#we live on a tightrope

[enderwoah]

being a ranchers fan during this crossover is like actually terrifying nono like u guys dont get it

ppl that arent ranchers fans will NEVER UNDERSTAND the guttural fear of clicking on a new episode and seeing tango participate in a toy joke at jimmy. like jimmy's whole thing is getting bullied and since cc!tango isn't really playing a character he's under literally zero obligation to keep up the ""respect"" (in quotations bc theyre obviously all friends joking around) for jimmy AT ALL. he could jokingly join in with grian and joel and The Rest Of The Server on one (1) joke and i think all of us would instantly crumble into dust. its like watching two cars drive at each other at 500 kmph except theyre slightly off so they MIGHT hit each other but they also might just pass by each other and wave through the windows

do you get it. every episode is filled with fear and expectation and im just trying to get in as many "MAN guys do you see how much tango RESPECTS JIMMY and DOES NOT PARTICIPATE in the TOY JOKES like EVERYONE ELSE" posts as i can to try and psychically influence them from across the world

[bericas]

allison argent | simmer

[turian]

we should all be a little in love with janelle monae i think

absolutely correct and it actually results in my mom staying awake for whole movies sometimes (not her usual) which is <3

[kindacreepy-kindaugly]

kinda feel like at this point I need to choose between him n everyone else

[confinesofmy]

yesterday on black friday, after me and my cousin got back from watching saltburn on a whim (which we literally drove to mississippi to see, inherently hilarious as a concept) we were kind of high from the roadtrip, the film, the roadtrip back, and the absurdity of it all, and we noticed our tourist cousins who come here for vacations and holidays had a bonfire going, so we decided to channel our frenetic fucking energy into partying and getting a bit tipsy, got some drinks from home and crashed that shit.

we were an immediate hit, i think simply because we had such a puckish, elated aura about us. jokes were landing, we were both perfectly elevating other people's jokes, generally firing on all cylinders. eventually someone asked what we were up to before this, so we had to admit we had just gotten back from d'iberville, where we'd gone to see a movie. there aren't any movies in <the major city one hour away>? they said, and so we said well not this movie! so they asked about it more and we played coy for as long as we could but

the party wrapped with us scene-by-scene recounting the entire movie to two of our tourist cousins until we finished our rendition and the one we like less left, at which point we pivoted to spirituality and religion and our struggles with morality and MORALE tbh because it's hard to keep your head up sometimes isn't it. then at 3am we called it a night.

i genuinely think we made his holiday weekend. he definitely helped make ours. that was such an insane afternoon and evening.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Why Writers Don't Finish Writing Their Stories, and How to Fix It

Hello fellow writers and storytellers,

The journey of writing a story is an exhilarating adventure, but it's not without its share of obstacles. Many of us have embarked on a creative endeavor, only to find ourselves mired in the struggle to finish what we started. In this blog post, I'll unravel the common reasons why writers don't finish their stories and explore practical strategies to overcome these hurdles and reignite the flame of creativity.

The Perils of Unfinished Stories

As writers, we often find ourselves in the throes of unfinished tales, grappling with the intricate web of characters, plots, and themes. There are several reasons why the ink dries up and the story remains untold. Let's shine a light on the familiar adversaries that stand between us and the triumphant completion of our narratives:

1. Lack of Planning:

Some of us brazenly dive into our stories without a clear roadmap, resulting in uncertainty about the direction of the plot and the fate of our characters. The lack of a solid plan can lead us astray, leaving our stories wandering in the wilderness of aimlessness.

2. Self-Doubt and Perfectionism:

Ah, the relentless whispers of self-doubt and the siren call of perfectionism! These twin adversaries can cast a shadow over our creative vision, compelling us to endlessly revise and perfect the early chapters, trapping us in a whirlpool of perpetual edits.

3. Time Management:

Balancing the demands of daily life with the ardor of writing can be akin to walking a tightrope. The struggle to find consistent time for our craft often leaves our stories languishing in prolonged periods of inactivity, longing for the touch of our pen.

4. Writer's Block:

The mighty barrier that even the most intrepid writers encounter. Writer's block can be an insurmountable mountain, leaving us stranded in the valleys of creative drought, unable to breathe life into new ideas and narratives.

5. Lack of Motivation:

The flame that once burned brightly can flicker and wane over time, leaving us adrift in the murky waters of disillusionment. The initial excitement for our stories diminishes, making it arduous to stay committed to the crafting process.

6. Fear of Failure or Success:

The twin specters that haunt many writers' dreams. The apprehension of rejection and the unsettling prospect of life-altering success can tether us to the shores of hesitation, preventing us from reaching the shores of completion.

7. Criticism and Feedback Anxiety:

The looming dread of judgment casts a long shadow over our creative endeavors. The mere thought of receiving criticism or feedback, whether from peers or potential readers, can cast a cloud over our storytelling pursuits.

8. Plotting Challenges:

Crafting a cohesive and engaging plot is akin to navigating a labyrinth without a map. Faced with hurdles in connecting story elements, we may find ourselves lost in a maze of plot holes and unresolved threads.

9. Character Development Struggles:

Breathing life into multi-dimensional, relatable characters is a complex art. The intricate process of character development can become a quagmire, ensnaring us in the challenge of creating personas that drive the story forward. (Part one of Character Development Series)

10. Life Events and Distractions:

Unexpected events in our personal lives can cast ripples on our writing routines, interrupting the flow of our creativity and causing a loss of momentum.

Rallying Against the Odds: Strategies for Success

Now that we've confronted the adversaries that threaten to stall our storytelling odysseys, let's arm ourselves with strategies to conquer these barriers and reignite the flames of our creativity.

Embrace the Power of Planning:

A clear roadmap illuminates the path ahead. Arm yourself with outlines, character sketches, and plot maps to pave the way for your story's journey.

