#peach™

[akiiame-blog]

"There! Do you see your daddy, Clementine?"

Peach pointed out onto the racetrack towards a speeding figure in a bright red kart. Of course, being the queen, she was able to get front row seats; mainly so that their two-year-old daughter could get a good view for her very first Mario Kart tournament.

She knew Clementine had spotted Mario when the brightest smile grew on her little face. She began bouncing restlessly in the queen's lap, making Peach laugh.

Mario was just about to pass by them when the little princess shouted—

"Daddy!"

Peach gasped. At that very moment, she saw Mario abruptly hit the brakes on his kart. The other racers sped by as he turned his head towards them, eyes wide. She watched as he climbed out of his kart and ran out of the racetrack, towards where they sat.

"Honey, what are you doing?? You were about to win..." Peach's sentence trailed off.

Mario slowed to a stop next to them. His breath was heavy and he was beaming. He carefully picked up their princess, looking into her bright eyes.

"W-What did you just call me?" Peach could see the tears starting to form in his eyes. Her heart grew.

Clementine giggled. "Daddy."

Her little chubby arms stretched out towards him. Mario let out a joyous laugh as he gave her a tight, cozy hug.

"Did you hear that, Peachy?! She said 'daddy!'" He spun them around, their baby girl's laughter filling the air.

Peach couldn't help but chuckle along with them. The announcement of the tournament's winner fell on deaf ears; the family was content with merely soaking in this once-in-a-lifetime moment.

[peaches2217]

On a similar but mostly unrelated note to my last post, I wanna bring your attention to this particular moment in SMO:

This game gets a lot of praise for how expressive Mario is compared to prior games, and I think this is one of my favorite examples. He's got this badass determined game face on when he's about to face off against Bowser for the final time... and then Bowser decides to kick it up a notch and taunt him. Enter Peach, who is panicking and crying out for Mario, and she's practically within arm's reach, which makes the fact that he's powerless to save her while Bowser's still standing that much more hideously cruel.

Just! Look at his face! How it goes from determined to horrified to pure, seething anger. This fight was already personal, and now it just got a whole lot worse, and all of that is conveyed brilliantly within the span of five seconds using nothing more than Mario's facial expressions.

That heightened expressiveness carries over into Bowser's Fury and SMBW, and maybe it's small in the grand scheme of things, but I think it adds so much to each games' experience, and I'm so excited to see more in future titles!

[dipplinduo]

"What are your New Year's Resolutions?" - A Sweet & Sour Dipplins Character Panel

Juliana: I want to save Kieran and live happily ever after (everybody liked that)

Kieran: I want to control my biting impulses more often (everyone was unfortunately supportive of that)

Carmine: I want to slap the shit out of Drayton.

Drayton, reacting to that: Hot.

Drayton, answering the question: I am iconic I don't need fixing.

Amarys: I want more plot relevance.

Crispin: Same.

Lacey: Same.

Nemona: Same.

Ribombee: Bomb bomb bee!! (I am the plot relevance.)

Pecharunt: CHA CHA CHA!!! (I WANT A MUCH MORE MENACING POKEMON CRY SO THESE DIMWITS STOP MAKING FUN OF ME!! AND I WANT THIS EDGY SIMP TO STOP SIMPING FOR THE GIRL)

Briar: I want the validation of scientific glamour. Or therapy. Still deciding.

Arven: I want my found family trope but harder because my parents aren't coming back.

Penny, reacting to that: That's rough, buddy.

Penny, answering the question: I wanna play more Stardew Valley.

Sweet Applin: Squee Squee. (I wanna get away from Sour Applin)

Sour Applin: SQUEEHHHH :((( (Narrator: he is deeply sad and entirely inconsolable, so he skipped the question.)

[andy-clutterbuck]

4x16 | A

[shadows-coffeebeans]

Cringetober Day 9: Childhood Video Game

[kyri45]

Okay I'm finally taking my turn with the Sending An Ask Of Panel Commentary™

Macaque's face is the face of a man who Did Not expect this response to what he just said.

I love the manic look Wukong has in his eyes here. His whole body is full of manic energy.

Not sure if he's nervous to be in front of people or full-to-bursting with barely contained excitement but he's definitely vibrating at inhuman speeds about it.

The love on Macaque's face here. He loves his silly (for real this time!!!) husband so much. The softness in his eyes will live in my mind forever.

This is beautiful. I'm going to stare at it for five hours. They are incandescently happy.

They have both been through so much and waited so long for this moment. Their faces! They are overflowing with joy!

The sunrise motif thing here is so so lovely symbolically! I love everything about this! Those are definitely peach blossoms and that is killing me.

Just a small additional detail. Wukong opened the room with his forehead because the rest of him was busy carrying his soon-to-be-housband

[espressheauxs]

Jack Abbot is the oldest sibling who has four younger sisters and they all have boys (the ones that have kids anyway). He’s the last to have kids but when he does he has the first girl born into the family in YEARS out of all the grandkids. He is over the fucking MOON during and after the gender reveal party. Like straight up tears.

Baby Girl Abbot is his princess and she’s spoiled rotten. That’s daddy’s little girl even though she sticks to mama like green on grass. He teaches her how to walk, lets her hold to his prosthetic when she can kinda walk but with some help. He does her pigtails and braids with literal surgeon like precision when she finally gets hair and it’s the funniest fucking thing bc she looks like a little onion at first but then the beautiful red curls come in (“she’s gonna give anesthesia a hard time.”)

When she gets on solids, he’s so excited because he sees the 😟 face she makes when she eats papaya (“I don’t blame ya, I hate it too.”) for the first time but she ironically loves citrusy flavors like oranges and lemons. She’s unsure about avocado and peaches but will chow down on bananas and berries (“didn’t we just spend 40$ on berries last week? How is she already done?”)

When she’s a little bigger and can have spices and flavors, he’ll tell her little stories about the food he ate in Afghanistan and the food y’all had on your first trip together to Marrakesh and Cairo. And then he’s beyond himself when he makes lemon preserve chicken tagine and tahdig as one of her first big girl meals and she LOVES it (it’s the meal he made when you came over to his place for the first time and the one that earned him a permanent invite to the family cookouts. He’s designated tahdig helper) , like eating the preserved lemons out of the jar loves it but he only lets her have a tiny piece or two bc the salt. He has a running list on his phone about the food she loves and doesn’t like and of course because he’s a doctor he also keeps a close eye for any allergies (luckily she has none when she can finally have peanut butter and honey).

Jack Abott is a certified girl dad ™.

[rosierin]

double trouble | atsumu, osamu, suna

synopsis; the twins are doing some manual labour under the hot sun and (y/n) can't help but catch a sneaky glance or two or three when they eventually take off their shirts.

a/n; what can i say guys? im in france and the sun's got me feeling all silly

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

In her defence, (y/n) hadn’t meant to stare.

It just… sort of happened. Like blinking. Or breathing. One moment she was sitting in the kitchen sipping iced tea, gloriously unbothered. The next—

Well.

The twins had taken their shirts off.

And really, there should’ve been a warning. A government-issued alert. Maybe a health advisory. Something to prepare the public. Because this? This was just cruel.

They were scattered across their tiny backyard, moving a bunch of supplies from the car to the shed—lumber, bags of soil, some mystery item Osamu had bought for his garden project that weighed roughly the same as a baby elephant.

And okay, yeah, she could have offered to help.

But someone had to supervise. For... For safety reasons.

And hydration. Since she was already sipping tea.

It was boiling out—sun glaring, air thick, the kind of summer heat that made everything sticky and slightly unbearable. It made sense that they’d stripped their shirts off. Necessary, if you asked her.

Now, here’s the thing about the Miya twins: sure, they were genetically identical. But when it came to thirst?

Very different flavours.

Atsumu was golden and obnoxiously pretty, all tan skin and arrogant smirks. Every time he flexed his biceps lifting something heavy—grunting like an Olympic athlete, on purpose, she was sure—she could've sworn she'd seen God. His hair clung to his forehead with sweat, and every time he reached for something overhead, his whole torso flexed—showcasing toned abs and the kind of sinful V-line that made her question her faith.

