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OH MY GAHHHHHH THIS IS SO AAAAA
feeding us some GOOD GOOD FOOOOOOD
I CANT WAIT TO SEE WHERE THIS GOES FJFKDKS
The Red String Theory (01)
𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗡𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗙𝘂𝗹𝗹 𝗠𝗼𝗼𝗻 - 满月之夜 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 | 𝗻𝗲𝘅𝘁
On the night of the winter solstice, you were born.
As soon as your name left your mother’s lips, she collapsed from exhaustion. You were then wrapped in a swaddle of blankets by the kind nurse who agreed to help when your mother pounded on her door, with her water broken and tears streaming down her cheeks.
She had then gone into labour in the nurse’s house and finally gave birth to you after hours upon hours of extensive labour. You vaguely remember the full moon that night. It was luminous and cast its soft beams of moonlight down onto you from the tall windows of the nurse’s home.
She’d taken a long time to heal, and even longer to go back to work after giving birth. If not for Hanoh, you’d both have starved to death on the streets. Sometimes though, you spotted a sad look on Hanoh’s face when she looked at your mother leaving for the palace. You never thought much of it.
Besides, why would you? As long as you have a roof over your head, food on the table, and both of them, you’re content as is.
Time passes by quickly when your days are filled with mere thoughts of when your next meal will be, along with what toy or trinket your mother would bring back from her excursions from the palace. Many mornings she’d lay down next to you on the rickety bed, and you’d both wake up around the afternoon.
You’d been taught how to do chores since you could walk, with Hanoh instructing you on how to handle peeling potatoes with a small knife. One can only imagine your mother’s outrage when she returned to your bandaged hand full of nicks and scrapes from amateur handling of the knife.
That day, they both got into a fight, and the sound of your crying was the only thing that stopped them. After that, they never argued in front of you again. Hushed whispers with barely concealed anger was the most of it.
You were only ten when you were brought to the palace for the first time.
Your mother calls out to you, and the very mention of your name makes you flinch. The times she used your full name were rare, and this was no exception. Usually, she’d call you BaoBao, a nickname filled with affection and love.
“Yes, mama?” Her hands brush against your ear, tying up the silky strands of hair with a simple red ribbon. She fastens the knot with a satisfied smile, placing her hand on your cheek and cradling it.
You tilt your head, unsure of how to react. You study her face, trying to discern if you did something wrong. Her eyes are weary, you notice, with tiny wrinkles beginning to appear on the corners of her eyes. Her skin is still as dewy as ever, though hints of age and exhaustion begin to dim that glow.
She’s never looked more beautiful.
“Listen BaoBao, we’re going to the palace now. The Lord wants to see you.”
The mention of the Fire Lord is enough to make you stiffen, taking a step back and shaking your head unsurely. “Don’t wanna.”
“Please, BaoBao?” You can tell that she’s a little desperate, from the way her smile becomes more forced. The feeling of desperation is unfamiliar to you, but you can tell that it’s important to your mother.
“...Okay,” You agree, tugging on the hem of your shirt. The material is patchy in some places, a testament to the number of times that she’d sewn together and mended the tattered shirt over and over again. It’s not the prettiest shirt in your wardrobe, but it’s your favourite.
“Thank you,” She breathes a sigh of relief, her fingers gripping your forearms a little too tightly. It’s painful. You wince, but no expression of pain escapes past your lips even if it hurts. You didn’t want to make her sad. Not after the many times she’d come home with tears in her eyes, sobbing quietly in the corner of your room.
Ever since you could remember, you grew up in the same house as the nurse who had helped your mother give birth to you. While your mother went to the palace every day, Nurse Hanoh took care of you, from feeding and changing your clothes to even reading and writing.
You never questioned why she had taken you both in so readily, and neither did your mother. Once, you had questioned if she was your grandmother, but all she did was look at you sadly in response. Mother just told you to never ask again.
The guard brings you both to the palace after she dresses you in a new shirt you’d never seen before. The golden colour reminds you of the sun, and decorative swirls around the hem are pretty enough to keep you distracted. The material is smooth, unlike the small itches you’d get from your usual clothes.
“Now BaoBao, do you remember your manners?” Your mother asks with a shaky smile as you follow the guard to the Fire Lord. You nod enthusiastically.
