Now That It's Winter Holidays I'm Thinking Of Redoing My Account, Both On Desktop And Mobile, Because
Now that it's winter holidays I'm thinking of redoing my account, both on desktop and mobile, because I don't really like the way it looks right now
The only problem is that I have NO aesthetic sense and am incredibly lazy so we'll see
More Posts from Chimchiekookie
hey kiramuffin. is everything going ok? how are you? <3
Hiiii! Sorry for answering so late, I had to download a vpn to access tumblr :/
Everything's fine! I'm a little stressed because I'm part of the MUN debating competition, and I was given very little time to prepare, but I met this really sweet girl here so it's all good lol
How's everything going for you? You're always so sweet 💕
Lack of Apathy
→ summary: Love’s enemy is not indeed hatred as many may think. It’s actually indifference, apathy, in simpler terms just not giving a goddamn fuck. In fact, love’s very own kin is hatred. You need to care enough to both love and hate—an important factor to duly note.
→ pairing/rating: hoseok x reader | PG-13
→ genre: probably the lightest angst ever existing but whatever | breakup!au
→ warnings: insults you should NEVER EVER say to anyone (or even to yourself)
→ wordcount: 2k
→ a/n: i’ve always wanted to write an all-angst oneshot,,, this was not what i had in mind but i mean, it’ll do for now lmaoo
♫: Red Ribbon by Madilyn Bailey | All of my Life by Park Won
Keep reading
somewhere in fiji.
summary: despite the love that defines your first night in Fiji, Namjoon needs your reassurance that you’ve long forgotten about the past heartbreak he caused in your relationship. pairing: kim namjoon x reader genre: honey moon au, light angst, fluff word count: 2.4k tags/warnings: a little bit of angst [because it me]
song inspo: (what i wish just one person would say to me) lany dust to dust (acoustic) - the civil wars
a/n: the first installment for my dad!BTS honeymoon series! this can be read as standalone though there are details about this couple that have been or will be explained in my dad series. I really hope y’all enjoy this one~
dad bts series: a serendipitous life
“I just need to-“ you croak as you sprawl out onto the dream of a mattress, laid out flat on your stomach. A long groan bellows out of you, content as all can be. With fifteen plus hours of travel on your body, the soft bed welcomes you. Namjoon sets his things on the dresser, peering at you through the vanity mirror, a crooked grin sitting on his lips. He chuckles as he takes in your expression, a lazy smile spreading across your face as you nuzzle into the white sheets.
“Why are hotel sheets so crisp and refreshing,” you drawl, becoming more relaxed by the second, “our sheets at home don’t feel like this.”
He moves over to you, pulling your foot to get your attention.
“Mm?” That is all you manage to get out, making him snort.
“Flip over,” he says, still chuckling at you.
You groan, making a big to-do while moving to lay on your back, “why do you want-oof-baby-“ you begin to whine as Namjoon crawls over you, slowly lowering himself until his full weight is laid on top of you.
Still grimacing underneath him, you feel his breathy laugh ghost over the skin of your neck. Long fingers wander the mattress until they intertwine with yours. He pulls your hands up, holding them on either side of your head.
He moves his eyes up to look at you, turning away quickly as a spat comes out upon seeing the pout on your face, “you hate this?” He asks, looking back at you.
“You’re just heavy, and my body is exhausted from being cramped on a plane for so long.” You wiggle your hands in his, but he makes no attempt to release them.
“Ah,” his thick lips flatten into a cheeky grin before kissing you quickly, “it’s a good thing we have a week on this island to recover then, yes?” His eyebrows lift in a mischievous way only you know.
You’re ready to make a witty remark rejecting him when you look into his eyes, suddenly caught in your husband’s dark pools. Almost like a pastel painting, he sees it in your eyes too.
Keep reading
Okay but that first paragraph is everything. The panic, fear, and suspense in those few words is so well written. I know for a fact I'm going to enjoy reading this series.
AH I can't wait for the full chapter
Teaser | Legends of Darlaria
COMING DECEMBER 31ST AT 4 P.M. PST
⨰ summary: You wake up amidst a war with no recollection of your past. Faced with suspicion and distrust, you struggle to assimilate into a foreign nation—otherwise known as your home. But on your enlightening journey to search for your identity, you come face to face with the General of the Army.
⨰ pairing/rating: yoongi x reader & jungkook x reader | PG-15
⨰ genre: 70% angst, 30% fluff | war!au & magic!au
⨰ warnings: profanity, mentions of blood, (very) minor character deaths, injuries (broken ribs)
⨰ wordcount: 610
⨰ join the taglist! (pm/send in an ask/reply/reblog)
⨰ series m.list
⧖⧗Circa Sapph⧗⧖
Red. You see red. It’s the first thing you see when your eyes peel open slowly—as if they’ve been sealed shut for hundreds of years. Red. Labored breaths escape your quivering lips, your heart beating frantically in your chest. Red. It ripples in your vision, hues deepening in color—almost sinisterly, almost like it’s mocking you. Red. It swallows your sight, strangles your throat, swamps your senses. Red. Like blood.
Suddenly you don’t think you can breathe.
You gasp, sitting up, your fingers ghosting around your neck. Immediately, a sharp abdominal pain pervades your entire body, cutting through your insides. Tears begin to prick your vision. It hurts. Something feels broken, and a newfound throbbing finds its way into your head. You wince, biting your lip to muffle a scream. Then, you freeze.
Red. It encompasses your vision again.
The air is hot and heavy, carrying the weight of death in its feeble arms. There are immobilized soldiers bundled up in white bandages seeping with crimson blood, desperate soldiers who are wailing, pointing up to the billowing red canopy of the tent and cursing or praying—you can’t tell which; and there are many soldiers who have ceased all sort of movement. You catch glimpses of their stone-cold eyes before someone drapes a white blanket over their still-warm corpses. Blood stains the dirt in ugly blots of color. And you watch, frozen, as men and women in scarlet uniforms cry for their families, their friends, their lovers.
Your fingers tangle around a chain around your neck, and it takes a lot longer for you to notice that it is not a restraining cuff but a dainty necklace with a pendant hanging from the middle. A diamond. The white jewel sparkles against your soot-covered skin, twinkling despite the blood and the gore. Something about it brings you infinitesimal comfort but it’s comfort nevertheless.
When you finally look down at your own body, you see a frail figure—bruised and battered—but in a much better state than the others. Your bandages have been freshly changed, and though you’re in pain, you feel fully cognizant enough to think: what the hell happened? How long have you been here? Where the hell are you? Asking questions is at least a step in the right direction. You stare at the red fabric of your uniform, head whirling with thousands and thousands of different theories and ideas. But in the end, the thoughts diverge to one critical conclusion: you are a soldier.
A soldier. You must be fighting for something, then. Whether it may be your honor, your nation or your loved ones, you must be a soldier for something’s sake. But it’s quite laughable. Fighting for a nation you can’t even recall. Even worse, your enemy’s face is a blank slate in your mind. How can you fight against people you don’t know at all? How can you let their blood spill on your hands when you can’t remember how they’ve wronged you and your nation? Or are you getting too ahead of yourself? What if none of your thoughts are true? How can you be sure of anything?—you can’t—not when you can’t even recall a single name other than yours.
But the more you try to desperately sift through your memories, the more you realize that you have none. Your head begins to throb again, and you clutch your necklace for moral support, hanging onto it as if it were your lifeline (and you’ll treat it that way until you figure out what the hell is going on). It doesn’t make sense. How are you a stranger in your own body?
“Your name, dear soldier?”