Vanquish Self-Doubt with Action:

Silence the voices of doubt with the power of progress. Embrace the imperfect beauty of your early drafts, knowing that every word brings you closer to the finish line.

Mastering the Art of Time:

Carve out sacred writing time in your schedule. Whether it’s ten minutes or two hours, every moment dedicated to your craft is a step forward.

Conquering Writer's Block:

Embrace the freedom of imperfection. Write, even if the words feel like scattered puzzle pieces. The act of writing can unravel the most stubborn knots of writer's block.

Reigniting the Flame of Motivation:

Seek inspiration in the wonders of the world. Reconnect with the heart of your story, rediscovering the passion that set your creative spirit ablaze.

Reshaping Fear into Fuel:

Embrace the uncertainty as an integral part of the creative journey. Embrace the lessons within rejection and prepare for the winds of change that success may bring.

Navigating the Realm of Criticism:

Embrace feedback as a catalyst for growth. Constructive criticism is a powerful ally, shaping your story into a work of art that resonates with readers.

Weaving the Threads of Plot:

Connect the dots with fresh eyes. Step back and survey the tapestry of your plot, seeking innovative solutions to bridge the gaps and untangle the knots.

Breathing Life into Characters:

Engage with your characters as if they were old friends. Dive into their depths, unraveling their quirks, fears, and dreams, and watch as they breathe life into your story.

Navigating Life's Tempests:

Embrace the ebb and flow of life. Every pause in your writing journey is a chance to gather new experiences and perspectives, enriching your storytelling tapestry.

The Ever-Resting Pen: Harnessing the Power Within

Fellow writers, the journey of completing a story is filled with peaks and valleys, each offering us the opportunity to sharpen our resolve and unleash our creative potential. As we stand at the crossroads, staring at the canvas of unfinished tales, let's rally against the odds, armed with the power of purpose, passion, and perseverance.

Let the ink flow once more, breathing life into tales left untold, and watch as your stories triumphantly reach their long-awaited conclusion. You possess the power to conquer the adversaries that stand in your way, and within you lies the essence of untold narratives waiting to unfurl onto the page.

Here's to the journey that lies ahead, the stories waiting to be written, and the unyielding spirit of creativity that thrives within each of us.

Warm regards and unwavering encouragement, Ren T.

[the-monkeies-girl]

Bitter Sweet. ( Five x Reader Oneshot. )

i have no explanation other than my babies are still alive and that season 4 never happened SEASON 4 NEVER HAPPENED---- Give me snarky, asshole, pragmatic five back before i die. Reblogs/likes/comments all appreciated, thank u.

Title: Bitter Sweet. Fandom: The Umbrella Academy. Pairing: Heavily Implied ! Five x Reader. Rating: T. ( Language, lol. ) Words: 1.2K+ Summary: ( Taking place in an AU after season 4, let me live in my fantasy that's what fanfics are FOR ). You knew how specific Five was about his coffee. You knew he would speak his mind regarding and it was too much fun to let go of.

════ ════ ════ ════ ════ ════ ════ ════ ════ ════ 

Four cubes. 

No, no… Five felt his mouth part in astonishment, crystal clear green eyes peering in languid judgment as your plucked another sugar cube from a pristine porcelain bowl and plopped it right into the white coffee cup that was placed in front of you. It sploshed happily, absorbing the coffee and sweetening the deal for you to enjoy, but that was never the point in the grand scheme. You were ardently aware of how irritating it was, one cube after another. The quantity itself was deliberate and you knew… How you were able to feel his stare hell-bending holes into your face. He was unable to see the liquid despite trying with a narrow gaze but he was willing to bargain much of what he owned that it was pale in color, not even teetering towards tan but more towards plain white.

 A grimace was noticed by Klaus who bargained a chuckle as he looked towards you, seated beside him with raised eyebrows of acute amusement, “You’re desecrating whatever coffee you had, I think Five is going to lunge across the table and take you by the neck---” “Five can shove it.” The innocence that rode against your face was evident as the Hargreeves man  across from you scoffed under his breath at the juxtaposed expression coupled with the aggressive nature of your words. “It’s my cup, not his. We can’t all drink it b---”

“Black like my soul, right?” Five rolled his eyes, shoulders drawing themselves in some minor defense and you were able to see the tightness of which he held himself from the tailored nature of his suit. Five was lanky and skinny, but that didn't seek to say that he was without defined muscles against his sweeping collarbones and it was evident in certain motions that left you reeling back from the hardened words that he responded with.

“Get some original insults, (Name). You’re becoming way too predictable. Boring even---” His voice was incredulous, sticking towards monotonous but still held irate interest in speaking to you, only detectable around the edges and it sang against your ears. 

Flirtatious only to you, aggressive and leaned with hatred to others. A game of cat and mouse, though at times, you were unsure of which one you were playing. “I was going to say bitter just like your personality, but you know me. Predictable.” Klaus held a defensive hand up, grasping at his own cup and pretending he was beckoned elsewhere to avoid the confrontation that was inevitable coming in the way that Five cleared his throat, a hand raising and tightening the bundle of fabric where his tie rested against his throat. 

He straightened it, you noticed with acute mirth, but there was no need to. It was already perfectly placed, part of the morning ritual you imagined he held close to his chest after spending so long cultivating it. Five was… A creature of habit, to many extents. Needless to say, it was one of those simple actions that you enjoyed seeing none-the-less, fingers twitching in a finite need to deshevel the pin-black tie to further push the boundary of where you and Five so often tightroped. No solace was given to either party as his knuckles rubbed against the underside of his sharpened jaw. There was hostility tangling in with notes of attractive coyness as he snapped at you, “You’re a goddamn monster, you know that? Fuck---” “I’m not the one getting angry over how someone else makes their coffee.” You bit back without reserve and another sickly smile placed towards the brunette as you finally picked up your spoon and allowed it to sink into the cup. It scraped -- Horrid, Five felt a shiver run down his spine at the vibrations he could feel against the oak table from your simple movement. Like nails against a chalkboard. 

