Influencers Don’t Get It. Sure You Can Stage Beautiful Pictures Of Your Beautiful Self In Your Beautiful

Underworld Dreams

i feel the need to clarify that this isn’t fiction writing, that these are about real dreams and real events that happened to me, and i was just thinking of them and thought - i should write these down 

i don’t remember my dreams, generally, and i don’t tend to put much stock in the meanings of dreams, generally

but sometimes i have dreams that are stickysharp, that are very vivid, and that feel very real to me for the first few seconds after i wake up, and then i’m always filled with an embarrassing amount of relief that no matter what’s going on in my life currently, those problems aren’t my problems

my friends call them my underworld dreams

~

the first one i had was one i was very young, less than six years old, and i don’t remember much from my actual life from that age with clarity that i remember this dream. i was alone on the street, searching for someone, but everything was empty. i wasn’t scared. then i come across two dogs, fancy poodles, but they’re not right. they see me and immediately begin arguing. “what’s she doing here? she’s not supposed to be here.” “get rid of her” “she’s here now, she might as well stay” “she’s not supposed to be here!” and i try and interrupt, but then they’re looking at me, looming, so much bigger than me when they hadn’t been before, until they’re all teeth, and i’m running. all i hear is barking, and i’m not nor have i ever been afraid of dogs, but i run and my chest hurts but no matter where i look i’m alone. the dogs aren’t there, aren’t chasing me, but i don’t know where to go. i look around and i realize that everything’s in black and white. that the only things that hadn’t been a shade of grey had been the those two dogs. life isn’t shades of grey, i remember suddenly, and i bend over to pick up one of the grey bricks lining the sidewalk. i hold it in both hands and break it in half and liquid cement pools from the broken brick onto the ground. “oh,” i say, with relief, “it’s not real. this is a dream. i can leave now.”

then i wake up. 

~

my mother dies a week before my tenth birthday and i have a dream that i do not forget. i am in the front yard, looking down at the highway from the large sloping hill of our home, leaning against a birch tree. 

there’s a car slowly rolling down our long driveway. once, when i was younger, i was left to play in the front seat of the car as it was parked on top of the long driveway. it was an old car. i moved something i shouldn’t have and the car started rolling and i screamed and screamed, knowing something bad had happened but not how to stop it, and then my mother’s boyfriend, who i hated, ran and jumped into the rolling car and slammed on the breaks. 

i am not in this car. it is getting faster, no one to slam on the breaks, and then my mother is standing next to me. “i’m in there,” she says. “you could save me.” 

i understand that this isn’t real. that my mother is dead and so she can’t be standing next to me. everything else seems so real and normal, but my mother is here like she hasn’t been for weeks, and that  means this is a dream. i look at the car rolling down the hill and remember her casket getting lowered into the ground and i say, “no. you’re already dead. you have to stay dead, that’s how this works.” 

she’s disappointed, but not angry, she stands next to me, silent, as we watch the car roll into the highway, watch it crumple, watch it roll into a ditch. when i turn to look at her, she’s gone. 

then i wake up.

i’m not relieved. i feel guilty for not saving her, even in a dream, even when she was already dead. 

i do not dream of my mother again.

~

my grandmother raised me after my mother died. my grandmother dies when i’m twelve and i do not dream of her when it happens. 

i will, years later, but not then. 

~

i’m in high school and i have another dream. i am in something between victorian england and modern day. everything is gray. i live in a small apartment. 

children keep appearing at my door. i let them in, i feed them, i cloth them. i go to food banks and schools, searching for who these children belong to, but no one claims them, so i keep them. it’s so hard to keep them, but i can’t leave them. 

some of the children get sick. i do my best, but some of them die. 

i put the bodies in the closet and lock the door. i tell the other, living children not to go near the closet. 

i go searching. dead children don’t belong in closets. i go to the hospital, but they say they will not take random dead children. i go to the police and they laugh at me, saying no one will take them, that i’ll have to get rid of them on my own. 

i am angry and desperate but there is a part of me that is not surprised. 

i go home. i will have to keep the dead children in the closet. the living children ask questions, reach for the closet, and i stand in front of it, standing between my dead children in the closet and the living children in front of me, knowing that they can’t open it, that i have to keep it closed, because if i open it then my living children will walk into the closet with my dead children and they will not come out.

then i wake up. 

i do not have any dead children in my closet. the relief is sharp, but not sweet.

