#my means are beyond explanation

[kidokear]

My current Ultrakill brainrot + my excitement over ep 7 of Murder drones = 👆

[rebornofstars]

Hello? Taps mic. The hero of Time is a fossil because his story is so old and long dead that the shape of his corpse has been filled in with sediment and calcified it and the now people can only guess what manner of creature he used to be by the shape of his bones.  I can't put the words into the story but I read a book about how in ancient Greece farmers would find mammoth bones and call them bones of giants. the bones discovered in a place with many thunderstorms were called giants, who fell in battle against Zeus. people knew and questioned the stories but they still called them gods. was that boy a hero? did he really abandon their world? hello bee? i feel like you'd appreciate this crumb without the story. i don't know what to do with it but its fun to toss around in my head. he's old. he's time. he is bones in the shape of a huddled child, but his form is so strange to us we called him a warrior, a beast, a giant, anything but a small thing huddled in the ground long ago. I'm not like babying Time the grown man, I'm thinking the story of him. Wind’s idea of The Hero of Time and the Guy that we call Time are not the same person, ok? Taps mic. Like is this thing on? Can you hear me?

oh my god. im starting a new word document

[quietwingsinthesky]

sometimes i think about my spn oc and how i rewrote everything about amara to interact with the story i was trying to tell about her. there were some really neat ideas in that i need to recycle for something one day. like, in the show proper, they just let amara take over a human baby and that’s fine, but amara’s not Meant To Be Here. this entire universe is one constructed in her absence. saying she can possess a human body should be like saying if you took a person and sent them to a universe where 1+1=3, they could just figure out how to function within that.

which in story took the form of Amara being something that could not be Understood, only Rationalized. a force locked outside the narrative who could only get inside and destroy things if given a role within it. by the Winchesters as A Monster To Face. by Chuck as Wayward, Unreachable Sister. and by miss oc as. simultaneously a projected creature to be saved, an amalgamation of injustices done to herself (and others) that would never be righted but could be made up for by being a part of this. and as something impossibly powerful that could be both protection and purpose.

and the Darkness wasn’t any of those things, really, but to have agency in her own story required new shackles, but ones she was always straining against. she wouldn’t fit inside the confines of a human mind, let alone a body, at least not well enough to leave it Intact. like lucifer burning through nick, but Worse. because the burns were an expected outcome of skin not strong enough to hold him. humans were built for angels, some were built better and some worse, but they’re meant to work. putting amara in human skin should disconnect the skin and mind and soul from the reality her brother built itself, i think. slowly. bit by bit.

and at the same time, i’d gone and written the kind of wild scenario you really can only write for your thirteen year old mary sue, given that spn oc the part of herald/high priestess/failed vessel. which she pursued with wild abandon like that would fix anything wrong with her <3

in the end, running alongside the borrowed family theming of the original show was my own theme of “how much self-annihilation will you accept to make your point. are you accepting it, really. or are you seeking it.” not just physically, in letting something unmake the base components of what you are as it tries to fit inside you or in it constricting and suffocating itself beyond self-recognition to get inside in the first place, but, obviously, it’s supernatural, how much selfhood do you cede to your family. is it worth it.

it was interesting, if nothing else. let thirteen year old me cook. she had ideas.

[dandyshucks]

trying to tell other ppl about OCs is so hard and embarrassing, like yeah here's my automaton guy that I've been calling Empty Mask, yeah I nearly cried over the thought of him collecting broken porcelain dolls the other day, yeah he sounds kind of stupid but he's actually kind of a tragic character if u get to know his story,,,,,,

[heloflor]

You know, considering how many posts I recently made about Movie Peach and how negative they are, there’s something I feel the need to clarify since I wouldn’t be surprised if people had some assumptions and I don’t want words I didn’t say being put into my mouth (Tl;Dr at the end):

As a completely original character, fully detached from everything other than the movie, I have no issues with Movie Peach. She’s badass in a fun way, spunky, has a few cute faces, and I especially appreciate how despite being a strong female character stereotype she’s very supportive of Mario and builds him up rather than putting him down, it makes her likeable and their relationship very cute.

And yes, this is the way I perceived her from the get-go, but only mentioned it in my movie reaction post made all the way back when said movie came out, hence needing to say it again now. To quote that post: “Least favorite character is DK. It could’ve been Peach but my issues with her stem from how different she is from her games counterpart. If you take her movie character as a brand-new character rather than a game adaptation, she’s actually pretty great as a guide and strong mentor.” And while there are things in this post I now disagree with, this part remains my current opinion.

So yeah, as an original character, she’s pretty great...but that’s also the issue.

Movie Peach is not an original character. She’s supposed to be an adaptation of a pre-existing character who already has her own personality. And as an adaptation, Movie Peach fails at every level. Not only that, but several dialogues keep hyping her up in a way that comes off as Illuminations looking down on Games Peach, you know, the character their own Peach is supposed to be an adaptation of.

That’s why I take such issue with Movie Peach. It’s not the character itself, it’s how bad of an adaptation she is. And if I did my job correctly, every single time I talk negatively of her in my posts, it’s about her as an adaptation specifically. The only instance of me being an ass for no reason is in my table comparison post where I call her a dumbass, which I point out in the tags to be me throwing shade and not something I actually believe.

Now I also want to say that I hate Movie Peach for what she represents and the consequences of her existence on Peach’s character and her perception by the public, so to keep it short I’m going with bullet points:

It annoys me a lot that a multi-million dollars company couldn’t be bothered to adapt her character properly, especially since they apparently closely worked with Nintendo and the concept art very much show them who Peach is as a person (the one where she’s encouraging Mario to fight DK reminds me of the 86 Anime where she keeps having Mario fight her battles while powerless to defend herself; also it’s funny how in the art of Games Peach reacting to Movie Peach it’s obvious the artist had no idea what personality Movie Peach has). The fact she’s a favorite character of mine doesn’t help and makes me feel robbed from seeing a beloved character on the big screen for the first time. And obviously them low-key insulting her by hyping up Movie Peach makes it worse.