“Auntie Li said I was a good girl yesterday for helping her carry her stuff inside!”
Her shoulders relax significantly, gazing down at you warmly. “That’s my daughter.” Her smile falls when she notices where you are, her grip on your hand tightening.
You copy her bow, keeping your gaze on the ground, looking anywhere but at the person right in front of you. “My lord.”
The throne room is vast, his throne right at the front and centre above his subjects. His presence is overwhelming, almost frightening. The neighbourhood kids had always whispered scary tales about the Fire Lord, sometimes to the point you’d get nightmares.
It takes everything in you to not cry. But you can’t, not now. You have to keep it together for your mother.
“You may raise your heads.” His commanding voice rings throughout the room, demanding attention and respect. You slowly look at him, biting on your lip as you try not to cry. Your mother notices, gently pulling you closer and giving your hand a small squeeze.
“It’s fine,” She murmurs, keeping her eyes directed at him.
He scans you up and down, a sort of bored satisfaction in his eyes as he sighs. “Dance for me.”
Your mother starts to move, letting go of your hand. However, a single gesture from him makes her stop, glancing from him to you. “My lord,” She begins, the shakiness of her voice betraying her, “She is only eleven. She doesn’t know-”
“Dance.” He repeats coldly, his gaze remaining solely on you. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that only bad things awaited if you disobeyed. So, you clumsily copy the movements you’d seen your mother practice at home, almost falling flat on your face had she not helped to catch you.
“I apologise, my lord.”
“Perhaps she may need lessons,” He muses from his throne, before raising his hand in a dismissive wave. “You may leave.” The guards approach you, your mother flinching before she realises that they’re headed for you, not her. Regardless, she stands in front of you protectively, shielding you from them.
“My lord, I apologise for her disrespectful behaviour. I shall bring her home to ensure her education is no longer put off.”
You didn’t understand most of the words, to be honest. All you can see from behind her flowy dress is the mild intrigue in the Fire Lord’s eyes. He looks directly at you, for the first time since coming into this room.
Needless to say, you avert your gaze, your entire body shaking in fear that you might be separated from your family if even the slightest of mistakes is made. To your relief, the guards pause from yet another gesture from him.
“I see. You are both dismissed.”
— — — — — —
You were only eleven when your mother died.
It’d been a normal day like no other, with you doing the chores as usual. A couple of months had passed since the visit to the palace. Nightmares had plagued you for a week, waking up each time with a cold sweat all over. They eased off though, when your mother began bringing home more trinkets and toys for you, seemingly more lavish each time.
She always said it was because they had given her more money in exchange for her dancing, and true to her word, Hanoh would find piles of coins beside her bedside table to buy more food and groceries. Life was good.
That is; until the soldier showed up at your front doorstep.
“What?” You breathe out, all feeling in your legs gone as soon as he delivers the news.
“Your mother has been executed in the name of the Fire Lord, for showing him disrespect and stealing the princess’s treasured belongings. He has, however, shown you mercy in the form of becoming a maid in the palace. You are to report to Mei Yi first thing in the morning.” The guard replies stiffly, turning around after delivering the news.
“No…” Hanoh whispers in horror from beside you as you sink to the floor together. It’s hard to accept what you’re feeling right now, all of Hanoh's words rendered mute as silence overcomes all your other senses. The ground is all you can see - all you can even focus on, but even that’s blurry. You can sense her warm hands on your shoulders, holding you close to her, but something’s different now.
Your mother’s gone.
| The Red String Theory |
𝗠𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁
chapter 1 | chapter 2 |
Summary - 总结:
Legend has it that the gods tie an invisible red thread around the ankles or little fingers of individuals who are fated to cross paths in life. Despite obstacles and challenges, the thread remains unbroken, ensuring that the two souls eventually find each other and fulfil their destiny together.
FUDKDKXIOXODOOSS PART 5 PART 5 PART 5
The Red String Theory (05)
Water Will Reach Its Destination - 水到渠成
𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘃𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀 | 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 | 𝗻𝗲𝘅𝘁
a/n: next chapter is 8k words. How're we feeling chat?
Chicken? Check. Soaked mushrooms? Check. Sliced vegetables? Check.
