hide away. It's much too hard to carry things on your own, and I wouldn't have approached you if I wasn't prepared to shoulder the burden of knowing." Sitting next to you, she places a hand on your forearm, lightly squeezing in a motherly fashion.

Looking from her hand to her comforting smile, you sigh and chuckle out a disheartened 'no' in response to her original question. She rubs your arm and nods, acknowledging your strength to admit your feelings properly.

"My husband died. We just got married a couple months ago, but now I'm a widow. The funeral was two days ago. It hurts."

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. If you need a shoulder, use mine. If you need somewhere to escape to, you're welcome in my little cabin. It's quite cozy - quiet and warm, too."

"No, no. I don't want to impose. I appreciate the offer, though."

Suddenly, the lady's expression shifts into something darker, but it reverts back as quickly as it came. As she smiles comfortably at you, she insists that you at least come see the cottage, so you'll know where it'll be if you change your mind. Understanding that she won't take no for an answer, you reluctantly agree. Standing up, you follow her, only a step behind, all the way down the trail and to her cabin. It catches you by surprise that anyone is allowed to live so close to all the hiking trails - you thought the whole forest was government property.

As she opens the door and ushers you inside, the lady happily explains the history of her quaint home. And she wasn't wrong for calling it quiet and warm. As soon as the door shuts, you feel quite comfortable to the point where you don't even think of Minho for a solid five minutes.

"So, if you ever feel the need to escape the toils of life, you're welcome here. Just walk on in and make yourself at home."

Now happy to accept the offer, you ignore the alarm bell blaring in your head about trusting a stranger who lives alone in an unlocked cabin in the forest. You stay for a while before she claims to have an appointment to go to. She insists that you can stay, so you thank her and settle in. On your own, your eyes drift to the filled bookcase against the wall. You look over the books for something to pass the time.

Down on the second shelf from the floor, you find an older book, thickly bound in navy blue leather with golden lettering along the spine. Although some of the paint has faded away, you can piece together the title - The Arts Guide to Perfection. Intrigued by the over-the-top title, you pull it off the shelf and dust off the front cover. You see similar remnants of gold paint on the cover, but can't make out what was originally painted there, other than the circle that remains.

Must've been a company logo.

Moving past that, you let the book fall open to a random page. As it settles on page 273, you see what looks like some sort of recipe, but the "ingredients" listed don't sound edible.

"Keeping your perfect partner? What kind of-?" You stop your words as you continue to read on, figuring out that this is a book of spells, "The DARK Arts, oh boy."

Thoughts sparking like dominoes falling, something clicks as you read through the spell: this can bring your perfect partner back to you, even if they've died. You shut the book and rush out of the cottage, holding the book tightly in the crook of your arm.

"I can bring him back. I can see him again. Oh my god, oh fuck. Oh my-" You spew filler all the way home, with the thought that this book can solve the issue of your grief through the miracle of bringing him back to life.

Slamming the book onto your dining table, you open it back to page 273, only to find an entirely new spell - one more specific to your needs. As you read through the spell and learn how to "bring back love," you carefully memorize the components and key steps in case the page changes its contents again.

After digging through cabinets for hours, you find that you strangely have everything you need already. Chalking up the coincidence to fate, you prepare everything and quickly complete the ritual. As you search the house, wondering where Minho will return to, you hear thunder outside.

"Huh. It was sunny when I got home. That's strange." You walk to the nearest window to check the weather, only to find a single dark storm cloud looming in the distance. As you watch a bolt of lightning strike down, you follow its trail, estimating that the storm must be near the graveyard, "Oh, that's because of me, isn't it?"

Understanding that the results must be brewing within the storm, you tuck yourself snuggly into bed with a joyous smile, ready to greet the day and meet your love again.

That morning, you wake up and notice the bed sinking differently. You turn and see Minho sleeping soundly, as if he never left your side. A warmth floods your body, a joy almost as fond and bright as your wedding day. You gently wrap your arms around him, ignoring how cold his skin feels against yours. As the man rustles from the affection, you kiss his neck softly.

"Good morning, my love. Did you sleep well?"