Meanwhile, Osamu looked like he’d walked out of a home renovation fantasy. Dust on his forearms, jaw tense with focus, sweat beading down his neck. Those forearms. Those shoulders. The way his back flexed when he lifted a bag of gravel? Criminal.

The kind of guy who could build you a deck and then build you a reputation, if you caught her drift.

He grunted once. (Y/n) almost passed out.

She bit her lip so hard she nearly bruised it.

"I’m not better than a man," she whispered to herself, staring through the window like a Victorian widow at sea.

Double the muscles.

Double the sweat.

Double the hotness.

She was dizzy. Delirious. Probably dehydrated from the sheer amount of drool she was swallowing.

“You’re disgusting,” came a voice to her left.

She jumped.

Suna.

Of course it was Suna.

He was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, staring at her like a disappointed parent.

“Do I even wanna know what’s going through your filthy little mind right now?”

“No,” she said quickly. “And also, yes. But mostly no.”

He snorted. “Why don’t you just go up to them and tell them they’re hot?”

“No way,” she said, aghast. “That’s like walking up to a fire and saying, ‘hi, I’m flammable.’”

He raised a brow. “So you’re gonna keep ogling from the shadows like a little perv?”

“Correct.”

Suna poured himself a drink. Took a sip. Didn't argue. “Respect.”

She thought the worst of it was over.

She thought, I’ll survive this. I’ll just finish my tea, cool off, pretend I didn’t spend the last ten minutes mentally objectifying my friends.

She thought wrong.

Because a few minutes later, the screen door slid open with a bang, and in walked Atsumu—shirtless, sweaty, pressing a water bottle to the side of his neck.

Condensation trickled down his shoulder. His collarbone. His chest...

(Y/n) choked on her peach tea.

Suna snickered into his glass. “Karma’s so efficient these days.”

Atsumu didn’t seem to notice her state of physical and spiritual collapse—at first. He crossed the kitchen with casual swagger, cracked open the fridge, and stood there like he didn’t just set the room on fire.

That’s when it happened.

He looked over his shoulder—right at her. His eyes flicked across her face, clocking the flushed cheeks, the guilty stillness.

Then he grinned.

“Ya been watchin’ me, angel?”

(Y/n) froze, mid-sip, brain absolutely blank.

No thoughts. Just panic. And lust. And more panic.

“I—what—no,” she said, like someone who had absolutely been watching him. “No, I was looking at… the shed.”

Atsumu turned fully, eyebrow raised, lips twitching like he just knew. “Oh yeah? …The shed," he deadpanned.

“Yeah,” she said, defensive. “Very… shed-y. Strong architectural presence.”

He tilted his head, slow and smug. “Right.”

Suna, from behind his drink, drawled, “She almost passed out when Osamu grunted.”

“RIN.”

Atsumu burst into laughter, clutching his glorious sixpack stomach. “Shit, you were watchin’ us!”

(Y/n) dragged her hands down her burning face. “I hate this house.”

“Aw, don’t be shy,” Atsumu cooed, leaning against the counter with full, blinding confidence. “If ya wanted a private show, all ya had to do was ask.”

She groaned into her palms. “I’m gonna combust."

“‘Cause of the heat?” Atsumu asked innocently.

“Because of you,” she snapped, glaring like this was all his fault. "And your stupid brother."

"You guys talkin' shit about me?"

(Y/n) nearly fainted on the spot.

Osamu had just walked in from the yard—towel around his neck, water bottle in hand, faintly furrowed brow and a voice that somehow always sounded like it was five minutes from dragging someone by the collar.

“She’s been oglin’ us,” Atsumu said gleefully.

(Y/n) bristled. “I HAVE NOT—”

Suna twirled his glass between his fingers like a fine wine. “She has. She's a closeted pervert."

Osamu raised a brow, turning to glance at her—really glance. His eyes flicked from the way she was half-curled on the chair, to her burning cheeks, to her wildly defensive expression. His mouth quirked.

“Ah,” he said mildly. “So that’s why I felt eyes burnin’ into my back. Or was it my chest? Abs?”

“I hate all of you,” she muttered.

That was when it happened. The unholy alliance.

Atsumu and Osamu exchanged a glance—brief, wordless, deadly.

Twin telepathy.

And just like that, they moved in. One on each side. Like predators scenting blood.

(Y/n) blinked. “What—?"

Atsumu leaned down on her left, arm braced behind her chair, golden skin still glistening from the sun.

Osamu mirrored him on the right, towel draped lazily around his shoulders, bottle of water dangling from his fingers.

“Ya like this, sweetheart?” Atsumu murmured.

“Yer lookin’ a little flushed,” Osamu added smoothly.

(Y/n) was actively dying. Palms sweaty. Heart racing. Brain spiralling. She could barely breathe—and she was no longer even outside.

This was a coordinated attack. A planned execution.

It was rare for the twins to agree on anything. They thrived on bickering, on chaos, on contradicting each other at every turn.

But when they did team up?

It was borderline lethal.

“Don’t you two have something heavy to go lift?” she managed to croak.

Atsumu smirked. “Thought you liked watchin’.”

“I’ll throw this tea at you,” she warned.

Osamu tilted his head. “Seems like a waste of good tea.”

(Y/n) groaned and dropped her face into her hands again. “I prefer it when you guys are arguing.”

Suna snickered under his breath, but everyone caught his next words:

"Bet you'd prefer it if they did something else."

Atsumu barked a laugh at the insinuation.

Osamu groaned and swatted at him with the towel. “Don’t make it weird."

(Y/n) didn’t dare look at any of them. She folded her arms on the table and buried her face like a horny ostrich.

Did that stop her from feeling Atsumu’s hot breath at the back of her neck?

No. No it did not.

“Maybe if ya ask nicely…” he murmured.

Her mind went rampant.

Curse Suna for throwing her under the bus.

Curse the twins and their stupid muscles and their criminally good genes.

Curse this house for being the most cursed and blessed thing to have ever happened to her.

And curse her, most of all—for loving every second of it.

[lazysoulwriter]

pretty little things - jj maybank ── .✦

cw: suggestive content, heavy teasing, hand kink, spicy innuendo, semi-public energy, playful tension, JJ being a menace™.

---

“Holy shit.”

You’d barely stepped through the porch door when JJ’s voice dropped an octave, eyes locked on your fingers like they were dipped in gold.

You raised your hand, palm open. “They’re just nails, JJ.”

He leaned against the wall with that crooked smirk — the one that said trouble. “Nah, sweetheart. Those aren’t just anything. Those are the kind of nails that’d look so fucking pretty wrapped around my dick.”

You blinked. “JJ—”

“I’m serious.” His eyes were already darkening, tongue darting across his bottom lip. “All shiny and delicate, but deadly. Like you.”

He stepped forward, tugging your wrist gently, holding your hand up again to admire. “What color is this? Fuckin’... wet dream pink?”

You tried not to laugh. “It’s glazed peach.”

He groaned. “Of course it is. I’m in hell.”

And then you were kissing — messy and hot, his hands greedy and yours already sliding down over his waistband. The back of your knees hit the couch as he leaned into you.

“Wait,” he muttered breathlessly, fumbling for his phone.

You blinked, lips kiss-bitten. “Seriously?”

He was already opening the camera. “Don’t move. Wanna remember this forever.”

You didn’t need asking twice. You curled your manicured fingers around him, slow and teasing, the slick little sheen of your nails catching the light as his phone snapped.

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, hips twitching in your grip. “That’s it, baby. Just like that. You’re killing me.”

He didn’t stop taking pictures.

And honestly? Neither did you.

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work.

© lazysoulwriter // I write with love and sin, so please respect that.