Annoyance doesn’t even begin to describe how you felt when Zuko assigned you to be the ship’s cook as punishment for the rudeness displayed after you’d found out he’s teamed up with Zhao.
Either way, you’d be cooking the best dishes you’ll ever make for yourself, while petty much giving him nothing but scraps. The thought of this mini payback makes you chuckle lowly, not noticing Iroh’s presence until you turn.
The sudden sight of him makes you shriek, placing a hand over your racing heart in an attempt to calm it. “Spirits, Uncle Iroh! I could’ve burnt you or something!” The spatula you hold is more than enough of a threat, lowering it from its initial pose above your head, ready to swing.
“I just came to see what’s for dinner,” Uncle Iroh lowered his hands that were lifted in surrender, casually strolling into the kitchen and picking up a ladle. He glances at the ingredients you’ve spread out on the table, raising a brow when you grab an onion and begin to slice it. “Stew or noodles?”
“You know I eat nothing but noodles,” you snort, blinking rapidly as the onion gas causes involuntary tears to form in your eyes. “Besides,” tossing the now sliced onions into the wok brings a sharp hiss, “I doubt the Crown Prince will be pleased to see you chatting with someone who’s drawn his ire.”
This draws a chuckle from him. “And I am his uncle. Do you think I would be affected?”
Sizzles fill the air in place of a response, though the sadness in your eyes doesn’t go unnoticed by him. “I know he can be…difficult, but please understand that-”
“I’ve been understanding, Iroh.” Words filled with bitterness finally spill from your lips, a testament to how long you’d been holding in your feelings. A sharp exhale brings your focus back to the onions that slowly begin to char in the wok. “Water has its destination.”
The air grows still, your turned back signalling an unspoken sign for him to leave. “I see,” He says at last, the lantern casting his shadow in the doorway. “I look forward to dinner.” You wait for a while longer to make sure he’s gone, confirming it when you turn to grab the sliced pieces of raw mushrooms to toss into the wok.
Recalling how visibly frustrated you were with Iroh moments earlier makes you sigh, wishing you hadn’t made your feelings so evident. However, you can hardly blame yourself for feeling this way after all, especially with how much you’ve tolerated over the years.
The most recent incident with the Avatar made you reach your tipping point.
Water reaches its destination.
The very proverb you’d brought up to Uncle Iroh now mocks you in the corner of your mind.
He’d been the one to teach it to you, after all. It had been a year and a half ago when you stormed into his cabin and slammed the door behind you, having been subject once again to Zuko’s pride and stubbornness that refused to let him see common sense.
“The Avatar is dead, why can’t he just accept that we’re never going home?” you had cried out, pacing the floor, not realizing that you were in the wrong cabin. “Was he banished for being such a thick-headed numbskull? Yes! Was he banished unfairly? Also yes!”
A groan of frustration filled the air as you slammed your fist against the wall. “I can’t even hit him because he’s the Crown Prince!” An idea occurred to you, raising your head with a small smirk. “But we’re not in the Fire Nation anymore…”
Just then, you finally noticed the red decorations around the room. The sheer amount of colour was more than enough for you to realize that something was very, very wrong. Taking a small step back, you finally heard an odd noise behind you.
You quickly turned, almost frozen in place once you fully processed General Iroh sitting a short distance away, calmly grinding his ink tablet and dipping his brush. He showed no sign of distress at having been interrupted, raising his head with a collected yet wise gaze.
“I’m so sorry, General Iroh!” Finally recovering your senses, you dropped to the floor and bowed deeply with your forehead touching the ground. Even though you had been told of his generosity to his subordinates, it was never the same thing when faced in person.
“It’s quite alright. I understand. Besides, water has its destination.”
“Wha-?” You cut yourself off quickly, lowering your gaze (and head) back to the floor. Sure, you might be a defiant servant with the occasional accident, but it didn’t mean you wanted to lose your life. Besides, you had someone important waiting for you to return.
You couldn’t afford to die here.
“Once one’s patience has been exhausted and circumstances align, things will naturally come to a resolution or conclusion. It suggests that one should wait for the right moment to act decisively rather than continuing to tolerate an intolerable situation indefinitely,” he said wisely, setting down his brush and beginning to grind more ink.
“And as for hitting Prince Zuko, well, I’m sure that can be arranged.” You lifted your head in surprise, taken aback by his words. “He does need a sparring partner after all.”