He hums in response, still not fully awake. As he turns to face you, you think something about him looks different - off-putting, even - but you shake the thought away with ease. He's back; who cares if he looks a tiny bit different?

You sit up on the edge of the bed. Determined to spend as much time with him as possible, you ask, "I'll cook up some breakfast for us. What do you want?"

"Anything, really. I'm starving. It feels like I haven't eaten in days."

Luckily, you're facing away. You couldn't let him see the look of horror his comment caused. He's back. That's what matters. Not that it seems he has no memory of his death.

"I'll see what I can whip up, then! But you have to promise to eat it!"

"I'll eat anything you make. It's made with love, so it can't be bad."

Not the fact that he's speaking in a matter entirely unlike him. Focus on his voice. He's back - that's what matters.

Over the course of the week, you do everything you can think of with your husband. And every time you interact with him, you find yourself repeating your mantra - trying to convince yourself that he's the same person, regardless of the changes. But the longer that you stay with him, the more differences you notice. His quirks have disappeared, his personality muddled.

"Y/N, can we go visit my parents? I miss them. The cats, too."

That's it! I've spent too much time alone with him! Let's go visit Mr. and Mrs. Lee!

"Sure, love. Let's go. I'll let your mom know."

Picking up your phone, you hesitate. How are you supposed to explain this to his parents? It's not like you could just show up to their house with their dead son. Carefully choosing your words, you message your mother-in-law to ask what she'd do if the death was faked. Shortly after, your screen lights up with her caller information, so you answer.

"Hi-"

"Why on earth would you ask me a question like that?!"

Before you have a chance to respond, Minho asks, "Is that my mom? Tell her that it doesn't matter what she says - we're visiting. I miss everybody."

A tense silence follows as his mother recognizes his voice after facing the fact that she'd never hear him again. You hear her choke back tears as she accuses you of playing a sick prank on her. Her emotions take over her words in the heat of the moment, calling you nasty names. Although her accusations sting, you understand where she's coming from. Hell, you've had issues adjusting to him being back even when you're the one who brought him back in the first place.

"I'm- I'm sorry, Mrs. Lee. I know it's strange, but I can explain if you'll let us over. It's a long story; it's heavy and emotional, but I'll explain if you want, no matter your reaction. Even if you hate me for it."

You and Minho silently make the drive to his parents' house, your anxiety bubbling in your stomach. Minho doesn't seem to notice your nerves, too busy enjoying the scenery and the joy of knowing he's going to see his family. As you slide your car beside the parked car in the wide driveway, you warn your husband that he may not get the reactions he hopes for. Confused, he nods but moves past the comment without much thought. You take a deep breath before knocking on the door. You try to ground yourself as you hear footsteps approaching. It feels like the doorknob turns in slow motion, and the door opens even slower.

Looking at Mrs. Lee, you see thousands of thoughts flood her face as the door stops obscuring her view of her son. Letting go of the door, both of her hands fly to her face. Her legs grow weak, so you rush forward to hold her up in case she falls.

"Hi, mom! What's with the reaction? You look like you've seen a ghost."

The noise that leaves her lips get caught somewhere between a gasp and a wail. You feel her stumble and lean on you more. The irony of the son she recently buried asking a question like that nearly breaks her heart all over again. She waves him off, and you close the door behind him. He rushes off to see his cats, leaving you alone with his mother.

"H-how?" Her voice barely a whisper, she's scared to learn how something like this could happen.

"It was magic. A spell written in an old book. I had no idea whether it would work, but I was so desperate. I had to try."

Moving away from you with disgust, she shakes her head repeatedly, chanting, "Out. Get it out. Get it out!"

Motivated by the hatred and rage unlocked by learning the truth, she rushes down the hall to the cats' room, screaming, "Out of my house! That's NOT my son!"

Flying into the room, you both stop hard in your tracks when you see the scene in front of you. All three of the cats are huddled in the corner, puffed up in defense. Minho is holding his wrist, face wrinkled in pain. He turns to you and softly admits that they don't want anything to do with him.

"Dori tore up my arm. I don't understand why they're reacting like this. It's me."

"Get. Out." Mrs. Lee demands, eyes burning through the boy in front of her. "You're not my son. They can tell, too. You're not him."

