#emotions are messy and no one is perfect and things can spill

[pinkseas]

girl help i am having Thoughts

[astroboots]

Superhuman stamina

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: The dangers of dating a man with superhuman stamina is that it's going to leave you sore.

Content: Miguel is a demanding menace. Overstimulation. Multiple orgasm. Squirting.

Word Count: 1.4k

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

The thing about dating a man that has been genetically imprinted with the DNA of a spider is that one of the side-effects of such an occurrence means he has superhuman stamina.

It's something Miguel had told you in the early days of your relationship, listing out this characteristic as just another facet of his personality, much in the way someone would say that they're a Virgo on their Tinder profile.

You hadn't thought much of it at the time, too distracted by the list of characteristics that preceded it: retractable talons? telescopic night vision? ORGANIC WEBBING?!

In retrospect, that was naïve. The talons don't really affect your day to day. They do come out when Miguel's emotional state is particularly elevated, which has lead to incidents. Like that time you had to replace your new purchased armchair, when you were on top and post-sex your new armchair looked like it had been mauled by an escaped zoo lion.

The telescopic night vision? Incredibly convenient at night when there's a blackout and you need to find your cell phone.

And the webbing... the less said about that the better, really.

But now that you've dated as long as you have, the superhuman stamina, you realize is by far the one that has the most profound consequences on your life.

At the time you hadn't realized that those enhanced attributes weren't limited to aerial battles against the latest villain of the week when he was fighting mutant lizards, or rhino men. It also haunts you in the privacy of your bedroom.

Because this is what happens when you date a man with superhuman stamina: You'll often oversleep and barely make it on time to work. On most days you've lost your voice. You'll be sore a lot.

And the thing about dating Miguel specifically is that the man is stubborn, relentless, demanding and that too extends into your bedroom.

"Fuck, Miguel, I can't."

"'Course you can, nena, look at how well you're taking me," he says as he stares down at the space between your legs where you and him join. Where you're spread snugly around him. Where his thick cock, slick with you both, disappears into your cunt then re-emerges.

It's wet. It's messy, the sheets beneath you soaked and sticky, from the last three (four?) rounds. As snug of a fit his thick cock is inside you, he's filled you so full there's no space left for you to fit what he's spilled inside you, over and over again. It keep leaking out with each press and demanding thrust as he buries his cock inside you as deep as he goes.

You shake your head even though you know it's useless. Pleading with him has never gotten you anywhere before. You don't know why you think it's going to make a difference now.

"Please, I-I can't-- nngh, too much," you plead. You whine. You sob.

"Shh, nena, it's okay," he hushes. Again with the cooing. Again with the sweet little nicknames, but he's not showing mercy, his hand moving down from your hip, down between your legs, until his thumb presses down on your clit.

Electricity crackles through the length of your spine. Your back arches, lifting off the bed, you don't know if you are chasing into his touch or running away from it: the first? latter? both? neither.

You can't form a coherent thought anymore. It's good and too much, and your brain is short-circuiting from it all.

"There you go, see? Doing so good. Look how pretty you are taking me."

Even in the dim light of your bedroom, you can see his expression clearly. Eyes a piercing crimson red, the corners of his canine teeth peeking out from his self-satisfied smile.

He bends down, nearly folding you in half as he presses his cock as deep as it goes, until he's nudging at that sweet and perfect spot that has your vision go white and blinding behind your eyes.

Sweet, sharp ache scrapes close to your bones at the sensation of him filling you again. The way he stretches you to your limits, until you've forgotten how to breathe, and may very well be the death of you.

It's there again. The oppressive warmth that swirls sweetly in your stomach as a warning. Tears prickle your eyes as everything in you squeezes tight at the sensation.

Oh shit, it's--

"Fuck that's it nena. That's it. Come on my cock again. Come on it and I'll fill you up."

It rises in you. A pressure that builds and builds and builds, and robs you of your breath until you have nothing left to give. It's overwhelming, the way the pleasure burns at every one of your nerve endings, until your face tingles with a numbness and you can no longer feel your legs.

"Mi-Miguel," you stutter, "I can't--"

"Yes you can."

The pressure is still there, expanding with an ominous volume, and no, he's wrong. You can't. Something is different. This isn't like before. You squirm underneath him, feet planted against the mattress for leverage.

"Settle down," he says, but you don't know how you're supposed to do that when your entire body has been wounded so tight you think the whole of you are going to snap.

You shake your head frantically, sobbing with a raw burn in your throat as you thrash underneath him, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation. Oh fuck-- it's too much.

Oh god, you can't-you can't-you can't--

You raise your palms against his firm chest, pressing back, in a half-formed attempt to make him ease up, but it only spurs him on. One arm loops behind your back, lifting you from the mattress to meet his hips as he snaps them into you. And oh fuck!

It hits something devastating inside. A pin prick of pleasure that strikes every nerve in your body. It hits a frequency that makes your teeth shatter, every cell in your skull vibrate. Your leg kicks out, body twisting and turning to get away from the overwhelming sensation.

"Callate," you hear his warm strained breath in your ear.

His free hand locks around your wrists, pinning them to the side, then he's lunging forward, his mouth pressed to your shoulders and you can feel the sharp warning of his fangs resting on your skin. "Calm down, or I'm gonna bite you."

You still, shivering as his hips pulls back, then he hits that devastating spot again and again.

Every muscle in you locks up tight until you can't move and for a moment you wonder if he really did bite down. But you can still feel his mouth on your throat, his tongue lapping gently at your sweat-soaked skin until the whole of your neck tingles.

He doesn't go easy on you, thrusting into you with the same demanding pace as before, and God. The sensation is heavy and ominous like nothing else you've felt before. Large and looming with nowhere else to go, and there's nothing you can do to prevent it, and you know that if this doesn't stop, if Miguel doesn't stop, then all of you are going to burst.

You open your mouth, trying to warn him, but all that comes out is the first syllable.

"Miii--" The rest dies in a wail, and you realize it's already too late. The pressure shatters and breaks.

You come with a rush of wetness that spills out of you. It soaks everything, your thighs and his, drenching his stomach and drips down against the sheets to join the mess that's already there.

Everything sounds distant like you're pulled under water. You can barely even register Miguel's voice in your ear. "Oh shit, are you-- fuck, that's --"

He sounds surprised. But he doesn't stop. Miguel fucks you through it. Your climax and his, with frantic thrusts, until finally he settles into a slow and gentler pace.

When you come back to yourself, he's kneeling above you, his large bodyframe looming over yours.

"Fuck, babe..."

He palms at his softening cock, glistening wet with your mess as he stares down at you with darkened eyes. Slowly jerking the length of it with a lazy pace that has you mesmerized. It twitches in his grip with interest, and you know it's not going to take long before he's ready to go again.

"One more time," Miguel says. "Let's see if we can make you do it again."

Jesus fucking Christ

Your head drops down to your pillow with exhaustion.

The thing about dating a man with superhuman stamina is that it may very well kill you.

Dedication & Credits: To my beloved @thirstworldproblemss who I hope is driving safely across the country through the mountains I love youuuuuuuuuuuuuu.

And to poor @guruan who I woke up with my other fic and robbed her of her beauty sleep.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[angelic-dew]

˚₊‧꒰ morning star.☆ ꒱ ‧₊˚ . !

✧༉‧₊˚୨ 💌 ୧・request :: do you write for obey me? if you do, can I request Lucifer fluff? I've been craving this man vgfhdghhc if not I understand! Please stay hydrated!!

✧༉‧₊˚୨ 💫 ୧・author's note :: I've been WAITING for an obey me request! I love this game so much and nightbringer! Anyways thank you, I wish the same to you <3

✧༉‧₊˚୨ 🌟 ୧・summary + word count :: just a morning cuddle session with your one and only beloved demon + 913 words. fluff.

✧༉‧₊˚୨ ✨ ୧・pairing :: Lucifer x G/N reader {you/your pronouns!}

✧༉‧₊˚୨ ✖ ୧・trigger warnings :: grammatical errors, nothing else I can put my finger on though!

There you and Mr. Morningstar himself were, snuggling up to each other like there's no tomorrow within the comfort and constellation of his spacious room. The air had a wonderful fragrance of solace looming through aimlessly as he held you tighter in his warm, loving embrace; you were securely locked in one place by your beloved Lucifer.

The fluffiest blanket imaginable was thrown messily on top of both of you, swaddling your bodies as if you two were infants for the first time. His darkly-coloured curtains were drawn neatly, only a small space being left uncovered by the ebony fabric.

Your leg was on top of his, as a matter a fact, both of your legs were in a knotty tangled mess as you two snuggled within the grasp of one another—both of your bodies being pressed up against the other like leeches.

It wasn't often that these times happened, but when they did come, they were irreplaceable and absolutely nothing could come close to these treasurable, precious moments you shared with the demon you loved the most in all of the three realms combined. You were so thrilled and delighted to finally be his one and only lover.

As for the avatar of pride, he was astounded by how a mere human could store such strong feelings of desire, need and love within him. He was definitely not the type to be so keen toward these types of emotions, expressions and feelings, yet you broke that one thing he wasn't very fond of. He can't even complain, you're an angel if we're in a human body; a being of perfection. Every individual one of your curves, imperfections, insecurities was out the door for him, what quality could you possibly possess for him not to love you.

You were his muse and biggest downfall, his anger, sorrow and happiness bundled up into one small being. A distraction and something he had to deal with was what he thought of you from the start. That was all to it. You were some random name he chose from out of a pile of names— piles of names to be exact, which had every name of each human being on the face of the earth. But you, you were picked.

Was it fate? destiny? faith? luck?

He could never put his finger on it directly and pin his point down. Oh, how Lucifer pined to know how could someone as sweet as yourself come into his and his brother's lives for the greater good? You, just by being you worked like magic throughout the house of Lamentation, Purgatory Hall, The Demon Lord's Castle and practically the whole of the Devildom.

You united the beings of all three realms to become one and closer together. You made it so that everyone cooperated and grew fond of each other over the short course of time. By yourself, you'd swear an angel invaded hell, but no. It was just a human, but not an ordinary one.

So, time always went on and Lucifer grew fond of you, shared his life with you and most importantly made you part of his life. A crucial part. You became not a want but a need for him, he could barely cope without his precious beloved by his side, however, he'd never admit that. He would swear to himself to keep that stuffed deep down to the deepest depths of his mind; and believe me, it's messy down there. Reluctantly, he would refuse to ever spill something so sentimental to him.

There was simply too much love bubbling inside of him for a mere human, his beloved MC.

So coming back to his senses, both of your unconscious bodies lay comfortably in each other's arms. Lucifer's eyes were sealed shut, his pale skin hiding away the mesmerizing, glassy, crimson-red orbs which are stored behind.

Soon, the day became one with the night and it was time for morning preparations, you are a pupil at RAD after all and he is the head of the student council. With that being said, he awoke promptly. His pesky eyelids finally moved out of the way to reveal such sleepy yet captivating eyes which contained glints of pure passion stored within them.