“I would be honoured,” you managed to muster, slowly standing back up. A hint of mischief was in his smile as he raised a brow at your reaction. “I’m eternally grateful for your mercy, General.”
“Please, as you mentioned earlier, we’re no longer in the Fire Nation. You may refer to me as Uncle Iroh.” The mere reference to your earlier outburst shot a chill up your spine, and you tensed visibly in fear that he might be offended.
Warmth flooded your ears in embarrassment, wishing you had burst into anyone else’s cabin but his. Then again, no one would have been as kind as he was.
“I could never!”
“Then I will make it an order,” he stated simply, chuckling at the comical way your eyes widened.
You exited his room afterwards with a sense of bewilderment and awe, hands grasping your neck in disbelief that you still stood there alive. Walking back to your actual cabin this time, you recalled the new proverb he had spoken about. “Water reaches its destination…” you muttered under your breath with a shake of your head.
— — — — — —
If there's one thing you’ve learnt about Zuko, it’s that he abides by the rules to the point it makes you wonder how you’re even alive after insulting him to his face countless times. ‘Hothead’, ‘Poopface’, ‘Steamboat without an engine’, and ‘Hot air’ were among those insults that would’ve been enough to land you in jail if you’d been back home.
Wow, you realise, is that seriously the extent of my insults? I could do better.
However, what used to be such a stupid trait of his would prove useful in your plan to escape. A couple of barrels tucked away in the corner catch your eye upon preparing the number of bowls for the crew’s dinner. You’d already eaten your share of food, making sure to take the best bits of meat for yourself.
Wandering over out of curiosity, you grab the barrel and twist the top, surprised when you hear the liquid sloshing around inside. Moving closer to it and taking a whiff makes your nose wrinkle in disgust.
Baijiu. Insanely strong liquor that you’d been subject to drinking occasionally with Hui Ge. Sailors love it, elders even more so. The taste itself is horrible, but once you get past it, the burn is rather pleasant.
Your alcohol tolerance isn’t the highest, but it’s somewhat bearable with experience aiding you. Closing it, you shift it to a more comfortable position to introduce it to the crew for dinner. You just know they’d love this.
However, who’s to say that only the crew can drink it?
An idea takes root in your mind, glancing from the dining area to the barrel, then to the space at the head of the table. It lays empty, perfect for a single person whose authority commands the entire ship.
He probably wouldn’t have the highest alcohol tolerance, would he…? You strongly doubt that he’d ever consumed alcohol before, much less been anywhere near it. He could potentially be…a lightweight.
Using it to your advantage does seem like a rather spiteful move, but you’d already made your peace with it earlier. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do to go home again.
Nothing.
— — — — — —
“Is this…dinner?” Zuko stares down at the bowl you plop in front of him with a carefree smile. Faux cheerfulness masks the bitterness behind your expression, glancing at the other members of the crew who remain standing.
You frown at his clear scepticism of your cooking, squinting at the soup. It looks perfectly fine to you. Sure, maybe the meat’s a bit overdone, and maybe the soup might be a tad bit too spicy, but other than that, you couldn’t ask for anything better!
“Well, you could always…make it yourself.” Hui Ge’s shoulders stiffen instantly in the corner of your eye, but you ignore it in favour of crossing your arms and leaning on the table. What would Zuko do about your impertinence? Fire you?
Apparently, Zuko must have reached the same conclusion. He sighs, pretending not to have heard your snide reply. He picks up his chopsticks and begins to eat, a silent signal for the rest of his men to take their places around the table. You watch in satisfaction, heart thrumming in anticipation for what’s to follow.
He’s already feeling guilty enough for subjecting you to cooking for the entire crew. Even though you may not be friends, you’ve been around him long enough to pick up on subtle traits at the very least, and you intend to use it to your full advantage. So when you knock on his door and meekly ask him to have dinner with the rest of the crew, you’re initially met with doubt and uncertainty.
Once you bring up the argument and his own words said, however, his tightly-pressed lips hint at a grimace. As such, it took almost no time at all to convince him to head below deck. After all, what would he do? Turn down someone who used to be his ‘friend’?