You grab Minho's hand and rush out of the house, dragging him in a confused flurry behind you. As you apologize profusely, Minho keeps trying to question his mom, who continues to spew out rage-filled comments about him being an evil imposter. She slams the door as you leave, the lock audibly clicking immediately. You slowly drag Minho back to the car, sitting in the driver's seat with your forehead against the wheel. You admit defeat to yourself and begin to prepare for the explanation you know you have to give him.

You turn the key and drive home, but the ride is a blur, with the air in the vehicle tense and thick. As you return home and park the car, Minho finally asks the dreaded question.

"Why did everyone act like that?"

Sighing, you refuse to look at him as you answer, "You died. Your funeral wasn't that long ago. We buried you, but I managed to bring you back."

After a short silence, Minho speaks again, "So, she really did see a ghost, then, huh? I'm... gonna think on this for a while. I'll be in the spare room; please don't come in."

You nod, acknowledging his wishes. As he heads inside, you sit in the car a while longer, thinking about everything. His mom thinks he's evil. The cats attacked him. Even you have to convince yourself that he's the same man you married. What did you do?

"I wish I could undo it."

As you say it aloud, you remember the leather-bound book sitting on the dining table. The reason you got into this mess would surely have a way to undo the results, right? Rushing into the house, you rip the book open, hoping for it to give you another spell that fits the situation. Instead, you're greeted by a loose note written in blood red, urging the reader to consult the owner of the book urgently.

"Fuck," You curse under your breath, "It's late already. How am I supposed to go out there alone?"

Even though it'll be difficult, you need to undo your actions, so you throw on a sweater, grab a flashlight, and bolt out the door. You run, as fast as you can handle, down the trail and over to the lone cottage. The lights inside welcome you, so you walk inside without an invitation. As you prepare to call out to the lady, you realize that you don't know her name. But even worse, your voice doesn't come out at all anymore, even when you try to say hello through the house.

"Cat got your tongue, honey?" You recognize the old lady's voice, but she's nowhere to be seen. Instead, a woman about your age emerges from the shadows along the far wall. A mischievous smile paints her face, and she twirls around to greet you, "I look good, don't I? It's all thanks to you, hun. When people use my spells, my lifeline is extended once again."

You try to speak, to beg for another spell to fix your mistakes, but no words come out. With her spell still holding your voice hostage, you hear her laugh out victoriously.

"I know why you've come. I know you regret bringing him back, but you can't just undo what has been done. There's a great cost in attempting to rewind time like that or to wipe memories from a period of time. I don't think you'd like to do that; you're not possibly that desperate, are you?"

She takes a close look at your face before pretending to be shocked, "Oh? You are that desperate. Well, well, what a surprise. So, sweetheart, what are you willing to give up to rewind the clock?"

With another long look, she simply nods. When you blink, you're back on the bench where you originally met her. Rubbing your eyes, you feel the remnants of tears mixed with the small bits of sleep dust. Looking around, it seems to be the afternoon.

"Did I fall asleep? Was I dreaming?"

Although your recollection of events is hazy and quickly fading, you distinctly remember that you had brought back your husband, and that he's staying in the spare room for some reason. You make your way home, quickly checking the spare room. Facing the empty room, an odd sense of relief washes over you but you can't understand why. However, the overwhelming loneliness of the empty home hits you quickly, pushing aside that feeling.

As you move to your bathroom to wash up, a wave of nausea appears out of nowhere. Walking faster, you make it to the toilet just in time. After a few minutes of the sickness overtaking you, you hear a voice ring in your head as you flush.

"Remember, you must give something up."

#cultofdionysusnet #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop angst #stray kids #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids angst #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz angst #skz minho #skz lee know #stray kids minho #stray kids lee know #lee minho #lee minho scenarios #lee minho imagines #lee minho angst

[respectthepetty]

some ppl are saying that thua outing akkayan is so unnecessary. some say he's just bitter and jealous. what are your thoughts about it?

Short version -

Ahhh, so the fandom is talking about the closeted bully trope:

Adam from Sex Education or Nate from Euphoria, anyone?

Perhaps Akk from The Eclipse?

