Aaaaah I Love This So Much - Tumblr Posts

I got a very nice ask from @charsimsalot asking about my process for taking screenshots, but before I get to that I wanted to share some of my favorite pre-Simblr screenies. These were stories I was making solely for myself, and I feel like I owe a lot to them. I didn't know it at the time, but they were my practice runs for everything I'm doing now! I'm very glad I can always look back at them. Yes, there are things I would have done differently, but they mostly fill me with warm and fuzzy memories. I love all these pixels very much and would like to return to their legacy eventually. 🥰

I'm always reluctant to share links because I feel like it's a little embarrassing I was doing so much for almost no one to see. But it's an important little piece of me, so if you're curious, here's where you can actually read their stories. You can even see how dodgy my graphic design skills were in the banners, lol!

Stranger Than Fiction A Place to Call Home The Future of Sulani A Magical Bond

More rambling on my current process and how I feel like it's evolved to come, but give me a couple days to put it together! ❤️

baby steps

pairing: husband!bang chan x fem!reader

genre: fluff. parent au!

word count: 2.8k~

warnings: reader is written to be afab (mentions of pregnancy) + reference to reader with gendered terms like mom. food mentions. idol au for silly purposes. kind-of a rewrite of a wonwoo fic. girl dad chris (yes this needs a warning!!!) no proofreading, intentional lowercase.

daisy’s notes: girl dad chris brainrot is severe……………. i am just thinking too much abt him……. <3

chris’s side of the bed had long since gone cold when you finally woke up that morning.

Continuar lendo

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀・1.2k / 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴・chan x gn!reader / 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲𝘀・fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship, berry being the perfect girl she is. inspired by these bubble messages and @cosmic-railwayxo's treachery. (love u deni)

𝟬𝟲:𝟯𝟲 — “Where’s my baby, hm?”

This is the question on Chan’s lips the moment he lets go of the bedroom door, closed with agonizing caution as to not wake the figure still curled up under the duvet inside.

It’s early. Early enough so the walls are colored a rich beige by new rays of sunlight, so his footsteps are the only sound reverberating around the hallways when he commences his search. Early enough to evidence how he was only bestowed a few hours of sleep before waking up with a budding headache and leaden eyelids.

But he doesn’t mind the lack of rest, not this time. Not when there’s a wad of love with a freckled snout and floppy ears under the same roof for the first time in too long.

“Berry?” Chan calls, his voice tattered and low, like sandpaper. He rakes his eyes over the spots he remembers to be her favorite. Maybe they’ve changed since he was last home. Maybe everything has changed since he was last home.

The thought causes a familiar pang to go off within him, poignant and powerful, but the quiet scuffle of paws against hardwood takes the edge off the guilt straightaway.

Chan finds the beginnings of a smile on his lips before she even rounds the corner, and when she does, well. His grin might as well split his face down the middle. He’s on his knees in seconds, outstretched hands rediscovering home in the puppy’s silky fur as she clambers onto him with blown pupils and excited pants.

His adoring coos of her name falter into muted laughter, which then fragments into a sob. His vision narrows to his precious girl and then starts to blur. When Berry climbs up to give his cheek a few happy licks, she’s fascinated by its saltiness.

You emerge from the bedroom a little over an hour later. Sleeping is hard enough when you’re jetlagged, and even harder when there’s only mattress where you remember Chan’s warm solidity to be. The fabric of Chan’s hoodie suppresses your vocalization of his name as you ungracefully pull it over your torso, still struggling to rouse your body from sleep.

Your beckon produces no response. You wrap a hand around the nearest door frame and peek your head into the living room, a little more alert now.

“Chan? Baby?”

You feel silly. How many visits has it been for you to still feel this nervous, wandering around Chan’s family home? Yet you undoubtedly are, whether because of your absentee boyfriend or that his whole family is a few walls away. You pad through the silent abode with mounting trepidation and intense care to not make any more sound than necessary.

Then you reach the family room and instantly come to a standstill, hands drifting to your sides, features deliquescing to a soft smile. 

Lying on the nearest couch is your boyfriend, head propped up on top of his elbow, his fluttering lashes and gently oscillating shoulders indicating that he’s asleep. You can’t see his face below his eyes, as he has his nose nuzzled into the Cavalier spaniel resting securely in his arms, snoring tacitly into his sleeve, slumbering as deeply as her human companion.