Once everyone’s seated after taking their utensils and bowls of beef noodles, the time has come to be patient. “Not enough salt,” Hui Ge grunts softly. You elbow him under the table in response, though it doesn’t affect him in the slightest with his large build.
“I put salt, it’s just that you guys eat too many salty things that your taste buds are dead,” You scowl. Your response must’ve been funny though, as he lets out a rambunctious laugh right after.
It stuns Zuko momentarily, chopsticks paused halfway to his mouth as Hui Ge slaps a hand over his mouth. However, the prince shows no sign of discomfort, choosing instead to continue eating.
Eyeing the way he grips his chopsticks a little tighter, and how his eyes dart around slightly, is enough to confirm his discomfort. Grinning, you pretend to chuckle, finally breaking the ice as everyone else starts to relax a little more and talk about trivial things.
There’s still a sense of awkwardness in the air though, but you know just the solution to fix that. “Where’re you going?” Hui Ge asks, seemingly grabbing Zuko’s attention at the same time with his question.
“Well, considering that it’s Prince Zuko’s first time dining with everyone…”You trail off, rolling out a huge barrel. The alcoholic liquid inside sloshes back and forth with the motion. You lift it with help from Hui Ge, placing it down on the end of the table. “I think it calls for some form of celebration, don’t you think?”
You’re instantly met with cheers, but one of the men pipes up with a question. “But will Prince Zuko allow it?” The loud cheers die down quickly, everyone turning to look at the head of the table. You lean an elbow on the barrel top, raising a brow in interest.
“Yeah Prince Zuko, surely you’d let your subordinates drink a little bit. Especially after considering what they’ve all just been through. Interrogations and all.” You wave a lazy hand in the air, though your gaze is filled with pure defiance. Silence falls over the room, everyone waiting with bated breath for his final verdict.
After long last, he looks up from his bowl with a sigh. “You may drink.”
Everyone rejoices with his approval, a few soldiers running to grab the proper baijiu glasses and handing one to him with their head bowed. You get one of the crew to crack open the barrel top, using a ladle to scoop out the baijiu and pour it into its proper ceramic jug Uncle Iroh had so graciously provided at the beginning of the voyage.
Zuko picks up the glass with interest, turning it around in his hands as he inspects the delicate details. It’s honestly cheaply made, but at least it’s enough to intrigue him while you busy yourself pouring the alcohol for everyone.
Rambunctious laughter fills the cabin, everyone heading back for seconds. Helmets are off, Zuko’s at the head of the table, and food is making everyone feel at ease. It’s all falling into place.
Once the words painted on the barrel in bright red are proudly displayed upon moving the barrel to the middle of the table, excitement supercharges the air. “Praise to the Fire Nation!” A soldier calls out, lifting his baijiu glass in the air. Everyone else follows suit, and you pick up yours as well.
“It’s baijiu, Zuko. C’mon, we’re at sea! There’s no one here to punish us for trying a little sip.” Your coaxing seems to work, his narrowed eyes relaxing somewhat when you take a sip from his cup. You lick your lips with a satisfied smile, handing it to him. “See? Nothing to it.”
He brings the cup to his mouth and tilts it, swallowing the alcohol with a disgusted scowl. It’s easy to tell that he does feel some form of guilt towards you — he accepts your encouragement to drink without much hesitation after all.
Bright laughter and cheerful smiles seem to bring the atmosphere to a head, everyone now challenging each other in an attempt to see who can drink the most. You’re constantly by Zuko’s side, ensuring that he’s sipping away from his special little cup and occasionally eying the exit.
Escape is only a lifeboat away.
Time passes by so slowly, but it’s only a matter of minutes before Zuko’s already more or less wasted beside you. His head is on your shoulder mumbling things under his breath. You couldn’t care less about what they are.
What’s more important is the number of people that are passed out in the cabin, some lying on the floor while some are in each other’s laps.
You push him off you, the slightest bit of compassion in your conscience helping him lay down in his chair. His head lolls to the side, blinking groggily as he tries to regain his senses. Hiding a laugh, you adjust his arms so that you can move away successfully.
“Wh-wha-?” Wrinkling your nose, you fan the space in front of you to rid it of the alcohol in his breath. He’s going to wake up with one hell of a headache. You grin. Serves him right.
Heading toward the exit, you lean down and grab the bag you’d securely tucked behind the mess of extra chairs and objects they’d casually tossed aside.