Even before getting into the fandom I knew that Peach isn’t the most well-liked character, with many gamers especially finding her bland and boring. This was already sad on its own, but now those same people are praising a character who’s completely different from her for being “so much better” or “finally giving her a personality”. It sucks. Games Peach deserves better than that.

With those things in mind I don’t think I need to explain why the fact this characterization is possibly bleeding out into the games is something I dread. Now I can live with a cover art change, but if they change her actual character I’m going to scream. Especially if they only do it to Peach and no other character. And yes I know some people also pointed out a possible direction change for her voice but 1. for some reason I don’t really care, possibly because she’s been through quite a lot of voice-actors already 2. we only clearly hear her voice in the Showtime trailer during the Kung-Fu part so maybe her voice will differ depending on the costume, it is a stageplay after all, and 3. the Wonder short with Bowser has her let out four noises, one of which has a different tone while the other three keep her usual high octave, so I’m not sure if they truly intend on changing her voice. Haven’t played Wonder yet tho so I can’t speak to all her other voicelines.

Hopefully this will be my last post about this outside of answering asks and reblogs as I’m always open to discussions/debates. I don’t like bringing negativity and especially not drama to my blog but, considering the extensive rant I made about this, it only feels right to make sure people don’t misinterpret where my issues come from, since I can absolutely understand people seeing my posts and concluding that I hate Movie Peach for who she is rather than what she represents.

Now, instead of being negative about Movie Peach I’d rather focus on being positive about Games Peach, mostly through the fics I’m working on.

Tl;Dr: Movie Peach would be genuinely great as an original character but alas she was put inside the skin of someone with a completely different personality from hers. And it's very hard to look past this given the consequences of Movie Peach's existence on how people percieve Peach as a whole now on top of a possible change in her games character.

[madderruz]

I really appreciate people who write big long analysis posts about media because 1) I have a very bad sense of memory and a weird way of ingesting media so even if it's a concept I understood subconsciously while I was watching/reading, having another person put it into words helps me remember and gives me a deeper appreciation and 2) anyone who writes analysis posts is already 10 times more articulate than I am

[ladyseidr]

my favorite part of the william and henry dynamic aside from The Horrors is just them infodumping abt tech @ each other for hours

[marshmelonfluff]

interview tomorrow. i will try not to die

[isa-renee]

okay but why is it literally easier to explain my thesis topic to non-linguists??

[thistle-wrote]

Husbands

cw: established poly relationship, anal, vaginal sex. Authors note: for the first time in my life, I get to give one of those ridiculous notes to preface my fic. as I was writing this my house was swarmed with BEES so I'm sorry if it's bad lmfao. John Price X Simon Ghost Riley X Reader.

“John?” John glanced over at you, his focus mostly on the newspaper in his hand.

“Yes, princess?” 

“Love, why is Simon in the guest bed?” You question him, you weren’t upset by any means, truth be told you love it when Simon comes over, even more when he stays for a while it’s just when John crawled into your bed last night he hadn’t mentioned Simon was with him.

“Probably because he’s tired.” John said not looking up from the paper, it was the kind of plain, dry statement you usually got from your otherwise adoring husband. You met his gaze with a rather unamused expression, a silent demand for an actual answer.

“Needed some love from baby girl, that's all, we had a rough go round this time.” He states, leaning back farther into his recliner. You watch him as he gives a slight wince at the pain in his side. You hate that. John was clearly feeling as though that statement was enough of an explanation, and for the most part, it was.

You understood little of your husband’s job beyond the simple and watered down explanations he gives when he comes back from missions, still, you understood enough to know they needed extra love and care for a while afterwards, Simon is no different except for the fact he’s easier to deal with.

You make your way down the hallway, feeling the soft new carpet that you begged John for beneath your feet, muffling your steps. You open the door to the guest bedroom to find Simon sprawled out on the small bed.

“Si?”  You cautiously speak, you know for a fact he is not sleeping, the man rarely sleeps as is but definitely not in a bed two sizes too small and especially not after going through God knows what.

“Honey.” You probe again, walking now fully into the room and sitting down on the white crinkly duvet next to where he’s lying. His eyes are open but still, you get no response, you look him over noticing the new cut on his cheek, the facial hair he hasn’t bothered to shave yet, the bags under his eyes, the way his blonde hair sticks up in every direction from tossing and turning all night.

You never have loved the way he looks after a mission, always worse off than John, you know that John just hides it better but you worry for them both.

“Gotta tell me what you need, baby boy.” You mutter trying not to let the worry in your face show while brushing your fingers along the curve of his cheek, feeling the rough stubble that he will no doubt shave within a few days. He looks up at you, for a brief moment you can see the relaxed expression, like for a second he forgot about everything, everything but you. 

“I’m hungry.” A soft smile finds its way to your face. You lean down to place a soft kiss to his chapped lips.

“I’ll make you something.” 

As you cook you think of Simon, of John, you think of how lucky you are to not only have an amazing husband but to have the man in your guest bedroom. John doesn’t say it enough and Simon won’t ever admit it but the three of you have found a rhythm, this is Simon’s home as much as it was yours and John’s. It’s better when he’s home.

“Cookin’?” John asks after a few minutes, walking halfway into the kitchen and leaning onto the door frame.

“Yes.” You respond softly looking up with a smile, where John and Simon differ is mostly in the way that they treat you, neither one bad or wrong but different. John saw you, his little wife, as some sort of angel; he’s told you as much. He never asks or demands anything of you. You don’t work; you only cook or clean out of your own volition. To him, you’re more of a precious artifact that can’t be tampered with.

Simon is different, he’s a little more closed off, so you need a more aggressive approach, he’s learned over the years that your demands for him to tell exactly what he wants will be met with not hostility, but a soft hand and a loving voice, doing for him exactly what he needs. You’re sure that John wanted breakfast just as much as Simon did, but John would never ask for it.

As you cook, John remains in the kitchen, not speaking, but there’s a quiet understanding between the two of you, it’s comfortable, loving, and warm despite John’s current condition he wants to be in your presence.