Yes, Akk is a bully. [definition - A bully is a person who harasses, abuses, intimidates, or coerces people, especially those with less power than they have or those considered weaker or vulnerable in some way. The word often implies that such behavior is repeated or habitual.] A key element in the closeted bully trope is being straight passing.

“But Thua and Namo caused harm to The World Remembers too!”

Namo lit fliers on fire. Thua lit a dummy on fire. Akk tried to run people over and pushed objects off a second story into a crowd. Namo and Thua destroyed objects. Akk tried to destroy people. I’m all for be gay, do crime, but two would be property damage, and the other would be attempted murder. They are not the same.

Therefore, Thua isn’t outing Ayan and Akk because they are *gay (are they gay if they don’t say it? More below!). Thua is outing them as an attempted murderer and the guy who kisses him on occasion for covering it up.

Long version –

Fiction

In 2001, fictional attorney extraordinaire Elle Woods waited in line to get a drink of water from a fountain during a break in a murder trial. As she waited, she stomped her little last season Prada shoes at Enrique, the pool boy, and the current witness testifying in the case that he and the defendant were having an affair. Because of his testimony, it appeared the defendant did kill her husband. However, when Elle heard his comment, she realized “gay men know designers” therefore, Enrique was gay and NOT having an affair with the defendant. He was quickly exposed in court, lost his boyfriend, and Elle was applauded for her great deductive skills.

Reality

*I’m not including a picture because he doesn’t deserve it. I'm petty 24/7, 365*

Aaron Schock was an American Congressman for six years from 2009-2015. During his term, he voted on several key issues, but the ones that need to be highlighted here are:

He voted against gay marriage (marriage equality)

He voted against allowing people to serve openly in the military

He voted against homophobic acts falling under hate crimes

He voted against sexual identity being protected under employee discrimination

Plus many others (he was the pile of poop that kept smelling)

He also actively worked on policies like Defense of Marriage to ensure the gays didn’t get the rights they were fighting for

In 2014, reporter Itay Hod, who is a gay man and has written on many queer issues, wrote a Facebook post asking if it was ever okay to out someone. Then, he gave a hypothetical scenario regarding “a certain GOP congressman, let's just say from Illinois” who voted against several gay-supporting policies yet showers with his male roommate. *the post is still up if you want to search it*

Although Hod never stated a name, everyone knew who this was about because the representative for Illinois was none other than Schock, and the people were divided. This has been an ongoing conversation in queer communities since before the HIV epidemic when known closeted gay politicians weren’t doing anything to help, some believed that outing them would be justified while others disagreed.

There were always whispers about Schock lurking on gossip sites, so Schock was asked when he was running for his state position in 2004 if he was gay. He was asked all of the time during his six years serving as a Congressman by everyone and their mother. Each time, he said no.

Hod, in that infamous FB post, asked “doesn't the media have an OBLIGATION to expose his hypocrisy?” like when it comes to a closeted gay man imposing inequalities on gay people.

Once again, the people were divided. Do we weaponize sexuality this way? Where is the line? Schock said he wasn't gay, so how could Hod write that Schock was gay?!

Schock never addressed the post but resigned in 2015 amid allegations that he had misused public funding to throw parties and redecorate his home and office. He plead guilty in 2019, served probation, and the charges were cleared.

In 2020, he came out as gay.

Why does any of this matter?

Is a person gay if he doesn’t say he’s gay?

What makes someone gay? Is it the sex? What if they are a virgin? Is it the attraction? Can someone be attracted to the same sex every now in then and not be gay? Does the attraction have to be consistent? What makes gay gay?!

Outing a person is harmful, but does it supersede the harm that person has caused others?

Is it ethical to out a closeted hypocrite for the sake of the collective?

Where is the limit?

How much proof do we need to out someone?

What makes this different than outing a preacher who hires sex workers or a family man who has a mistress?

Is it just the hypocrite we out or the sex worker, the mistress, and the male roommate as well?

Enrique was outed by Elle because his lying would cause a woman to go to prison for murder. Schock was outed because he gained privileges he was openly denying from others. Were Elle or Hod ethically right for outing Enrique and Schock? Fictional or reality, is it ever okay to out someone even if it is a side effect of a larger issue?