The door swings open without a hitch, the slightest of creaks making you freeze. Fortunately, they’re all still sound asleep. The exhale of relief that leaves your chest almost makes you keel forward, every muscle in your body tense. If anyone caught you trying to escape, there’s no telling what would happen.
The lifeboats sit in the corner of the ship’s upper deck, gently rocking and swaying in the sea breeze. The rough texture of the ropes scratches against your hands mercilessly, as if warning you of the dangers ahead. The skin blisters and splits open on certain areas, drawing blood to the surface.
Ignoring all the pain, you climb inside and lower the lifeboat into the water. It hits the surface with a loud splash. Drops of seawater land on your face, and you use your shoulder to wipe them away roughly before grabbing a knife stowed away in your left boot.
Sawing through the ropes takes more time than you expect, especially since it’s already night. The moon itself is shielded by the clouds in the sky as if someone painted over it.
Surely some light wouldn’t hurt, right?
A small flame flickers on the tip of the ring finger and pinky on your left hand, guiding it toward the almost-sawed-through ropes. Gritting your teeth, you use the remaining strength you have to finish the job, panic spurring you forth when you hear a few shouts above you.
Finally, the ropes snap. You collapse on the boat, muscles aching with exhaustion. However, there’s no chance to rest. Distance is what you have to put between you and the ship. So you grab the oars, ignoring the pain in your hands that scream for mercy.
The waves seem to be on your side, gently guiding the boat in a specific direction. Maybe the spirits are truly with you today. Hunching down, you stash your bag between your calves and focus on rowing as fast as you can.
After what seems like hours, you set down the oars and allow a moment of peace, glancing around with the alertness you’d honed in the palace, having hidden behind corners and passageways when someone important came around.
The cold wind of the night brushes past your ear like a whisper, arms and legs starting to shiver. Luckily, you’d thought ahead and packed a change of clothes that had much duller colours compared to the prominent red fabric on your shirt.
After getting changed, you pull out the water tribe cloak Zuko had gifted you, wrapping it tightly around your cold body. Taking a deep breath, you stare into the abyss of darkness under the water surface.
It’s now or never, you suppose, dropping the clothes you’d changed out of into the sea, watching it sink down further and further until you can’t see their vibrant red.
The clouds overhead pass by, allowing the gentle beams of moonlight to shine down. They reflect off the waves, resembling jewels and gems you’d heard about in stories. It’s beautiful. Breathing in deeply, you lay down in the boat, staring up into the night sky.
You feel light. It’s as if a cannonball that had been strapped to your chest is gone, sunken below the sea so deep that it can no longer be found. Suddenly, breathing is a little easier, and thoughts are a little clearer.
A huff of disbelief falls from your lips, sitting up and running a hand through your hair. The ship is no longer within view, and it feels as though an invisible shackle has finally been unchained from your very being.
You’re free.
“I’m free,” you mumble to yourself as if saying it out loud would solidify it even more. Staring back at the dark horizon, giggles erupt from your chest and you take a moment to stand up. Cupping both hands around your mouth, you shout it into the sky, pure happiness in your voice.
After the mini-celebration, your excitement dies down and it’s time to decide which way to go. The vast darkness doesn’t even feel as scary as you thought it would, deciding to just row until you see land. Then, you can make your way back on foot or hijack a horse.
You stare at the grey clouds passing overhead, noting their ominous colour. That’s not a good sign, especially for someone who’s on a mere lifeboat out at sea, with little supplies and limited rations.
In this case, that someone is you.
“...I should’ve made a plan."
Summer moments
Starring Role - ACT V (C.S; S.MG)
title; you make me feel like i’m losin’ my virginity, the first time, every time when you’re touching me
summary:
We’ve all read about the infamous player who falls in love with the good girl that manages to make him change his ways…but what happens to the other girl? The pretty, popular one that has warmed his bed before the good girl came along and took him away.
Well, no one cares about her. After all, she’s just a side character.