[piosplayhouse]

There's a new mdzs collab cafe opening in ikebukuro and here's the character themed cocktails they're offering in case anyone can't go to Japan and wants to try making their own:

(from left to right, top to bottom):

Wei Wuxian: Peach oolong tea, goji berry flavor, chervil/French parsley

Pio sidetrack note: if you wanna do a boozy version use peach liquor, it + oolong is my favorite cocktail : ) in Hokkaido they call it a guniang because it's seen as a girly drink haha I always knew wwx was one of the girlies

Lan Wangji: Mojito syrup, calpis/calpico, whipped cream, silver dragees (round sprinkles)

Lan Xichen: Butterfly pea tea, milk, whipped cream, colored sugar

Jiang Cheng: Lemon tea, butterfly pea tea, thyme

Jiang Yanli: Pu-er tea, chervil/French parsley, edible flower

Jin Ling: Pineapple syrup, sparkling water, pachipachi candy (in the US we call these pop rocks but idk if other countries have other names for them. It's basically candy that pops and fizzles in your mouth), goji berry flavor, mint

Wen Ning: Blue curacao syrup, blood orange syrup, calpis/calpico soda, strawberry flakes, mint

Lan Sizhui: Ramune syrup, drinkable yogurt, whipped cream, konpeito (Japanese star shaped sugar candies)

Pio sidetrack note: decidedly The Cum Drink™ of the bunch

Lan Jingyi: Blue lychee syrup, drinkable yogurt, whipped cream, konpeito

---

Print lattes: just lattes with pics printed on them

---

Special Drinks:

Wei Wuxian's Pastel Float: Apple syrup, cranberry syrup, Sprite, whipped cream, vanilla ice cream, mint, cherry

Lan Wangji's Pastel Float: Blue Hawaii syrup, Sprite, whipped cream, Ramune ice cream, mint

If anyone IS able to go and wants anything else translated feel free to let me know and I'll help the best I can! : )

[levanswrites]

In the Mood

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: He tells himself it’s fine. 

Gotta keep moving—bigger things to do, too many items on his list.  His libido doesn’t even crack the top ten. 

Until he met… you.

warnings: angst. aka the tortured mind™ of james buchanan barnes. sexual frustration, internalized guilt. mention of erectile dysfunction/anxiety around intimacy. eventual fluff.

word count: 1.5k

Bucky’s got… a list. 

Steve’s the one who planted the idea in his head—ways to keep his feet moving, even when his mind couldn’t. Granted, Bucky’s list isn’t tucked into a literal pocket-sized notebook, but it's there.

Some parts are harder than others—debts, loose ends, reparations.

Others, more straightforward. Try sushi. Learn how to download that album Sam won’t shut up about. Figure out the whole ‘zodiac sign compatibility’ thing.

And then there’s the… in-between. Somewhere between the boring and the impossible.

Pieces of normalcy that don’t sit quite right. Loose shrapnel from the fallout of who he once was. 

Like learning how to smile at strangers without feeling like he’s giving something away. Or making small talk that doesn’t spiral into awkward silence.  

Some things feel closer to second nature, though he still needs the safety net of familiarity and trust, like that time he flirted with Sarah just to rile Sam.  

But then again, the prospect of anything with real stakes, like when that blonde barista slipped him her number, sends him running for the hills. 

And between all the tiger photos on Tinder and—again, what the fuck was the deal with all the zodiac signs?—he’s quickly discovered that ‘dating’ in the 21st-century isn’t quite like it used to be. 

You ever hook up with a girl?   

He had just stared at Sam, then, with a slow lift of his metal arm like it was explanation enough.

Of course, there was the whole other issue of… mechanics. 

Something so unspoken and personal he’s barely admitted it to himself.

And he’s tried just about everything short of pills to fix it.

Articles, advice columns. Porn. Even dug out an old magazine or two for nostalgia’s sake, half-hoping it’d jog something loose. 

But most nights he’d come up limp, staring down a bottle of cheap whiskey as restlessness swallowed him whole.

And he tells himself it’s fine. 

Gotta keep moving—bigger things to do, too many items on his list. 

His libido doesn’t even crack the top ten. 

Until he met… you.

Caught him off-guard one night, in the produce aisle of some corner bodega, when he was busy frowning at a peach that didn’t look like a peach.

Donut peaches. Crazy, right?

Cocked him an easy smile, a basket full of groceries by your hip as you plucked a different fruit off the stand, its skin leathery smooth and blush pink. 

They’re out of season, though. Might wanna try these nectarines. 

Your smile stayed with him longer than it should’ve. 

So did the sound of your laugh, bright and untroubled, when you apologized for what he could only assume was an irresistibly charming grimace on his part. 

Shoot, sorry, occupational hazard. 

I like your jacket, by the way. 

And just like that, you had him.

The next few weeks were a blur of excuses to visit your small bakery, down by 22nd street. Setting up his laptop like he actually had work to do, just so he’d feel less like a creep when you’d step out from behind the register and spark up easy conversation. 

And somehow, between testing all your newest bakes and staying back till closing to walk you home, he’s missed that fragile window where it felt appropriate to tell you who he is—was. Whatever.

That the gloves weren't some quirky fashion choice, or because he’s got poor circulation. 

But then again, maybe it wasn’t all that accidental.

Because you’re virtually the only person alive who knows him as Bucky—only Bucky—and he thought offering up the truth would change things.

The way you smile, call him handsome. Tug him closer by the lapels of his jacket. 

Kissed him outside that wine bar in Brooklyn, then fixed his hair and the corner of his mouth where your strawberry lip gloss smudged. 

Grabbed his hand and draped it deliberately over your thigh, that one time he took you to see a picture about aliens and space wars—though he couldn’t, for the life of him, remember a single plot point afterward. 

That memory is a warm thing that turns cold fast. A flicker of heat curling low in his stomach, his hand twitching instinctively toward the space between his legs. 

Then, the spark would fizzle out, like a bucket of ice water dumped over his thoughts.  

And that’s when the spiral would start, the endless rabbit hole that is sex advice by strangers on the internet. Hunched over a dim screen, browser history stacked a mile high with unanswered questions about modern dating, with one particular query searing into his thoughts:

How long should you wait before having sex with someone for the first time?

Because, supposedly, the internet says three dates. To see if you’re really compatible. 

After that point, why even bother? 

And he had to lean back and hold his breath at that, because, shit—tomorrow was date #3. 

So when he showed up to the jazz bar you’d been wanting to try, at exactly ten minutes to 8, the bouquet in his gloved hand was quivering. Like the time he asked out Lucy Ann from the 7th grade.

He'd sought temporary reprieve in the way you gasped, delighted, branding a smile on his cheek with a chaste kiss. Just like you had for the flowers on the first date, then again at the second.

(Because, apparently, no one does this kind of thing anymore, and he had scoffed because—jesus, did guys make it this easy to impress a date nowadays?)

Later, you’d pulled him close under the neon glow of a sidewalk marquee, kissing him soft and slow like you had all night.  

Taste of merlot and something sweeter on your lips when you'd muttered: my place?

And that brings him here, in the narrow hallway of your apartment, just a couple steps from the door because you couldn’t wait for the couch.  

He’s got you pressed against the wall, lost in the plush yield of your lips, the smooth curve of your cheek under his thumb. Because he loves this part, he really does—the way you arch into him, slide your hands under his jacket. Your breaths, shallow and sweet, mixed in with the heady scent of your perfume.

How you smile, for no apparent reason other than the fact that kissing him seems to make you happy. 

But then there’s that quiet thought, again.

And he desperately wishes he was holding your hips for a different reason than to pull away. 

“Maybe,” he pants, swallowing hard because your eyes were making it hard to focus, “maybe we shouldn't…”

Your gaze settles on him for a brief moment, hazy and heavy-lidded. From the wine or from something else, he’s not sure he wants to know. 

Then, you pull back promptly, slipping under his arm and disappearing somewhere behind him. 

Now, he’s blinking, staring at an empty wall. 

Convinced that he’s fucked this all up, heart leaping to his throat, something pounding in his head—

Until he realizes that the vibration drumming against his ears is music. 

The soft croon of a clarinet, the brassy blare of trumpets—a familiar melody sweeps over him, and it makes his brows pinch because he knows this one.

A tune he can recognize, for once, wedged somewhere between humid nights on Coney Island and crowded USO dance halls. 

“C’mon!”

Your high pitched laugh against his ear, a gentle tug at his wrist. 

It hits like whiplash, then, the realization of what you’re asking him to do.  

And he feels like an assuming jerk for all the scenarios he’s been playing through his mind since last night—because while he was busy coming up with excuses for why he couldn’t get hard, or why he’s got a metal arm, or why he wakes up in the middle of the night hearing screams that might be his own—you had wanted to… dance. 

He lets himself be drawn by your radiant smile, into the tiny pocket of space where your kitchen meets your living room.