“Can you even call that coffee?” Five spliced and looked down at his own mug, half-emptied and his saliva still coating and drying where he had last taken a drink against the curve. “Did ya even put any in there? Any beans? Any espresso?” “There’s some in here.” There was a justification with a faux pout which Five remarked as being feverishly unfair. You were good at playing expressions, he was good at playing words. “I think….” You mused and lifted your cup up to your mouth and kissed the rim. Five swallowed hard, his Adam’s Apple bobbing which was feasted upon by your eyes before you took a long sip. Control rested in your hands as you refused to let him look away from you. 

Five sneered, your eyes taking in the delectations of seeing his sharpened canines. “You’re going to lose all your teeth from all the shit you put in that. Creamer and then what? Five sugar cubes? Are you a horse? Want me to feed you them straight from my hand?” There was a rustling sound as Five leaned inwards, his suit jacket pulling up with the motion that was placed as he so graciously plucked a sugar cube from the bowl that had been nearly emptied by you and offered it in the palm of his hand. “C’mon, take it. Be a good little horse.” “”Ha-ha,” You laughed sarcastically, smacking his gesture away which sent the cube flying off to be cleaned up later. “I’ll bite your fingers clean off.” “Not if you don’t have any fucking teeth! I kind of hope you do lose them. Hell, take me to the dentist when you get them pulled, I’ll bring them home and make a necklace for you.”

“You DIY things, Five?” There was another laugh from you as you took a sip of your drink, “Never pegged you to be that crafty.” There was emphasis on the word ‘pegged’, Five catching hold of the implication which garnered you that shit-eating grin that was more than infamous at this point. “Just this once.” He smirked, giving you a dimpled smile of feigned innocence to rival the one you splayed for him earlier. Sitting up in his seat, it scooted against the floor below with a loud bellow and you watched with bated astonishment as he leaned against the table to bring his upper half closer to you. Face only inches apart now, you refused to relent eye contact with him and tried to desperately shove down the connotation that you were able to clearly smell the after-shave that he favored. Pinely in scent, you wanted to grasp at his chin and feel the stubble against your fingers but that wasn’t the point here. The point was to be the cat while Five was forced to be the mouse.

“Just for you, a nice necklace and some earrings. Bracelet, maybe? A matching set. You'd look like such a doll."

“I’ll wear the set to your funeral. Clutch them instead of my pearls as I sob, telling everyone what a wonderful ray of sunshine you were to be around before you so tragically died.”

“Is that a date?” 

Five huffed at you as you stood from your seat, his gawk watching the movement with hostility as you craned your body towards him and grasped the base of his tie. Enlightened with curiosity, the disgusting smile of attraction rose along his cheeks, quickly torn to shreds as you pulled the tie downwards, the knot coming undone without reserve. 

“With you six feet under? You bet your damn ass it is.”

[withleeknow]

moonstruck.

pairing: minho x f!reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, angst if you squint; they're in love <3, mentions of menstruation, there's a bit about orpheus and eurydice so you're not familiar you might want to look it up beforehand idk, not as edited as i'd like. not a lot of warnings here tbh it's just pretty mild and mellow saur 🤷‍♀️ (also i don't exactly love this but i hope you'll still tolerate it anyway lol) word count: 4.7k playlist 🎧: moonstruck - enhypen // this is how you fall in love - jeremy zucker ft. chelsea cutler // pansy - taemin // tightrope - zayn

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

Minho is the kind of love that you thought only existed in movies and fairytales. Make-belief, too good to be true, out of reach.

When he rests his head on your shoulder, drifting in and out of sleep like he’s been doing for the past hour or so, you give into the urge to stare at him in wonder. An angel on earth, if there ever was one.

His long eyelashes that you could only dream to have, the slope of his nose, his pink pouty lips, his impeccably sharp jawline, and even his fluffy hair that’s ticking your cheek as you look at him as if you don’t get to see him like this every day. But that kind of beauty is something that demands to be showcased in the world’s most exquisite museum and admired by anyone who comes across it.

Minho is beautiful in every sense of the word.

And you adore him. You do. You love him with every single beat of your pathetic little heart and then some.

Surely, you must’ve saved a nation in one of your past lives to deserve someone as ethereal as him.

Turning your face to the side, you press a kiss against his forehead. The touch makes him stir awake, eyelids fluttering open as he groggily looks around and stretches out his limbs, in the limited space that he has anyway. His sleepy voice asks you, “Are we there yet?”

“Not yet. I think they said we still have about forty minutes before we land. Do you want to go back to sleep?”

Minho shakes his head, covering his mouth when a yawn forces its way out. He straightens his back to his full height sitting down, then slumps against the seat a little bit. He rests his cheek against the top of your head while his hands find one of your own to hold in his lap.

He rubs the skin of your fourth finger for a moment before he eventually stills, lightly snoring again while you look out the window, gazing at oddly shaped clouds and blues and the reflection of the sun on the waters below.

–

After you’ve checked into the hotel, freshened up and readied yourselves to explore the scenery, Minho takes you down to the beach. It’s a little chilly, spring hasn’t yet settled into summer. Even with a light jacket on, you still shiver every time the wind rushes by like it’s playing with the waters. But it’s nice – the sea breeze in your hair and the sunlight on your face, your lover by your side, his fingers intertwined with yours as you walk along the shore together. The blue of the sea almost blending in with the sky where they meet somewhere out there on the horizon. Seagulls flying overhead, families enjoying their relaxing vacation, children playing in the sand way down the shoreline where all you can make out are blurry silhouettes dancing about.