~

i have a loft bed in college because the tiny room i’m sharing in this small apartment is not big enough for us to fit two bed side by side. 

i dream that i wake up in this bed, in a place that’s not my own. there are children there, that i know but do not recognize. they cry out when they see me and yell for me to climb down. i do and they grasp my hands, pulling me outside. 

my grandmother is there. other people that i do not recognize but that i know are there. the children are my cousins. these people are my family. we are outside and it is beautiful and bright. the grass is green and soft. 

i sit and talk with my grandmother as the children play. the children run off somewhere else. 

“i’m so glad you’re staying,” someone who i thinks might be an aunt says, patting my hand. 

the first curl of unease is easy to mistake for confusion. “no, i can’t stay, i’m just visiting.” 

“visiting?” she says, pitying. “there’s no visiting. the dead have to stay dead. you know that.” 

i am cold. the grass is still soft. it’s still beautiful. i do not want to stay. 

my grandmother is sad, not pitying, when she says, “it’s too late. they’re burning the bed.” 

i am running. i do not stop to say goodbye. 

the house is burning. the children are tugging at the long legs of my loft bed, trying to to pull it to the ground, and all around me are flames. i run through them, ignoring the cries of my cousins as i climb into the loft bed, laying down and burying my face into my pillow that smells of smoke and heat just as the legs crash and i’m tumbling to the ground.

then i wake up. 

my pillow does not smell of smoke. 

~

it’s finals week and i dream that i’m in a cave. there are bars on the entrance, even though it just leads to even more cave, and guards and a warm yellow light coming from somewhere. 

i am with people i do not know. they are not concerned about leaving. i am. i get the gate open, the guards aren’t around. “come on,” i say to everyone. “let’s go. we have to go.” 

“it’s just a waste of time,” one of them tells me. “we can’t leave. where would we go?” 

i don’t understand. 

someone else puts a water bottle and a several packets of saltine crackers into my hands. “you’ll need this,” he says, not unkindly. “don’t lose them. it’s important.” 

i can’t force anyone to come with me. the guards will be back soon. they should be here now. leaving seems too easy, suddenly, but it’s not like i’m going to stay, so i go. 

the caves are confusing. it takes a long time to find my way out, and i drink most of the water and eat the saltine crackers. when i step out of the labyrinth of caves it’s too bright, brighter than it’s ever been. 

i walk for a long time. i come across a field that is a mix of golden corn and golden wheat growing side by side in a confusing, impractical mixture. 

i see a man, dark skin and greying beard, in grey overalls and a grimy henley that maybe didn’t used to be grey but is now. he has a scythe in his hands, leaning back and swinging it through the mix of corn and wheat. 

the wheat falls to the side and the scythe passes through the corn, leaving it unharmed. 

“can you help me?” i ask. “i need to go home.” 

the man startles, looking at me. “you shouldn’t be here.” 

“i know,” i say, “can you help me? i can’t figure out how to get home.” 

he stares at me for a long moment, then nods, digging a small hole in the ground with the toe of his boot. “here. you kept them, didn’t you?” 

he doesn’t specify, but i know what he means. i take out the mostly empty water bottle and the torn plastic packets of the saltine crackers. i shouldn’t have eaten them. but it was the only way to get out the cave. 

the man sighs, as if i’m tiresome, and takes them from my hands. he empties the saltine crumbs into the dirt, then pours the last of the water on top. he directs me to stand on top of the hole, and i do, and he kicks the dirt in around my feet. “they didn’t have to help you. you’re lucky they gave those to you.” 

i am. i would not have gotten out of the cave without them. i would not be going home without them. 

the man takes a step backwards, leans back, and swings the scythe through me. 

then i wake up. 

my bed is soft and warm. i wonder if i was the corn or the wheat. 