Thua isn’t jealous or bitter; he is angry at the hypocrisy. Ayan is demanding for the school to admit wrongdoing while he sleeps next to the boy who started the car and pushed it into the crowd. Akk is winning the Best Boy Award after he tried to break heads with a potted plant.

I truly want you to think about when outing someone who has caused harm is acceptable, if ever? I’m not asking about the Lance Bass and Ricky Martin type situations. I’m asking about the Aaron Schock and Carlos Divar (Spanish judge who voted against marriage equality in Spain but used public funds to go on luxurious trips with his secret long-term boyfriend) type of situations. Can we even distinguish between the two types? Are there even types or is an outing harmful no matter how we look at it? Is an outing ever justified?   

I’m not the moral monitor, but if I’m honest, when it comes to people in positions of power using that position to cause harm to others while reaping the benefits of that position (and the people who enable them to continue to abuse their power), I’d be a Thua every time.

Adding - Ayan outed Thua to his mom and blackmailed Akk with the cheek kiss photo. Ayan also outed Akk to his mother at the house and the women on the beach. Sani outed Dika to the students. Keep the same energy.

#the eclipse #the eclipse series #we're going on an outing #or two #closeted bully trope #@dribs-and-drabbles Mentioned sani outing chadok connection and YES!

[headedoutleft]

Sea of Stars

I beat Sea of Stars in 29 hours, which is a sweet spot for me. Games that run longer than 30-40 hours tend to fall into the unfinished pile because I feel an unreasonable compulsion to do side quests and feel incomplete if I don’t do them, even if I’m not enjoying them. Such was not the case with this game, which was fun to the end for me!

Sea of Stars is a well balanced retro style RPG about two magic sky children who have trained to be warriors battling the powerful and morally bankrupt Fleshmancer who has taken over their world with some evil beasties. And of course the story includes the dozens of friends they make along the way, including a few additional party members that you can cycle through during combat. They all have individual motivations for fighting, but in the end they all come together to help each other save the world… and also collect a bunch of rainbow shells so they can build a spa in the village they founded!

Leveling is integrated into the storyline, although it’s well worth it to do the extra quests to get the best weapons in the end game. There is a lot of story in this game, and I thought I was reaching the end twice before I actually did! I haven’t gone back to check out what I unlocked after beating it yet, so there’s still more to see. I didn’t expect it to be as long as it turned out to be, but the story was engrossing the whole way through

I enjoyed the characters, there are some really fun personalities that join your group along the way. I especially loved Garl, the Warrior Cook, who is supposed to be super lovable, and Seraï, the assassin who has a lot more going on as a character than you initially think. There is a twist in the middle of the story that was particularly emotional, and I’m looking at the fan art on here and thinking about how affected some fans are going to be!! It surprised me and made me realize how attached I’d gotten to the characters

I didn’t run into the glitches that I saw some reviews reporting, and I didn’t find the controls as cumbersome as others have. I did not love the rhythm based attacks and tended to avoid them as a result, but some people will enjoy that element spicing up the turned based combat. The puzzles were generally fun, and I only got stumped by a few of them, usually because I didn’t notice environmental triggers I needed to interact with until I looked up a hint. It felt well balanced between combat encounters (which were not random, thankfully) and puzzles as you progress through the dungeons

I’m kind of hoping for a sequel, honestly, the worldbuilding they’ve done would easily accommodate it. It feels like more than a throwback game thanks to the updates they made to the traditional game mechanics and the uniqueness of the characters. While it employs many of the familiar hallmarks of old JRPGs, the creators are also poking some fun at the tropes it’s engaging with

It’s free on Game Pass and PS Plus, so if you already have either of those, you can try it there! Or if you add it to your wishlist and wait for a sale, it’s a great choice if you’re in the mood for a fun and well-paced retro game. I don’t think $34.99 is a bad price for it, to be honest, I enjoyed it more than some $70 AAA games I’ve played ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#op #gaming #sea of stars #game review

[snickerdoodlles]

📕📗📘📙and this ask is for when you feel the need to torture us again with fic ideas you are never going to write. it is mean and evil but i support you in this!