His heart stutters when your hand slides to his back, the other lacing around his gloved fingers. He’s supposed to lead, isn’t he?

Yet, his steps flow in tune with yours, falling into place like they never strayed in the first place.

“Not too bad,” you tease, eyes sparkling, body swaying. 

“…I gotta be honest, I—oh!” A high, happy sound tickles your throat when he spins you, arms arching high over your head. “—didn’t peg you for a dancer!”

His fingers itch to hold you closer. Adoration humming under his skin, threaded with disbelief, because how the hell did he manage to find this? To find you?         

“Guess I’ve got a few surprises left.”

You hum, tilting your head. “Mm, I like that. I’ll have to see what else I can get out of you.”

And the way you say it—all innocent and just a hint too sweet—sends a sudden rush of heat through him.

His breaths halt, feet frozen to the floor.

Shit, is that…?

Heat licks at his nerves, sparks jumping under his skin, and before he can stop to question it, it’s there. 

And instead of running, he leans in. 

The next twirl is deliberate, his hand steady against your waist as you come spinning back to him. 

He grins, the thrill of something new rising to the top of his list.

“Just try to keep up, huh?”

a/n: my first bucky fic! was a bit nerve-wracking branching out into other characters, but this was a lot of fun :) lemme know what u think!

[the-most-humble-blog]

Taint Misbehavin’: The Gender-Neutral Tragedy of the Human Gooch

You’ve been lied to your entire life.

Not about taxes. Not about calories. Not even about the clitoris.

No — I’m talking about the taint.

That glorious, forgotten slab of flesh. That unclaimed demilitarized zone between the promised land and the chocolate factory. That thin, sweaty strip separating birth from exile.

Let’s set the record straight:

Women. Have. Taints.

And the fact that society pretends otherwise is the greatest act of anatomical erasure since we collectively agreed that “muffin top” was a nice term.

🧠 What Is a Taint?

Also known as:

The perineum (if you’re a doctor)

The gooch (if you’ve owned a PS2 and body odor)

The grundle (if you’ve ever dated a drummer)

The Devil’s Slip-N-Slide (if your festival record is sealed)

Technically: “The perineum is the area between the genitals and the anus.”

But spiritually?

It’s the unspoken pause in God’s sentence. The hallway between the temple and the abyss. The place where gender, shame, and chafing meet.

🔍 Who Gets One?

Let me be clear:

Whether you’re packing heat or holding space, Slanging meat or curating petals, Carrying a baby cannon or a soft serve dispenser—

You. Have. A. Taint.

And if you’ve gone your entire life without realizing that, Congrats: society’s gendered body-shame campaign worked.

😤 But Isn’t “Taint” a Male Word?

Historically? Sure.

“Taint” was born in locker rooms. Raised by Xbox parties. Educated in Reddit threads. And baptized in the sweat of men who didn’t understand the purpose of a washcloth.

It was linguistically colonized by testosterone.

But anatomically?

It was always co-ed.

🚺 The Untold History of the Female Taint

You think the patriarchy invented oppression?

No. The real villain is linguistic erasure.

Because while men gave their taints nicknames, stories, and occasional bar soap— Women got radio silence.

Your undercarriage has been:

Ignored

Unlabeled

Uncelebrated

Unclaimed

You’ve spent years exfoliating your thighs and waxing your peach… …but no one told you there’s a full-blown diplomatic zone beneath it.

A biological Bermuda Triangle. A tactile twilight zone.

Your taint.

📉 Let’s Break Down the Cultural Bias

Body Part Coverage:

Boobs – Over-celebrated

Butts – Literally worshiped

Clitoris – Found in 1998

Labia – Misunderstood poetry

Taint – Ghosted

Why?

Because it’s funny. And neutral. And sweaty.

You can’t put the taint in a perfume ad. You can’t put it on a billboard.

So they buried it.

💀 What Makes the Taint Powerful?

Because it’s:

Genderless

Timeless

Politically neutral

Sensually charged

Biologically disrespected

It’s the only body part that:

Isn’t sexualized

Isn’t sacred

Isn’t politicized

Isn’t aestheticized

Isn’t protected

It just is.

Unbothered. Unbranded. Unapologetically indifferent.

And that makes it sacred.

📚 Linguistic Justice: Let’s Rename It Properly

Unisex taint aliases, rebranded for the equality era:

The Fleshbridge

The Forbidden Fajita™

Undercooch

The Sin Tundra

Devil’s Hallway

The Emotionless Alley

The Oathbreaker’s Strip

The Nether Yawn

Purgatory Patch

The Biblical Buffer Zone™

Choose your fighter. Reclaim your stripe. We’re not asking anymore.

🧼 Taint Hygiene: No Gender Exemptions

Let’s get raw.

Your taint:

Sweats like a liar in court

Collects funk like it’s in a blues band

Suffocates in yoga pants

Smells like the ghost of mistakes past if ignored too long

Male or female — it don’t matter.

Your taint will betray you unless:

You lather.

You exfoliate.

You show it the respect you pretend to give your “self-care routine.”

The taint is the final frontier of bodily respect.

Ignore it, and it will out you in summer.

🧪 The Psychological Impact of Owning Your Gooch

Let me be dead serious.

When you finally accept your taint:

Your shame collapses

Your ego softens

Your sex becomes better

Your humor becomes darker

Your subconscious literally trusts you more

Women who accept their taint become dangerous. Not because they’re wild — but because they’re free.

💥 The Taint Test: Feminist Edition

Ask your friend with the “Divine Feminine Energy” tattoo:

“Do women have a taint?”

“Can I call mine a gooch and still be empowered?”

“If you ignore your perineum, are you really body positive?”

Watch her hesitate. Watch her blink. Watch her glitch.

Because the truth is hilarious. And hilarity burns the shame right out of you.

🧘‍♀️ If You’re a Woman Reading This…

You now have no excuse.

That strip of skin between the peach and the abyss? That subtle runway between entrance and exit?

That’s your taint.

And it deserves:

A name

A scrub

A shrine

A Wikipedia page

You don’t need to gender it. You just need to own it.

🤯 TL;DR

The taint is real

The taint is universal

Women have taints

The patriarchy ignored it

But your loofah doesn’t have to

This isn’t just anatomy. It’s resistance.

💣 CALL TO ACTION

🔁 Reblog this before someone calls it “cisnormative perineum propaganda” 🧽 Send to the friend who forgot to wash hers today 🍑 Share if you’ve ever worn tight leggings with no idea what’s happening underneath 🫧 Save this if your taint is a neglected spiritual quest waiting to happen

⚖️ LEGAL DISCLAIMER:

This post is satire, anatomy education, performance art, cultural rebranding, locker room theology, and biological diplomacy.

It is protected by the U.S. Constitution, the Geneva Convention of Postmodern Memes, and the sacred covenant of shower-based self-respect.

If you’re offended: Wash deeper. Laugh louder. Reclaim your gooch.

Because if you can’t name it — the patriarchy still owns it.

And that is the real tragedy.

[supi-wupi]

Practice Crush - Soonyoung

pairing: Soonyoung x reader synopsis: You’re the clumsy newcomer at his dance academy. Hoshi offers to help — and ends up falling for your determination, not your footwork. wc: 4.1k genre: Fluff, Slowburn (im sorry..), Slice of Life, (light) Angst, Diary Entries warning: Mutual Pining, Teasing, Food Mentions, Crushing so hard it hurts™(yes), Joshua helps out a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY HOSHIIII!!! hope you guys enjoy this one!!

13/03/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

Today was my first class at Polaris Dance Academy. I almost ate the floor during warmups. Twice.

Everyone here moves like they’re made of music — smooth, confident, in control. And then there’s me.

Flailing like a baby giraffe on a sugar rush.

The worst part?

I tripped over my own shoelaces right in front of Kwon Soonyoung. Hoshi. As in Polaris’ golden boy. The living embodiment of rhythm.

He smiled.

Helped me up.

Said, “Careful. The floor bites if you’re not nice to it.”

And I laughed, like an idiot.

I think I might have a crush on him.

No.

I definitely do.

—

14/03/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal (Hoshi)

Note to self:

New girl in Level 1 contemporary — name tag said “Y/N.”

Tripped mid-turn. Landed on the floor with her arms flailing like she was in a cartoon. It was kind of impressive, actually.