After a long stretch of comfortable silence, you speak again. “Simon looks like he hasn’t slept in a week.” You mutter. You know that despite him not always behaving like he does, John cares as much for Simon as you do. Simon and John have a relationship that is difficult to explain, not only in how John allows him into both your home and marital bed. But also, how John relies on Simon to take care of you when he can’t, to meet you at the petrol station to fill your tank when he’s closer, to call and check on you when his phone dies. John expects Simon to have the same kind of care for you as he does.

“He hasn’t.” John’s simple statement makes you stand on edge a little, you love Simon, John knows that. You know when they are gone doing things that they won’t explain to you, Simon has John to look out for him, but they are men. A pat on the back from John does not have the same effect that a tender embrace or a home cooked meal does.

Once the simple meal of toast, eggs, and sausage was cooked, you made John a plate, sitting in front of him with a small clink of ceramic against the granite island. He smiled, a wordless “thank you.“ as you made Simon a plate carrying it with you to the guest bedroom.

You didn’t bother with a knock when you entered the bedroom. You set the plate on the nightstand, then sat in the same spot you had previously.

“Sit up, love.” It’s a demand, a loving demand, but a demand, nonetheless. He does as requested.  You never wish for Simon to be wearing a shirt, but at this moment, seeing the bruise along his torso and the bandage on his arm, makes you almost wish he were wearing one. Your incessant need to mother your men at war with your desire to focus only on what you could control; you could control breakfast.

“Here.” You hum, placing the plate on his lap. His tired eyes find yours. As Simon eats, you don’t move, you just chatter, talking to him, as though he were responding you watch his silent nods as he shovels food into his mouth as if he would never get to eat again.  As Simon finished his plate you began to pick it up, taking it to clean when you felt a big rough hand wrap around your wrist.

“Don’t go.” His deep voice echoed through the room, not loud, or demanding but a clear plea. You nodded, understanding what he needed in that moment was not breakfast in bed or space but rather just your presence. 

You move over the bed, making a mental note to buy him a bigger bed for the guest bedroom since he’s the only one who stays in it. You cautiously curl up into his side, pushing your legs beneath the covers to intertwine them with his own. Simon wrapped his arms around you and sighed deeply.

It was a satisfied sigh. You let the large man manhandle you, allowing him to pull you where he sees fit with your head now resting against the inside of his shoulder and your fingers grazing along his tummy. He speaks finally for the first time without you prompting him to do so. “Missed you.” It’s quiet like a confession he doesn’t feel he’s allowed to make.

“I missed you too, baby.”  You don’t hold the same reservation about voicing your adoration for the man curled up next to you. A soft kiss grazed your lips as he pulled you further into his chest.

“Love you.” he murmured against your lips, your want to say it back was stopped by his mouth, continuing to move against yours, holding your arm, as if he feared you trying to pull away. Things with Simon have always been silent, actions rather than words. While he is silent, you are fully aware he is asking for something in the way his hands wandered from your arm to the small of your back, to your ass. 

A desperation to be close, close where your bodies can meld together. When his lips moved from yours to your neck you let out an involuntary little whine. His soft, loving kisses, turned into something more, an outlet.

“Si.” You whine out. He, despite being tired and drained from the past month, let out a laugh and an almost condescending chuckle, sure the sweet boy had been waiting for soft kisses and breakfast in bed, getting to cuddle with the captain’s missus but he was hungry and not for food.

You let out a little gasp when his hand slipped down the front of your leggings. “Si.” You repeated it again this time, breathless, longing.  He let out a groan when his fingers swept between your folds.

“There’s my girl.”  He said, his fingers gliding along your slick sex. You had no words left, no protests either. Already the world around you grew hazy, and before you knew what happened, your T-shirt and leggings were in a heap on the floor.

Simon took his time watching, touching, kissing. He drew orgasm after orgasm from your body with just the deep plunge of his fingers.

“Well, that’s a pretty sight.”  A deep voice hummed from the doorway. Normally, you would acknowledge the presence of your husband but the way your lover was working his fingers into you could make even the smartest of women feel dumb.

Simon didn’t respond, just glanced over through his dilated pupils, merely continuing as John crossed the bedroom sitting down on the duvet.  For a moment you thought he would just watch His lieutenant pull sweat noises from your lips, but you believed you may have seen God when his thumb made contact with your clit.

“Give us another, pretty girl.”  You weren’t sure in that moment exactly who the words came from; you were unable to respond. All you knew was that the words were being spoken to you. 

And you did, not that you could help it. It was almost instantaneous, the way your body tensed before releasing. You drenched Simon’s torso, you didn’t even realize what you’d done at first, you squirt so rarely.  Once their hands came to a halt, you blinked you opened your eyes. Embarrassment worked its way onto your already pink cheeks.

“I’m s…” Your apologies were instantly cut off. “Shut up.” The words weren’t mean despite the quickness and aggression in them. It wasn’t mean, it was desperate. Shirts were ripped off, pants unzipped. While you lay there heaving and trying to come down from your high.

There was zero protest from you when you were lifted from your spot on the bed. You were pulled to lay on top of Simon‘s chest. Even in your limp and already fucked out state, you had half of mind to protest simply because of his bruise. The words died in your throat though, as your husband knelt in front of you.

“Be good okay, Pretty?” John said, positioning your legs, pushing your knees against your shoulders as Simon held the underneath of your thighs. You nodded, both men seemingly took that as their go ahead.

Simon pushed himself into you, a sensation you had gotten used to throughout the years. He was big, but he likes your ass, so it’s not an abnormal feeling either. You whine and wiggle a little at first, but as he settles, your body got used to the stretch, as you tipped your head back John too, began nudging your wet hole with the reddened, hard tip of his cock.

John, however, did not give you the same consideration as Simon, there was no time to get used to the stretch. He plunged himself to the hilt, touching your cervix. In an instant it was as if everyone let out a sigh of relief, like this, despite the responsibilities and lives of every person, was exactly where they were all meant to be.

Both of your men began moving, each at their own pace. Each grunting and groaning. You don’t believe in heaven, it has always seemed an abstract concept. But this? This has to be it.