You’ve been stumbling upon Chan sleeping in unexpected places for the better part of two years now, but you still liquefy every time as if it’s the first. These are the moments, you’ve come to realize, when you can care for him in ways he would never let you while conscious: a lift of his laptop off his thighs, a brush of your lips against his hairline, a cardigan draped lightly over his back. These are the moments when you understand in full how far you’ve come together, for him to trust you with his exhaustion with such transparency, to be so vulnerable as to leave you with memories of him that he’ll never have.

Despite your prolonged experience, it’s hard to describe what exactly you’re feeling in this moment. The mere mention of Berry has always dissipated the shadows that veil his face, has always chased off the burdens that cling to his spine. How do you put it into words, seeing your happiness at his happiest?

It suddenly occurs to you that the window beside them is cracked open. That, and you spotted extra quilts in the top shelf of Chan’s closet last night.

Chan’s eyelids lift when he feels the gentle weight of a blanket fall upon his body; so do the corners of his lips, when the culprit materializes before him. Sitting on the edge of the couch, a hand hovering over his frame, face creased into a flinch.

“Sorry,” you whisper, closing the distance between your fingers and the curve of his neck. The pad of your thumb moves over his cheekbone like a willow branch skimming water. “I didn’t think that would wake you up.”

Both of you up, you mentally amend, seeing as Berry has noticed your presence and is wagging her tail with enough vigor for it to thump against Chan’s chest. He lets her wriggle out of his arms and into yours; you emit a noise of glee and gather her into you.

If only you had seen the expression he wears then, watching your eyes scrunch closed at the frenzied kisses she presses to your face. His first love and his very last.

“Don’t apologize,” he answers. “I’m the one who should be sorry for leaving you in bed, I just…”

His voice trails off, but he knows by the softness in your irises when they meet his that you already know.

You move like clockwork. Chan presses up into the back of the couch, the quilt’s edge lifted in wordless invitation. It is your chest that Berry burrows into this time, the top of her head sliding into the space between your chin and the sofa’s cushion. It is Chan’s chest that you’re folded into, the arms around your waist like the coziest of cabins in a sun-spattered wood. It is the back of your neck that he nuzzles his nose into, but not before he litters gossamer kisses across the expanse of skin, as if printing the notes to a lullaby he knows well.

Everything is warm, so warm, so right, and jetlag starts to feel like a distant trouble.

You open your mouth while teetering on the cusp of a dream.

“Baby?” 

He hums into you, listening.

“Always be happy, okay?”

You don’t notice the solitary tear that traverses the bridge of his nose, lands in the cotton of your hood, and dyes the bunched-up fabric a few shades darker. You don’t notice how his embrace around you tightens marginally, like how one’s eyes can’t help but find their dearest possession when the building’s on fire.

“Okay,” he whispers, and kisses your nape once more. Your and Chan’s eyes close together. Berry licks your chin again, then follows suit.

(Another hour later, Chan’s parents walk into the family room. They decide to go out to breakfast for fear of making too much noise in the kitchen, Chan’s mother blotting away tears as she ducks into shotgun, Chan’s father laughing at her sentimentality while blinking back his own.

Another few hours later, Hannah takes maybe fifty-some photographs of the triad of unmoving heaps occupying their couch. Then she grumbles at Berry for being dead asleep at eleven in the morning: “Those two arrived here from across the world yesterday. What’s your excuse?”)

🔖 (send an ask or reply to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@skzms・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・ @automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten・@newhope8

© 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘅 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support.

Playing with channies hair to get him to sleep 🥺🥺🥺

He's touchy on the best of days, but on bad days... he's practically attached to you. From the moment you walk in the door he's wrapping his arms around you and pressing his warm lips to the crook of your neck, "Missed you," he murmurs, exhaustion evident in his almost slurred speech.

He follows you around as you prepare for bed, hovering close by when he can't hold or touch you directly. His footsteps are heavy, dragging along the floor as his eyes fall closed periodically. "Go to bed," you encourage as you tug your clothes over your head and toss them in the laundry basket. "I'll be there soon."

He blinks sleepily at you, then — with a small shake of his head — he follows you into the bathroom. His hair is still a little wet from earlier. He doesn't need another shower. He joins you just to feel you close, pressing his chest to your back and dropping lazy, wet kisses to your skin as you attempt to complete your routine around him.

Afterwards, as you're attempting to dress, he tugs you down into the already undisturbed bedsheets before you can get more than a t-shirt over your head. Then he curls himself around you, laying his head on your chest and draping his leg over yours. "Missed you," he mumbles again. They seem to be the only words he's capable of now.

You tangle your fingers in his slightly damp hair, messed by your brief attempt to dry him off with a towel. It curls a little like this, one part by his temple almost forming a full ringlet. You wrap it around your finger gently, fingertips scratching lightly against his temple in the process. "You really should sleep without me."