It’s paradise on earth. It’s an escape that you desperately needed. Exhilarated doesn’t even begin to describe how you felt when he told you that he’d booked a Jeju trip for your anniversary.

He’s always been the perfect partner. Always knows just the right thing to do for you whenever you need a pick-me-up. He may not seem like it, but Minho is beyond caring and considerate. He’s a man of few words but he certainly makes up for it with his actions.

“Hey,” he says, pointing somewhere ahead of you. “Remember what happened there?”

“Hmm?” Your eyes try to follow the direction of his finger, until they find a spot where two people are sitting, watching the water in front of them, content smiles passed between lips as they talk animatedly. “Didn’t you confess to me there?”

He smiles as the memory resurfaces in his mind. “Did you know I almost chickened out?”

You two started out as friends way before you got together.

Three years ago, just a few months after you’d both graduated from college, Minho asked you to go to Jeju island with him. You thought it was a little strange – though not that strange since you had been on trips with him before, but it was always in a group setting with all of your other friends. Never just the two of you.

Nonetheless, you agreed. You wanted to get out of the city anyway. You needed a change of scenery to clear your head and to recharge. Everything was starting to become too much for you - being 22 and in limbo. You felt like you kept falling behind no matter what you did. Everyone was moving forward and you were running in place no matter how hard you tried to get out of that slump.

Everyone around you was outgrowing you and your little life, and all you could do was pretend you were fine.

It was one of the lowest you’d ever felt, and you suppose that was why you said yes to Minho’s invitation. A vacation didn’t seem like it would help much, but it certainly couldn’t hurt.

A few days away, with nothing but the sun and the sea to help you get out of your own head.

A tropical paradise and Minho. It wasn’t the end of the world. There were worse things you could think of.

That, and the fact that there had always been something between you and him. Not crazy sexual tension or anything, but just enough of a noticeable spark. An inkling of something that neither of you ever acted upon.

“Did you?” you ask. “Didn’t you plan the whole trip back then to confess?”

“What? No. Why would I willingly do that when you could’ve rejected me? Then I would’ve been stuck in a hotel with you and on the plane ride back.”

You squint at him. “Then why did you take me on that trip?”

Minho shrugs. “Friendship trip to cheer you up.”

Years with him and he still makes you feel as warm as he did the first time you kissed. You gaze at him with what must be the world’s most lovestruck look plastered on your face. You reach up to press your lips to the corner of his mouth, then watch as a blush spreads across his cheeks.

“You did confess though,” you argue.

“Well, yeah, but that wasn’t planned,” he tells you. “You just... We were sitting right there,” he tips his chin toward the same spot again, “and you had my jacket on because you were cold. You were watching the sunset and you looked so pretty. I couldn’t help it. Almost chickened out though.”

You stop walking, and this makes him stop too. Minho glances at you with his head slightly tilted, wearing a puzzled expression.

“You never told me that,” you say.

“You never asked.”

Pouting, you tug him toward you until he’s close enough for you to wrap your arms around his neck. Minho is good, so incredibly good for you that sometimes you can’t possibly fathom how you even deserve him. He never meant to get anything out of it; he just saw that you were struggling and wanted to make it better for you.

Maybe you didn’t do a very good job at pretending, not if Minho could see right through you.

Before him, you had a fear of heights. Not the literal kind, but rather the kind of heights that often accompanies big leaps, big changes. A fear of falling, maybe that would be more accurate. Falling and failing and hitting rock bottom with no way to climb back up. A fear that you would always be stuck with this life forever, trapped in an existence you never asked for. A fear that no effort to escape your reality would be enough, and you’ll always be trailing ten steps behind even if you try twenty times as hard.

You pull him down so you could properly kiss him, your lips slotting together perfectly like he was made for you, like he’s the only person you’re ever meant to kiss in this lifetime. You can taste his smile, minty and happy as he moves against your mouth, his arms sliding around your waist to hold you to his body by the small of your back.

“If I had known,” Minho pulls away slightly, mumbling against your lips, “telling you that would get me brownie points, I would’ve told you ages ago.”

You roll your eyes with affection.

“So all this time,“ he says, “you thought I asked you on that trip just to get into your pants?”

“You did get into my pants on that trip!”

“Let me remind you that I only wanted to do something nice for you. You were the one who almost jumped my bones right then and there after I said I liked you.”

You slap his chest as he throws his head back in a hearty laugh. Minho takes your hand in his once more as he drags you along, savoring the cool sea breeze and the golden daylight dancing on glittering waters before the sun bids you goodbye.

Minho is the kind of love that makes you want to curl up into a ball and ugly cry for an hour straight.

In a good way, of course. In the best way possible.

So that’s what you do, on a fine Tuesday afternoon, sitting on a couch surrounded by three cats as you wait for him to come home, perfectly sheltered from the harsh sun outside.

He returns eventually, toward the end of your crying session. When he sees the pile of tissues on the coffee table, soaked with your tears and snot, his heart nearly falls out of his ass.

Minho drops everything, rushing to you like you’re on the verge of spontaneous human combustion because clearly, this is a normal reaction to have when you come home to a girlfriend who’s been sobbing in the dark for god knows how long.

That, and the fact that said girlfriend doesn’t cry very often. Not by herself and certainly not in front of others.

Doesn’t mean that you’re immune to the occasional bouts of tears whenever shark week closes in, though.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Another rush of tears breaks as you look at him. You wipe your eyes and your nose with the tissue you’re currently holding, before throwing it on the table to join the pile you’ve accumulated.

You launch yourself forward, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. The sudden force takes him aback, makes him gasp a little.

He freezes as you cling to him like a desperate koala, before his hands slowly land on your back, rubbing slowly, hesitantly, as though he’s afraid he’s hurting you.