As they both rutted into you, you whined. “Don’t start crying on me now, princess.” John’s deep voice commanded. You obey as best you can. Simon squeezes on your thigh as he continues his relentless pace. The huffing and gripping onto his arms is all you can do to keep from screaming in pleasure.

They each continue with rapidly increasing speeds, speaking filthy things to you as they near their individual climaxes. “Milkin’ me fokin’ dry.”  The first words from Simon’s mouth in a while, an indication of just how close he was. 

John was not far off, his breathing was rapid, his grip on your knees nearing on painful. His strokes got harder, rougher. Then all at once you could feel him snap, you could feel the warmth of him spilling into you. His pace slowed as he rode out his orgasm.

Simon did not stop. Soon his pace too slowed as he filled you up with him. 

You all lay there for a moment, no one speaking. Just breathing in the comfortable, love filled space. You always know exactly what to do to give them the little TLC they need.

CoD Masterlist

[searchingwardrobes]

I have been debating sharing this for some time, but with the new year weight loss ads amping up, I feel it's something I have to say. I'm worried for people's health.

Unless you've been living under a rock, you probably already know about people taking the diabetic drug ozempic for weight loss. You've probably heard the debates about the ethics of taking needed drugs away from diabetes patients and maybe even the side effect of "ozempic face." However, there is one side effect of taking these drugs that, in my opinion, people are not being warned about.

If you carefully pay attention to the television ads, you will hear them mention "pancreatitis" as a possible side effect. If you're like me a decade ago, that word probably means nothing to you. Let me warn you, however, it is no minor thing. My husband suffered from chronic pancreatitis for five agonizing years. The pain is beyond comprehension. Doctors who specialize in the pancreas describe it as the worst pain a human can endure. There is no actual cure. Little is understood about the disease, so treatment is difficult. Doctors who understand it are few and far between. It took my husband forever to get diagnosed. He went through multiple surgeries and procedures, but nothing worked. He had to go on an extremely limiting diet. If he varied from it in any way, he would have an attack. The only way to recover from an attack was to not eat at all for days, then slowly add in broth and jello. Did he lose weight? Yes. As a matter of fact, one day he stepped out of the shower, and I burst into tears at the sight of him. He was skin and bones - I could count every rib. Was it worth it to be thin? If you even ask that question, I'm concerned for your mental health.

They couldn't figure out exactly why my husband got pancreatitis. At that time, they thought only alcoholics and drug addicts got pancreatitis. This made it difficult to get compassionate medical care, unfortunately. Now they know that prescription medication (particularly diabetic medication) and high cholesterol can also cause it. Then there is another group - where they just don't know. But you better believe I would hesitate to take any medication that could cause pancreatitis. I would weigh my options carefully to assess if it was worth the risk. In my opinion, weight loss is not worth that risk.

My concern has been heightened seeing the Hers commercials for these drugs (under different names, but rest assured, it is the same thing). These commercials brag that you can get these drugs from Hers with just a simple virtual call, no questions asked. I wonder if people are fully aware of the risks of these drugs. I also wonder if we even know all of the risks yet. I also fear that the culture around these drugs could develop into an us vs. them mentality. That if it's so easy to be thin, why wouldn't you be? And some are getting dangerously thin on these drugs.

I know some diabetics who are on these drugs, and necessarily so. They tell me that it causes nausea when they eat. That's why they don't eat much. Again, that doesn't sound like a pleasant way to live. If you need it to regulate your blood sugar, that's one thing. But if you don't? Why would you do this to yourself?

My husband is now healed of pancreatitis. It was a miracle. You may not believe in that sort of thing, but I'm telling you, there is no other explanation. We had exhausted every medical solution, then the pandemic hit. We were concerned because hospitals were only taking life or death cases. What if he had a bad attack and needed an iv of pain meds? What would we do? Weeks passed - no pain. A month passed - no pain. Six weeks passed - no pain. He decided to grill a steak - something he hadn't been able to even take a nibble of in 5 years. I watched him take a bite, holding my breath. Nothing. He ate the whole thing. No pain. Five years later, still no pain. The doctors can't explain it, either.

So our story has a happy ending. Not everyone else's does. I hope people take the time to read this. If you do, please, please share it. I don't want anyone suffering needlessly.

[himasgod]

Can you do 2nd year's where u stop giving them attention? 🩷

SECOND YEARS X READER

Where you suddenly stop giving them attention

FIRST YEARS HERE

How would the second years react if you suddenly stopped pampering them due to lack of sleep because of your studies?

Floyd was addicted to your attention.

Just like that. No sugarcoating.

He loved it when you looked for him, when you hugged him in public, when you called him “my baby” Because only you could do that without making him mad. Only you could calm his tide of emotions with a smile.

"Shriiimpy~ you're super cuddly today, I looove it."

He was happy. So happy he didn’t even try to hide it. He became calmer when you were around, more cheerful, less chaotic.

But when you stop showing up, when the “Floyd, come here” turns into “sorry, I have to go,” Floyd starts acting weird.

At first, he insists.

"Shrimpy! Are you ignoring me? Are you playing hide-and-seek without telling me? So boring!"

But when he realizes it’s not a game, that your eyes look dull, that you don’t even notice you’re pushing him away, something inside him churns. His smile fades. He stops going after you. He just watches you from afar.

And inside, he feels like a forgotten child.

Until one day, he gets fed up.

He corners you against your locker with his arms on either side of your head, his face more serious than ever.

"What’s wrong with you? You don’t love me anymore? You got bored? Did I piss you off?"

You don’t know what to say. You’re so tired you don’t even have the strength to lie. You just lower your head, murmuring a soft “sorry, I’m exhausted.”

And Floyd… goes still.

"You’re sad? You’re tired and didn’t tell me?"

He looks at you in silence for a second. Then wraps his arms around you tightly, hiding his face in your neck.

"I don’t care if you don’t hug me or look for me… but don’t disappear on me like that. Don’t leave me without you, Shrimpy."

And that day, Floyd doesn’t let go of you for a second. He carries you like a blanket and takes you to his room, lets you sleep against his chest like a plushie and sings you a song softly, no teasing, no sarcasm.

"Sleep. I’ll take care of you. Even if you don’t spoil me, I’ll spoil you now."