He hums, a lazily acknowledgement that you've spoken.

"Channie," you chastise, "I mean it. You're too exhausted all the time to wait for me like this."

He turns his head slightly, allowing him to press his lips just above your collar bone. "Hair, please," he says, whisper-soft.

puppy love - modern!cregan stark x fem!reader

Summary: Searching for peace in a quiet town takes an unexpected turn when your neighbor’s dog decides you have to be his new best friend. One look at the neighbor and you’re totally fine with getting a two-for-one deal.

Disclaimer: English isn't my first language!

Word count: 2.5k

A large painting of a wolf pack hung over the fireplace. (Y/N) stared at it, biting her lip.  

She wasn’t even sure she knew how to light the damn fire.

Was this whole thing a bad idea? Trading in her modern King’s Landing studio for a tiny house in Winterfell? A big city girl in a small town. Yeah, she might’ve officially lost her mind.

“I hope it’s to your liking, dear,” came the sharp but grounding voice of Mrs. Glover, snapping her back to reality. The elderly landlady was already fastening her fur coat.

“It’s... cozy,” she replied with her best smile. Didn’t want to admit to herself that she was feeling wildly out of place.

“Good.” Mrs. Glover nodded, satisfied. “Now, remember, once the snow hits, you’ll need to keep that fireplace going. Northern frost is a bitch.” She placed the house keys on the small wooden table. “Rent’s due by the tenth.”

“I’ll remember,” (Y/N) said quickly. “Thanks again for lowering the price.”

Mrs. Glover waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t even mention it. I’m in a hurry to get to Essos, and these silly umbrella cocktails are calling my name.”

The old woman paused at the door. “You sure you can handle moving everything in on your own? I have to head out, but the Stark boy lives just across the street. Strong lad, good arms, I’m telling ya. Handsome, too. He’d help, if you ask nicely.” She winked. “If I were only a few decades younger…”

“All good, ma’am,” (Y/N) cut in, her face heating up. “I don’t have much. A few boxes, really.”

“Well, if you say so, Miss Independent. Good luck!”

With that, Mrs. Glover disappeared with a screech of tires in her flaming red car, leaving (Y/N) standing alone in front of her new home.  

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She could absolutely do this. She’d unpack before sundown, get settled, and everything would be fine. Better than fine, even. This place was going to be a fresh start. An escape from the Big Disaster, also known as her last relationship.

She’d find the meaning of life in the wild North or however that saying went.

She was currently standing in front of her open trunk, debating what to take first. And then something licked her hand.

Slowly, she turned her head, still not fully registering what was happening, and met the gaze of big brown eyes belonging to a fluffy creature as black as the night. A light pink tongue paused halfway, as if waiting for her reaction.

“Oh, gods,” she whispered, frozen in place. “Are you a dog or a wolf? Please, be a dog. A friendly one.”

Her new friend barked in response and rolled onto its back in the universal gesture of please love me.

“You’re a dog,” she sighed in relief, dropping to her knees to give him a good belly rub. “A boy, huh? A beautiful one. But where did you come from?”

Animals don’t talk apparently. The girl glanced around instead. She’d left the gate open, sure, but he had to come from somewhere.

The dog let out a low grumble, tail thumping against the ground. She scratched his head, laughing softly. After a few minutes, he got up, shook off the dust, and placed one paw on her car.

“I’m moving into this house,” she informed him, picking up one of the smaller boxes from the trunk. She liked talking to pets, even though they couldn’t offer much in the way of conversation. “I’ve got a lot to do, but after that, we could—”

And just like that, the dog vanished as suddenly as he’d appeared. (Y/N) stood there, blinking at the empty yard.

“Bye?” she called out, shaking her head in disbelief. He probably went home.

She continued unpacking, but on her third trip to the car, she saw him again, this time with a tennis ball clamped between his teeth. He had so much hope in his eyes.

“Do you want to play?” she asked, amused. The moment she said the magic word, his ears perked up in excitement. “Where are you even from?”

She should have been unpacking. She knew that. But how could she say no to a cutie like him?

“Good boy!” (Y/N) laughed as the dog leapt into the air and caught the ball in his mouth, mid-throw.

“Excuse me, is he harassing you, lady?” she suddenly heard a low, masculine voice behind her.

The dog dropped the ball from his mouth, adopting a tragic, martyr-like expression.