It almost feels like a joke to play a part, when you are not the starring role in someone else’s heart.
pairing: choi san x reader, song mingi x reader (for now lol)
warnings: smut!!, mentions of dieting
wc: almost 14k
taglist: @joonsthethicc @marievllr-abg @cookiechristie @purenjuniverse @hwaist @littleparkseonghwa @hwasong @hwadump @hongshines @kitty4hwa @knisterlicht @flamingi @revehosh @gayliljoong @naiify @btshook @atzcoke @circusjanreblogs @baguette-atiny @kpopnightingale @xosim @raineadlr @ilikepalta @m4rsluv @gojocatt @smimingi @bubbleteakittyy @mingkiyoo @theactresstarringinurbadreams @mangishii @cryingaboutskz @y2ksturniolo @layzfeelit @hwazzling @shibera
buy me a coffee!
act iv / masterlist / act vi
A/N: smut is in italics for this part, there are a couple of more smut scenes but they’re really brief with as little descriptions as possible so i didn’t place a warning for those!
“It’s more like every electron in every atom in the universe paused, breathed in deeply, assessed the situation, and then reversed its course, spinning backward, or the other way, which was the right way all along. And afterward, the universe was exactly the same, but infinitely more right.”
-Lydia Netzer, How to Tell Toledo from the Night Sky
Keep reading
So I've been thinking in this acouple times a year but would anyone want to read or request some
Adventure of Merlin imagines
Mainly Aurther
? ? ?
Amy Dunne: *drops mic*
(This is probably my favorite rant in literature)
if your support of decolonization (anywhere) is predicated on your view of the colonized people as exceptionally peaceable, equitable, environmentally conscious/“in touch” with nature, or otherwise morally superior by your own personal standards, it’s not support. the only moral high ground colonized people need to justify decolonization is …. not being the colonizer
good read for teachers.
transreads.org is a fantastic resource for queer literature and history, and the best part is that it's FREE! There's no excuse to be ignorant when the information is being handed to you like this.
Leslie Feinberg also has all of hir works free online if you are particularly interested in lesbian history and literature. They are available as downloadable PDFs, and I believe they are on the internet archive aswell.
transreads.org also has a great section on Palestinian queer literature if that's something that interests you, it's important that we learn about queerness outside of America. I've dabbled in a few of these books and essays and poems and they're very cool! I really do enjoy learning about queerness in other cultures, I hope you all can find joy in that too!!
if you have any good queer resources that you'd like to share pls comment or add it to a reblog!! I'll probably make a bigger masterpost later, or perhaps a Google document.
Story Thieves Fans - What to say when someone asks you to do something impossible:
The Cat Incident
Description: You smuggle a cat into your dorm
Pairing: Namjoon x Reader (👀)
Word Count: 2.5k
Genre/Warnings: BFF!au, college!au, fluff, swearing, that’s basically it my dudes uwu
|Crackhead Confessions Masterlist|
a/n: okay listen hoes, I’ve had this sat in my drafts for months and I knOW this could’ve been a lot better but please accept this drabble anyway along with my undying love for Kim Namjoon <3 @ddaenggtan I’m sorry for edging you about this for so long and @spookitokki thank you for peer pressuring me into finishing this, I’m lub u owo
~
dumbass whore❤️: i’m getting a cat
Namjoon stares blankly at the text he just received from you, he learned a long time ago to keep his read receipts off because it made it easier to ghost you whenever he decided he didn’t have the patience to deal with whatever crackhead shit you were pulling on that day in particular, but today his curiosity got the better of him.
smartass whore❤️: where are you getting this cat from?
You smile when you receive a reply from Namjoon, this means he couldn’t ignore you later when you would need his help sneaking your new friend into the residence building. You were currently scrolling through listings for free cats on Craigslist, and yeah sure most of them were sketchy but you had a car, a knife, and a stupid amount of courage, and nothing was going to stop you from getting your new friend.
You’ve already emailed a few owners asking whether or not their cats were available, but when you come across an ad for a pretty tuxedo cat you knew that you were destined to have her. The owner was mother to a young girl who’d developed a strong allergy to the cat so she was looking to give her beloved pet away asap, which was perfect for you because you were looking to get this cat tonight or not at all.
dumbass whore❤️: i found a free cat online
dumbass whore❤️: i’m gonna go pick her up tonight
Namjoon doesn’t reply for a while, but it’s enough time for you to get an email back from the owner containing her address and the time you should come over to pick up the cat. She advises you that the only time she’ll be available for you to come over would be at 10PM later that evening, and since it was already 8PM you decided to go kill some by going pet shopping.