He realized the position you two were tangled in, a small, baby-pink blush ever so sneakily and gradually creeping onto his soft, bare cheeks as he was utterly enthralled by the sight bestowed before him in all of its glory.

There you were, sound asleep in the far and wide place of dreamland as he watched you. The gentle, soft rays of sunshine slowly pour through from his window onto your body. Your beautiful, luscious locks of hair resting nicely but messily in a somewhat cute state as your skin gives off a glowing effect due to the sunlight. You were like a gleaming phosphorescence. So alluring and peaceful all at once.

He watched how your body reacted to these conditions, and was still currently admiring your charming beauty. His eyes scanned you all over, from the crown of your head to the sole of your feet, all of it. He could not believe you were still all his! Every inch of you he loved with everything he could ever have in this cruel world. He didn't know what he did to deserve this or how these such feelings came about. He did know something though.

You were his Morning Star and shone brighter than any light. 🌟

© angelic-dew :: please don't re-claim or translate without permission &lt;3

[rats-and-robots]

Hi. This is gore for gore's sake. Dead dove. Do not eat. I am not kidding. Please trust me. Read the tags.

With that said;

Tervantias the Archmachinator, for all his pride, knows he isn't perfect. For all he boasts, there is always more to learn. New instruments begging to be tuned to his songs, his ever-changing collection of pitches and tunes. And yet his claws always ache to primal urges when something refuses to fall into place.

Bones crack and crunch.

Blood bubbles out of the poor thing's nose as the beast above it buries into its gut, coating its snout with gore.

Claws press at yet-unbroken flesh to give leverage as it pulls at muscle. It twists its head and yanks. Once. Twice. A third time and the meat comes free.

The body of the prey lay motionless, save for the motions of its predator. A sharp snort through reptilian nostrils and the beast lifts its snout to throw the meat back into its gullet.

The arena is filled with chatter and meaningless laughter about the show that has just finished. A few souls glance anxiously his way as he leans forward, towards the display. His head still, but his ever twitching, ever moving body continues its motions.

So that creation needed... Just a touch of tweaking. A metal hand taps rapidly on a flesh one, like the dancing legs of a spider. Interesting.

His mind is already spinning, never stopping, but it churns just a touch faster. A third hand raises to his face, metal claws slipping in and around the wet musculature. The sting is but a strum of a string to the symphony of sensation that plays in his whole self. A background song of pain and ache and burn and pleasure to every movement he makes.

Someone speaks to him. He mutters some words to appease them and urge them to leave him alone, his pitch eyes never leaving the beast and his imperfect creature's corpse.

He steps back, his gaze finally ripping away. The same gaze turns into a flurry of movement, twitching this way and that as he considers, contemplates... Not really looking where he is going but moving with a grace unusual even to those around him. His own... 'kin', would he even deign to call them that. He pushes a finger through his cheek-flesh-muscle and groans softly as the fresh puncture sharpens his thoughts.

He has an idea for how to improve his design. He'll need certain parts, though. And they are no cheap thing to get. His servants will scavenge what they can, but...

He slides back into his sanctum, his home, his orchestra hall. A sigh pushes out from his chest, the red muscles of his torso glistening as it relaxes ever so faintly. Frantic movements become more organized. His claw retreats from the wound in his face, a mere bead of blood expressing itself from the muscle. The sounds around him, the ever so faint hiss of mechanics, the groans of pain, the mad laughter, the... Everything. It's too much to put to words. It's not perfect. Perfection is such a boring state, anyways.

Claws slide through his hair, smearing the faintest of red through the silver, and three other arms make silent but strict orders to those around him. He has work to do and he will lose himself in it for a few hours more. First, however, is the poor soul who happens to be closest to his claws. He does like to think himself immune to the frustration of failure; a savage, beastly emotion so beneath one as he. Unfortunately, 'likes to think' does not make something a fact.

He moves without seeing, lips pressed into a thin line. A sharp jab silences the flesh-thing, a single tool cutting through armor, skin, flesh, fat, muscle, tendon, and cord. The screaming becomes hollow gasping. Viscera of veins bulging like blue and red spiderwebs, yet not quite bursting as he peels back layers. Cuts that look jagged, yet expertly avoid any major vessels to curb excessive bloodshed.

Yes, the scene is gory... But too much blood spilled would make this far too messy. What's the point in art if you can't see it? In music muffled under cloth so thick to drown it out? It's a song he has played many times before, one that may not carry the same joy as the first listen, but still instills him with some level of calm. So many layers of excess in these beasts, yet it was Aeldari who birthed Sai'lanthresh?

Epidermis peeled from dermis peeled from fat peeled from muscle. Tendons quietly clipped to free spasming and contracting musculature from bone. The creature wheezes and thrashes, but his cuts remain precise. This is no experiment, no delicate procedure. This is but a collection and dissection. No need to restrain or subdue the thing, much less waste any of his toxins to still them.

It twists and falls off his table. He merely blinks and turns to place the extracted muscles into a secondary pan. His claws click quietly and he glides around the table to pluck their spasming form off the ground, setting them back on the table. Some organ has burst so fluid and mucus leave a slime trail from the ground to the table. The stench is but a rise in the chorus and he clicks his tongue. Blood has begun to spill more readily, ripped from its veins by the thing's thrashing. All the more reason to finish quickly and--

The door beyond his curtain is opened, then closed. His lips peel back from his teeth in a grimace, but he chooses to feign ignorance of the visitor. He moves to instead begin extracting bone, the creature letting out a whistle-like noise as it arches... Then falls still. Shock, likely. Normally, he would reawaken them with a jolt or an injection, but his attention is more on the light footsteps drawing near to him as he recognizes them.

Ah...

This could be interesting.

"Aezyrraesh." He clicks his teeth with the name.

"Frustrated, Tervantias? At least this time your new experiment made it to the finale, ah?" The Dracon's words carry amusement and taunt, but it bothers him none. His eyes stay on his little project, only a slow blink to even acknowledge the man had even said anything.

"What do you want?"

"..." That isn't the response Marazhai had wanted, this he knows. The pause and the faintest sound of grinding teeth only confirm that, "I need a favor. A control worm--"

It's such a pathetic request that the haemonculus laughs. His head tilts up and finally twists towards the Dracon, "Is it truly so hard for one pathetic worm to find another?"

Marazhai seethes, lips curled back in a snarl, but catches himself, "I need one of custom make." His eyes flick over the haemonculus as the conductor straightens his back, "One for the mon-keigh who continues to predict our movements."

Tervantias tilts his head, contemplating this. Beneath him, without assistance, the creature under his claws expels its life and its previous meal. Boredly, he looks down at it, then carelessly hooks a finger under it and flips it off of the table, back to the place it had previously occupied on the ground. The smears left behind reek of bile and pus. He waves to an assistant to clean it and the body up, "Why should I waste my talents making something for some mon-keigh creature?"

Marazhai's jaw clenches, "The Reaving Tempest is falling out of favor and respect--" Tervantias turns towards him slowly, head tilting, mechanics twitching, muscle glistening, "--w-with the other Kabals because of its meddling, and if that happens then--" the haemonculus draws closer to him, one hand spinning a syringe of some kind, another cutting a fresh laceration into his own skin, the final two sliding behind his back, "--then... You do as well..." Marazhai doesn't realize he's been shrinking away, slowly stepping back until his heel hit the metal of the other table.

Marazhai has always been such an entertaining plaything. Had another been chosen as Dracon, he might not be so bold to approach the second of his patron's command. But that faint glimmer in the back of his eyes as the haemonculus towers over him. He was not one to own, but to be owned. He just has yet to realize it.

"Reason for you, yes... But I can find another patron. This bothers me little. So I will ask again." He leans over the shorter drukhari, his half-lips sliding into a smirk, "Why should I make this... For you?" The bloodied hand that left a deep cut in his pale skin comes forward and presses up under his jaw, the blooded finger swiping across the pale skin of his cheek and leaving a broken smear of red.

Marazhai squirms like the very wriggling grub he desires to commission from the Archmachinator. But his tongue swipes across his sharp teeth, "I could bring you more parts for your beasts," the hand tightens and Tervantias's expression doesn't budge, "gift you the others of the mon-keigh's crew," white hair falls in a cascade onto Marazhai's shoulder as Tervantias tilts his head one way, "...what else would you have from me for such a simple little request??" Marazhai hisses up at him, hands bracing on the table behind him.

"I will have both of these things... And I will have a revisit to your anatomy, Dracon. You ask me to lower myself to such a task and so you, yourself, shall also be lowered."

With a twist of his wrist and a swift strike, the haemonculus stabs the syringe into Marazhai's throat. He revels, for a second, in the shocked gag before his thumb presses the plunger down. He leans in, watching the green liquid color veins and open them up, spreading faster as Marazhai's heart quickens. He slides the tool out and sets it aside, watching the puncture hold the fluid well.

"Let us begin. Don't act as though you will not take pleasure in this." He loosens his grip, but his other hands abandon their post behind his back to come forward and begin to carelessly remove his armor, "You requested these depths before." He motions with the hand previously holding the syringe to a servant of his.

Marazhai hisses and curses him, his hands clawing at the haemonculus's arm, but... Tervantias knows he isn't really giving it his all. His blade is easily in reach, after all. Another table is brought forth, this one angled upwards. The Dracon's back hits the metal and hands swiftly secure him down.

The Archmachinator hums, pleased, and moves away to collect his tools, taking his sweet time as Marazhai fights the inevitable flow of the toxin. It's somewhat impressive that he hasn't screamed yet--

...Ahhh...

There it is. A smile twists the exposed muscles of his face into a grimace as the toxin finds Marazhai's heart and the man's scream rips through and echoes in the air of his Opera. His eyes slip shut for a moment, contemplating his options as his newest specimen thrashed and cursed him. He could check on his previous addition to the young man. See how well the new tissue was settled in.

He opens his eyes and turns to look at his subject--no longer Marazhai to him, but another project, another song to compose. He is on his back, it will be no small task to cut through his body to get to his spine. All the more fun. His claws wrap around three tools; A saw of some make, two clamps, and a gun-like machine.

His claws are his scalpels. He sets upon the man with practiced ease. Without fanfare, a Y-incision is cut. Skin peeled back. The gun-thing is put to use firing pins through the skin and into the table, holding him open like the wings of a beetle on a collector's wall.

Just as with the pitiful creature before, Tervantias ignores his subject's thrashing. This one is restrained, though, and it makes for easier cutting of muscle. Not for extraction, of course. No, this one will have to be put back together.

Sheets of muscle are pinned as well, the rippling striations and folded groups reminiscent of bird wings. A glance upwards as Marazhai stills. His eyes are distant, his jaw clenched tight. Drool trickling down in a steady stream from one corner of his mouth. Tears bead up in the corners of his eyes. He must be desperate not to let them fall. It isn't the cutting doing this to him. No, he has been wounded so before, gutted thoroughly before. He would not shed tears, even in pain, for something so simple as a wound.