She looked so embarrassed.

I offered her a hand, told a dumb joke about the floor biting. She laughed like it was the funniest thing ever.

Cute laugh. Big eyes.

Looks like she tries really hard. Like… really hard. I respect that.

Might offer to help her after class. I remember what it felt like to be the one always behind.

Plus…

She has this determination in her eyes.

It’s kind of magnetic.

—

17/03/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

So I stayed after class to practice the transition into pirouettes — the one that always makes me feel like a broken spinning top.

And guess who stayed too?

Hoshi.

He asked if I wanted help.

ME.

I said “sure” so fast I think I accidentally bowed twice.

He adjusted my arm position gently, told me to breathe, not hold so much tension in my shoulders. I nodded like I understood any of it, then spun straight into the mirror.

He didn’t laugh.

He just said, “Okay, we’re gonna try again. This time, you trust yourself.”

No one’s ever said that to me before. Not like that.

I think I might cry.

Or spin again.

Or both.

—

17/03/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

Y/N stayed late again. She’s really serious about improving.

She’s still clumsy, but there’s something alive about the way she moves when she forgets she’s nervous.

Her turns are off balance, but her passion is dead center.

I told her to trust herself.

She looked at me like no one’s ever asked her to before.

We practiced for an hour.

I forgot how fun it was to teach someone who actually listens.

And when she finally did a clean double spin — the way her eyes lit up…

I don’t know.

I think I’m in trouble.

—

21/03/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

Hoshi called me his partner during class today when the instructor asked why we were always hovering around the corner of the studio.

Partner.

Okay, sure, he meant practice partner. But STILL.

Also, he tied my shoelaces for me before warm-ups. Who does that??

(Angels. That’s who.)

He even remembered I like peach tea.

He brought me one after practice and said, “Fuel for your spins.”

What am I supposed to do with that kind of sweetness??

Melt???

Because I did.

—

22/03/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

Y/N nailed her turn sequence today. She actually shouted, “YES!” in the middle of the studio and scared half the room.

I was so proud I high-fived her — maybe a little too hard — she nearly fell again.

This girl is chaos. Endearing, determined chaos.

Brought her peach tea again.

She called me “Dance God Hoshi” and I think I blushed.

Not sure if she notices how I keep watching her when she’s not looking.

Not sure if she knows how proud I am every time she gets a step right.

Definitely not sure what to do about the fact that I want to hold her hand next time I fix her arm position.

But maybe…

Maybe one more practice together. Then I’ll tell her.

—

28/03/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

Today, I didn’t trip.

Not once.

Hoshi said, “Look at you, not kissing the floor!”

And I said, “Maybe the floor and I are on speaking terms now.”

He laughed.

Then he asked if I wanted to grab snacks after practice. Just the two of us.

I think I said yes.

Or nodded?

I might have squeaked.

We’re meeting tomorrow.

He said, “Consider it a reward for surviving your first week without face-planting.”

But I think he meant something more.

Or maybe I hope he did.

Either way…

I’ll wear my best shoes.

The ones that don’t come untied.

—

29/03/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

So… I didn’t die.

The snack date happened. It was real.

We sat outside the corner convenience store with triangle kimbap and those honey butter chips he swears by.

It wasn’t fancy.

It wasn’t a date date.

But then he said, “This is nice. I don’t usually get to slow down like this.”

And he looked at me.

Not his phone. Not the street. Me.

I told him he deserved to rest too.

He smiled. That soft one he usually saves for right after practice when the sweat’s still clinging to his hair.

He said, “You always say stuff that sticks.”

My brain short-circuited. I just nodded and shoved chips in my mouth like a gremlin.

But I think… I think I’m falling.

Or already there.

—

29/03/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

Snack date with Y/N today.

She called it a reward, but honestly, it felt like a reset button for my entire week.

We didn’t talk about dance. We just talked.

About our favorite snack combos. Our worst auditions. Her fear of elevators.

She told me she never expected someone like her to belong at Polaris.

I wanted to shake her.

How does she not see what I see?

The way she lights up when she’s proud of herself?

The way she makes even messing up feel… joyful?

I wanted to tell her she belongs everywhere.

But instead I said, “You’re the best part of my Tuesdays.”

She choked on her soda.

Worth it.

—

02/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

Today, I caught him staring.

During warmups, of all things.

I wasn’t doing anything impressive. Just a side stretch, halfway to a cramp.

But when I glanced up, he was already looking — like he forgot he wasn’t supposed to.

He smiled. Didn’t look away.

And I swear, my heart did a fouetté.

After class, he walked me to the bus stop even though it was raining and he had his own rehearsal to get to.

No umbrella. Just hoodie hoods and shared space.

He said, “Tell me when you get home, okay?”

Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like he wants to keep me safe.

Like maybe… I’m not the only one falling.

—

02/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

Rainy day.

Y/N smelled like clean laundry and lemon candy.

Not relevant to dance notes, but I don’t care.

She’s getting better. Her spins are smoother. Transitions more fluid. I told her she looked strong today.

She blushed. Said, “I’ve got a good coach.”

Coach? God. I hope she doesn’t think this is just that.

I walked her to the bus. No umbrella. Didn’t care.

I watched her leave through the foggy bus window, and for a second, I thought:

I want this.

More snack dates. More shared jokes. More her.

But I don’t know how to say it yet.

So for now, I’ll keep spinning beside her.

Until I find the courage to fall.

—

05/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

Today, I almost said it.

It was after practice. Everyone else had left, and the mirrors were fogged from how hard we’d gone on the final set.

I stayed behind to stretch. He stayed behind just because.

He sat across from me, legs stretched out, holding a water bottle like it was the only thing grounding him.

He said, “You know… you make it hard not to look forward to class.”

And I —

I panicked.

I laughed. Like an idiot.

He smiled too, but it didn’t reach his eyes this time.

And I wanted to fix it.

I wanted to say,

“I think I like you.”

But my mouth said,

“Is it because I bring snacks?”

He played along. Of course he did.

But I saw the flicker.

The almost.

I think we’re both standing on the edge.

But I don’t know who’s going to jump first.

—

05/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

She laughed.

When I told her how I felt — or, well, almost did — she laughed.

And I don’t know if that was her way of running or her way of not knowing what to do with the truth.

I said, “You make it hard not to look forward to class.”

What I meant: You make it hard not to fall in love every single time you walk into the room.

She made a joke about snacks. I laughed too.

What else could I do?

Maybe I’m reading it wrong.

Maybe she doesn’t feel the same.

Or maybe she does, and we’re both just cowards.

But if I don’t say it soon, I think it’ll eat me alive.

—

07/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

He brought me a peach drink today.

Said he saw me looking at it last time but didn’t get it because I “hesitated too long like a dramatic film character.”

I told him I was being responsible.

He said, “You can be responsible after dance practice.”

He’s always taking care of me in these quiet, tiny ways.

Does he know he’s doing it?

Does he know I notice every time?

I didn’t laugh at anything today.

I just looked at him, held the bottle in both hands, and said,

“Thank you, Hoshi.”

His ears turned pink.

Maybe I haven’t missed my chance.

Not yet.

—

10/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

She tied my shoelaces today.

I didn’t ask her to. I was talking to Chan, sitting on the floor post-practice, and before I could notice — she just knelt down and double-knotted them.

Said, “You’re going to trip like this. Again.”

I said, “Maybe I want to fall.”

It came out before I could stop it.

She paused. Eyes flicked up to mine — that deer-in-headlights look she gets when she hears something she’s not ready for.

Then she smiled. Said, “Well, try not to fall around me. I might trip too.”

…what does that mean?

I’m going insane.

—

10/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

He said he wants to fall.

And I think I did. Right then and there.

Also: his laces were a disaster. Honestly, I might be in love with a walking health hazard.

But when he said that — when he looked at me like that — I could barely breathe.

So I made a joke. Again. Because it’s easier than saying,

“I already fell. You just weren’t looking.”

God.

How do people do this? How do you say something like that out loud?

—

12/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

Snack date: secured.

I told her, “I owe you a drink for tying my laces.”

She rolled her eyes but agreed.

So now we’re going to the corner store tomorrow after practice.

Just us. No Chan. No mirrors. No excuses.