~

my cousin has been two years younger then me our whole lives and she is two years younger than me when she dies. it is strange to think that for the rest of my life my cousin will not age and i will. i live on the other side of the country to her. the last time i was home, i had a bus to catch and she was busy talking to her boyfriend, so instead of waiting to hug her goodbye, i left and said, “i’ll hug you extra hard next time,” and the pain is too familiar to be sharp. 

i dream we are in a beach house like we visited once as children, but we are adults. i am delighted to be here, with my family, warm and content and safe. my cousin is there and we’re floating in the pool and i look at her and my easy contentment falters. something is wrong. i put my arms under her shoulders and knees, like i’m supporting a child who’s just learning how to float, and she looks very still and peaceful until she cracks open an eye to grin at me. “oh no,” i say say, looking at her, remembering, “you’re dead.” disappointment flashes over her face. i wasn’t supposed to say anything. i wasn’t supposed to remember. 

then i wake up. 

i dream we at a garden we’ve never been to. it is bright and easy and the moment i see her, i know that she is dead, but she does not. i don’t tell her, i let her drag me to look at roses bloom, and try to feel for coldness in her skin, but it’s warm. i make myself smile and she doesn’t make me let go of her hand and it’s so very warm here. for the first time i want to stay, but it’s not even a choice. she looks down at our clasped hands and when she looks up, her lips are tinged blue. “oh no,” she says, and i’m reaching for her, to pull her in to hug her extra hard, but i’m not quick enough, “i’m dead.” 

then i wake up. 

can you forget you’re dead? i wonder. can you forget you’re alive? 

~

the last stickysharp dream i had was over a year ago, and it was this: 

i am at the beach with all my friends. i love them so much. it’s hot and and the sand burns my feet so we are sitting on the shoreline, damp and hot and laughing. 

there is a bright flash of light. it’s a bomb going off. i don’t know how i know, but i do, and i run. 

you can’t outrun a bomb, but i try, my first instinct to flee and the hot sand is burning my feet. it takes me too long to realize that no one else is running, that they’re all standing perfectly still, watching their death coming for them. 

my friends are still at the shoreline. the first shockwave is coming. i don’t have enough time to run back to them, even though i want to. 

i die alone 

then i wake up. 

~

i do not remember my dreams, generally, and i don’t put much meaning into dreams, generally 

generally 

The Realists

by W.B. Yeats

Hope that you may understand! What can books of men that wive In a dragon-guarded land, Paintings of the dolphin-drawn Sea-nymphs in their pearly wagons Do, but awake a hope to live That had gone With the dragons?

Smut - | ☼ |

Fluff - | ♡ |

Angst - | ♥ |

The Return of an Empress  | ☼ |  | ♡ |  | ♥ |

Genre: Isekai au, Angst, Romance, Fluff, Smut (Later on), Slow burn

Summary: After one fateful night, you find yourself transmigrated into your favorite novel as the Empress that shares the same name as you. As a bookworm, most would think you’d be ecstatic, but how could you be happy when the Empress you’ve become is expected to be killed in three months by the seven men she trusted most.

The only thing on your mind now is to try and convince everyone that the empress is a changed person, literally, but you’ll soon find out that proves to be difficult when seemingly everyone wants you dead.

| 01 |  | 02 |  | 03 |  | 04 |  | 05 |  | 06 |  | 07 |  | 08 |  | 09 |  | 10 |  | 11 |  | 12 |  | 13 |  | 14 |  | 15 |  | 16 |  | 17 |

| None yet |

| None yet | 

| None yet |

| None yet |

| None yet |

| None yet |

| None Yet |

hi lovelies! i’m currently struggling a bit with one of my assignments, and i was wondering if any of you would be able to help me out 😔 i need to identify the subject/verb/direct-indirect object/adverb in four sentences, but it’s been years since i last did it +  i have never been very good at it skdjs, so i’m very stuck atm :( the sentences are sorta complex as well, they’re not as simple as “jill bought icecream”, which is why i’m struggling a bit. if any of you are good at identifying  these things and can help me, please let me know! 💖 i’m desperate 😔

Cave boy Danny starts talking about one of the debates Tucker and Sam without mentioning their names when asked who the two are,Danny panics again and says that Sam is Selina since that's not that big of a jump when he starts saying her name

"One of my best friends would agree with you." Brucie suddenly speaks up one night at Dinner when Damian rants about his school not offering enough Vegetarian options. "She is an ultra-recyclo-vegetarian."