No, it is the toxin. Causing certain glands to release more than they should. We, as humans, would call similarities to these releases as adrenaline, dopamine, endorphins. Tears simply follow suit and his drool is but a by-product. Marazhai is feeling everything... Tenfold. No, twenty. A hundred, if not ever more.

A whimper spills from the proud Dracon and Tervantias laughs, "So soon? A proud beast turned to mewling. And I've not yet touched your guts."

"Wh-what did you... What did you do to me...?" The tone was meant to be that of anger, or even fury... But desperation comes instead. He does not admit his sick delight in the haemonculus's claws.

The Archmachinator does not respond. Instead, the saw comes to its duty. It slices away the bone of the man's ribcage, eventually allowing their release on the subject's cavity. Marazhai gags on his screams. They bleed, in spades, they bleed. It spurts in wet fountains, painting the tool and the metal and gore of Marazhai's flayed hide.

"You make a fine distraction, Marazhai." His voice, calm and even, still cuts through the buzz of the saw. He stops only when he can remove the sternum as if a simple lid on a specimen jar. He sets it aside. His claws gently move through the man's organs, testing the connective tissue that holds them in place, his flesh hand soiled by the blood of his ribcage.

"A pathetic Dracon, but a deliriously fine specimen." He expertly carves one organ from the others, without disrupting its function. He twists it delicately to set aside, then moves to another. Again. And again.

And he speaks as he does it, "Truly, I have considered bartering with your sister for you. Every new request she has..." He slips metal fingers around Marazhai's heart, feeling its rapid pulse, unable to beat any faster. He leans over, "Your name dances on my tongue."

He pulls on the organ, watching the thick veins and arteries pull like a wet rope out of his body, blood drooling from any little nick in the membranes. He tilts his head, eyes flicking up to Marazhai's face. His turquoise eyes have paled with pain. Nearly a silver-blue. His pupils are mere pinpricks as he just stares back at Tervantias.

"You are no leading figure. You are but a toy." He presses the organ to his lips, teeth taunting the ever-moving muscle. His tongue slides over it. He could easily bite. Simply resurrect Marazhai after he bleeds out... But the expression on his face... He cannot help but revel in it. Blank. Obedient. Malleable. He chuckles, the sound reverberating in the opera house, before setting the heart aside.

He considers Marazhai's form for a moment. Almost mechanical, how his organs' connections--veins, nerves, tissue, and arteries, all--bend like cords back into his body. He can see the shimmer of his modification in the pool of blood that is the man's chest cavity, all but emptied of viscera. He turns to a small device, a pump of sorts, and begins to drain that pool, letting him have a closer look.

For all his fun, he does have a goal. His claws gently run along his spine. Tilts his head one way... Then another. The augment has bonded quite nicely. Though there is a bit of misalignment here... He clicks his metal claws and picks up a pair of forceps, cutting open the thin membrane protecting the shimmering white nervous augment and holding it open with the forceps. Delicately, he pulls four inches of tiny wires like worms out from the soil of Marazhai's tissues. They squirm in his grasp like them, too, searching to grasp onto something, anything. He moves them slightly upwards, and they shoot back in, spreading out and settling again.

Marazhai's right arm will function just slightly better. Not that the man would notice, nor appreciate it. Not that Tervantias does it for his benefit. He does it to see it put in its proper place. He releases the forceps and continues his slow examination of the spine through the chest. One nerve-set at a time.

His long hair falls into the cavity one strand at a time, a trickle of white stained with blood.

Marazhai groans above him. A claw flicks and stabs into the man's thigh, drawing that groan into a raspy moan. A thin tongue slips out and licks fresh moisture onto exposed fangs, but he says nothing. He continues his observations, but slowly drags that claw, carving the shape of the muscle beneath into the flesh. Marazhai's voice pitches slightly higher, cracking.

"I knew you would find yourself enjoying this." Metal clicks and chemicals hiss. He injects more of that concoction into the man's shoulder, causing him to spasm. His wrists strain at metal and his flesh tears at the pins--though they hold. His knees draw upwards, stopped only by two of the haemonculus's hands to keep them out of the way. He acknowledges it no further, but leans back a bit. One by one, he pulls the organs back to their places. Slides a fluid along them to repair connective tissues he had expertly severed. Pain slowly ebbs away from the man and he whines his protest.

"Be silent. This is for my enjoyment." He looms his face close to Marazhai's, "Not yours." A taunting smile, and he returns to his task. Diaphragm folded back into place. Bone seamlessly mended back to bone. Muscle tissue reattached. Marazhai began to snap insults at him, just now feeling the height of the second wave of the injections, but they have no sting. Flesh returns to its place, and no scar is left behind. He trails a finger down the man's chest, then flicks it away, snapping for a servant to release the man's binds.

He hears rather than sees Marazhai's body crumple off of the table as he turns his back.

"You will have your control worm, Dracon Aezyrraesh." He waves a hand, "Put your armor back on and crawl back to your Kabal. I will send you word when it is done."

"You fucking bastard, you can't--"

"I took my payment, Aezyrraesh. Be grateful I did not take more. I would happily risk your sister's wrath for more."

Silence. Well, as silent as the Anatomical Opera would allow in its gullet. He tilts his head as he plucks an egg from a jar, pulling various syringes and tools from different shelves to begin modifying the embryo within.

Silence is interrupted. The attempts that Marazhai makes to move under the influence of his toxins are amusing to listen to. He silently adds finding an extension to the toxin's effects to his eternal list of projects.

He doesn't even glance over his shoulder as he hears Marazhai finally move to attempt putting his armor back on. He knows the man desires attention, even a look of disgust or annoyance, and he will deny him even that. He will bask in the man's suffering for it. He does tilt his head a bit as he hears a heave and a splatter. A groan. He chuckles despite himself.

Marazhai hisses a final insult before stumbling towards the curtains, towards the exit. What a shame. He had somewhat hoped for some begging. He can only laugh to himself at the thought of Marazhai goring himself later to try and chase what he had given him. To satiate himself. His eyes finally turn, easily finding a hole in the curtain to watch Marazhai's back as he shoves himself through the door out.

His backplates are crooked.

Tervantias clicks his fingers in a snap, "Someone clean up that mess."

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🦇 The Pairing Book Review 🦇

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

❓ #QOTD If you could travel anywhere for the summer, where would you go? ❓ 🦇 Theo and Kit have been a lot of things: childhood best friends, crushes, in love, and now estranged exes. After a brutal breakup on the transatlantic flight to their dream European food and wine tour, they exited each other's lives once and for all. All that remains is the unused voucher for the European tour that never happened, good for 48 months after its original date and about to expire. It's not until they board the tour bus that they discover they've both accidentally had the exact same idea, and now they're trapped with each other for three weeks of stunning views, luscious flavors, and the most romantic cities of France, Spain, and Italy. Will it be too much, or a reminder that a small taste can make you crave what you can't have?

💜 Pairs well with: healing hearts long bottled up but aged well, a decadent glass of light-bodied wine with hints of cherry (memories of sweet syrup spilling down warm wrists on a hot summer's day), and a lover's kiss (their taste stained against your lips). I don't know what I was thinking, reading I Kissed Shara Wheeler, Red, White, & Royal Blue, then The Pairing all back to back in a rushed, heart-aching CMQ marathon for Pride Month, but WOAH does my heart hurt. The Pairing is the perfect rom-com summer read. This story will whisk you away on a tour of Europe, inviting you to feast on local cuisine until adjectives tantalize and taunt your tastebuds, soothing you like a rich glass of red (smooth and velvety, bursting with flavors of ripe plum, black cherry, and toasted cedar, sparking unfamiliar memories). If you adored Red, White, and Royal Blue (namely, the queer references and quotes pulled from history), the exploration of Europe's never-ending artistry and ageless anecdotes will no doubt tug at your heartstrings. Nevermind the detailed descriptors, the pristine explorations of pastries, pasta, wine, and wonder. Let's talk about Kit and Theo.

💜 CMQ does an outstanding job at Show, Don't Tell throughout the entire novel. Too often, there's a moment in second-chance romances, a piece of the past that broke a meant-to-be couple apart, that SO many novels reveal all too quickly. CMQ doesn't hinge the entire story on that reveal, nor is it unveiled too soon. Instead, we're given the chance to understand Theo and Kit's points of view, not about that ONE defining moment, but about everything; how they came to be, what their lives were becoming, the lost possibility. These two characters feel SO much, but those emotions are never defined with clear-cut words, forcing readers to accept those feelings. Emotions aren't so cut and dry, nor singular; they're a tangle, a messy knot of hurt and longing, love and betrayal. Instead, we experience them through glimpses of the past and present. We heal alongside them. I'm grateful the story focused on Theo's POV first, THEN switched to Kit's during a pivotal moment of their present. We experience Theo's still raw pain and self-doubt before delving into Theo's everlasting love and regret.

💜 I just, I CAN'T. I didn't last a single chapter without making a mess of annotations. I've lived a friends-to-lovers-to-enemies-back-to-lovers, second-chance romance. I know that feeling of one person being your everything, regardless of time and distance. CMQ captures it fully.

💙 My only hang-up: this story relies on the miscommunication trope to survive, not only in the present, but the past that broke Theo and Kit apart in the first place. The execution is flawless, though, giving it realistic reasoning instead of simply using it as a plot piece. I'd also like to point out that the description you read online, regarding the hookup competition, is hardly the story's real focus. It's like the garnish for an already sublime cocktail. You can do without.

🦇 Recommended for fans of Jandy Nelson, 13 Little Blue Envelopes, and all things CMQ.

✨ The Vibes ✨ 🍷 Bi4Bi 🥐 Queer Romance 🍷 Europe Tour 🥐 Second Chance Romance 🍷 Friends to Lovers to Enemies to Lovers 🥐 Dual POV 🍷 Food, Wine, History, Art, Culture

🦇 Major thanks to the author and publisher for providing an ARC of this book via Netgalley. 🥰 This does not affect my opinion regarding the book. #ThePairing

💬 Quotes ❝ The problem is, we’ve only ever been everything or nothing to each other. I don’t know how to start being something to him. ❞ ❝ It’s not just that I want him. It’s that he taught me what wanting was. ❞ ❝ I wonder if anyone else in the whole blackberry-jam galaxy has ever loved someone so much that it made their soul feel fixed in their body. ❞ ❝ An expression of delighted awe dawns on Theo’s face, and in it I see layer after layer, old self after intermediate self after current self, the Theo I met as a child and the Theo I got to call mine and the Theo who fills her own body. They’re all here, hanging in the air, harmonizing with one another. Maybe they’re always here. Maybe she feels so familiar and so new to me now because I’d heard the beginning note but not the completed chord. I knew her before her arches had points, before the paint to finish her had been invented. What a wonder, what a miracle: somehow, more of her. ❞ ❝ My favorite parts of me are the ones that Theo brings out, the ones that grew to match theirs. ❞ ❝ I could love that ongoing, extant Theo again. There’s so much romance in that, so much beauty in learning how much my heart can endure. Sometimes I think the only way to keep something forever is to lose it and let it haunt you. ❞ ❝ If I can give my whole heart to love without fearing the cost, I will regret nothing. ❞

[giuliettagaltieri]

Masterlist

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

 K. Bakugō • E. Jaeger • M. O’Hara • S. Gojō • N. Zen’in

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Gojō Satoru

♡ A River of Honey

Synopsis: Navigating through life with your husband and son who both seemed to have developed an appetite for something only you can provide.