I think I’m going to wear my lucky hoodie. The one that makes me look less nervous than I am.

I won’t confess. Not yet.

But maybe I’ll hold the door open a little longer.

Maybe I’ll walk on the outside of the sidewalk.

Maybe I’ll try to make her laugh without hiding the way I look at her.

God help me.

—

13/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

We have a snack date tomorrow.

Well, not a date date.

It’s “payment for laces” apparently.

(But I know he didn’t actually care about that.)

I spent twenty minutes today picking out what hoodie to wear.

Then realized I’m just going to sweat through it in class anyway.

Still… I hope he notices.

I’m not going to confess. But maybe I’ll buy his favorite chips.

Maybe I’ll lean a little closer when we walk.

Maybe I’ll say his name without a reason, just to see how he looks at me when I do.

Maybe he’ll look back.

—

14/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

She waited for me outside the studio today.

Hood up. Hands in pockets. Hair still a little damp from practice.

I think I forgot how to speak.

We walked without music. Just the sound of traffic and our steps falling in sync.

At the store, she picked the seaweed chips I always grab — I didn’t even have to say it.

I picked her drink before she reached the cooler. She blinked and said, “How’d you know?”

I shrugged. “You always get it after evaluations.”

She looked at me like she’d never realized I was watching.

I wanted to tell her — I always am.

But instead, I asked if she wanted to sit at the bus stop across the street.

We did.

Didn’t catch a bus.

Just sat there. Sharing snacks.

At one point, our fingers brushed. I froze. She pulled back like it burned.

And then she apologized.

Why?

I almost said something. Almost asked if she felt it too.

But then the bus actually came, and we both stood up too quickly.

She waved goodbye. I waved back.

Neither of us left until the bus drove away.

—

14/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

She waited for me outside the studio today.

Hood up. Hands in pockets. Hair still a little damp from practice.

I think I forgot how to speak.

We walked without music. Just the sound of traffic and our steps falling in sync.

At the store, she picked the seaweed chips I always grab — I didn’t even have to say it.

I picked her drink before she reached the cooler. She blinked and said, “How’d you know?”

I shrugged. “You always get it after evaluations.”

She looked at me like she’d never realized I was watching.

I wanted to tell her — I always am.

But instead, I asked if she wanted to sit at the bus stop across the street.

We did.

Didn’t catch a bus.

Just sat there. Sharing snacks.

At one point, our fingers brushed. I froze. She pulled back like it burned.

And then she apologized.

Why?

I almost said something. Almost asked if she felt it too.

But then the bus actually came, and we both stood up too quickly.

She waved goodbye. I waved back.

Neither of us left until the bus drove away.

—

14/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

He remembered my drink.

He remembered.

I didn’t think he paid attention to things like that — but maybe he always has.

And he sat beside me. Not across. Right next to me. Our arms kept brushing and I couldn’t stop shaking.

Then our fingers touched.

It was barely anything. But it felt like lightning.

I pulled away. Like an idiot.

And he didn’t say anything. Just went quiet.

I wanted to tell him.

I wanted to say, “Don’t stop looking at me like that.”

I wanted to lean my head on his shoulder.

Instead, we both stood like strangers when the bus came.

We didn’t even take it.

We just… left.

I miss him and he was right next to me.

What is wrong with me?

—

15/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

She didn’t sit next to me during warmups today.

She always does. Always.

Today, she sat next to Jiwoo.

She didn’t even look over when I cracked the same joke she always laughs at.

I think I messed up.

Or maybe she’s just trying to play it cool.

Well, newsflash: I’m not cool.

I’ve never been good at pretending.

I keep replaying the bus stop in my head.

What would’ve happened if I didn’t let go?

—

15/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

I avoided him today.

Not because I wanted to.

But because if I looked at him, I might’ve blurted it all out.

Might’ve said: “I like you.”

“Not as a partner. Not as a classmate.”

Just —

“I like you.”

And I can’t do that. Not yet.

Not until I know he feels it too.

I think he does.

But thinking isn’t knowing.

And knowing means risking it.

And risking it means losing what we already have.

And I don’t know if I’m brave enough for that yet.

—

16/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

Joshua was in the studio today, just hanging out while we cleaned choreo.

He leaned against the mirror, sipping iced coffee like he wasn’t quietly clocking every interaction I had.

And then, out of nowhere, he said —

“You two are exhausting.”

I blinked. “What?”

He nodded toward Y/N, who was across the room tying her shoes.

“You like her. She likes you. The rest of us are just collateral damage at this point.”

I opened my mouth to deny it. He raised a hand.

“Don’t even. I’ve seen the way you look at her when you think no one’s watching.”

I laughed it off. Said he was imagining things.

But he didn’t smile. Just tapped the lid of his coffee and said,

“You think you have time, but one of you is going to run eventually. Don’t let her.”

I’ve never seen Joshua that serious before.

Now I can’t stop thinking about it.

Is she already running?

—

16/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

I caught Joshua looking at me weird today.

Not weird-bad. Weird-like-he-knew-something.

And then he said the strangest thing when we passed in the hallway.

“You should talk to him. He’s more obvious than he thinks.”

I froze. Asked him what he meant.

He just smiled and walked off like a rom-com side character who knows he’s moving the plot along.

Joshua never says anything unless he means it.

And now I’m spiraling.

Because if he sees it… does that mean it’s real?

Does Soonyoung actually like me back?

Or am I just reading into things again?

I don’t know. But tomorrow… maybe I’ll test it.

Just a little.

Just enough to know if I should stop hoping.

—

18/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

Today was supposed to be a full group practice.

Except — when I showed up, only Y/N was there.

No Dino. No Seungkwan. No Minghao.

Just her, stretching by the mirror and blinking at me like she wasn’t expecting it either.

I checked my messages. The group chat said practice was pushed an hour.

Sent… by Joshua.

From my phone.

I nearly sprained something realizing it.

He must’ve grabbed my phone when I left it unlocked during warmups.

That little…

Okay. He’s not wrong.

Because now we were stuck in that cavernous studio, alone, with no music playing, just the faint sound of traffic outside and her laugh —

God, her laugh.

We talked. Not even about anything important.

What snacks we’d get after this. If sweet potato tteokbokki was superior (it is). Whether the backup dancers in that viral TikTok were dating.

It felt too easy.

Too comfortable.

Too much like something I want every day.

And then —

She looked at me and said, “Hey, can I tell you something?”

I swear to god I forgot how to breathe.

But then she bit her lip.

Laughed.

Said, “Never mind. It’s stupid.”

I didn’t press.

I should’ve pressed.

—

18/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

Joshua is so sneaky.

Practice was moved — or so I thought.

Only Soonyoung showed up.

The rest of the team rolled in later, all pretending to be clueless.

I saw Joshua wink at me.

He planned this.

And I almost said it.

I really did.

I was going to tell him. Not the whole truth. Just something close.

Just, “I like hanging out with you.”

Or, “I always look forward to our snack runs.”

Or, “You make me feel like maybe I’m not crazy for hoping.”

But it got caught in my throat.

And instead I said, “Never mind.”

I hate how close it was.

He looked at me like he was ready to hear it.

Like he’d been ready.

Joshua gave me a window. And I shut it.

Why am I like this?

—

21/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Joshua “accidentally” gave us the wrong directions to the café.

I know he did.

There’s no way that man confuses left with “just head down that alley behind the record shop and you’ll see it.”

Soonyoung and I ended up walking through half the neighborhood, wandering into a street market, sharing samples from a tteok stall like we were on a drama set.

We didn’t rush.

He didn’t even try to find the café after a while.

He just kept talking. Asking questions he already knew the answers to.

“Your favorite flower is still hydrangeas, right?”

“Wait, didn’t you say you hate mint chocolate?”

“I remember you said that song reminded you of summer. Why summer?”

He remembers everything.

And then, it happened.

We were standing under a cherry blossom tree near the bus stop. Pink petals caught in his hair.

I reached up to brush one off, and he grabbed my wrist.

Not hard. Just… held it.

He said, “Y/N.”

And then he broke.

Like he couldn’t keep it in anymore.

He said:

“I like you. Not as a friend. Not as a practice partner. I think about you all the time. I wait for your messages. I say dumb things just to make you laugh. I— I wasn’t supposed to say it like this.”