Jamil wasn't used to being the center of anyone's attention.

His whole life revolved around obeying, caring, and repressing. Emotions were dangerous. Affection… even more so.

So when you started doting on him—for real, without expecting anything in return—he refused to believe it.

Every touch of yours made him tense; every sweet word forced him to look away.

But he got used to it. Or rather, he allowed himself to depend on it a little. On you. On your silent attentions. On how you noticed when he was overwhelmed and simply held his hand without saying anything. On how you reminded him that he was valuable beyond his usefulness.

And then, one day, all of that stopped.

Without an explanation. Without a fight. Without an "I'm tired." Just… absence. Averted glances. "Sorry, I don't have time right now." Entire days without messages. And he, silent, swallowing his doubts.

"Did I dream it? Was it always a lie? Have they had enough of someone like me?"

He doesn't tell you. Jamil would never admit it. But he starts acting drier, more evasive. He avoids you so you don't notice how much it hurts. Until he sees you asleep with your head on your notes, your back hunched, and your breathing heavy with stress.

And in that instant, the anger collapses. All the accumulated venom turns to worry.

He approaches silently. He covers you with his jacket. He sighs deeply, as if crushed by the weight of something he can no longer contain.

"…You're not the only one who's tired of pretending everything is okay."

He wakes you gently, almost fearfully. When you open your eyes, you see something different in his: not anger, not reproach… but contained sadness.

"If you're exhausted, tell me. Don't leave me alone imagining that I no longer mean anything. Because you don't know how much it hurts when the only place where I felt free… disappears too."

That day, Jamil accompanies you to your room. He forces you to eat, to drink water, to sleep well. He doesn't ask you for anything in return.

But as he strokes your hair with trembling fingers, he whispers softly:

"This time, it's my turn to take care of you. But don't go away. Not again."

Kalim adores you. There's no other word. For him, your love is like the sun after a sandstorm, like a laugh in the midst of silence.

He's always been generous, always giving love without asking for it. But when you started pampering him, it was as if for the first time he received without needing to give. Your spontaneous kisses, your texts reminding him to drink water, your way of saying "I miss you" even though you'd only seen him two hours ago…

"It makes me so happy to know you're thinking of me!" he would always tell you, hugging you tightly.

So when that disappears, Kalim doesn't know what to do.

At first, he tries to cheer himself up. "I'm sure they're busy. Everything will be okay."

But as the days pass, uncertainty eats away at his smile.

He starts looking for you more insistently. Laughing louder. Proposing plans.

"Let's go carpet flying! We haven't been out in a long time!"

But you just tell him, “I'm sorry, Kalim, I can't today.”

And that day, when you walk away without looking him in the eye, something in his expression changes. His smile freezes.

He follows you with his eyes until you disappear into the hallways. Then he sits alone, in a corner of the garden, hands clasped together.

“Maybe… I did something wrong. Maybe I was too intense. Maybe… they don't love me like they used to.”

When he finally finds you asleep in the common room, exhausted and murmuring words in your sleep, his heart breaks.

“Oh… that's it. You're tired. You're so tired, and all I thought about was myself.”

He approaches carefully, tucks your hair behind your ear, and in a low voice, with that pure tenderness that characterizes him, he speaks to you even though he knows you're not listening:

“You don't need to be strong for me all the time. It's okay if you can't pamper me. I love you the same. I'll be here the same. Always."

That night, Kalim tucks you into the softest blanket he can find, leaves a cup of tea on the nightstand, and a note written in his big, cheerful handwriting:

“Don't miss me. Don't pressure yourself. Just rest. I'll be here when you wake up. I love you always, even when you can't show it.”

And yes. He keeps his promise. When you open your eyes, he's there, smiling brightly, holding your hand.

“Did you sleep well? It's my turn to take care of you today, okay?”

Riddle was so nervous at the beginning of the relationship that every gesture of affection from you left him silent, blushing, confused. But over time, he began to crave your attention as if it were afternoon tea: part of his routine, a sacred ritual.

You organizing his schedule, reminding him to rest, kissing his forehead when his headache ached—it was your way of caring for him, and he accepted it like a blessing.

But when that disappears, Riddle panics.

He doesn't show it right away, of course. He denies what he feels.

"Theyre probably busy. I shouldn't bother them. I shouldn't show weakness…"

Until anxiety consumes him. Until he accidentally explodes.

"You didn't reply to the text I sent you three days ago! Did I do something wrong?! Why are you ignoring me?!"

And when you turn around, your eyes tired, unable to even stand completely, Riddle feels his heart sink.

"Oh… you're… you're exhausted…"

He sees you trembling. He sees the dark circles under your eyes. He sees you like a castle about to collapse.

Then he takes a step back, swallowing. He lowers his gaze. He approaches calmly and takes your hand, his tone infinitely softer.

"Forgive me. I didn't know how to see it. You don't need to explain anything to me. Just… come with me."

He takes you to his room. He changes his schedule. He suspends his studies. He makes tea. And when he sees you asleep, tangled in his blanket, he closes his eyes with guilt and tenderness.

"You taught me to be loved… now it's my turn to learn to care for you as you deserve."

And that night, Riddle Rosehearts doesn't sleep. He stays by your side, watching over your sleep, like someone tending a beautiful garden that has flourished even in the harshest spring.

Jade is a man of subtleties. Of long silences, gentle smiles, and eyes that observe more than they say. When you started pampering him, at first he thought you were just playing around… but over time, he understood that your attentions were sincere. You made small braids in his hair when he rested with you, brought him new herbal teas to try, told him how much his presence calmed you.

And he, silently, became addicted to it.

Not because he needed it—or so he wanted to believe—but because it made him feel human, and not just another servant of his brother's capricious emotions or a mere executor of orders.

So when that warmth disappears overnight, when you stop texting him, stopping by the lounge, touching his hand for no reason… Jade doesn't say anything. He doesn't pressure you. He just observes.

But behind that apparent serenity, a restlessness begins to grow in his chest.

Until one day, when he notices you in the greenhouse, half asleep, lying on a flowerpot, your face covered in dirt and your hands trembling, he approaches silently. He doesn't say "I missed you," he doesn't complain.