Word Count: 1142

♡ Where the Blue Roses Grow

Series Synopsis: Snippets from the life of Gojō Satoru and yours.  Where the two of you journey on a path that was predetermined for you, with hearts bruised and unforeseen emotions blossoming.

Chapter Count: 9

Miguel O’Hara

♡ Project: Galatea

Synopsis: Allowing you sentience made things more complicated between you and Miguel.  But Peter Parker from Earth-199999 decides to take on an unfinished impossible project of his late mentor, and possibly bring you and Miguel back together.

Word Count: 6218 

♡ Project: Pandora

Synopsis: You are experiencing things for the first time and you can’t wait to explore what the multiverse has to offer, but for now, you’ll start with a messy college dorm room.

Word Count: 2174 

♡ Project: Eros

Synopsis: It does not feel the same without your wings and halo and you turn to science to help you gain them back.  But despite your angelic appearance, you find yourself allured by the weakness and carnality of the flesh.

Word Count: 5435

Eren Jaeger

♡ Sparkly Pink Skirt

Synopsis: When you are head over heels for Eren since high school, he finds it difficult to take in when you start to avoid him.

Word Count: 2586 

♡ Be Careful Not to Spill

Synopsis: Eren does not agree with the euthanasia plan and he will show them, with a little help from you.

Word Count: 2149

♡ Home is Where You Are

Synopsis: As Eren’s past comes to pay him a visit, you come to realize that love can come in all shapes.

Word Count: 1526

♡ Just Kiss Her Already

Synopsis: Craving for academic validation, you find an unexpected challenger who might have hurt your feelings, just a bit.

Word Count: 1724

♡ Kruger and Vixen

Synopsis: Having a love-hate relationship is fun until Eren messes it up, driving you away.

Word Count: 7077

♡ Number One Fan 

Synopsis: You have always been there to cheer him on, if only he would look at you the same way you look at him.  But whho are you compared to the all too perfect Mikasa?

Word Count: 5496

♡ Cherry Flavored Kisses

Synopsis: The life as Eren Jaeger’s girl fascinated you, but it was nothing compared to the fascination you feel for the man, himself.  He could be nice if he wanted.  But nothing is as bittersweet as a love unrequited.

Word Count: 5862

♡ Doctor’s Order

Synopsis: You could not make your crush on Dr. Eren Jaeger any more obvious.  And even though you can tolerate his usual cold demeanor, you also know when to draw the line.  1 of 3.

Word Count: 1792

♡ Progress Notes

Synopsis: You are having fun, trying new things and meeting other people while Eren disproves the saying, “Out of sight, out of mind.”  2 of 3.

Word Count: 1370

♡ Care Plan

Synopsis: You’re back from your trip and a certain surgeon finds it difficult to not be in the receiving end of your undivided attention.  3 of 3.

Word Count: 1269

♡ Road Rage & Malibu Barbie

Synopsis: You may look like a barbie doll who got lost on her way back to her dreamhouse but Eren never fails to break your front quite often than you like

Word Count: 2292

Bakugou Katsuki

♡ At Daybreak

Synopsis: Yesterday's rejection made an awkward morning more awkward.  Mix in a ghost and a cookie jar, this morning is bound to be interesting.  Who knew that the Bakugou Katsuki knows how to tease girls?

Word count: 1401

♡ Hero Too

Synopsis: Being a hero means so much more than just the career that Bakugou chose and you wanted to prove that to him and a series of unfortunate events might just let that happen, because dammit! You’re a hero too!

Word Count: 3,553

♡ Still Jealous

Synopsis: Bakugou tries his best to be a good boyfriend when you get hit with a jealousy quirk.  And when cuddles don't work, leave it to Bakugou to come up with other ways to help.

Words: 712

♡ You call Bakugou “pretty”

♡ Manga omake

Naoya Zen’in

Coming This Summer

[pluckysidekick]

I’m back with Part 2 of my playlist of Great American Songbook standards and other classic songs that embody Nace’s journey in Season 4, inspired by @emorfili’s post. Check out Part 1 here. Both posts contain Spotify links, but you can find all of these tracks on Apple Music and YouTube. DM me for a link to the entire playlist. Shall we?

1. Picking up with fan favorite Episode 408, George Benson’s 1976 slammin’ This Masquerade, written by Leon Russell, works on so many levels for this episode: Nancy and Ace having to pretend to be each other in front on Thom, acting as if everything is OK between them, with neither saying what they really feel. “We tried to talk it over but the words got in the way, We're lost inside this lonely game we play.”

2. They Can’t Take That Away from Me is so perfect for the 408 sunset scene when Ace returns Nancy’s necklace, and they seem to come to some kind of peace (for the present). They may not have been able to make it work, but they still have a deep bond that no one can take away. Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong’s duet of the Gershwin classic is the version.

3. Witchcraft - Frank Sinatra’s definitive version works for so much of Nancy Drew, but I picked it for Episode 409 for Nancy and Ace’s twin supernatural storylines, each of them beginning to fall for someone who may not be what they seem, and of course for Bess’s day in court defending the supernatural, and exposing the real history of Horseshoe Bay with witchcraft.

4. Nancy tells Nick in 409 that she wants a relationship that’s simpler than the ‘messy’ state of things with Ace (although note the look on her face as she says it). A Sunday Kind of Love by Etta James describes so well what Nancy thinks she wants in 409 and going into 410. Meanwhile Ace is falling under the spell of his mystery ghost - you could even say he’s Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered (I would). I went with Doris Day’s classic take from 1950.

5. Speaking of 410, I had to give a nod to Tristan Glass with Nat King Cole’s Nature Boy. Poor Tristan really goes through it this season and especially in this episode as he fights for his life when his would-be date shoots him, and from which he recovers only for his parents to kidnap and attempt to sacrifice her. I hope he has a nice life!

6. Episode 411 has Nancy crashing Ace’s Seder and causing a storm inside The Claw when she tries to raise Alice to discover how she died. Harold Arlen’s Stormy Weather sung by Lena Horne really drives home Ace’s stormy emotions, Nancy’s desperation (“Don't know why, there's no sun up in the sky, Stormy weather, Since my man and I ain't together, keeps raining all of the time”) and Alice’s pain that generates the storm.

7. Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea - The tension between Nancy and Ace that spills over from 411 to Episode 412 is all the more shocking because we’re used to them being soft with each other. But once Nancy is hot on the trail of the sin she erased, she’s not going to give up. Harold Arlen’s song, here sung by Tony Bennett in 1964, perfectly depicts that tension as Ace tries to give Nancy the runaround (and of course she isn’t having it): “I don’t want you, But I hate to lose you, You’ve got me in between, The devil and the deep blue sea”.

8. I’ve Got You Under My Skin - The venom that erupts when Ace & Nancy repeatedly confront each other in 412 couldn’t exist without the strong feelings that still run under the surface. Nancy admitting that she hasn’t moved on, and the look Ace gives her - they’ve got each other under their skin. Frank Sinatra’s 1956 gorgeous recording of the Cole Porter tune mirrors the back and forth of the star-crossed lovers throughout the season, but especially as we near the end.

9. “Oh Sinnerman, where you going to run to?” That’s the question this traditional spiritual continues to ask throughout Nina Simone’s 1965 powerhouse of a track. Nancy and Ace are both on the run in 412 — Nancy toward the truth of their sin, and Ace away from it. In Episode 413, they work together with the Crew and Tristan to lift the sin fog that’s infected the town, and discover Nancy’s soul connection to the root of the town’s sin. This legendary recording captures the frenetic energy of Nancy and Ace’s journey toward redemption and forgiveness.

10. The finale quickly moves from chaos to resolution of all of our favorite characters’ futures — and for Nancy and Ace’s relationship. Johnny Hartman’s voice on 1963’s My One and Only Love is simply beautiful, capturing Ace’s emotion as he finally comes back to Nancy, heart in hand. Swoon.

11. It Had to Be You - I had to include this one, recorded by Harry Connick, Jr. for another epic slow burn, friends to lovers romance, 1989’s When Harry Met Sally. Nancy and Ace are the soulmates that chose each other (and their friends), which this song’s lyrics capture so perfectly: “For nobody else gives me a thrill, with all your faults, I love you still, it had to be you, wonderful you, it had to be you.”

12. Cheek to Cheek - We didn't get the 6 minute director's cut of this scene that included a little dance with a dip (grr), but we did get that sense of effervescence once Ace and Nancy have broken the curse. Ella and Louis trading off verses on Irving Berlin's timeless classic is just the mood.

13. Ending on a sentimental note, At Last Nancy and Ace are together, and they and all of the Crew have the next part of their journeys mapped out. This lovely Etta James 1960 track is a perfect ending for this playlist, and for Nancy and Ace, Bess, George, and Nick as they say goodbye to The Claw.

So there you have it, my picks for Nace S4, classic style. Would love to hear what you think! Tell me your favorite pick, what I missed, or what you would have chosen instead. Hope this playlist brings a little joy this festive season - I think it’s the perfect background soundtrack for reading all of the @secretsleuthexchange fics!

[quinloki]

*sliding again in your inbox* if you’re up for it, may I ask Yonji and Reiju with Public Humiliation, Rimming and Dogging? I’m loving your hc 🙈

I'm glad you're enjoying them! It's actually been a nice break from my usual Long Form story writing, and I think I needed the break more than I knew xD

Alright - this is my first time giving head canon to Yonji and Reiju, so let's see how it goes. (Also, what luck, the only two current Vinsmokes I *like* )

Yonji:

Public Humiliation - Yes - Yonji is perfectly happy to dress you as he pleases and haul you through whatever public space he so desires, all while letting loose with degrading phrases and actions. He's good at it, credit where it's due, but compared to his "older" brothers, he not nearly as cruel. It's still embarrassing, and the primary reason for it is more a declaration of to whom you belong. Yonji will lay into you in public, but if anyone is stupid enough to try and join in, he won't stand for it.

Rimming - Hm... I ... hm. I wanna say he's a Sure for receiving and you probably don't even want to ask for the giving side of it. Princely prince prince-ness isn't going to do something like that to someone even if it nearly kills them from embarrassment. But it's also not high up on his personal list of enjoyments. Not that he doesn't enjoy it, but it's a little more middle of the road for him is all. (the hang up is, he does want you to ask him to rim you, guy's got a little bit of a sub streak in him he rarely ever gets to flex, but he has to trust you implicitly before he'd bring it up, and it's hard to trust when you can barely engage in your emotions >.> )

Dogging - FUCK Yes - Look, it's not like you're in the stocks or something in the middle of town square, so don't go complaining. It's an empty parking lot, don't look over at the busy street while he's railing you, just make those pretty little noises he likes. If you hold your voice in then maybe it's time to move closer to the foot traffic, or maybe you're quiet because you do want to be in the stocks in the middle of the town square.