He looked terrified.

Like he thought I’d run.

I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

All I could do was whisper, “I know.”

And then: “Me too.”

He smiled like the sun came out.

And then the bus arrived.

We never even got to the café.

But I don’t think it mattered.

We got somewhere better.

—

21/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

I told her.

I actually told her.

I thought I’d explode.

I thought the petals falling between us were mocking me like, “look at this idiot, about to ruin everything.”

But she didn’t run.

She said “me too.”

I keep hearing it in my head. Over and over.

I said it messy. I said it nervous. I said it like a boy who's been falling in love quietly for months and finally hit the ground.

And she was already there waiting.

We didn’t even get our snacks.

But I don’t care.

She likes me back.

She likes me back.

—

24/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

He waited outside my studio with two bags of hotteok.

Didn’t even say hi at first. Just grinned and held them up like a peace offering.

Like, “Hi, I confessed my feelings under a cherry blossom tree, now take this pancake.”

We walked to the same park bench we always used to go to.

But this time, we sat closer. Shoulders brushing.

We still talked like before — about dance, stupid group chat memes, Seungkwan’s dramatic rants — but it felt different.

More deliberate.

More… ours.

He gave me the last bite of his hotteok.

He always used to fake-argue over who got the last piece.

This time, he didn’t. Just held it out and smiled like it was the easiest thing in the world.

When I wiped powdered sugar off his cheek with my sleeve, he went completely quiet.

Then he said:

“This feels like everything I didn’t know I was missing.”

And honestly?

Same.

We haven’t kissed yet.

But I think we’re building up to it.

And for once, I don’t mind waiting.

I’m not scared of slow anymore.

Not with him.

—

24/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

“First official snack date.”

That’s what I wrote in my planner. In all caps. Circled twice.

I showed up too early. Paced around the block. Almost ate the hotteok out of nerves.

She looked tired when she came out of the studio, but when she saw me, she smiled like I was exactly what she needed.

We sat at our bench.

And everything felt familiar but new.

Like we were rereading a favorite book, but suddenly noticing all the feelings between the lines.

She wiped sugar off my cheek and I almost forgot how to breathe.

I wanted to kiss her.

But I didn’t.

I just held her hand instead.

Small, simple.

But she squeezed back.

And that was enough to set my whole chest on fire.

We’ve danced through so many songs together.

But I think we’re finally learning this one — the one just for us.

Step by step.

Beat by beat.

masterlist ♪

[maincharactermuse]

The one where there is overthinking. (9)

(Find my masterlist here)

Y/N woke to the smell of espresso that wasn’t hers. Which was odd, because she lived alone.

Her mind blinked awake slowly - just the sounds of the city through her open window, the dull ache in her shoulders from too much time hunched over a baking bench yesterday. No stranger brewing in the kitchen. Just muscle memory: a phantom scent, a thought that had wandered in from a dream of Harry’s house - warm wood, colder marble, and that stupidly beautiful La Marzocco machine that probably cost more than her rent.

She sat up slowly, duvet tangled at her waist, and blinked toward the light slanting through the curtains.

At what point does someone become your boyfriend?

Was it something you earned? Asked for? Grew into like a new pair of jeans - slow, unnoticed, until one day someone says that fits you? Or was there a moment, a spark, a declaration? A knock on the door, maybe. Hi there. Just here to let you know: congratulations, you have a boyfriend now. Terms and conditions apply.

She snorted softly at herself and padded into the kitchen. Turned on the kettle. Stirred honey into her yogurt with more intensity than was probably necessary.

It wasn’t that she needed the label, exactly. It was just… she liked knowing where she stood. Always had. In a relationship, in her work, in a bakery queue. And lately, things with Harry felt like standing on one of those moving walkways at the airport - things were going forward whether she walked or not. She just wasn’t sure where they were headed.

The kettle screamed. She poured the water, let the tea steep, and grabbed her phone.

Harry

Farmer’s Market at 11?

Will trade you peaches for my company.

She stared at it for a second. Smiled. And then, because she couldn’t help herself, copied and pasted the message straight into her group chat.

group chat: the coven 🔮

Y/N

He just texted

“Farmer’s market at 10? Will trade you peaches for your company.”

Is that a date or… a produce-related errand with benefits?

Noor

It’s a fruit-forward soft launch 💅

Go. Wear something vaguely effortless and make him carry everything.

Grace

That’s at least a date-adjacent activity.

Did he use a peach emoji tho

That would push it into horny territory.

Y/N

No peach. No winky face.

Just… sincerity.

Noor

Omg the intimacy 😭

Grace

You realise you’re already dating, right?

You’re just too emotionally stunted to say it out loud 😇

Y/N

OK rude but not inaccurate

Do people still have like… “the talk”?

Like when does it become a thing? Is there a ceremony?

Noor

The Ceremony of the Boyfriending™

A council appears. Rings are exchanged. You delete Hinge.

Grace

He seems like the “acts like your boyfriend for 6 months before saying it out loud” type tbh

Good hair. Terrible communication.

Y/N

Wow

Seen

Attacked

Buying jam anyway.

She laughed into her tea. But underneath it - underneath the ease, the teasing - there was still that quiet hum in her chest.

Do you see me like that?

Is this where we’re going?

Would you say yes if I asked?

———————————————————————————

Parliament Hill Markets were already buzzing when she spotted him. Gray shirt, dark trousers, sunglasses, carrying two canvas bags like he did this every weekend.

He hadn’t seen her yet. She stood still for a second and just… watched.

This was becoming a pattern - her life folding into his, quietly, one scene at a time. Not big, sweeping gestures. Just stolen mornings. Coffee that tasted like something else. Late-night texts about nothing and everything. Peach invites.

“Hi,” she said, stepping beside him.

He looked up. Smiled that slow, slightly surprised smile - like he wasn’t quite used to her showing up yet, but liked it every time.

“You came,” he said.

“I wanted peaches.”

He handed her one of the bags. “And good company?”

She shrugged. “Jury’s still out.”

They walked side by side, easy rhythm. But there was no contact - not even a brush of shoulders. Too many eyes. She understood. Still, she felt it - that space between them, measured and deliberate. Not unfriendly. Just… intentional.

They wandered between stalls, weaving through crowds. He picked out nectarines while she haggled over berries. Argued passionately over jam flavours — he said raspberry was king; she called it a coward’s choice.

“Strawberry’s basic,” he insisted. “Raspberry’s got edge.”

“Raspberry seeds are a war crime,” she muttered.

He grinned, handing her a sample from a vendor. “Here. Try this and tell me I’m wrong.”

She tasted it. Paused. Licked her lip.

“I hate that you’re right.”

He beamed. “Victory is sweet.”

At one point, a woman at a flower stall called out, “You again! Where’s your mum this time?”

Harry smiled politely, then gestured to Y/N. “She’s back up north. This is Y/N.”

Just that. This is Y/N. No qualifier.

The woman looked at her and smiled. “He always buys tulips for someone. You must be lucky.”

“Oh-” she started, but Harry jumped in, buying the flowers quickly, nudging her away.

Y/N walked quietly for a minute, tulips dangling from her fingers.

No qualifier.Just Y/N.

She hated how much she noticed.

———————————————————————————

“Okay, random question,” she said instead, tugging the tote higher on her shoulder. “What’s your most controversial food opinion?”

Harry’s brow lifted. “Besides the strawberry-thyme jam being elite?”

She gave him a dry look. “Besides that.”

He thought for a second. “Alright. I don’t think avocados are that good.”

She stopped walking and turned to stare at him. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“Harry.”

“They’re bland. Weird texture. And you all act like they’re some kind of edible gold.”

“Okay, wow. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“You just accused me of jam treason. Let’s not pretend we’re not both food criminals.”

She narrowed her eyes, pretending to be deeply offended. “I can’t believe I’m possibly not-dating someone who slanders avocados.”

His lips twitched. “Possibly not-dating?”

Shit. That slipped out.

“Hypothetically,” she amended quickly, brushing a bit of hair behind her ear. “If I were not not-dating you. I’d be concerned.”

He didn’t say anything for a beat. Just looked at her - really looked - and she could feel the air shift slightly. That thrum of something unnamed between them, hovering.

Then he smiled. “Well, hypothetically. I’ll allow it.”