“What’s wrong, baby? Why are you crying?”

“PMS,“ you hiccup your answer out, to which Minho only responds with a relieved Ah, his hands now moving more assuredly on your body.

“Anything hurt? Sore?”

“No. Just… missed you today. Love you a lot.”

There’s something saccharine in his gaze when he pulls back and regards you with his big doe eyes, softened and endeared, yet there’s still a twinkle of mischief peeking through the sugary glaze.

He moves to make himself comfortable next to you on the couch but still makes sure to keep a hand on you so you don’t grow impatient.

Once he’s effectively squished between you and the armrest of the sofa, he says, “You missed me so much that you started crying? You could’ve texted me, or called. I would’ve come home sooner, crybaby.”

“I didn’t cry because I missed you. I cried because I love you.”

He pretends to think for a moment. “I honestly can’t tell if I should be offended or not.”

You jab a finger at his ribs.

Sure, the mere thought of Minho brings tears to your eyes sometimes. It’s not really a secret anymore.

There’s something about him, just him, how wonderful he is and how all of the stars in the sky must have aligned themselves to make you and him happen. He’s the love of your entire life, there’s never been any doubt about it. Your other half, perfect for you.

You’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and you’re positive that you will never feel this way about anyone ever again. Your love for him runs so deep, so powerful that it overwhelms you at times, drowns you in nothing but affection for him and only him. A love that spreads like wildfire through your calm and sacred forest.

It’s cliché beyond words, that one day you would be having these thoughts about someone. You used to watch this kind of sentiment romanticized in movies, used to cringe and laugh at sappy lines in books and TV shows though there was always a part of you that longed for that kind of love.

You didn’t talk about it often, not even with the people closest to you. You always found it a little embarrassing to admit that you wanted love. To love and to be loved. There was something so utterly vulnerable in the act of yearning and isn’t it such a scary thing? To be vulnerable? You never saw the appeal in showing someone the deepest, darkest parts of you.

What if they leave? What if you bare yourself to someone and they deem you not worth staying for? How would you come back from that kind of rejection?

You suppose it always held you back - the fear of being open that goes hand in hand with the fear of being left behind. Maybe you have more fears than you’d like to admit.

Then came Minho.

No, that doesn’t sound right.

He didn’t come crashing into your life like a tidal wave and unraveled your every belief.

He was always there by your side, a calming presence that you could lean on when things got tough. A friend, a solid foundation. He’s the relief after every monsoon, the first day of sun after a long and harsh winter.

He saw you for who you were, all the messiest parts of you, and loved you anyway. In spite of your mess? Because of your mess.

He taught you that love isn’t always extravagant gestures and grand declarations that Shakespeare would applaud.

Love is acceptance. Love is staying with you on your gloomiest days and holding your hand through your dreariest moments. Love is lingering glances by the doorway before he goes to work because you’re half asleep but you’re still trying to reach for him even in your dreams.

It’s sharing joys and burdens alike. Reminders to eat and gentle wake-up calls. A photo of you in his wallet, a silly picture of him as your phone’s wallpaper. Giggling with him after he tells a joke not because of the punchline itself, but because his manic chortle is even funnier.

Love is Minho cradling your face in one hand and holding onto your shaking fingers with the other, his steady gaze holding yours, and his voice whispering gently in the darkest of nights, “Your storm is my storm.”

At the end of the day, love is pretty simple. Love is him.

“Do you ever think about Orpheus and Eurydice?”

Minho laughs, the sound vibrating where you lay your head, his hand still absentmindedly rubbing the skin of your waist over your shirt. “No, I don’t think about Orpheus and Eurydice.”

You figured as much.

Your fingers trace invisible patterns on his chest as you hum your acknowledgment. Then you ask, “If it was me, if you were Orpheus, would you look back?”

His hands pause their ministrations, a little taken aback by the question you suppose. Your brain tends to pingpong between the most random things sometimes.

“You know,“ he says with an even voice, though the corner of his mouth still curls upward in amusement. “Other people just ask the worm thing.”

“The worm thing is boring. And we both know you wouldn’t love me if I was a worm.”

“You wouldn’t love me if I was a worm either.”

“That’s true. I don’t like worms,” you agree, chuckling while your boyfriend scoffs. “Answer the question, would you look back?”

There’s no right answer because you’re not expecting a correct response. It’s a hypothesis that can never be tested because you aren’t a nymph and Minho isn’t a bard with the ability to sway all life with his music. It’s a silly thought but it’s one that you’re curious about nonetheless, just to hear what he would say. Why not?

You’ve read many interpretations of the tragedy. In some, Orpheus hears Eurydice stumble and turns to catch her fall. In others, he can’t hear her at all. The story will forever be among your favorites, one of the things that never fails to turn you inside out no matter how many times you mull over it.

Minho is quiet for a moment. You think he’s about to shoot back with a witty retort that he always has up his sleeves, probably something about how he would find a loophole and trick his way out of the deal, or that he would personally fistfight Hades to get you out of the underworld. This wouldn’t surprise you at all.

Instead, he says, “Yes, I would look back.”

But regardless of how you choose to view the myth, the ending does not change. Orpheus always turns around.

He turns around because he loves her.

Minho’s fingers slip under your shirt to brush your bare skin, angling his head sideways so he could kiss your forehead. 

Maybe he’s just saying it for the sake of being romantic, for the sake of saying what seems to be the right thing. It’s an answer that you can never give substance to, but you believe him with all your heart.

You believe him. You do.

“If it’s you, I would look back.”

Minho is the kind of love that eclipses the sun and dims the light of the moon. The kind of love that drowns out all the noise and makes everything a little more bearable. Not just the most horrible things – your fears and struggles alike – but even the smallest, most mundane things.