Bruce blinks having never heard the term before. A quick glance around the table tells him that neither have the others. Must be slang from his universe then. "What does that mean?"

"She doesn't eat anything with a face," Brucie explains. The curve of his lips has the tiniest amount of bestowed fondness that could only come from infatuation. Oh, Brucie is sweet on the girl. Bruce feels mildly alarmed as all his kids and Alfred sits up in interest when spotting it.

Unaware of what he just unwillingly gave away Brucie continues "Not to be confused with being a vegan because she will eat bread and cheese, but not often. She gets real mad when people mislabel her."

Dick grins, leaning over his forgotten dinner to pin Brucie under an eager stare. "I bet. Mislabeling is the worst."

"It is!" Brucie agrees, seemingly satisfied that someone else feels the same. "Especially when getting her to like you is like trying to get a cat's approval. But it's totes worth it when you do. No one has your back better than her."

A....cat's loyalty? Oh no. Surely it couldn't be-?

"What's your best friend's name?" Steph speaks up asking what's on everyone's mind. They all lean in a little closer as Brucie mindlessly gathers some rice on his fork.

"Her name is Sa-" Brucie takes a bite of his rice before swallowing. It takes everything in him not to quote Alfred and scold him for speaking with his mouth full. How Brucie grew up with such manners, Bruce would never know. "Selina! Her name is Selina."

Oh.

It seemed even in another world Bruce's heart would fall into Selina Kyle's hands.

His kids all but burst into cheers. Even Jason, and that was very hard to accomplish in the last few years.

"I knew it! I knew it!"

"Of course, it's Selina! Who else could it have been?"

"I suppose Kyle is not too horrid a partner for Father."

Duke and Cass high-five while Alfred seems to be glowing in parental pride as the other kids chat about his on-and-off girlfriend again. If a civilian version of himself still fell for her, Bruce could convince his Selina to quit the crime life and be his permanently.

Brucie stares a comprehensive eye around the table, so Bruce takes pity on him.

"I have a Selina as well. My kids....enjoy her company." He says, watching blue eyes swing at him as tiny black bangs fall slightly over them. It's adorable, and he finally understands why he had so many admirers. He bets civilian Brucie breaks just as many, if not more, hearts than he did at that age. "How long have you known Selina for?"

"Um...since she moved to my school when we were ten, so about four years, give or take?" Brucie shrugs, a slight blush overtaking his face. "She's great."

Oh, Bruce bet she is.

"Wait." Tim suddenly speaks up, eyes narrow in mistrust. Bruce had noticed before that the second youngest was suspicious of their dimensional visitor. He had been meaning to pull him aside to talk about it. "You said one of your best friends. Who is the other?"

"...Ethan. My other best friend is Ethan," Brucie says after a moment. He must mean Ethan Bennett. Bruce thinks wistfully of the old days when he would play basketball with his dear friend before he was lost in Clayface.

But why did Brucie pause on Ethan's name like that? It almost seemed like he was very carefully selecting that name or was trying to control his facial reaction to it.

A familiar blush bloomed over Brucie's checks and- oh. The boy had spoken about wishing he was from a world where bisexuality was more common, didn't he?

It would make sense. It's not like Ethan hadn't crossed his mind once or twice when Bruce was a teenager, either.

Tim's eyes narrow further. "I don't believe you."

"And I believe you can't stand the sight of your reflection because you're convinced no one will ever want it either." Brucie cheerfully chirps back before closing his eyes and sighing as if tired. He slumps in his chair, leaning his head against the headrest. "Sorry, that was mean. I'm trying to be less mean."

Bruce frowns at him, aware of Tim's eyes going glossy to his right but his son doesn't seem to want to step away. All conversation stops as they glare daggers at Brucie. Dick especially seems the most upset. "That was uncool Brucie"

"Yeah, sorry force of habit. My older sister and I-"

"Your what?" Bruce cuts him off, wondering if he heard right.

"My older sister?"