Reiju:

Public Humiliation - Sure - She'll do it, and she'll lean into with such practiced perfection you'd think you were being humiliated by Ichiji or Niji. Unlike her siblings, she is compassionate and fully capable of emotions, but she's really good at masking them. Sometimes leaning into the more cruel side of her personality is liberating, so it's not like she's doing this against her will, but it's also a part of who she needs to pretend to be around her family, so she's not nearly as enthusiastic as she appears.

Rimming - Yes - Giving or Receiving. There's pleasure to be had in the physical and I think Reiju is all for diving into that pleasure. She's very switchy to me, and while she prefers to maintain control, she's not against giving and getting for most activities. Sadly I think her practiced reserved nature has been going on for so long that I don't think she gets messy or down and dirty - everything is all very clean and proper and well-prepped. Which isn't a bad thing, in this kink, but I think it spills into her other kinks too.

Dogging - A Sure to Yes - Reiju doesn't want anyone else to hear the sweet sounds you make while she's being pleasured by you, or while she's pleasuring you. You've got to keep that voice that's only for her low and quiet, there's people just a few yards away, and she won't forgive you if someone else is graced by your mewling whimpers. Don't disappoint her now, and don't fight the building pleasure either, just because you're not allowed to be loud doesn't mean she doesn't want to see your face messed up in pleasure.

-- Little different vibe on those Dogging entries, but I hope it still came across well ^_^ Thanks!

Kinky One Piece Head Canon

[morningstar-chronicles]

Hi, Maddie! I hope you're having a lovely day! Thank you for conducting free readings. I'd like to request for one, please.

Question: What will my future husband find funny/entertaining about my personality?

Your work, time, and efforts are highly appreciated! Please be well and safe.

- Maryel 🌼

hello friend! please excuse the amount of time this took 💀. here is your spread:

while shuffling i picked up on a cooler colour palette in terms of energies (light blue, indigo, spring green, lavender) which indicates ??

also my phone would NOT stop going off during this reading to the point where i had to put it elsewhere so it would stop distracting me so do with that information what you will. also the cards spilled everywhere so someone has a lot to say here.

getting the distinct feeling that i should start with the oracle cards (which you got a million of, by the way) for this reading, so i guess i'll do that??

NOTE: i'm not gonna lie to you, i asked the cards the wrongass question, but i really don't want to reshuffle 💀. i asked what your future partner would find attractive/endearing about your personality, or what they appreciate about you. so, while not quite the question you asked, i hope you enjoy the reading nonetheless.

queen of hearts - heart-minded, benevolence, warning. i'm getting that you're a very empathetic person and that this person is really receptive and appreciative of the way you're able to look after them.

selfhood - farsightedness, transmutation, expansion. wow okay maryel slay! you're also able to prepare for any outcome, and your future work/academic life is thriving. you're a very street-smart person, and you handle situations elegantly and swiftly.

the jewel in the lotus - release, abundance, balance. you're very attentive with a good work-life balance. you're kind of slaying honestly?? you've got your shit HANDLED.

the saviour - trust, protection, self-sufficiency. they admire that you're a very independent person and that you can handle yourself. to be so completely honest with you, you don't need this person to thrive. but they seem very grateful that you let them stick around anyways.

the shapeshifter - perspective, challenge, medicine. represents a dualistic nature, or adaptability. the phrase "as above, so below" appears in the tarot book for this card, which i only mention -not because it's a bible quote- but because it reminds me of the welcome home ARG. in the most backwards way possible, i think spirit is trying to tell me that you feel like home to this person. or maybe you just enjoy ARGs, who knows. i did mention that you were an intellectual

two of swords (reversed) - indecision, avoidance, blocked emotion. i got kind of a sad vibe here aw :( okay, the way i interpreted this card in this context was that this person does think you can be a bit avoidant when it comes to love sometimes, but they're happy to have something they can help you with. to this person, you just seem so perfect and out of their league that they almost need you to have some kind of reason to need them. they seem really scared that one day you won't want them, and you'll up and leave.

MY PHONE WILL NOT STOP DINGING I CAN HEAR IT ACROSS THE ROOM. this is a sign. this person is singing you nothing but praises i swear. they have a million things to say and they will not let me get a word in edgewise.

seven of pentacles (reversed) - delayed success, slowing down, feeling unmotivated. in conjunction with the three of wands (which is down a couple paragraphs) i'm thinking that maybe this person thinks the only downside about you is how long they have to wait before they get to be with you. the seven of pentacles in reverse implies all good things, but that they come a lot later than originally anticipated, which makes me think that maybe this connection is still a while off.

two of pentacles - juggling, disorganization, feeling scattered. i'm seeing that though most people might find messiness or disorganization to be a negative quality your person thinks this aspect of you is very endearing and cute aw <3

death (reversed) - resistance, being stuck, bad habits. in conjunction with the last card i'm getting that this person wants you to know that your flaws are loved too <3. this person loves you wholly, both good and bad.

three of wands - peace, waiting period, vision. i'm hearing "you were worth the wait" so maybe you meet this person later in life, or you don't start dating them until later or life, or maybe there's even some kind of reason that you don't get married until later in life, but this person truly loves you and believes that everything leading up to these moments is worth it in the end.

NOT PICTURED: i found the emperor card on my floor several days after i first drew for this reading while i was interpreting. at first i thought it wasn't connected to this reading at all, but my cousin (also a tarot witch) pointed out that it likely had to do with my last reading so i'm taking it.

the emperor - structure, authority, discipline. you're definitely in charge in this relationship. that's where i think i'm going to leave that.

[britneyinthewall]

They are not meant to be with each other. They are not the tragic lovers, the soul-bound friends, or the strangers who find meaning. They are a mismatched set of blocks, two puzzles pieces that are not a perfect fit but if you squeeze them together the hold as one piece. They are not the sun and the moon, but two galaxy’s too far away to connect yet one day are bound to crash in to each other and become a monstrous black hole. Their bodies do not match, they don’t compliment the others, they are not the couple made for each other, instead they are the strangers who you are not quite sure are together or not.

He wonders how they began with each other, the memories of each other as children angry blurry memories of the past that hold no real meaning. Their lives grew apart and were suddenly forced back together, but not clause enough to make constancy and instead just the passing of eyes in the paddock. They don’t know each other well, yet their memories are filled with glimpses of the others face, and the whispers of the other voice. They are a clash for forces, a mix of seasons, they don’t create that battle everyone wants to see yet not a battle that is kind enough for the people around them to bare. They put on a front of blind mutual respect in front of the cameras, and behind closed doors they are a bubbling pot of emotions with no one to watch over. They are ghosts in the same house, that no the details of each one’s death so carefully yet when face to face the tales of each other get lost.

They are bad for each other. There are too many secrets locked away, that dare to spill over yet are always held back. They are devout believers in the religion of each other yet can bring themselves to fully believe in what they preach. They carry on the burden of different legacies that push them forwards and chain them down, and their lives were not meant for one another and when the strings of their lives do meet it becomes a tangled mess with no cure. They can’t leave because they will always come back, but staying means to many emotions to be shared. They are friends when they are in the presence of people, they are lovers when they are splayed out on messy sheets for the other to enjoy, they are rivals when the smell of gas and tires fill their lungs, they mold and shape like putty to be anything they believe they can be, yet can never perfectly fit the molds they are given.

Sitting in the silence, he hands clammy against the cool back of the man next to him who is letting out soft breaths as the night carries on, he wonders what they are. He wonders if he should give up his time like this, chasing a feeling that neither of them want, but that both of them crave. They are fighting for the same thing, for the feeling, for the same win, yet he can’t see either of them reaching a place of peace that both do their hearts desire.

Max huffs

He laughs at his own thoughts because he knows what he is saying is true, but yet it feels wrong to believe this of Charles. To think all these thoughts, to connect them as one, as a being that is destroying itself from the inside up, that is tearing it’s own heart in half. He believes it’s wrong because he doesn’t know Charles, because Charles hides behind a crumbling wall of his own feelings that leaves Max out. He feels like he knows Charles, he does know Charles, but yet the thought of them knowing each others deepest feelings makes his stomach turn.

“Max go back to bed”

Charles voice is muffled as is head is pushed into the pillow, and his features are hidden and facing towards the window that lets in beams of moonlight.

Max complies.

[kay-elle-cee]

Jilytober prompt 27: "I did not wear the right footwear for this."

Thank you for the prompts, @jilytoberfest!

Casting a smile to anyone she passes, Lily quickly weaves her way through the crowd of wedding guests to the nearest exit, working overtime to keep her breathing steady and tears held back behind her stinging eyes.

It's not even that it was a particularly hurtful comment—she hears much worse things much more often—but the words, superficial as they might seem, carry so much weight that she feels positively bowled over by the crushing realization that her relationship with her sister is essentially over.

Maybe she was foolish for holding out hope. After all, she had been deliberately excluded from the wedding party. Petunia had pointedly chosen the wedding date for mid-October with the hope that Lily wouldn't be able to leave school (and was subsequently thwarted by Hogwarts' autumn break). Without their parents there to rein Petunia in, Lily doubts she would've been let into the church or reception at all.

Pushing through a side door of the reception hall, she finds herself in a well-manicured, if small, garden. The light of the party inside spills out in patches through the gossamer window coverings, a low conversational hum and muted melodies from the band offering her something other than silence in the near-darkness.

Furiously wiping away the tears that are now breaking free in her solitude, Lily crumbles into a ball with her back against the cold stone of the building, midnight blue dress pooling around her.

She shouldn't be this upset over a few words, but there was something about feeling like a pariah on your sister's wedding day that just stung, unbearably.

She had tried, really she had, to be perfect for Petunia. For today.

The sound of footsteps pulls her out of her spiral and she instinctively grabs for her wand only to remember she left it at home. Any nervousness racing through her body is instantly replaced with a mixture of confusion and relief as the owner of the footsteps round the corner.

Messy black hair. Glasses. A surprisingly sharp Muggle suit.

She feels her brows knit together as James quickens his pace to her, kneeling down beside her. "What are you doing here?"

"This isn't weird, right?" He asks nervously, his eyes scanning hers for a hint of what's caused her such distress. "You mentioned the address a few times and I know how your sister is so I just thought—"

"You'd wedding crash?" The corner of her lip tugs up and she's amazed at how something as simple as his presence can make her feel less miserable.

"I'd wedding observe," he corrects, trying for his own smile (and failing). "Or rather, I'd Lily observe. In case you need backup." She lets out a sad chuckle and reaches out her hand for his. Taking it, he stands and pulls her up to follow, asking gently, "Do you need backup?"