😂❤❤.

so there are 2.5 more fics coming for idiots & idioms series. the first one will be vegas's rise to youtube stardom (/vegas rules at internet toxicity) and the finale will swing back to kimchay. plus maybe one silly bonus thing that i'm debating if i will do or not (plus side: jeff's face. down side: jeff's face. it's quite the conundrum, lemme tell u.)

i actually have a lot more ideas for this universe, but the vegaspete story means a lot to me and the kimchay finale is just too perfect of an ending. and while i have these other ideas for this series, there's just no...drive to do them when i have the other 2.5 stories to finish.

so here's 4 ideas i'm not writing for gone fishing series, one for each emoji ;) put under the cut because these also include partial fic snippets and this post got long:

📕 fic of a fic fic

i joked a few times about writing a 'chay live tweets a popular wik/angel fic' fic for this series. and while this entire concept is really funny to me in the fiception sense of how i'd have to write a fic (or at least partial fic) for my fic's fandom so that i could write a fic for my fandom, i have...a lot of issues with actors publicly interacting with fic and lack of boundary between fandom and cast & crew. i'm not going to get into those here, but even when i can control it, i just couldn't get over the driving concept of the fic long enough to write it. i did however, finish the following scene for it, which i am still very fond of.

so, if you recall: chay made a joke in gone fishing about how his life was a mafia AU, which spurned on a brief trend of mafia AU fics where the common trope was angel as the mafia prince, and wik somehow getting involved with him/dragged into the mafia by him (wik being a singer AND a mafia prince would just be silly talk, obviously). the fake fic live-tweeted by chay is the 'angels with dirty hands' fic by twitter user @/_controlleurs mentioned in from concrete. (fake fic's title is a rif off the movie 'angels with dirty faces', which i have not watched but like the name of.)

the fake fic's main premise is THIS, after which wik got recruited by the police to inform on the mafia except then he fell in love with his mark (possibly was going to include wik's brother also getting involved and later wrapped up with angel's brother as well due to wik). i would've planned SO many goncharov references had i not abandoned this by the time it got invented. in long & short, chay makes a comment about kim having a "rivalry with carrots" which was really just me trying to give him a silly Thing for chay to tease on camera until i went "o wait, this can be a thing >:D"

;;; excerpt ;;;

“‘Wik wrinkles his nose at the small pile of carrots on his plate. He hates carrots. If he were anywhere else, he’d carefully pile the carrots right on the edge of his plate, where the threat of infecting the rest of his plate is minimal, assuming he couldn’t find another plate to remove the offending vegetable altogether. But this is the home of a crime lord. Angel implied his chef used to be the most feared hitman out there, something Wik’s inclined to believe after he saw the guy’s muscles. Would chef man be offended if Wik didn’t eat his carrots? He doesn’t want to offend chef man over his carrots. Someone would probably shoot him, which would be a particularly stupid way to die.’

“‘But then. An opportunity. Angel and his father are listening attentively to his brother’s report—Wik should probably be listening as well, this seems exactly like the sort of thing the police would like to know, but he’s on a more important mission right now. Wik carefully glances at the three mafia men and, seeing the coast is clear, he sneaks a handful of carrots onto Angel’s plate. Angel’s eyes flick towards him and Wik shoves a spoonful of rice into his mouth. Angel smiles at him, a fleetingly sweet thing, before he looks down at his plate and does a double take at the mysteriously grown pile of carrots on his plate. He squints at Wik suspiciously. Wik takes another bite of rice, and chews innocently.’” 

Chay stops reading there, too choked up on giggles. “This is from that time I told everyone P’Wik hates carrots, right? Hold on, lemme—“ Chay scrolls down to the author notes and yep, there’s the link to his video threatening Kim’s online reputation. Chay bursts into another fit of giggles. 

“Okay, so, this actually isn’t too far off from how P’Wik is I-R-L. Well. He has two reactions to carrots on his plate.” Chay snickers at the camera. “So, if we’re in public, or at a dinner, or anything like that, he won’t react to the carrots. P’Wik actually has a decent poker face when it comes to stuff like that. But he’ll hide his carrots under his other food to make it look like he’s eating them, then inevitably be offended when he’s left with a pile of carrots on his otherwise empty plate. Like, how dare they not disappear themselves while he ate everything else? Weirdo,” Chay says, sounding disgustingly besotted even to his own ears. 