"You have a sister?"

"Yeah, don't you?"

"No," Bruce whispers. "No, I don't. I'm an only child."

"Oh. I'm the second youngest. I have an older sister, an older brother, and a younger sister." Brucie turns over to Tim to offer a sincere apology that the other gracious takes, but Bruce can't hear him over the sound of blood rushing between his ears.

"Mother and Father had more children?"

"Kind of." Brucie's face twists slightly in consideration. "Tommy and Harley are adopted. They are technically cousins since they were made by my uncle Vlad. Kate.....my older sister Kate, is my aunt Alicia's bio-kid but she was raised by my parents since she was one since Aunt Alicia wasn't...in the best mental state to care for her. No hard feelings are between them."

"Tommy, as in Tommy Elliot?!" Dick gasps, springing to his feet. "He is your adoptive older brother!?"

Brucie appears startled by his reaction, but he nods all the same. Bruce feels dread sink into his stomach.

"He's evil!" Dick shouts.

"I know." Brucie shrugs, uncaring. "Tommy has some issues, and he had them since he was...fourteen, but he's not dangerous.."

"Did you all miss that he said Harley is his younger sister? Harley as in Harleen Quinzel?" Jason cuts in, twisting to pin Brucie with a hard stare. "That's her real name, isn't it?"

"Well, her real name is Harleen Wayne, but she prefers Harley," Bruice says carefully. "Why? Do you know her?"

"She's evil too!" Dick gasps. "Brucie, you're in terrible danger with those two around!"

"Nah, Kate will stop them." Brucie waves his hand. "Sides Tommy and Harley are always traveling. Neither are home much these days."

Bruce feels a headache growing behind his eyes as Dick desperately tries to explain what happens to Brucie's adoptive siblings in their world. At the same time, his counterpart argues on his sibling's behalf.

(No one knows about the electric candles disappearing from the dinner table as the house descends into madness, trying to make the dimension travel realize his danger. Even fewer are aware of Danny's silent apology to Sam, Tucker, Jazz, Dan, or Dani for butchering their names and somehow still connecting them to someone in this world.)

Out of the Woods

— pairing: wolf hybrid namjoon x human f!reader — genre: fluff, angst, slight smut — word count: 10.2K — warnings: light injury, nothing too bad!  — summary: Promising Jihyo that you were going to stay away from your writing for one weekend had been easy in theory, but much harder to actually do once you reached the little cabin the woods. To make matters worse, the only thing that rivals your inability to keep promises is your terrible luck – and after a particularly bad choice leads you to get lost in the mountains, you suppose that it’s only karma that you end up face to face with a wolf that looks ready to rip your throat out.

Part I / II / III

“Why are we here again?” You huff, waving your hands uselessly in the air to fend off the insistent mosquitos that seem to have chosen you as their next meal. “And don’t say it’s because I need–”

“It’s because you need some sunlight! Fresh air! You haven’t been out outside of your apartment in months,” Jihyo shoots you a look over her shoulder, one that’s equally as much worried, as it is exasperated. You bite down on your tongue to fend off any building remarks. Because well .. she’s right. The only time you’ve stepped outside your apartment recently was to either get groceries, or to run to the convenience store nearby when the craving for a late night snack became too much.  

“It’s because I’m busy–”  

“Busy my ass!” Jihyo interrupts with a humorless snort, “You finished writing your first draft weeks ago, Y/n. I understand that you get in one of your ‘moods’ when you write, but you can’t shut yourself away from the rest of the world whenever that happens. You’ll let your own life pass you by.”

You narrow your eyes at Jihyo’s use of air quotes, because frankly, it’s not just a mood, it’s inspiration. You know you have to take full advantage of it when you have it ­– that you have to devote your sole focus to the words spilling from your fingertips unless you want to lose them. You did that once. You had just finished writing a chapter when some old friends from university had called you out for some drinks. You easily accepted, happy to celebrate your progress and unwind a little bit. The problem however, reared its ugly head the day after. Because when you sat down in front of your computer, the empty document stared back at you like a stranger.