He just crouches down beside you and begins to wipe the mud off your fingers with a white handkerchief.

"I was wondering… if plants also stop blooming if their gardeners forget themselves."

And then, without warning, he looks into your eyes, very close.

"I don't need your touch to be with you. But I can't bear to see you like this… as if you'd vanished without realizing it."

He helps you to your feet. He leads you to his room. He makes lavender tea. And that night, he sits beside you, silent, gently touching your hand, as if afraid of breaking you.

"When you're ready, I will once again receive each of your caresses with gratitude… but for now, allow me to take care of you."

Azul is used to transactions. To giving in order to receive. To measuring affection in terms of utility and results. But you… you broke his logic from day one. You gave him attention and affection, without conditions. You hugged him when he frowned. You defended him when others saw him as just another merchant.

And Azul, for the first time, didn't know what to give in return. He felt awkward. Exposed. But happy.

"Are you sure you don't want anything? Not even a symbolic contract…?"

And yet, every time you looked at him with genuine love, his insecurities faded a little. Your affection transformed him.

So when you stop pursuing him, when your messages dry up and your visits to the Monstro Lounge cease, his first reaction is to panic.

"Did I say something wrong? Is she angry with me? Did she regret it?"

He starts replaying conversations, looking for signs. He locks himself in his office, checks his magic mirror to see you from afar (blame it on jealousy, blame it on anxiety), and what he sees isn't contempt… it's exhaustion.

He watches you drag yourself between classes. Fall asleep over your notes. Walk like a ghost.

And something in him snaps.

The next day, a note arrives, delicately folded.

"Come by the Lounge this afternoon. I've reserved the place just for us. It's not a formal date. I just want to see you."

When you arrive, Azul is waiting for you with a warm cup of your favorite beverage and a blanket draped over the shoulders of the most comfortable chair. He invites you to sit. He doesn't try to talk business, or magic, or anything. He just watches you, with unusual calm.

"I don't need your daily flattery to know you appreciate me. But if you're losing yourself, then I… I can't stay still."

His voice trembles a little. Azul isn't good at showing vulnerability. But he tries.

"You gave me more than I ever expected to receive. Let me give you back at least a part of it."

And that night, there are no contracts. No exchanges. Just Azul holding your hand as you sleep on his couch, a barely audible whisper in the air:

"Please… don't disappear again. You don't know how much I need you."

Ruggie never considered himself someone worthy of much luxury or attention. He comes from what's fair, what's scarce. He’s used to giving more than he receives. But when you came into his life and started spoiling him —with food, sweet words, casual affection— at first, he got defensive.

"What’s up with you? Are you bribing me or what?"

But then… he got used to it. And without realizing it, he became addicted to it. To the way you looked at him like he was special. To how you remembered the things he liked. To how you hugged him for no reason and called him “my boy”

So, when all of that stops suddenly, Ruggie doesn’t take it well. And he doesn’t express it with sadness, but with forced humor.

"Hey, did you replace me or what? 'Cause you don’t even throw a “hi” my way anymore. I feel like a forgotten veggie in the fridge."

He says it with a lopsided smile, like it’s a joke, but his hyena ears are drooping. His laugh sounds weak. He’s hurt, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

When he finally sees you collapse in the cafeteria, your head buried in your arms, not even touching the food given to you, something changes. He doesn’t joke anymore. He pulls you out of the place without asking, takes you behind the kitchen, puts a bun in your hand, and makes you eat.

"You know I don’t mind if you don’t pay attention to me… but this isn’t okay. You can’t keep going like this. I don’t want to see you falling apart from trying to carry everything alone."

And when you look at him, for the first time in days, with eyes glassy from guilt and exhaustion, he sighs.

"Dummy. You got me used to your affection and now you take it away. That’s not fair, is it?"

But he hugs you, without resentment, with the tenderness he keeps only for you. And that night, without you asking, he cooks your favorite dish and sits down to eat with you, talking nonsense until you laugh.

"Come on, boss. You spoil me, but now it’s my turn to take care of you, okay?"

Silver isn't a demanding person. His calm, almost ethereal nature makes him seem as if he's above common emotional needs. But since you've been with him, there's something that keeps him more awake, more grounded in the world. Your attentions, however small—a hand on his cheek, a loving whisper before he falls asleep, a smile when his eyes close—are what remind him that there's someone who chooses him every day, even when he's lost in his dreams.

That's why, when you start to distance yourself, he notices… even though he doesn't say anything.

At first, he thinks maybe he's imagining it. That he shouldn't be selfish. That you have your own problems too. But the days go by, and your greetings become automatic, your hugs are absent, and you're no longer there to wake him with affection when he falls asleep in the garden. And Silver begins to dream uneasy things. Dreams where he searches for you and can't find you. Where his world is silent and empty.

One afternoon, as you watch him from afar, he pauses, approaches with a serious look—serious, not angry—and offers you his hand.

"Come. I want to show you something."

He takes you to a corner of the forest where the sun's rays filter through the trees and the sound of water gently flows. There he sits with you, and for a moment he says nothing. He just listens. He watches the dark circles under your eyes form. How your shoulders slump with exhaustion.

"You always take care of me. You're always there for me, even when I can't stay awake myself. So now I want you to rest."

He takes off his coat and places it around your shoulders. Then he sits beside you, lets you rest your head on his chest, and closes your eyes.

"I don't need you to pamper me all the time. Just for you to be well. That's all I want."

And when you finally allow yourself to let out the silent cry, he doesn't move. He doesn't speak again. He just holds you. Like you did so many times.