The softness, the care, in his voice triggers Lily's tears again and she shakes her head at his immediate concern. "I'm fine, really. It's stupid. It's just a stupid, emotional night."

James steps towards her and pulls her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her in a way that calms her nerves but still ushers forth more tears.

"Of course it's an emotional night," he reassures. Her arms snake around his waist and she's clinging to him for all that life's worth and is struck by how he feels the most like home at an event full of her family. James places a kiss atop her head. "What can I do to help?"

Lily shakes her head and steps back, looking at up him. "You've done enough by just being here. Thank you." It's with her whole heart she says these last two words, staring up into the eyes of the man that makes her feel appreciated and adored.

He gives her a lopsided smile in response and pulls her towards him, one hand on her hip and the other in his, and starts swaying them to the faint music from the band inside. They do this for a bit, Lily's heart at risk of bursting, filled to the brim with something more than affection for her boyfriend. She rests her head on his chest and feels the warmth of his breath by her ear. "By the way, you look gorgeous."

Her stomach flutters, and a smile, shy and grateful, appears on her lips. "Yeah, well," she takes a breath, "apparently I did not wear the right footwear for this." A sad laugh escapes as she looks up at him and gestures to the party inside with a nod of her head. At James' confused look, she elaborates. "Petunia claims I selfishly wore heels to upstage her. That because I'm taller than her with these shoes on, I've pulled the focus from her, and my selfishness is forever immortalized in her wedding photos."

"You don't need tall shoes to pull focus, Lil." His words come out as a murmur as he gazes down at her, adoration mixed with pain swimming in his eyes. His fingers dance at her side. "I'm sorry she said that to you."

"I tried." Lily shrugs and loops her arm around his neck and James pulls her in a little closer, all the while still swaying to the muffled music. "I really tried. But it's just not going to happen. I don't think Petunia and I will ever have that relationship again." A deep breath, exhaling all the expectations she's been holding for herself. "And I just need to accept that."

James doesn't say anything, but gently twirls her before they regain their closer position. Lily's head falls to his chest again and she hears the beating of his heart, smells that cedarwood and tobacco smell that's so James, and her nerves sing. Her fingers lift to play with the hairs at the base of his neck.

"Thank you again for coming. For knowing me enough to know I might need someone. Might need you." Lily can hear the rush of blood in her ears, she can feel her nerves fizzing in her body and only hopes her lungs will let her fill them with oxygen as she opens her mouth again.

"I love you."

In the aftermath of the words, her nerves fizz, the blood pounds, but her breathing stops.

James goes still, their swaying halted. He brings his hands to cup her face, gently tilting it up so she's looking at him. He's wonderstruck by her words, and his eyes are alight and shimmering, warm and full of promise.

"I love you too, Lily. God, do I love you."

He bends down and kisses her, and she knows. She knows James is her family now, where her heart lies, and she's the same for him.

Other Jilytober drabbles here.

[puthyflapps]

That unrequited au’s got me in a gotdang chokehold. Not the sweatshirt! 😭 The description of Regan vs. Shelbyyy help. Wake up Toni baby wake uppp!

If I have to be in my emotional devastation era then so does everyone else x

Toni has no choice but to wake up when this whole situation finally comes to a head during a drunken confrontation at one of Fatin's notorious house parties. Shelby had spent another evening going out of her way to avoid Toni and, subsequently, Regan. Her evasive behavior, combined with Toni’s penchant for picking fights, had culminated in this late-night showdown of sorts.

The two find themselves sharing hard stares and even harsher words. Questions seem to morph into accusations that are a clear result of the last name Shelby bears and the god-fearing reputation that comes with it. Truthfully, it was naive of Shelby to think she could continue to get away with dodging the other girl like this, and it was wholly and entirely ignorant to believe she could survive the ensuing interrogation. Especially knowing how Toni’s always prided herself on her ability to easily get under her skin. Steady cracks begin to appear in her veneer as Toni throws shot after shot her way. Launching question after question at her. Creating a dangerous minefield that Shelby’s not entirely sure she can continue to navigate much longer.

With each passing moment, Shelby can feel the heavy weight of her pageant queen mask slipping further and further down, revealing the raw and vulnerable truth underneath. Slowly, the carefully crafted facade of perfection cracks and crumbles, giving way to the messy and embarrassing reality she's been so desperately trying to hide. 

"Why is it so fucking hard for you to be happy for us?"

Toni lobs the question her way in a fit of frustration, and God, the question stings. It feels as though the words themselves have reached out and slapped her with all their might. Every syllable of every word burns at a brutal temperature. Invisible blisters are already steadily forming across the expanse of her cheek. Bubbling painfully. Flesh sizzling silently.

The question hurts. The insinuation hurts. The idea that Toni believes Shelby cares so little for her happiness fucking hurts. However, it’s still not enough to make her admit the truth and she can tell her silence is only upsetting Toni more. Her jaw is clenched and her chest is rising and falling rapidly with heavy breaths. It’s unsurprising when she yells out at Shelby once more:

“Say something!”

Her voice is desperate, trembling with fear and heartache. Shelby can hear the pleading in Toni's tone, her words spilling out with an urgency that cuts deep into Shelby's soul. She can feel the weight of Toni's expectations pressing down on her, begging for an explanation, for any shred of hope that this isn't what she thinks it is. The tension between them is palpable as Shelby struggles to hold back a flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. But with each passing moment, it becomes harder to contain the torrent of feelings churning within her.

“Because I love you!”

The declaration fills up the space around them, leaving no room to move. There is nowhere to run; nowhere to escape from the rubble of this crumbling friendship. It’s finally out there. These words, this thing that she's been so petrified to speak of is now out there for Toni to see, to dissect and pick apart. Shelby's soul lay bare in the confines of a bedroom that belonged to neither of them.

With a harsh swipe, Shelby banishes the hot tears carving tracks down her youthful face. She swivels abruptly from Toni, the air cooling where their bodies were once in proximity. Exhaustion-wrought legs buckle under her as she slumps onto the bed; an unruly cocktail of alcohol and fatigue renders her form heavy and unyielding. As she releases a shaky sigh permeating with undertones of regret - it sounds like waves reluctantly crashing onto a deserted beach. Gathering herself, she starts to explain:

"I spent years praying that one day you would wake up and just see me. You would see that I'm here, I've always been here, and you would finally love me back."

"Bee..." Toni's voice cracks. Raw with emotion and tinged with confusion.

Shelby pays no mind to the interruption, however. Instead, she presses on, ignoring how intensely pity-filled brown eyes watch her.

"I know how stupid and pathetic that sounds, but I really thought," her voice trails off momentarily as she tries to swallow the lump in her throat. "There were these moments where I swear it seemed like…like maybe you did love me. Then you met Regan, and I saw the way you looked at her, Toni. I saw it-"

"Shelby, please," Toni begs.

She pleads, for what? Shelby isn't sure. Does the thought of Shelby being in love with her make her skin crawl? Is Toni so disgusted that she can't bear to hear any more about Shelby's sick feelings? Perhaps she wants Shelby to stop, to save herself the embarrassment. Maybe she's simply trying to help Shelby retain what little is left of her dignity.

But Goodkinds aren’t known for being quitters.

So, if she's going to ruin the one good thing in her life and make a complete fool of herself, she may as well go for broke.

"It became painfully obvious that you would never love me the way that I love you. So, I'm sorry if I upset you. I'm sorry that I've been distant and closed off lately, but I am trying my best to learn how to not love you."

Toni's heart feels like it's being mercilessly wrenched from her chest, each beat causing a physical ache that seems to radiate through every limb. She knows she should say something, anything, to make things right, but her mind is foggy, and her tongue feels heavy with the weight of unspoken words. She can feel her knees growing weak with each passing moment. A tightness grips her throat, almost suffocating as a lump forms, making it difficult for her to even breathe. Despite the tears brimming in her eyes, she keeps them locked away; too ashamed to let them fall in front of her best friend.

Trudging forward, each step feeling more burdensome than the last, Toni makes her way over to the bed. Her eyes are transfixed on Shelby's form, as though she's just now seeing her for the first time. The air in the room is charged and tense, thick with unspoken emotions. "Bee," Toni says gently, barely above a whisper, only making Shelby want to hide away from her even more. She buries her head in her hands, unable to handle the softness in the brunette's tone. It feels too delicate, too careful, as if Toni is handling a fragile piece of glass that may shatter at any moment. Shelby's breaths come out in short ragged bursts, her head feeling light and dizzy as if the room is spinning around her. She feels exposed in all the wrong ways. Suddenly, there is a dip on the bed beside her and strong arms snake around her form. In this moment of vulnerability, Shelby can't help but lash out in the most pathetic way she can muster up - pushing weakly against Toni's chest like a petulant child. But Toni persists, ignoring Shelby's halfhearted protest and simply tightening her hold until they meld into one another. Shelby can feel puffs of warm breath tickling her ear as Toni whispers over and over again, "I didn't know." 

For what felt like hours, Toni and Shelby remained tangled together like the branches of an old tree. The soft pads of Toni's fingers traced soothing patterns over the expanse of Shelby's back as sobs wracked her body. Two girls, once inseparable, now finding solace in each other's arms amidst the ruins of their friendship. The aftermath of drunken confessions hung heavy in the air between them. As sleep slowly overtook her, Shelby couldn't help but wonder how they had ended up here - lost in each other yet worlds apart. When she wakes the following morning, she knows she can't linger a moment longer. She can't bear to face the harsh light of day and another inevitable rejection from Toni. With a heavy heart, she carefully untangles herself from the sleeping girl and mourns the thought that this will be the first and last time she ever shares a bed with Toni Shalifoe. 

[0ut0fgrace]

CHARACTERS : Hong Boyeon, Ciara Rhee, Nuala Rhee, Oona Rhee, Ronan Rhee, Topher Rhee

WARNINGS : Mentions of past violence, mentions of suicide/suicidal ideation, mentions of sex, mentions of self-harm, toxic relationships, overall just a toxic ass family

SUMMARY : A Sunday dinner, just like every Sunday dinner before.

WORD COUNT : 2.3k

Family dinners were always something to dread. Mother would clutch her pearls and hurl insults as their father. He would stab his knife into the oak table, wishing it were lodged in his wife's throat instead. The children would watch on, not in horror but in boredom. Only so many fights could get their adrenaline flowing and force them to intervene. After witnessing a dozen or so fights just like this one, they couldn’t find it in themselves to care.

Nuala watched as Boyeon ripped off her necklace before storming out of the room. Delicate pearls bounced on the marble floor. Their housekeeping staff, haggard old twins Junghee and Jungsook, collapsed to their knees. In their shaky hands rolled the delicate pearls. Had they not feared the family, one of the twins would have slipped a few pearls into her bra to pawn off on their way home.

Topher stormed after her, shattering a wine glass in his haste.