You couldn’t write. No sentences seemed to flow the way you wanted them too, and everything was just so dull. It took weeks – a whole month in fact – before it reappeared, and by that time you were left scrambling to complete the last half of your book in just one week. You felt like you aged ten years during those seven days, and you wowed to never let it happen again. So, your solution had been to eliminate any distractions. You stopped meeting up with friends, ignoring any calls or texts that weren’t from your publisher. You didn’t set foot outside your apartment unless your fridge was empty or a craving became too big, and even then, you barely acknowledged the outside world, too scared that even a friendly hello would somehow yank you out of your mindset.

So you hold you tongue, biting down at the soft flesh of your lower lip as Jihyo trudges ahead in front of you. No matter how much you want to retort back that she’s wrong – you can’t. Because she knows you better than you like to admit. You suppose being friends since you were six probably has something to do with that. Jihyo is the most understanding person you know when it comes to your moods, but you know that even she has her limits. That even she gets hurt when it takes you days to respond to her texts. And that’s the only reason you’re even out here, stumbling and tripping over rocks and loose roots in the middle of nowhere. Because you feel guilty, and because Jihyo deserves a better friend than what you’ve been to her for a while.

“Fine,” You grumble. “How long will it take until we’re there? We’ve been walking for hours.”

“We’ve been walking for thirty minutes Y/n,” Jihyo shakes her head. “But I think we’re pretty close now!”  

Keep reading

-ˋˏ txt + random angst prompts i think ab before i go to bed ˎˊ-

[ ༻❁༺ ] foreword : have i cried from said prompts before? yes.

[ ༻❁༺ ] warnings : angst, mentions of insults, infidelity, and implied death

[ ༻❁༺ ] genre : angst

the other members under the cut !

choi yeonjun ; he didn’t mean those words.

yeonjun held his breath as he realized the words that just left his mouth. the red he saw in his eyes dissipated into thin air, realizing the weight of his anger as he watched his hurtful attacks sink into your system. his hand twitched to reach out to you, his throat itching to say something, anything to take back what he just said. he didn’t think it would, or could escalate this far. his heart clenched as he watched you close your mouth, taking back anything you were going to say back to him. countless regrets were swimming in his head in that moment, and he was unsure if he could ever reverse the damage he already dealt.

he watched as you simply turned away from him amidst his growing self-loathing, his legs paralyzed as he watched you turn around and exit the door with tears pooling in your eyes. in the blink of an eye you were gone; truth be told, he didn’t know when he forced himself to stumble to the sofa and sit down, his breathing heavy and panicky. you weren’t in the wrong for any of this, he only had himself to blame. yeonjun had no excuse to lash out the way he did—you didn’t deserve to become his punching bag.

yeonjun sat in silence, unmoving as he hoped and prayed you’d walk back through those doors for a chance to explain himself and apologize profusely. he waited hours in the same position, zoning in and out of his thoughts with a rigid posture over the sofa. he needed to tell you he didn’t mean what he said. you should know, right? that he’d never do anything to hurt you.

but the longer he waited, the more he realized just how little of a chance he was going to get.

choi soobin ; you were almost enough.

you didn’t understand how soobin could be so cruel with pushing you away, his face void of any emotion as he placed his hands in his pockets. his words were indefinite, and though you tried so many times to see through his harsh attitude, all attempts were futile in the end. he was wicked enough to let you believe you were worth staying for, when you should’ve known the truth from the start.

—

it took soobin everything in him to stop himself from yelling out to you, his fingers shaking as he watched you disappear into the distance. did you not notice the way his voice faltered when he told you to leave? did you ignore how he purposely didn’t look at you? he was sure it was a sign he didn’t actually mean it. he’s the one who always told you that he didn’t mean anything he said unless he was staring into your eyes. his heart fell to his stomach as the image of you fading, lifting his hand to his face to the fresh feeling of crying.

you didn’t deserve to have your feelings toyed with, nor did you deserve to be treated like a game. soobin’s lips quivered as he clutched a fistful of fabric around his chest, unsure of what to do next. he was such a fool to let you walk away so easily, he was the idiot for not trying hard enough. even worse—you left thinking that you weren’t good enough. the words were there, right at the tip of his tongue—he knew he wasn’t worthy of you, nor your heart.