They started walking again, side by side, his hand swinging just close enough to hers to make her fingers ache with wanting to reach for him.

But they didn’t. Not yet.

They reached the edge of the canal, where the path split off toward the little cafés and vintage shops. Boats bobbed gently nearby, flowers spilling from their windows like they belonged in a painting.

Harry slowed. “Wanna grab a coffee?”

Y/N opened her mouth to say yes. She wanted to. She wanted to spend more time with him, to sit across from him and pretend they were just a normal couple doing normal couple things.

But something tightened in her chest. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t anything he’d done. It was just… the weight of not knowing. Of feeling so much and not knowing where to put it. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Actually… I might head home. I’ve got some stuff to do before tomorrow.”

He didn’t press. Just nodded once. “Alright. You sure you’re okay?”

She smiled. It wasn’t a lie. Just a version of the truth. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He looked at her like he could see through it, but didn’t say anything. “Text me when you get back?”

“Of course.”

They stood there a beat longer, and she felt that pull again. The one that made her want to reach for his hand, to kiss him, to say what are we, actually?

Instead, she just smiled.

He leaned in like he might kiss her, but pulled back at the last second—his gaze flicking toward the people nearby. Cameras or not, there was always someone looking.

So he just squeezed her shoulder gently. “Later, then.”

“Later.”

She turned and walked away, the tote bag still heavy on her shoulder, heart heavier. She didn’t look back, but she could feel him watching her go.

———————————————————————————

group chat: the coven 🔮

Y/N

Okay. I think I’m not NOT dating Harry. I’m also dating him.

Idk what I’m saying

Noor

men just assume you’re dating them when you remember how they take their coffee

Grace

Lmfaooo Noor

Y/N seriously though, what happened?

Y/N

Nothing. I mean, we hung out. It was nice.

We walked. Argued about jam.

He looked really good in a stupid cardigan

I almost said something but then I got in my head and left like I had a dentist appointment

Noor

Noooo babe 😂

Jam walk cardigan angst???

Grace

The rarest kind of emotional spiral

Y/N

I just… I really like him

And I don’t want to ruin it by being like “sooo are you my boyfriend?”

But I also don’t want to accidentally become a situationship because I was trying to be chill

I’m not chill. I’m warm. I’m room temperature. I bake things when I’m anxious

Grace

Okay but he likes warm

He literally goes to your café just to look at you over banana bread

Noor

You don’t have to figure it all out today

You can just… tell him when it feels right

You’re allowed to want clarity, babe. That’s not needy

Y/N

God you’re both so emotionally stable it’s disgusting

Okay

Okay. I’ll chill. For now.

But if he pulls out that jam again I’m walking into the Thames

Grace

Pls do

We’ll come with prosecco

———————————————————————————

Nana

Hi, baby. Just checking in — how’s your heart today?

Y/N

A bit noisy

I’m fine

Just… wondering when you’re supposed to say something

Like… how do you ask someone what this is without sounding like you’re trying to trap them in a net?

Nana

What happened?

Y/N

Nothing, really

Harry and I had a nice day

But I left early because I was overthinking every second of it

I want to seem cool and calm and unbothered but also like…

Can someone just tell me what’s going on 😭

Nana

You want to know if you are safe to hope

That’s not silly. That’s human.

Y/N

Yes exactly

That!!

Like how do I know it’s going somewhere

Do I need to wait until he says something? Or am I allowed to go first?

Nana

Labels are lovely, but they don’t build the relationship.

The daily kindness does. The showing up. . The way you feel when he looks at you.

If you still need clarity after that, you’re in your right to ask for it, lovie

Y/N

God why are you the wise one

I thought I was supposed to be the modern one here

Nana

I’ve just lived longer.

And made more of a mess of things 😌

Y/N

Nan.

You literally got married after two weeks

Nana

Exactly.

That’s why I know it’s okay to ask the questions

Y/N

You’re ridiculous

Thank you

Love you

Nana

Always.

Now go drink water and stop overwatering your thoughts

———————————————————————————

Harry

Hey

Don’t wanna overthink it but

Felt like you left a bit fast today

Everything alright?

Y/N

Yeah 😅

Sorry

I was just… in my head a bit

But I’m okay

I always like hanging out with you

Harry

Okay

Wasn’t trying to push, just wanted to check

You sure?

Y/N

Yeah

I mean, I like hanging out with you

Like kissing you

Love doing… other things with you 🍆🔥

Harry

Oh my god

You’re unhinged

Can we ever have a serious conversation

Y/N

You started it by asking if I was okay!!

I’m trying to answer in a mature and deeply honest way

Harry

Mature and deeply honest

With an aubergine moji

Y/N

Balance is key 🤷‍♀️

Harry

You’re ridiculous

But

I like all that too

(Especially the other things)

Y/N

I figured

Sorry again about today

Just got in my own way for a second

Harry

It happens

I’m glad you told me

Y/N

I’m free tomorrow after work

If you want company

I could bring over dinner

And by dinner I mean just me and maybe half a chocolate cake that’s been left over from the café

Harry

Perfect

You and half a cake is all I need

Text me when you’re close?

Y/N

Will do x

[autisticshadowthehedgehog]

sometimes complaining about girlboss characters starts to feel like complaining about mary sues or manic pixie dream girls. theres a real criticism of the trend at some point but its gets quickly drowned out by a lot of misogyny. its okay for girls to do cool things

oh i'm fine for natural girlbosses. dot warner is still an icon above icons.

the problem is with "girlbossing," when someone looks at a feminine girl character and is like "now wait a minute. she can't be feminist if she is Nice and Romantic and Untrained At Combat. it's not like feminism is saying 'traditionally feminine things are not the problem, and they've been severely undervalued in favor of traditionally masculine traits.' no, it's the femmes who are wrong. we shall make them more masculine and in turn make them more feminist. but god forbid we make them actually butch. obviously we can't go that far" also somehow these characters usually end up as business owners because capitalism is good

ie: 90% of Cinderella adaptations in this day and age, Disney's reboot of Snow White, Mario Movie Peach (tho I haven't seen the movie myself so I'm just going based on what people told me).

Sometimes it's done WELL- like Webby in Ducktales'17 is textbook girlbossing, with her being more combat-oriented and less "cute." But that was clearly done as a way to explore more of her character rather than relegate her to "the character we pander to the Females with" and make her more proactive in the story they were telling, rather than as a way to make her "less girly." She's still into sleepovers and pink dresses and has female friends (who were added into the reboot), she just ALSO likes blood sports. Mario Movie Peach might be the same way, as I said I haven't seen the mov. or sometimes the girlbossing is Camp™, like & juliet. in which case it's fucking awesome

But the vast majority of the time, it's people thinking that a character being traditionally feminine is automatically antifeminist, without thinking "well, is this a character with a personality, wants, and agency"? Cinderella is constantly belittled for "doing nothing" but she's an abuse survivor in a situation she can't escape, who as soon as she's given a way out is active in trying to get her happy ending. 1950's Disney Cinderella literally is the one to run down the stairs screaming that she has the other slipper. Their 2015 girlboss Cinderella spins and dances in her room until the prince comes and gets her. And that's like. Their LEAST offensive reboot girlbossing.

Goddamnit I have to leave for work now. tl;dr the problem with girlbossing isn't "letting women do cool things", those things are sick and awesome. The problem is the writers implicitly saying "any girl that doesn't conform to masculine ideals of strength is clearly weak and needs to be fixed."

[demoncatlady]

@the-ender8safehaven-archives Why, thank you! [Rest text below!]

Just to give context, this is this art piece's "mirror". And this one is the first I drew of this version of Mr. Puzzles.

Main inspiration came from SMG4's "IT'S GOTTA BE PERFECT"-saga.

I am planning to do a short animatic/comic to showcase his origin BUT the main story beat would be for him to: - Go down Peache's castle hole to retrieve SMG4's USB to see (and probably use) 4's masterpiece for himself. - But, the trip doesn't go as planned due to the Mass™'s mutation that latches onto his back before wrapping around his torso and branching onto/into his head. - The Puppeteer becoming The Puppet.

There is more to this + a whole arc in my mind, but knowing myself I'll probably lose interest or burnout before getting it started.

Happens too often.