The dinner had not been too bad for a majority of the night. The family of six enjoyed two lovely courses and were awaiting a hearty dessert; a chocolate stout cake with peanut-butter frosting. It was a family favorite, they always had it at the end of a grand Rhee feast.

It wasn't until Ciara brought up feeling "forgotten" that things went to hell.

' ' ' '

"Forgotten? What the hell do you mean forgotten?" Laughed Topher, gulping down bitter red wine.

Ciara brushed crumbs from the table onto the floor. "Like in my group, Dad. Dispatch doesn't want anything to do with me."

Ronan chewed at his thumb. He had been tuned out of the night's conversations for a while.

"That's not bad," quipped their mother. "Dispatch likes to start trouble. The Rhee family name and trouble should never be in the same sentence."

"No, Mom, that's not what I mean." Ciara directs her gaze towards their father, totally disregarding their mother. Her eyes grew mushy and soft with emotion. "Can you fix my problem, Daddy?"

Nuala rolled her eyes. Of course, the baby needed to beg for something. She threw back her smoked old fashion. Her head throbbed, from alcohol and general annoyance. "Jungsook, another old fashioned." she commanded. Nuala wasn't tipsy enough to watch a fight.

Jungsook, the more skittish twin, retrieved the glass and scurried into the kitchen.

"I can try pushing a few stories to friends of friends and see what happens."

"You've never offered to do that for any of us," snapped Oona.

Ronan let out a puff of air, one of his “here we go again” sighs.

That's where it all went wrong. Their mother, emotional and unstable per usual, launched into a tangent about them being ungrateful children. She made sure to berate all of them, even Nuala and Ronan who had been silent for much of the dinner.

"What if we cut all of you out of the will?" Boyeon shrieked, pale face now red from anger. "What will you leeches do without the money? Be fucking grateful for your father. He could’ve forced you to go to some shitty company, but no he took you in and gave you everything. He gives you the world and you never thank him."

Jungsook nearly spilled the old fashioned as she placed it on the table. The yelling always scared her. There was far too much yelling in the house of Rhee.

It didn't take too much for Boyeon to scream and cry. The Hongs were a messy bunch. Untreated mental illness ran rampant on their side. Grandfather Hong didn't believe in modern medicine for silly "mental deficiencies." The Hongs didn't have anything wrong with their brains, no matter what quack doctor had to say. His children were perfectly fine, after all they directly represented him as a person and he was perfect so by default they too were perfect.

Topher tried desperately to calm her down. He lovingly cooed her name. He tried appealing to her more irrational side. He tried and tried and tried until he cracked.

"Boyeon, shut the fuck up!" he hissed, driving his steak knife into the table.

The room fell into a hush, even the air conditioning unit ceased to make its usual din.

' ' ' '

The children watched the maids sweet up the glass. None of them moved from their seats. There was no need to comfort either of their parents, it would just turn into a bigger fight. The last time Ronan tried to comfort their mother he was met with a swift slap to the face. Their father had to pull him out of promotions to let his skin heal without the public speculating how he earned the mark.

"Why can't they just be normal and get a divorce." Oona huffed, pulling out her phone. It was a sin to eat with a phone in hand, but their parents were out of the room and the lovely stout cake would no longer be sliced and divided up.

"Mom would threaten to kill herself. She's done it before."

The girls all turned to stare at Ronan. How could he so calmly drop that piece of horrific information?

"You guys didn't know?" He handed his plate to Junghee as she made her rounds, clearing the table.

Nuala tapped her nails on the side of her glass. "When did she do that?"

They all understood their mother was generally unstable, but threatening to kill herself was very new to them.

Ronan picked at his fingers as he spoke. "When we still lived in Anaheim Hills. Dad was over here doing stuff with the company and Mom had a rough time with the change." His finger began bleeding. Ronan grabbed a white cloth napkin and wrapped it around his index finger. "It's why you guys had to live with Aunt Porsha. I was at home talking her off the ledge pretty much daily."

"Did you call anyone?"

"Oona, I was fourteen."

"Did Auntie Porsha try to get her help?" Inquired Ciara, eyes wide with shock.

He held back a laugh, it would be insensitive to laugh at the question. "You know Aunt Porsha hates Mom."

Nuala nodded, their aunt did hate their mother. There were a few different rumors floating around as to why she hated Boyeon. Ronan assumed it was because Boyeon came from a background where she didn't have to work for things. Nuala chalked it up to Porsha being jealous her sister-in-law was graced with four beautiful children and she was left husbandless and barren. Oona didn't have a theory, the tension between them didn't concern her so she never thought about it. Ciara heard from one of their great aunts that Boyeon allegedly had an affair with Porsha's ex-fiancé, but that was all just word of mouth.

"Do you think Dad hates Mom?" Ciara and her questions. She was always the most talkative out of the children.

The Rhee children never had a picture perfect view of what love was or what it could be. They were so used to venomous words hurled across tables and glasses shattering that kisses looked like suffocation and hugs were strangulation. Everything sweet and good about love was foreign to them, especially Nuala.

Nuala was dating a man nearly twenty years her senior and she confused his disgusting infatuation with her for pure love. She associated the word "good" with him. He was good to her, most of the time, so he was good. Kiyoung never hit her, so he was gentle. He only called her vulgar things on occasion, so he was sweet. He fucked her often, so he clearly loved her if he wanted her writhing body beneath him.

"I think we all hate Mom to some capacity." said Nuala before slamming her drink. The whiskey stung her throat.

For the second time that day the room fell into a hush. There was some truth in her statement. Nuala for a fact hated their mother. She hated their mother and father because they made her feel like she was never enough. Ronan didn't have a hateful bone in his body, he just hated what Boyeon put him through as a child. He was just a boy when he had to act as a father for his sisters. Oona disliked both their mother and father. She disliked Boyeon for talking her into altering her face before debut and she disliked Topher for morphing her into something she was not. Ciara was not yet aware of the hatred festering in her stomach for both parents.

"I don't think we should talk like this in their house." Ronan whispered, listening for the clicking of heels or raised voices.

It was like they were children again, waiting for the fighting to stop.

Oona pushed out her chair and stood up. "I'm going for a smoke."

"That's not good for your lungs."

"No shit, Ronan."

Oona rolled her eyes and stomped her way to the coat room.

"Wait, I'm coming with you." Nuala quickly got out of her seat to follow Oona.

Ciara watched them, jealousy burning a hole in her belly. She wanted to be invited to do adult things. Her eyes flick to Ronan, their eyes meet. "I wish they would include me."

"No you don't. All they're gonna do is complain and get lung cancer. It's better to stay here anyway." Ronan smiled. "In here we can have our own fun."

' ' ' '

The night sky was full of stars when they stepped outside. Smoking at the bottom of the driveway was a tradition dating back to when Nuala could legally buy cigarettes for herself. At first smoking was a secret between herself and the stars, but as much as she'd hate to admit it, smoking by herself became lonely. Oona would get dropped off--by one of their father's drivers, she was the only trainee allowed to live at home--after her practice at the company, and each time without fail Nuala was sprawled on the pavement with a cigarette between her lips and clumps of ash on her cheeks. At first Oona would watch from a distance, but before she knew it she and Nuala were sharing cigarettes while they bitched about songwriting and prepping for idol-hood.

Nuala hadn't smoked in a few years. She developed a nasty habit of burning her flesh on the nights Oona didn't smoke with her. Oona was the one who discovered the burns. She screamed at Nuala. Oona called her crazy, and said the family would be a laughing stock if people found out she intentionally hurt herself. Nuala hadn't touched a cigarette since.

The sisters sat on the pavement. Nuala pulled her phone out, hoping to see a text from Kiyoung. He isn't a good texter. She told herself. He loves you. He loves you.

Oona whipped out her box of disgustingly cheap cigarettes and a neon lighter she got for free with her purchase. She lit the cigarette before sitting next to Nuala.

She never failed to cough on the first inhale. Oona was bent over, hacking as Nuala stared at her.

"Maybe you should just start vaping. I’ve heard it feel smoother on the throat, whatever that means."

"God no," Oona said between coughs, "vapes fucking blow up in your pocket."

"But they don't make you stink."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Nuala put her phone on the pavement. "You're always bitching about Dad criticizing you and being controlling and shit. If you don't do shit like this he won't be on your ass."

Oona scoffed. She inhaled then blew the smoke right into Nuala's face. "You're one to fucking talk, Nu."

Admittedly, Nuala missed the scent of fresh cigarette smoke.

"But I'm right. As long as you're under Dad's company he is going to nit pick. The second he and Mom come back to the dining room they're going to give you a lecture on lung health and the possibility of crazies snapping pics of you doing this." Nuala watched as Oona rolled the cigarette filter between her thumb and index finger; she was contemplating something. "Just do us all a favor and get a fucking vape."

"Oh, so you don't think I can quit?"

"No! God, that's not what I'm saying at all."

She hated it when Oona became defensive over nothing.

"Should I quit?" Oona murmured. She never asked for Nuala's opinion.

"I dunno."

Without a second thought, Oona put the cigarette by her foot and stomped it out.

"Is that you quitting?"

"Who knows." She laughed, a genuine little laugh before reigning herself back in. "When are you going back to your place?"

Nuala glanced at her phone. 11:30. She had a writing session at 7 the next morning. "Soon. I was planning on leaving after cake, but I don't know if that's going to happen anymore."

"One of the maids can give you a slice."

"It'll somehow start a fight. I don't want Mom to accuse me of stealing more than just cake." Nuala brought herself to her feet, shoving her phone in her pocket as she stretched. "I'll see you next Sunday."

Oona nodded. "Yeah."

Nuala sniffed before turning on her heels. It wasn't uncommon for her to Irish goodbye her family. Sometimes she didn't want to sit through false pleasantries after a dinner full of screaming and crying.

Her black Range Rover was parked at the end of the driveway. Ronan and Oona had personal drivers bring them to the dinner. Doing stuff like that was above her salary. Well, their father paid for the private drivers so it really did not hurt her siblings' pockets.

She opened the driver's side and hopped in. Nuala hoped texts from Kiyoung would flood through her speakers, enveloping her in his love. She turned the car on. There was complete silence.

He’s probably asleep. She reasoned with herself.

Nuala looked through her windshield, watching Oona as she made her way into the house. She wished every family dinner didn’t dissolve into a battle. She wished she had a normal family, but wishing for something never changed reality.

[siriusly-sapphic]

What songs remind you of siriusxnarcissa?

Shipping Asks!

I love this question so much it gives me an excuse to go through my playlist for them so I picked out four in a few different vibes.

Why Do You Love Me by Charlotte Lawrence

This just describes their mutual "you're such a fucking disaster for wanting me, I love you" feeling. Obviously a very toxic dynamic there, but so all-consuming?

"I hate your friends, I hate your mum and dad, I hope they hate me back." Is them to a tee for the obvious reasons.

"A lot is wrong with you, to want to be with me. It's kinda sweet. We fight until someone is calling the cops, but you never blame it on me. You're so annoying." I'm writing a scene in a multichapter based on that second line lmao; they can get into such violent fights if they let go, and they like seeing that fire in each other, but at the end of the day it's almost always with this mutual understanding that it's part of the fun.