[okwonyo]

DON’T MAKE NO SENSE ⸝⸝ 𝗎𝗇𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗂’𝗆 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎

🍵 best friends and a little bit more

❪ 𝖶𝖧𝒾𝖲𝖯𝖤𝖱𝖲 ❫ ｡ enhypen pining over fem ! rea ⠀──⠀ fluff bsf2l ◜◡◝ mention of alcohol skinship kissing

REBLOG FOR A SMOOCH

분지 ܃ not everyone’s is as hot at jake’s .. >//<

HEESEUNG

before meeting any of you properly, people are already sure that you are taken. of course, they assume that you are each other’s lover without having to check twice. for the sole reason that they often get a sight of the two of you together at parties— where he acts like your boyfriend.

there is a very simple explanation to that ; guys hit on you a lot and he doesn’t like to witness this at all. so he decided, on his own, that he would be your fake boyfriend in order to protect your from any other men that thought of talking to you. you don’t complain, he is a very good boyfriend plus boys do tend to bother you too much.

for instance, tonight a random man is talking to you and won’t get the hint. therefore, your knight in shining armor steps in. he takes off his jacket as he walks towards you then puts it on your shoulders. he rests his hands on your waist after, pulling you closer, and under the stranger’s widened eyes, he leans down to your ear, kisses your cheek, “is he bothering you, sweet angel?”

JAY

you met him in kindergarten, when you were both two apples tall and half. as long as you remember, he has always been by your side. he has always been the one to jump in when you fell on the ground and started crying in the sandbox. he has been the one to defend you against mean middle schoolers. he was always the one guiding you through the crowded high school halls.

your best friend has always been protective of you. since the beginning of your friendship, he has felt as if he needed to take care of you— to make his own heart feel at ease. his habits has only grown more and more intimate as the time passed by. he cooks lunch and dinner for you because he knows that sometimes you forget, he drives you anywhere you need like your personally chauffeur, he pays for most of your stuffs.

he is really beyond happy to do the most ridiculous things for you, as long as he can take care of you. “i can do it on my own—” you start as he starts kneeling down. he cuts you immediately, taking your shoelaces between his fingers, “i know, but let me take care of you.”

JAKE

it originally started as a drunken game, a silly thing that would never happen again. the first time it happened was a party, under the heavy influence of alcohol, your friends decided to make you all play seven minutes in heaven. and of course, due to the sadistic universe, the bottle had to point to your best friend when it was your turn to spin it. it is not a secret that you made out for the entirety of the given time in that closet.

you both agreed to never do it again, that it was just for the fun of the game. but the feeling of his tongue in your mouth didn’t leave your head for weeks and he couldn’t stop biting his lower lip— in hope that it would feel the same as when you sucked his lower lip that night. it was obvious, at the way your eyes would dart to each other’s lips that you wanted to kiss again.

he lets his desire win after a month, and he thinks he deserves a prize for waiting that long. he kisses you during what is supposed to be a study session and you let him do it, you kiss him back with as much passion. “fuck,” his sighs into your mouth. “i missed you so much.”

SUNGHOON

as everyone else in the world, he feels attacked whenever anyone that isn’t him goes over his phone— or even when they do something as simple as peeking over his shoulder while he is on it. although he has absolutely nothing to hide, no one is allowed to touch his phone.

though, when he is asked about it, he can’t really explain why you can do it. it’s just different, okay? everything related to you is slightly different than when it’s related to others. “gimme your phone,” you don’t ask, but order and he obeys. he gives you his phone without hesitation, without asking you why.

has it gone as far as your face is saved in his face id, perhaps, but there is nothing wrong about that. he is too busy staring at your face to notice that you are going into instagram, down to his private messages. at the grin you make when you see a message from a girl he denied to like multiple times, he speaks, “i’ll block her.”

SUNOO

sometimes, he really does tell himself that you are very lucky that he likes you a lot. because there are some things that you make him do that are almost inhumane, that feels likely pure torture in a sense. but, he accepts to carry all your stuffs.

at this point, he has become your walking purse or shelf. you drag him in every shops you pass by and makes him hold the loads of clothes you bought. you make him hold your purse when you don’t want to anymore. you put your lipstick in his pocket to find it quickly.

now it’s a reflex, a natural instinct. whenever you are holding something— a drink, a paper, your phone— if he notices that you are strangling a little: he holds it for you without any hesitation. you’ll end up making him do it, anyway. and loves serving you.

JUNGWON

you never knew the existence of ‘friendship anniversaries’ until he came into your life. there is no one you know that is invested in the matter, who is so eager to celebrate the beginning of your friendship and the continuation of it with so much enthusiasm.

he shows up at your door around six in the afternoon, well dressed in a suit that hugs his waist, hair perfectly styled and his cologne making you feel butterflies in your stomach, “hi, pretty girl,” he greets you with a bouquet of flowers in hands. it’s so ridiculous, so lovely that it makes you blush each time.

you walk around all the pretty places he drags you to with the flowers by your side. there is always a moment of the night where someone asks you if you date is going well— obviously assuming that you are lovers. you both share a shy look, each year.

RIKI

your best friend used to not be a huge fan of physical touch. there was a time in your friendship, during middle school mainly, where he was unable to give you a hug without feeling forced to. and even when he did give you a hug, he would barely want to touch you— making the embrace comedicaly awkward.

but ever since he passed puberty, he has grown to love physical touch more and more. he picked up your gentle way of showing affection: through hugs, through touch, but only with you. and he gets very, very annoying when he wants it, when he wants to cuddle, “come here,” he whines.

you sigh, closing your laptop and putting it on your nightstand. he beams as he observes you laying down. the tall man gets comfortable, a little bit too comfortable. he entangles his long legs with yours, wraps his arms around your body and rests his head against your chest. you sigh, “i miss your middle schooler era.”

taglist ( open )

[maenefa]

Why does Eowyn want to die?

Because Aragorn won’t love her? Because she feels trapped in her feminine gender role?

These are the explanations we get in the text. However, none of the characters really acknowledge Eowyn’s darkest fear: being taken alive by the enemy.

There are some bad takes on Eowyn that boil down to patronizing her and downplaying the seriousness of her problems. People say that she had a naive desire for glory and Faramir teaches her that war isn’t actually fun. Then there’s the whole “Eowyn was a deserter who selfishly ran away from her duty” argument.

You can only say these things if you ignore how dire the situation was, how close Sauron was to winning, and how gruesome Eowyn’s fate would have been if he won. She knew that death or capture likely awaited her, and she knew that dying in battle was the least bad option. (She also knew her own worth and believed that she was too useful a warrior to be left behind with the civilians. And she was right.)