If there’s one thing that you absolutely hate, it’s the smell of nail polish. You hate the way it lingers in the air even after the bottle has been capped, hate how the smell of toluene stains your fingertips even after washing your hands several times with scented soap.

Though, the only time you try to tolerate it is when Minho convinces you to stay in and pamper each other. Pizzas that he picks up for dinner and tiramisu ice cream for dessert. Face masks and fancy candles that you save for special occasions. SoonDoongDori napping on various surfaces in your living room, an old vinyl playing from the record player he got you for your first birthday you shared together after you started dating.

You each take turns doing the other’s nails on the carpeted floor. It’s become somewhat of a tradition that you indulge in every month, where you would spend cozy Friday evenings indoors just because neither of you can be assed to indulge in a “proper“ date night. Being hermits together sounds infinitely more appealing to you than any other alternative.

“I’m not done,” you say, snatching Minho’s hand back after he pulls it away to admire your work. You blow on his fingers to make sure that the layer of black polish you applied earlier is dry, then you’re reaching for a bottle of beige polish sitting amongst the ones scattered on the floor. You take a tiny brush from the nail kit - one that’s rarely ever touched because neither of you knows how to do nail art - and dip it into the sand-colored polish.

“What are you doing?“ he asks, watching as you trace some squiggly lines on his middle finger, the lighter color settling nicely on top of the black even if he has no idea what you’re trying to draw. “What is that?”

“Soonie,” you say simply. “When you flip people off, you can show them Soonie.”

You don’t need to look at him to know that his attention is fixed on you even though he doesn’t give you a response. You feel his gaze on the side of your face, soft and warm and never leaving for even a second. He doesn’t say anything while you work though, maybe he doesn’t want to mess up your concentration while you’re so engrossed in what you’re doing. He only chuckles at your answer, then nothing afterward.

You don’t mind the lack of conversation. It helps you focus better on what you’re doing because you’re no artist by any means. You can’t draw to save your life, let alone master something as intricate as nail art, but this is therapeutic. It’s perfect to help you unwind after a long week - doodling your beloved cat on your boyfriend’s nails while Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls sets the ambience. You’ll get the ice cream when you’re done with your impromptu project, along with a little headache from inhaling too much of the polish scent perhaps, but isn’t that a small price to pay?

You take your sweet time with the teeny tiny details, like Soonie’s delicate whiskers and the darker strips of fur on his face. He still turns out a little wonky, a little lopsided here and there but it’s not like you expected it to turn out like a Picasso.

The real Soonie seems to sense a disturbance in the force when he wakes up from his nap and saunters toward you curiously. You pick him up and sit him in your lap so he doesn’t come too close to the fresh polish on Minho’s nails. “Look,” you say with a proud smile, pointing toward the small cat doodle. “That’s you.”

He studies it for a moment, focused on your portrayal of him but then he’s quick to decide that he’s not interested anymore before wiggling away from your lap to go join Doongie on the couch. You chuckle lightly, watching him as he walks off, wondering if this is what it will feel like when your future children enter their teenage years.

When you turn back to Minho, he’s still staring at you, a dazed look in his eyes as he blinks slowly, his hand resting limply on his thigh.

“What?” you ask. “Do you not like–”

“Marry me.”

The rest of your question dies in your throat, wilting away like cherry blossoms when summer nears. He doesn’t break eye contact, still that dreamy gaze when he peers at you. Nothing has ever changed in the way that he looks at you.

For a moment, you’re too stunned to speak. You think anyone would be when their boyfriend drops a proposal out of nowhere while you’re doing each other’s nails in your comfiest sweatpants.

Everything that you’ve been afraid of comes bubbling to the surface, every doubt, every fear, even every fleeting insecurity. They manifest as a ringing in your ears, a buzzing in your head that makes it hard to think about anything at all.

But then he shuffles closer, closer and closer until his warm breath fans your cheek, his nose nudging your cheekbone gently. It’s similar to what Doongie does sometimes when you’re lounging in bed and he just wants some love.

When Minho takes your hand and laces your fingers together in his lap, everything stills. The rumbling comes to a halt, the distant thunder fading slowly into the background of your mind palace until it’s reduced to mere white noise. “Marry me,“ he says again, and his voice is so tender that you ache. Tender and sweet and so full of wonderful adoration. If you ever have to describe what love sounds like, you would say it’s him and his voice, right here and right in this exact moment.

“A little dramatic to propose just because I drew your cat.”

He chuckles, presses a kiss to your cheek before he ducks down to deliver another kiss on the side of your neck. Then he pulls back, just enough to get a clear view of you and your now glassy eyes.

“Bottom drawer in our bedroom,” he tells you. You can’t lie; you have half a mind to leave him here and go check. “I bought the ring two months ago, but I knew I wanted to marry you two years before that. I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to do it but I realized the perfect moment doesn’t exist, because every minute I spend with you is perfect. I love you so much. It’s not because you drew me my cat, by the way. I think I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you.

“I love your weird brain and your blanket-hogging ass. I love that you’re crazy enough to listen to a song literally over a thousand times without getting bored. I even love you when you set ten alarms in the morning and still manage to sleep through all of them. I know you hate your smile but it’s my favorite smile in the world. Did you know my favorite color is the color of your eyes? The best part of my day is when I get to come home to you and the kids waiting for me. I want all of you forever. I promise I’ll love you twice as much on days that you don’t love yourself. When we’re old and gray and we look like raisins, I’ll let you go first so you won’t have to spend a single day alone. I’ll–” He stops when you let out a teary giggle, no bite in his voice at all when he says, “Please don’t laugh at me during my big romantic speech.” 

It only makes you laugh harder, though it’s just as emotional. If you focus on the other part of his sentence, you’ll only crumble into a million pieces right here.  “How very romantic of you to include the visual of us as raisins in your speech.”