“But,” Chay leans closer to the camera, grinning, “That’s not why I’m telling you guys this story. That’s how P’Wik reacts in public. It’s a totally different story in private. 

“In private, P’Wik always makes this—“ Chay pauses and screws up his nose like he just smelled something gross, and puckers his lips like he just bit something sour “—face when he sees carrots in his meal, then he always reaches over and pointedly shovels his carrots onto my plate, radiating prim indigence that he’s facing the terrible injustice of carrots in his food. But here’s the thing…”

“P’Wik knows the owners and chefs of his regular takeout spots. They would never forget his dislike of carrots. But after we started dating and he introduced me to them, suddenly, his orders all started getting carrots again. And it’s all my fault.” Chay sighs tragically, and nods in response to the imagined question. “Yes, I’m to blame. See, I told them how much I love carrots. I told them it was silly, but I just didn’t keep carrots in our apartment because P’Wik really hates them and it was hard to eat them all before they went bad, so I only got them when we went out on dates to save us the hassle. A few of them offered to give me a double serving of carrots, but—“ Chay looks at the camera with an earnestly distressed pout “—I don’t want to be a bother! It’s bad enough we already have one special order, I’ll feel so bad if we bothered them with two.”

Chay sighs mournfully. “I know what they’re doing. They sneak me an extra helping of carrots by giving them to P’Wik instead.” Chay’s tragic look suddenly cracks into a mischievous grin. “But let me tell you a secret…”

Chay looks side-to-side, hamming it up for his audience as the live chat goes wild. He grins, barely able to bite back his laughter. “I don’t like carrots. Or, well, I do. They’re fine. A perfectly respectable vegetable. But nothing I’d go out of my way to eat. So why would I go through so much trouble to get extra, you might ask?”

His phone starts flashing Kim’s caller ID, and Chay bites back a laugh. “I certainly don’t need two servings of carrots, but P’Wik’s disgusted face when he sees them in his food?” Chay sighs happily, hand pressed over his heart. “That feeds my soul.”

;;; excerpt end ;;;

📗 goose chasing, or the trials and tribulations of one user ghoasters

so, idk if you've noticed, but there is one (1) username that calls out the weird mafia bullshit obliquely referenced in this series, and that is user ghoasters.

this was supposed to just be a silly joke, but then...i don't remember why this came up, but @majestictortoise said ghoasters reminded her of the persona 5 character futaba, then i looked the character up and said, iirc, "oh my god she looks exactly like the anime girl 13yo i wished to be, YES" and she became a wholeass character in my head. so, using futaba as a blueprint, here are some facts about ghoasters:

nosy fandom obsessed teen girl, expert hacker, doesn't leave the house much.

all of her codes include a ghost ASCII art signature (hence: ghoasters)

her mother gave her the nickname 'sprout' but her name is GHOST, you will respect it or she will rain digital hell down on you.

has a very long, extremely thorough tweet thread tracking potential criminal activity to wik and angel. arm loves it, it makes his job of socmed clean up so much easier.

would've hacked and downloaded some extremely sketchy government facial recognition software just so i could make "but do the butts match?" jokes.

dream in life is to strangle angel and wik. this does not change after she gets hired by the family and becomes besties with chay.

arm wants her hired because he is not a good hacker (he cobbled his IT education together in prison, his true skills are grifting and bullshitting) and he invites her to movie night. ghoasters obviously arrives for movie night in full cosplay, up your game @ khun and khun's angels.

ghoasters 100% gets on board with the mafia bullshit in the name of better cosplay wigs btws. she is getting paid ridiculous sums of money to watch shows and make full cosplay (including the props!). crime is fine now guys.

there's more but like....this is already getting long lol, i'll expand this later. maybe. idk anyways, point is i have enough ideas for user ghoasters i could've actually written a whole fic for her had i not been too busy with other fic ideas. so here's a silly scene of ghoasters getting shlorped into a hum bar visit;

;;; excerpt ;;;

Ghost takes Khun’s advice to heart. Her breath hitches and adrenaline buzzes in her veins when she leaves the compound, but when they arrive at the bar, Ghost spends the first five minutes hacking into the bar’s cameras, the cameras on the surrounding streets and buildings, checking her backdoors to the electronic locks on the entrances, and hacking into the bar’s server just in case. She debates the merits of cloning a few phones, just to be sure the other patrons IDs match the information security has on the bar’s regulars, but Ghost doesn’t actually want to pass the line into paranoia. She’s trying to be better about this sort of thing. 