Eowyn’s actions are ruthlessly practical! She wants to die fighting because that’s better than waiting around for The Horrors. Let’s be real, Eowyn is too sensible to be suicidal over an unrequited crush.

Here are some of her most revealing quotes:

“All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honor, you have leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more.”

“And those who have not swords can still die upon them.”

“Nor is it always evil to die in battle, even in bitter pain. Were I permitted, in this dark hour I would choose the latter.”

“But I do not desire healing…. I wish to ride to war like my brother Éomer, or better like Théoden the king, for he died and has both honour and peace.”

In the end, Eowyn only stops wanting to die after Sauron is defeated. Just before the Ring is destroyed, she tells Faramir:

“I stand upon some dreadful brink, and it is utterly dark in the abyss before my feet, but whether there is any light behind me I cannot tell. For I cannot turn yet. I wait for some stroke of doom.”

Eowyn can’t turn to light and life until the war is over. Hope is too painful; death at least offers “honor and peace.” This passage is so important because it EXPLICITLY links Eowyn’s despair to the outcome of the war and makes it clear that she is not simply having a meltdown because Aragorn rejected her.

There are two important moments where Eowyn is threatened with violence. The very first time we meet her, we are told by Gandalf that Wormtongue planned to turn her into a sex slave after Saruman conquered Rohan. Even though this threat is dismissed quickly, it’s a disturbing reminder of what could happen to Eowyn if Sauron wins.

Then we have the most triumphant moment of Eowyn’s story: her battle with the Witch King. Once again, Eowyn is not threatened with death, but with captivity and torment:

“Come not between the Nazgûl and his prey! Or he will not slay thee in thy turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and thy shrivelled mind be left naked to the Lidless Eye.”

Eowyn laughs at him and makes sure to announce that she is a woman before killing him. Her victory is all the more satisfying because the Witch King has just threatened her with captivity, loss of agency, the violation of her body and mind—all threats that Eowyn has faced before. But the Witch King’s words continue to haunt Eowyn and us. He threatens to withhold death; and death is therefore framed as an escape, a gift. Eowyn is taken to the Houses of Healing, but she is obsessed with returning to battle and fighting until she dies.

When Eowyn says that she fears “a cage,” this is a brilliantly simple metaphor for the entire spectrum of oppression she has faced: from the well-meaning restrictions of her culture to the horrifying enslavement threatened by Wormtongue.

Once the war is over, Eowyn is able to laugh at her fears. She teases Faramir: “And would you have your proud folk say of you: there goes a lord who tamed a wild shieldmaiden of the North!” Her fear of being caged has been turned into a bit of flirtatious banter. She feels completely safe with Faramir, and the idea that he “tamed” her is nothing but a joke between them.

[irisintheafterglow]

itoshi sae has no idea how you do it.

classwork, homework, midterms, exams, two jobs, and a lively group of friends? it all sounds so unnecessary to him, these things that would be distractions from his dream. but for you, it sustains you and encourages you to keep going. how differently our minds work, he thinks to himself when he has a rare day to spend on your couch and you're typing away at some assignment on your laptop.

"why do you do that?" you don't respond the first time he asks and he gently calls your name, even though you're barely three feet away. you turn to him with a tired look and something pangs inside his chest. "why bother doing that?"

"bother doing what?"

"whatever it is you're doing right now." he nods at your glaring laptop screen filled with words he can't even begin to understand, some final before your university goes on winter break.

"because it's part of my degree?" there's no malice in your words, just genuine confusion, just like there's no accusations in his words, just concern. "if i fail this class, i don't graduate."

"why do you need to graduate, or have a degree in the first place?"

"because i need a job, my love," you explain patiently. "we've had this conversation before. going to school means i can get a well-paying job to sustain myself."

"why do you need to sustain yourself when you have me?" you blink at him and his blank face. the only sign of emotion is the slight pinch between his eyebrows; he was truly puzzled why he couldn't just set you up for life. dating itoshi sae is like being an unwilling sugar baby.

"i'm not going to leech off your earnings," you chuckle in disbelief. "i'm not going to use you to make sure i have a comfortable life. i love you, and my kind of love stays whether we have money or not." he shifts awkwardly in his seat and his mouth pouts the tiniest amount. he obviously didn't like your reply.

"whatever i'm doing, it isn't enough for you," he states quietly.

without another word, you exhale through your nose and shut your laptop. you place it on the coffee table before crawling over and maneuvering your way into his arms. he gladly accepts you, sliding down the couch's armrest so that you're nearly lying on top of him. it's quiet for a few moments, not in an uncertain way but in a way that said both of you were figuring out how to articulate your thoughts.

"i just think that--"

"you don't need to--" you both begin your explanations at the same time and the huff of his laugh vibrates against your cheek. "you go first," you tell him.

"i was saying that, if you wanted me to," he inhales and tries to tiptoe around what he wants to say before deciding to just crush it with his foot, "i can take care of you without you needing a degree." a certain selfish part of him wanted you there for every single victory and ladder rung he ascended, not because he thought you owed him, but because he owed you. you, who weathered his darkest of moods and harshest of snaps. he owed you for dealing with his bullshit, so he figured, why should you need to lift a finger when you've already done so much for him? "i owe you that much for everything that you've seen me through."

"you don't owe me anything, itoshi sae. loving you is not transactional, nor have i ever wanted it to be."

"everything is transactional, mi amor," he argues and the pet name makes your heartrate increase. "give and take, it's how the world flows. shouldn't your university classes be teaching you that?" your eyes have fluttered shut on his chest, but you still hear the smirk in his joke.

"believe it or not, mister 'fame is the only thing that matters to me,' there are transactions beyond material goods."

"i know that," he says indignantly. "i also know that you're wrong."

"am i?"

"yes," he affirms. "i don't only care about fame. i care about you too, obviously."

"see, sae? give and take. i give you all i am--"

"and you take all i am."

"body and soul?"

"and everything in between," he finishes, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before settling into the pillows. "rest, mi amor. you've paid more attention to school than to me lately, and that's an unequal transaction."