Minho rolls his eyes – fondly, of course. When he pretends to squirm away from you, you tug him back by the collar of his shirt to plant an apologetic kiss on his lips which he eagerly accepts.

“Please continue,” you say, smiling against his mouth. “Tell me all the ways that you’ll love me.”

“You ruined it. I retract my proposal,” he grumbles, but his arms betray his words when they tighten around your frame, holding you close to him to steal another kiss. Then another, and another, until your faces are wet with tears and you realize that you’re both crying.

“I’m sorry,” you say through sniffles and tears. “Please keep going.”

“Make it up to me first.”

“How?”

“Marry me,” he repeats a final time. “I’ll give you a better speech on our wedding day.”

Years and years from now, when you’re old and gray and look like raisins – as he so poetically put it – you’ll remember this moment down to every miniscule detail. How the cats’ peace is disturbed by your tearful giggles and the strange look they give you before wandering out of the room, in favor of somewhere without two crying idiots. How the record starts skipping but neither of you can be bothered to do anything about the obnoxious sound. How the material of his shirt feels when you bunch the fabric in your hands because you need to kiss him, need him to be as close as humanly possible.

You’ll remember the sob that he hiccups when you tell him through choked up whispers, “Yes, I’ll marry you,” and how his lips feel when they tremble against your skin. You’ll remember the way he holds onto you like a lifeline, because he’s always been your salvation for as long as you’ve known him. You’ll remember what happens after, later that night when he finally slips the ring onto your finger. The words he whispers into the crook of your neck, “You mean the world to me,” and the emotions in his voice when you both realize this is the start of the rest of forever.

You’ll remember everything, all of it, every clumsy touch and every graceless kiss. Ugly crying on the floor and yet, it’s more perfect than anything you can ever dream of.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 13.07.2024]

[onceuponapuffin]

Ineffable Bureaucracy and Ineffable Husbands

So, especially in the early days after the release of S2, I saw and heard a lot of people comparing these two as if they were the same. There were fan comics and fanart and fanfiction that included dialogue that was something along the lines of "why are they so healthy after only a few years and we aren't?" or "why do THEY get a happy ending and we don't?" And I mean, I haven't seen any of that in a while so maybe people have come to this conclusion on their own, but just in case, I wanted to point out

That they are fundamentally different. They are not the same.

And the reason why comes down to this conversation from 2x3:

So, hold this conversation in your brain while we go through this.

First of all, we have our Ineffable Bureaucracy, Gabriel and Beelzebub.

So these are the ones who, figuratively speaking, were born in a castle.

Gabriel was the Supreme Archangel for however many millenia, and Beelzebub was the Grand Duke of Hell for the same, roughly speaking. They are equals in positions of power.

So, when they fall in love, you have two supernatural authorities who have lived their existences believing that they can reasonably expect to have and keep whatever they want. After all, that's exactly what their lives have been (with the one exception being Beelzebub's Fall) - they want something, they get it, they keep it, and no one tells them no.

The biggest risk is to Gabriel. If Heaven were to find out, he would Fall. I can imagine Beelzebub being a bit concerned, but "Oh no," Gabriel probably figured "I Fall to Hell, and straight into your arms!" And I could see Beelzebub with a little smirk saying "I'd look after you, babe," in response.

The only time Gabriel actually worries is when he finds out that there's another punishment that he didn't realize was a possibility.

Falling to Hell is one thing, but having his memories erased is an actual threat, and possibly the first time he's ever been told no. This is when we see him panic, and leave Heaven in a mess, storing his memories away to keep them safe from the Metatron. We find out later that he was on his way to Hell anyway and just forgot halfway there and got lost.

And so, we have two beings who were always told they were Good Enough, who approached each other knowing they were able to have whatever they wanted, and were therefore able to communicate and fall in love in a healthy way. They didn't need to tip toe or hide, because they had no reason to believe anyone would ever tell them no until someone did. Their risk, because of their positions of authority, wasn't nearly as great as Aziraphale and Crowley's risk.

So now we come to our Precious Ineffable Husbands

Crowley and Aziraphale start off in much lower positions on the Celestial Food Chain. We know that they have to be very careful about their relationship to avoid the repercussions. They can't mention The Arrangement out loud, they can't put their feelings for each other into words. It has been made clear to them that they are always being watched, and anything they have can be taken away from them on a whim.

So how can they communicate safely when they've spent millenia living on eggshells and tightropes? Of course they won't, and of course it's going to be much harder for them to believe they can once they finally are safe. I definitely believe that they will get there (for my own wellbeing I have to believe that their love is stronger than anything), but they will need to fight tooth and nail in a way that Gabriel and Beelzebub didn't. All because they aren't figures of authority.

It might honestly be another good argument for Crowley taking the Grand Duke of Hell job (even though I reeeeaaaally don't want him to). It would put them in the same position as Gabriel and Beelzebub, and might give them the footing to actually escape the system (even though I think it's more likely that they're going to dismantle and/or repair the system in s3, but that's my own opinion).

These two pairs aren't mirrors of each other. Rather, they illustrate the problems with inequity that Crowley was pointing out in Edinburgh. And if S2 showed us that, I'm hoping S3 will show us possible solutions for it.

[aniseya]

“It’s a difficult tightrope to walk—murdering Jedi at will and still coming off as sympathetic and likable—but Jacinto pulls it off with aplomb, gradually building a tantalizing bond with Osha through his subtle allure. “He’s like that high school bad boy,” Jacinto says. “He just minds his own business. He’s not pulling you, he’s not telling you to come and be with him. He’s just living his own life, and you wind up intrigued by what he’s doing.”