Ghost checks the cameras she did hack in one final sweep. Everything looks safe, except for the final frame where some guy in a flashy jacket is creeping over the shoulder of some girl bent over her phone—

Wait. 

Ghost yelps and whirls around to face Khun, who is indeed looking over her shoulder in a surprisingly discreet way for a guy wearing a suit with a full-bodied, gold-embroidered dragon stretched over his back. Khun’s pink lensed glasses gleam, like the flash of an anime antagonist, and then he beams with the full force of the sun. 

“That,” Khun says gleefully, “was fascinating. What’d you do?”

“Uhm,” Ghost stammers, beet red. 

Khun plops down in the seat beside her, expression gentling into something more open. “You took control of everything, in just a handful of minutes! It’s amazing!” Ghost stammers some more, face growing hotter and hotter under Khun’s enthusiasm. “Teach me how to do that!”

Ghost opens her mouth. 

“Wait!” Khun abruptly yelps. “Don’t tell me, tell Arm!”

Ghost blinks as Khun sweeps up in a dramatic swish with the full force of a hurricane, unsurprised he’d somehow left a bewildered Arm sitting in his place. Arm looks at her, vaguely distressed, then turns to Khun, vaguely panicked. 

Khun pats Arm’s shoulders happily. “Enjoy your geek chat and show me your new skills later, okay!” Then he kisses a still distressed Arm on the forehead, squishes his cheeks for good measure; and flounces off to the bar to give Miss Yok a proper hello. 

Arm turns to her, looking like puppy left out in the rain. It’s the most pathetic sight Ghost’s ever seen. 

“Would you like me to build you an app?”

Arm nods earnestly, still looking like a drenched puppy. 

;;; excerpt end ;;;

📘 parade rain (groupchat for kim's PR team fic)

i joked...at the end of long & short i think about doing a very weary and exasperated groupchat/slack forum fic for kim's PR team, who went from five years of free reign coasting to "what the fuck did angel do now?" it never really went anywhere for a few reasons:

i don't actually think kim's so popular as to have a PR team, they mostly got slipped in the first place for some jokes. i'd laughed at the idea of kim going "help make sure my family's bullshit doesn't slip thru" and then chay going "eh, its fine" and the PR team having to deal with it, but i never really got around to imaging what this team would actually look like in this series.

i don't like groupchat fic. texting fic, yes, groupchat...ehhhhh.

idk, this one just wound up being funnier in concept than reality to me. i could think of some funny bits for it, but there was just never any substance to the idea ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

📙 university yikyak fic

is yikyak even a thing still?

whatever, my main interest here was i love outsider POV fic lol. the main premise of this fic was kim loses his song notebook, which is found by a very nice, very protective 4'10 girl who works long and hard to find its original owner without accidentally handing it off to an unsavory someone, ft some b-reel of kim or chay related yikyaks. the main goal of this fic was to give kim a tiny friend who mistakens kinn's teasing one day and marches up to him to yell "leave him ALONE, he's SENSITIVE" at him. kinn is delighted (kim made a friend!!), kim and chay are laughing (kinn vs girl half his size and girl is winning!), and porsche wonders if there really is something to this social media thing (naturally, he is filming the whole thing).

it didn't really go anywhere mostly because i only vaguely know of yikyak, i never actually went on it, so trying to think of how i'd even go about telling the story wound up just being a big creativity drain :/

[[ ask me about fic im not writing ]]

#kinnporsche #fic: gone fishing #ask game: fics im not writing #4 for 1!! #just 4 u friend <33 #hope u like 😂❤