You were already leaving the student lot when your phone starts to blow up in your purse, but like a responsible adult you don’t check your messages until you were safely parked in the pet store parking lot twenty minutes later.
smartass whore❤️: bitch no
Keep reading
Bubbles & Cuddles
Description: You show Jungkook how much you love him
Pairing: Jungkook x Reader
Word Count: 923
Genre/Warnings: established relationship, fluff, soft soft fluffy fluff, nudity, like one cuss word.
a/n: This is the softest thing I’ve ever written I literally teared up while I was writing this because it made me feel so fucking lonely lmao # single # foreveralone. Anyway, enjoy! This is unedited like always bc I’m a slut.
Jungkook was a passionate lover, and just like with everything he does he puts his entire heart and soul into your relationship, but even then, he’s bound to have his off days. Today was one of those days, your boyfriend had come home from his part time job in a horrible mood citing one particularly shitty custumer who screamed at him over a simple mix-up of his order. Waiting tables was already grueling work, especially at the busy upscale steak house Jungkook worked at, but to have a customer scream at him in front of the other guests and staff? The poor boy was almost in tears when he stumbled into your waiting arms, and that’s when you decided that today you would wait on the lovely boy hand and foot.
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Im almost unable to swoon over characters in dutch (native language.) i swear if i read legendborn in dutch i would find almost everyone 'eh.' im reading a dutch book again and it's always a jumpscare dude no one is attractive in dutch 🧍🏼♀️
mess with a jin stan? instant drag. no filter. you are dealing with real-time payback on two legs. jin stans have nothing, and i repeat, absolutely nothing to lose, they’re loaded guns, they majored in punchline, anything you do backfires the exact way. they’re fair, but you’ll still look like a born fool. the post you’re called out in will be tagged ‘hall of fame 🌹😌’ after a week.
mess with a jungkook stan? you are napoleon at waterloo, my friend. these people are organized like the mafia. look at how they’re dressed like snipers, goth priests and people who got blackbelts in preschool.
mess with a jimin stan? they will complain and post emoji walls until their entire feed is riled up against you. their PTT (Pupper Tantrum Technology) is 100% effective. a crossed jimin stan morphs into a sadistic MI6 boss who knows your utmost vulnerable spot. they’re friends with your enemies and friends with your friends at the same time. they rule the dms and discord. you lost before you even started. the amount of leverage surpasses any politician’s. this. is. war.
mess with a hoseok stan? if you enjoy decade-long guilt, go ahead.
mess with a namjoon stan? they already know you’re just sad and jaded and will write an empathetic psychoanalysis about it. they mean well which makes you even more sad and jaded. their description of your childhood trauma and coping mechanisms is painfully accurate. you fall into an existential crisis. which only RM’s music can pull you out of. which means you will be surrounded by even more namjoon stans taking you apart. so, listen. don’t do it. RM’s apostles are a gang with thigh kinks disguised as a mom friend self-help group. prepare to get killed with kindness, XD emojis, and elusive ancient knowledge. they’ll probably compare you to a pitiful mythological figure.
mess with a taehyung stan? you’re air, lowest place in their gucci ranking, and cursed with a grudge until the pyramids erode to dust.
mess with a yoongi stan? the last time someone managed to make them react, fossils were still alive. they just let you do your thing and watch. so, you think you won. but i have to remind you they’re fans of a guy who dropped a video with fist fights, gunshots, and rolling heads out of nowhere. so i’m telling you. after they’re over their awkwardness (step 1) and snap out of being high on his cute latest selca (step 2), yoongi stans will invent a rain of cuss words out of your worst pet names and trademark it (step 3), confiscate your entire clout and adorable cat videos (step 4), and then hex a gloomy future on you because he is their witch cult leader (step 5). out of all bts stans, they’re the smuggest and most systematic about your destruction — what do you expect from a mob of bisexuals morbidly obsessed with anime sword fighting — so whatever vindictive scheme will hit you is postponed by 9 months but will strip your bank account to three dollars.
Since it is Pride Month, keep an eye on Gaza and Palestine, and keep educating yourselves on the intersectional struggle. Queer liberation is a decolonial process. Queer liberation is an essential part of Palestine's liberation!