you left thinking you were almost enough for him to stay, but soobin stayed knowing you were always more than enough—and he’d never be able to measure up.

choi beomgyu ; you weren’t different from the rest.

there was a different kind of pain that traveled through beomgyu’s system as he came face to face with you, your face horrified at the scene before you. the body that clung to him, lips pulled with the smirk both you and him knew all too well. he didn’t even have the strength to pull away—how could he? you saw the damage he dealt. you saw how he broke his promise, his end of the deal. you didn’t even need to ask why—you had always known he would never be satisfied, even if facing the truth brought pain.

beomgyu couldn’t stop you as you simply feigned calmness, his face dropping as you smiled at him, nodding in understanding as you simply took the initiative to walk past him. he managed to pull his arm away from the other as he tried to follow you, but with each step he took, you seemed to walk faster. no words were shared between the two of you—he knew he messed up. the worst part was, he’d never get another chance to make up for it.

he promised he’d mend his ways for a chance with you. thinking about it now, beomgyu didn’t even know why he relapsed back into how he was before. he was better than those temptations, that the only physical contact he needed was with you. you warned him, so many times—you’d leave if he went back on his word. you reminded him over and over again, for fear you’d get hurt in the end. and he swore up and down that he’d never do anything to hurt you.

but in the end, you ended up being the same as everyone else. and he was left alone, back again at square one.

kang taehyun ; give up, he’s won the war.

taehyun didn’t realize just how much you knew of the enemy, how easy it was for him to slip up and get too comfortable with you by his side. he filled your visions of a romeo and juliet fantasy, where the two of you could run away together and start anew. and you fell for it—you fell for him. a perfect man, so charming, endearing—

until you found out he wasn’t.

his heart sank when he saw that knowing glint in your eyes—the one that told him that you knew everything he wished you didn’t. how he was in on the plan to use you for infiltration, to tie your heartstrings to the kite that would soar for his family, warring against yours. taehyun didn’t know how or when something changed in him, how your smile enchanted him in ways he promised his father he’d never succumb to. he wasn’t allowed to fall for the bait—yet his heart yearned for him to admit the truth when you appeared, tear-struck and betrayed in front of him.

he wasn’t allowed to apologize for the things he did—the plan was fool proof, he just happened to land in the worst case scenario. he created an apathetic facade as you tried to search for answers through him, looking for any sign that this was just a nightmare. he rooted his feet to the ground when you realized you wouldn’t get anything from him, clenching his jaw as you took a deep breath, wiping your tears before walking away.

taehyun was the reason they won the war, but he felt no desire to celebrate. what good was a victory, when loss was all he received in return?

hueningkai ; he’ll love you when he’s gone.

hueningkai didn’t know how to comfort you in such a heartbreaking time, reeling from the way you cowered into a corner when he appeared in your bedroom, his body translucent and shimmery—the way ghosts would appear in movies. his non beating heart wrenched in agony as you screamed profanities at him, yelling for the hallucinations, the misery to leave your head. he wanted to reach out and touch you, to comfort you that everything was alright.

his departure from this world was all too soon—there were so many things he wanted to do with you, to see with you. hueningkai wanted to stay with you. he watched you shrink into the corner of your bedroom, lethargically walking step-by-step forward to not alarm you. you had no more fighting power to throw anything his way—your chest heaved with pain as the ghost of your beloved knelt beside you, a sad smile on his lips as another round of tears welled up in your swollen eyes.

he didn’t know what to say, how to apologize for hurting you the way he did. he didn’t know how much longer he had left before he had to depart from this world—but he had to try. hueningkai reached forward and tried to caress your cheek with his thumb, gulping nervously as he watched you try to lean into his touch. he felt nothing, but the way you closed your eyes to imagine him next to you was enough for him to relax. no words were spared between the two of you as he spent his last moments with you, nothing but love shared between you two until he heard bells ringing from afar. he turned to you then, noticing how his own body flickered in front of you.

though you cried once more, you nodded and whispered goodbye, before you’d lose the opportunity for good. hueningkai left a final kiss on your forehead—a sign that he’ll always love you, even when he’s gone.