She spun around, heart pounding, and found herself face-to-face with a man who looked like a classic Northern lord from the past. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark, wild hair and a beard that framed a strong jaw. He had these gray eyes that were both piercing and soft.

“He’s mine,” the stranger explained with a half-smile, clearly catching her staring.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to steal him, just so you know” (Y/N) finally spoke up, cheeks flushing. “He just... showed up. With the ball. So, I thought…”

Her awkward explanation was interrupted by his laugh, loud and kind.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t think you were kidnapping him,” he said, hands in his pockets. “I was just making sure he wasn’t bothering you. He must’ve jumped the fence. I saw you two from across the street.”

Ah. The young Stark. 

“No, not at all,” she reassured him, finally getting her words in order. “He’s well-behaved. What’s his name?”

The dark cloud of fur came closer and laid at her feet, cementing their new alliance.

The man hesitated for a moment. (Y/N) looked at him expectantly.

“Frosty,” he finally mumbled, looking at the ground.

It was the girl’s turn to laugh.

“You named this huge black wolf-ass looking creature Frosty?” she asked, scratching the dog behind his ears. He was absolutely delighted.

“He likes the cold,” Stark offered with a small shrug, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “And you are…?”

“(Y/N). I’d shake your hand, but I’m doing something important. Nice to meet you though.” 

“Cregan,” he said, placing a hand over his heart with a grin. “Nice to meet you too. Frosty’s obviously on cloud nine. He’s usually not that trusting. Friendly with other dogs, sure, but picky with people. You must be special.”

Her heart swelled at those words. What an honor.

“He’s my first friend in Winterfell.”

Cregan smiled and looked at her car, noticing the boxes still inside.

“So, renting from Mrs. Glover?”

“Yeah, I just moved in from King’s Landing today.”

“City girl, yeah?” He whistled, leaning against the side of the car with a thoughtful look. “You’ve come a long way. But hey, I’m not complaining. We’re neighbors now. I live across the street.”

(Y/N) flashed a smile. “I’m not complaining either.”

“Please feel welcome to ask if you ever need anything. I’ll give you my number, just in case.”

Smooth, Cregan, smooth.

Rolling up his sleeves, Cregan walked over and hefted the biggest box out of the trunk like it was nothing.

“Now, let’s help you with that.”

That old hag was right. He had good arms.

The Northern frost was, indeed, a bitch.

But the warmth of the fire, the soft couch beneath her, and Frosty’s massive, fluffy body draped across her lap made the afternoon bearable. (Y/N)’s hand had long since gone numb from petting the dog, but his fur was addictive.

Her phone suddenly rang, breaking the peace. Frosty, naturally, didn’t move a bit. Not even a nuclear explosion could wake him.

Sighing, (Y/N) reached for her phone on the table, already knowing who it was. 

Helaena Targaryen.

“How’s the grass-touching and vet-seducing going?” came Helaena’s voice, sugary sweet and teasing, before (Y/N) even had a chance to say hello.

“First of all, the grass is frozen solid,” (Y/N) shot back, shifting slightly to keep her lap from completely losing circulation. “And second, again. There is no seducing happening.”

“Sure, smarty-pants. And you’re totally not babysitting his dog right now.”

“I mean,” (Y/N) sighed with a reluctant smile. “said dog kind of invited himself here. And Cregan gave him a backpack full of snacks and toys, like he was dropping him off at daycare.”

He had also scolded him earlier for having dirty paws, saying that’s not how he raised him. The dog liked her, and she liked both him and his owner. Cregan turned out to be a veterinarian with a small clinic in town. He was working late today, so she had offered to look after his friend. Home office benefits.

Hel snorted loudly on the other end. “Oh my god, he’s ridiculous. I love it. By the way, I did a tarot reading for you,” she announced, suddenly taking on a serious and spiritual tone. “The message is clear. Go after Cregan, let him chop wood and start the fire in your—”

(Y/N) groaned, facepalming. “You’ve got to stop. I’m not ready for this. And he’s just kind.”

“Kind of having a crush on you. You’re still hurting after that Gwayne situation, aren’t you?”

The mention of his name made her feel sick. “It’s not about him. I’m just... done with dating for a while.”

“Well, he was a moron,” Helaena said bluntly, her tone shifting from teasing to fierce in a heartbeat. “For the record, we all stopped talking to him. Aemond wanted to beat him up, but I told him karma would do the job.”

(Y/N) winced, though she appreciated Targaryens’ loyalty. “I’m tired of men.”

“You’re not tired of men,” Helaena corrected her. “You’re tired of idiots. Is Cregan an idiot?”

She knew he wasn’t.