"Narcissist, come on give us a kiss. Let's have some fun with it." I mean, again, obvious reasons?

I Bet My Life by Imagine Dragons

This is a much more emotional, softer vibe almost? Less angry, just regret and remembering, nostalgic vibes. The impact they've had on each other, good and bad, and how long it lasts even after it's all gone to hell and they're living their respective lives.

"I know I took the path that you would never want for me I know I let you down, didn't I? I gave you hell through all the years." When they're younger and making the choices that are gonna influence the rest of their lives, the mutual hatred they have for each other's decisions, the betrayal they feel every time the other makes a choice that's so opposite from what they each consider the obviously correct one. Later, it's Narcissa looking back knowing she fucked up, too.

"I've told a million lies but now I tell a single truth. There's you in everything I do." This line kills me every time lmao. The acknowledging that they've had such a deep impact on each other's life and character through the years. Even if they want to deny it, it spills out in all the little details that make up who they are as people. It's been such a wild, overwhelming ride over the years, and those things stay with them.

Ruin My Life by Zara Larsson

Their destructive tendencies in full force, and how much their mutual need for destruction and pain makes them feel alive and makes the war feel a little more manageable. Especially on Narcissa's side, knowing full well that getting caught with Sirius Black of all people if going to destroy her marriage and her reputation and the socialite life she wants so badly? But she craves that risk?

"You set fire to my world, couldn't handle the heat. Now I'm sleeping alone and I'm starting to freeze. Baby, come bring me hell, let it rain over me." Their relationship is messy and painful and every now and then they call it off but in the end they always come running back, because it's exactly that hell they give each other that makes it worth their while to stay alive.

Perfect by One Direction

This is the fun side of it. The days and weekends where there's no pain, no fights, no curses flying around. Just fun. One chapter in the fic I'm working on is literally just them walking around the muggle parts of Nice, having a regular good time with no war and no family and no expectations to consider. It's what makes the rest of the dynamic feel a little less destructive.

"But if you like causing trouble up in hotel rooms. And if you like having secret little rendezvous. If you like to do the things you know that we shouldn't do, then baby I'm perfect for you." It's just the fun sides of sneaking around, getting a muggle hotel and living in anonymity for a night. Doing all the things especially Narcissa is not allowed, walking around cities in muggle dresses with his jacket around her shoulders, causing a little trouble. Would be the biggest scandal if anyone saw. Just pure fun.

this became more detailed than I expected LMAO I'm sorry, but I love it

[sarahsouthee-makingandmedia-511]

Film Review Helevitica - Week 4

Would you use Helvetica in your designs? 

I would to a certain degree. I do believe expression with typography can make the audience feel emotions about the text, while Helvetica is very neutral and unbiased, which is great for bus signs or government-related announcements or articles. 

Would you use Helvetica for one context (type of work/audience) but not another? 

It may vary on the context; the best example is where I wouldn’t possibly be on the front of magazines or posters; in those contexts, I would rather have typography be expressive and show personality. As I feel Helvetica is best suited for subheadings or in the background or the next page type with information. Helvetica is very well used in everyday life, and I believe we human beings gravitate towards simple, balanced things like Helvetica. It is also very readable and clear to understand while other typography is more chaotic, messy, loud, and unbalanced.

During the film, a person describes Helvetica this way about how it is to the world and to us as well “Helvetica has almost like a perfect balance of push and pull in its letters, and that perfect balance sort of is saying to us, well not sort of, it is saying to us, Don’t worry, any of the problems you’re having or problems in the world, or problem getting through the subway or finding a bathroom, all those problems aren’t going to spill over, they’ll be contained.”, And I think I'm right calling Helvetica the perfume of the city. It’s just something we don’t notice usually but we would miss very much if it wouldn’t be there” . Helvetica font, that we are all use to seeing. The way it gives off a soothing look to it, balance and simple. When it comes down to street signs, maps, signs (warning signs or informational), labels and in those times it is very key for the audience to be able to read and understand it. As well with the trend of minimalistic aesthetics different versions of the font family are use with this aesthetics. Because of the popularity with this font, we wouldn’t have many of the new font families being created to support or inspire the font style or to go into the opposite direction. 

[enchantedquill-40]

T Title: "Finding Our Way Together"

Tags:

- Shameless

- Fanfiction

- Ian Gallagher

- Mickey Milkovich

- Bipolar Disorder

- ADHD

- Mental Health

- Support

- Relationships

- Love

- Understanding itle: "Finding Our Way Together"

Tags:

- Shameless

- Fanfiction

- Ian Gallagher

- Mickey Milkovich

- Bipolar Disorder

- ADHD

- Mental Health

- Support

- Relationships

- Love

- Understanding

Ian Gallagher had always felt like he was navigating through life with a missing puzzle piece. His bisexuality and bipolar disorder created a complex internal landscape, one where he often felt like he didn't quite fit in. But then Mickey Milkovich entered his life, and suddenly, things began to click into place in unexpected ways.

As Ian observed Mickey's erratic behavior, his constant need for stimulation, and his impulsivity, he couldn't help but notice the patterns. It wasn't just Mickey being Mickey; there was something more beneath the surface. It was as if Ian had stumbled upon a key to unlock a hidden truth.

In the quiet moments between them, Ian started piecing together the puzzle. He researched, he observed, and he talked to Mickey. And slowly, he began to realize that Mickey might have ADHD. Suddenly, so much of Mickey's behavior made sense – his restlessness, his inability to focus, his quick temper.

As Ian delved deeper into understanding ADHD, he found himself feeling a new sense of connection with Mickey. They weren't just two misfits trying to make sense of the world; they were two souls bound together by their shared struggles and their determination to overcome them.

Together, they navigated the ups and downs of Mickey's ADHD, finding ways to manage the symptoms and embrace the unique strengths it brought. And in doing so, Ian discovered a newfound sense of purpose – to support Mickey, to love him fiercely, and to remind him that he was never alone in his battles.

Their love story wasn't perfect, but it was theirs – messy, complicated, and undeniably beautiful. And as they faced the challenges ahead, Ian knew that as long as they had each other, they could weather any storm that came their way. Mickey trudged through the day, his mind a whirlwind of chaos. Nothing seemed to go right – from spilling coffee on his shirt in the morning to forgetting his keys for the third time that week. He couldn't shake the feeling of frustration and confusion that seemed to cling to him like a dark cloud.

As he sat in their small apartment, trying to gather his thoughts, Ian's voice pierced through the haze. "Mickey, have you looked into ADHD at all? I really think it could help you understand what's going on."

Mickey scowled, his irritation bubbling to the surface. "What the hell are you talking about, Ian? I don't need some fancy diagnosis to tell me I'm messed up."

Ian sighed, his frustration mirroring Mickey's own. "It's not about being 'messed up,' Mickey. ADHD isn't a label; it's an explanation. It could help you understand why you feel the way you do, why you struggle with certain things."

Mickey clenched his jaw, his resistance flaring. "I don't need your pity, Gallagher. I'm fine just the way I am."

Ian's tone softened, his eyes pleading. "Mickey, it's not about pity. It's about understanding. I just want to help you make sense of things."

Mickey felt a surge of anger rise within him, but beneath it, there was something else – a flicker of curiosity, of longing for answers. He pushed it aside, burying it beneath layers of defensiveness. "I don't need your help, Ian. I can figure this out on my own."

Ian reached out, his hand hovering uncertainly before he withdrew it. "Okay, Mickey. I won't push you. But if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here."

Mickey watched as Ian retreated, his heart heavy with conflicting emotions. He wanted to push Ian away, to shut himself off from the world and wallow in his anger. But a part of him – a small, vulnerable part – longed for the connection, for the understanding that Ian offered.

As the day wore on, Mickey found himself unable to shake the nagging feeling that Ian might be onto something. He resisted the urge to Google ADHD, to delve into the maze of information that awaited him. But no matter how hard he tried to distract himself, the question lingered in the back of his mind, taunting him with its unanswered riddles.

By the time Ian returned home that evening, Mickey was exhausted – not just physically, but mentally and emotionally drained. He avoided Ian's gaze, his pride warring with his curiosity.

Ian approached him slowly, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and understanding. "Mickey, I'm sorry if I pushed too hard earlier. I just want what's best for you."

Mickey hesitated, his resolve crumbling in the face of Ian's unwavering kindness. "Maybe... maybe we could talk about it. Just... just a little."As Ian kissed Mickey, he felt a rush of overwhelming affection flood his senses. Every touch, every taste, every sound was amplified in his mind, filling him with a sense of completeness he had never known before. He loved everything about Mickey – his chatty nature, his outgoing attitude, his moments of shyness that made Ian's heart melt.

Their kisses deepened, becoming more urgent and passionate with each passing moment. Ian's hands roamed Mickey's body, tracing the familiar contours of muscle and bone with a reverence born of love and desire. Mickey responded eagerly, his own hands tangling in Ian's hair as he pulled him closer, seeking more of the intoxicating connection they shared.

But even as they lost themselves in the heat of the moment, Ian couldn't shake the nagging feeling of unease that lingered in the back of his mind. He knew Mickey struggled with intimacy at times, his past traumas and insecurities casting a shadow over their relationship. Ian wanted nothing more than to help Mickey overcome those barriers, to show him that he was safe and loved in Ian's arms.

As their kisses grew more fervent, Ian made a silent vow to himself – tonight, he would make Mickey come undone, not just physically, but emotionally as well. He would show Mickey what it truly meant to be loved unconditionally, to be cherished and adored without reservation.

Breaking away from the kiss, Ian trailed a path of soft, lingering kisses down Mickey's neck, reveling in the way Mickey's breath hitched in response. He whispered words of love and reassurance against Mickey's skin, his voice a soothing balm against the lingering echoes of doubt and fear.

Mickey trembled beneath Ian's touch, his barriers slowly crumbling in the face of Ian's unwavering devotion. He had never felt so vulnerable, so exposed, and yet so completely safe all at once. With Ian, he didn't have to hide or pretend – he could simply be himself, flaws and all.

As Ian's lips found their way to Mickey's chest, tracing patterns of desire and need across his skin, Mickey felt his heart swell with a warmth he had never known before. He had spent so long pushing people away, building walls around his heart to protect himself from pain. But with Ian, those walls seemed to melt away, leaving nothing but raw, unfiltered emotion in their wake.

With a soft whimper, Mickey arched into Ian's touch, surrendering himself completely to the tide of sensation that threatened to consume him. He felt as if he were on the edge of a precipice, teetering on the brink of something vast and overwhelming, yet undeniably beautiful.

And then, with a whispered promise and a gentle touch, Ian pushed Mickey over the edge, sending him spiraling into a blissful oblivion where time and space ceased to exist. In that moment, there was only Ian – his touch, his love, his unwavering devotion – and Mickey knew, with a certainty that echoed in the depths of his soul, that he was home.