5K follower event poll!

Thank you all so so much for over 5000 followers, this is absolutely insane 😭💖 I really want to celebrate this milestone and show my appreciation! I figured that since this is a gift to you, maybe it would be nice if you could help me pick out what the fic will be about? I’ve created a basic poll to help us decide the bare bones of the fic, and then I will likely create another one once we’ve decided on those questions to go even more in-depth to figure what you want! I hope you all want to participate and thank you so so much again!! 💖

LINK HERE!

Deafening silences.

Wait what it's been a year already? Huh, it didn't seem quite that long to me. Anyway, I see what you mean by cheeky - I like it, and that last part

"Are you decent?"

"Morally? No. But if you're wondering if I have pants on, yeah, you're good."

for some reason had me absolutely wheezing. Can't wait to see the next chapter 💖

<TEASER> No Harm List | Pt. 11

 Warnings: None, a lil suggestive ig

Rating: PG 13 

Word count: 577

A/N: wow okay. I really wanted to post an update in celebration of NHL 1 year anniversery! But that’s jusnot happening. So instead I am posting this short little teaser. I wrote this scene back in likee October, I think it’s so cheeky, so I hope you guys enjoy it when you give it a read. Please know this is very bold of me to post bc I do not have chapter 11 written or even drafter super well so I’m really commitmening myself to this moment here. But I hope it does spark joy! Thanks again for all the love and for making my first year as a writer so dang wonderful! 

———————————–

You groaned as you rolled over. Even with your eyes closed, you could feel the morning sun mercilessly shining down on you through your eyelids. 

You could tell you fell asleep without removing your makeup by the way your lashes seemed to resist when you moved to crack one eye open. They were nearly fused together by the clumped waterproof mascara you foolishly applied before going out. 

You went to nuzzle your face deeper into your navy blue pillow, becoming all too aware of how your throat was dry and your tongue felt too big for your mouth before you remembered you don’t own a navy blue pillow. Your bedding was grey. 

Your body went rigid as you took in the plush king-sized bed that was far nicer than the second hand full you furnished your apartment with, and smelled enticingly of a spiced cologne. 

This is Hoseok’s fault. 

You thought bitterly as you recalled his promise that he wouldn’t allow any one-night stands. He abandoned you and left you helpless to be lured by some sexy stranger. OR worse. 

You felt like cold water was poured down your back at the potential that you weren’t in a stranger’s bed but in one of the members of BTS. 

Oh god, oh god you had to get out quick. 

You hoped out of bed your head spinning and your sore body protesting as you made your way to the windows. Your smooth thighs brushed together and you looked down to see you were not in your clothes from last night, but instead, an oversized olive green tee shirt that hung just above your knees. 

You had to admit it’s more modest than what you wore last night. But being in a mystery lover’s clothing did leave you unsettled. You pat your bottom for a moment and smiled in victory when you confirmed your panties were still on. 

You continued your dizzying journey to the window now more bodily aware. Your hangover wasn’t the worst you’ve ever experienced, but that didn’t mean it was comfortable when you pulled back the blinds slightly to peer through the window to try to get a check on your location.  

You hissed at the morning light as you took in the familiar rose garden that lined the back of the Den’s property. Your stomach sunk at the view and you still don’t know if you rathered it be a stranger. 

Suddenly you became aware of a lack of noise. 

With a creak of a faucet handle and the groan of the pipes in the walls, you heard the shower come to a stop in the connecting bathroom. 

Your heart raced as the chances of you facing your dance partner of the night came closer. 

Ready to just bite the bullet and face your doom you made your way to the bathroom door and knocked lightly before pushing it open. 

“Hey I’m so-AHHHHHH”

“AHHHHHHHH” Taehyung shouted back at you as he struggled to wrap his towel around his waist. 

“Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!” you cried as you pulled the door shut. 

Your breathing hitched in panic, and you struggled to slow it in your flustered state. After a moment of hearing him shuffle around the bathroom, you knocked again, louder this time. 

“Are you decent?” You called hesitantly. 

You swear you could hear his smirk through the door as he responded, “Morally? No. But if you’re wondering if I have pants on, yeah, you’re good.”