“Hey, if you don’t make a move, I will.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Kidding. But please, please, for the love of gods, make him chop some wood for you.”

A strange noise woke her up.

It sounded like something was scratching at the front door. (Y/N) rubbed her eyes, groaning as she crawled out from under the warm blanket. A quick glance at the digital clock. 5:58 a.m. The sun hadn’t even thought about rising yet. The scratching persisted.

“If this is some kind of monster, I swear I’m not in the mood,” she mumbled, her voice heavy with sleep. Then came a familiar bark, and she frowned.

Frosty?

She cracked the door open, and sure enough, there on the porch stood Cregan’s dog, barely visible in the early morning gloom. Frosty barked again, hopped down the steps, and turned to look at her expectantly.

He wanted her to follow him.

“Hold on, buddy, let me grab my shoes,” she promised, her voice a mix of anxiety and sleepiness. She hurriedly slipped on her shoes, her mind racing. What if something had happened to Cregan? Was this a “dog leads the way to an emergency” situation? With a quick grab of her hoodie, she went after the dog. Frosty was checking over his shoulder to make sure she was keeping up.

In no time, they arrived at Cregan’s house. The door was slightly ajar, and her heart raced as she stepped inside.

“Cregan?” she called out hesitantly.

“Yeah?” came his voice from the right, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

Cregan Stark stood by the kitchen counter, looking mildly confused with a steaming cup of coffee in hand. He was clad only in gray sweatpants, the silver wolf pendant around his neck glinting in the soft light.

“Are you okay?” she blurted out, still trying to catch her breath.

“Feeling great. Want some coffee?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

(Y/N) pulled out a chair and plopped down, staring at Frosty, who was wagging his tail like he had just saved the day.

“Am I a joke to you?” Frosty tilted his head, giving her an innocent look. "He came to my door like some heroic rescue dog. I thought—” She sighed, running a hand through her messy hair. “I thought something had happened to you. I figured you’d, I don’t know, passed out or something. I’m pretty sure I just aged ten years.”

Cregan cast a side glance at Frosty, lips twitching as he tried to keep a straight face. "Frosty, man, what’s the deal?” he asked the dog, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

(Y/N) narrowed her eyes. “This is not funny.”

“You really got that worried?” 

“Yes! And here you are, in perfect shape. Alive,” she muttered, her eyes trailing over his very much alive form, pausing on his very defined abs. “And half-naked. I might cry.”

That did it—Cregan turned away quickly, but she saw the grin he was trying to hide as he moved to make her coffee.

“Should I put on a shirt?” he asked, a little more serious now, glancing back over his shoulder. “If it bothers you.”

“No, you’ve got some nice muscles on your back,” she blurted out without thinking. Frosty rested his head on her knee, looking up at her with his big eyes. “And you,” she added, giving the dog a playful glare, “are lucky you’re cute.”

Cregan placed the mug in front of her.

“Thanks for the compliment,” he said with a smirk.

“Thanks for the coffee,” she replied, feeling the tension melt a little.

Cregan sat across from her, watching her for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face.

“You look good,” he said finally, sounding genuine. “Want some breakfast?”

Suddenly, it hit her. She was here, no makeup, hair a mess, and still in her pajama pants. She cringed, remembering her earlier comment about his fucking back.

“Uh, no, I’m good,” she mumbled, suddenly self-conscious.

“Dinner, then? Later. With me. I know a place. If you’d like, of course,” Cregan suggested quickly, his tone slightly tentative.

(Y/N)’s eyes widened in surprise. Was he... blushing?

“Are you asking me out?”

He let out a soft laugh. “I’ve been trying to ask you out since the first time I saw you. Not sure if you noticed,” he admitted. Just then, Frosty went up to him and nudged the owner’s hand with his nose. “Oh, great, emotional support,” Cregan muttered, scratching the dog’s head affectionately.

(Y/N) couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking her head in disbelief. “Yes.”

“Yes?” he echoed, hopeful.

“Yes,” she affirmed, her heart racing. “Just let me know what time, and I’ll dress up.”

He flashed her that charming grin, but then his expression shifted. “I’ve got an appointment with a chihuahua that bites people. I’m actually not sure if I’m gonna make it.”

She liked him so much.

“Do you think it’d be alright if I kissed you before the date, Cregan?” 

“Oh, please do,” Stark replied, voice and expression desperate.

Without overthinking it, she ended up sitting on his lap, being kissed like there was no tomorrow. Held by the strongest pair of arms that were also so gentle.

Frosty placed an approving paw on Cregan’s leg.

Well done, human.