“There’s also the prospect of The Acolyte season two still on the horizon—the show has yet to be officially renewed, but Jacinto says there is plenty of story he and the rest of the cast and crew would love to dive in on. “In the fan art I've seen, there's a good amount that implies… something between Osha and the Stranger,” he says. “That's something that people, I think, have been yearning for in this genre, or at least in this IP, and I love that people are honing in on it and encouraging it. So I think people can look forward to more of that, possibly. If people want it, we can explore that subsequent season.”

“How The Acolyte’s Manny Jacinto Brought Sexy Back to Star Wars” by Yang-Yi Goh

[writingoddess1125]

A Fluffy little Buggy X Fem-Reader

This popped in my head randomly. Enjoy!

Support me on Ko-Fi

Theater Brat 🎭

(Y/N) hadn't been on the ship long, Acting as a Quartermaster of sorts, Especially with Nami having abandoned them. She hadn't been apart of the group long, being the freshest face besides Sanji in this whole ordeal. She hadn't exactly been the biggest Fan of Nami, especially after she had betrayed them for Arlong- however she believed in second chances and that people were the way they are due to past events- not that they just so happen to be bad. That and she trusted Luffy- What was more to say?

After a rather long day of helping with the ship and doing inventory (Y/N) set to relax a little- choosing to play a record and draw for a while. Deciding to do a peice of their favorite theater play they had recently seen before setting off with the Strawhats- as she set off to ink her work a loud knock shook her from her peace and the door opened revealing a very irritated Zoro with a bag in his hand.

"(Y/N)! It's your turn to take it-" Zoro grumbled, Tossing the bag onto the desk, ignoring the grunt of pain from the severed Pirate head inside. "Ow! You Broccoli headed bastard!" Buggy yelled from inside the bag, Zoro glaring at the bag before grumbling about some sort of nap or something and marching off. (Y/N) sighed at this, Opening the bag and carefully setting Buggy's head upright. "Ohh~ I get the pretty girl tonight! Watch out Zoro the amount of noise we are gonna make may keep you up all night!" Buggy cackled, (Y/N) simply shaking her head at this and turning back to her drawing. Buggy clearly not liking to be ignored in such a regard.

"Ugh- That damn bag smells! Has no one heard of deodorant? It's like a bunch of teenagers running a ship-" He said sarcastically, his eyes landing on the girl infront of his drawing away. Trying to take a peak at whatever was being drawn.

"Ugh- Did I get the weird one of the group? Not even gonna entertain me? The least you can do is shimmy your ti-"

"I was just finishing up the lines on this is all, Calm down" She said carefully, her words not even laced with a hint of venom as she blew on the ink to dry. Ignoring c

The clear sexual joke he was trying to deliver.

"What are ya drawing? A wanted poster for the tangerine girl?" He questioned and gave a crookeded grin, assuming Nami was a sensitive topic for them. However frown when he didn't get a reaction.

"No a drawing from one of my favorite musicals. I try to do a drawing of each one I see" She admitted, holding up the paper for him to take a peak at and huffed in genuine surprise at seeing someone on THIS ship actually take some form of interest in the performing arts.

"Huh- Never expected anyone here to be into performing arts. You should draw one of my shows next! One of the best you've ever seen!" He bragged, Grinning as he started to talk about his favorites acts in his shows. From his innocent juggling tricks to the gruesome of having a marine try to tightrope over a raging fire. (Y/N) raised a brow at his boasting and patted his head, more out of habit then anything else which surprised Buggy.

"Well if I ever see a show of yours we're people aren't being tortured to death I'll draw it for you. Deal?" Buggy grinned widely at this and nodded excitedly.

"So what- you're a theater kid or something?- not many people know about shows like this"

"Oh yeah. I'm a total theater brat- My mother was a performer and my father was a musician" (Y/N) said with a chuckle. Thinking back to those days, The anxiety that hung in the air before a show, the live music that filled the air and the heartwarming stories that everyone watched.

"Is that the only type of brat you are?~" Buggy teased with a wink, (Y/N) gave his a mock disgusted look and poked his forehead.

"Pervert- Like you're one to talk. I can smell a fellow theater kid from a mile away- Also the grease paint doesn't help"

"Hey! While my shows are top notch I wouldn't compare them to some low brow theater"

"Oh? So you don't watch any plays" She questioned, a knowing smile on her lips as she met his now narrowed gaze. "No..." He muttered, his own tone of voice starting to betray him.

"Damn- well I could have sworn that I heard a certain barrel singing a song from that really sweet Romcom Play Gaizu & Douruzu (Guys and Dolls)-" She said with a bright smile- Buggy's face turning pale and staring at her with a mixture of embrassment and mild anger.

"...Now you are just being cruel-" He deadpanned and (Y/N) couldn't help but let out a cackle.

"That one is an exception!" He shouted making them laugh harder, He puffed his cheeks in a pout. (Y/n) Wiping the tears from her eyes and poking his puffed our cheek.

"Awww, I didn't mean to make you upset Mr. Scary clown- It's a good play!" She protested as he gave her a Mock glare. He stared at her for a second as she straightened herself out, Buggy staring at them for a hard moment.

"Hey W-" Buggy voice was cut off as the intercom system sounded through the ship. "Food is Ready" Sanji voice rang out as (Y/N) got up with a skip in her step. "I'll be right back!" She called out leaving Buggy by himself- He didn't voice it but he had enjoyed (Y/N) company.

When she returned (Y/N) holding a large bowl of seafood risotto. Buggy felt his mouth watering at the sight and his face twisted up- Expecting him to just have to watch them eat like all the other Strawhats. However he was pleasantly surprised when you held out a spoonful to him. His eyes widened at this and he greedily took the bite, Moaning as he savored the taste. (Y/N) taking her own bite with the same spoon before offering him another. He stares at them for a moment-

"..Why are you being nice to me?"

Buggy asked as he accepted at the bite of food. Watching them as they ate a bite of their own and thought for a moment.

"Well I don't see why I need to be mean to you?" She said softly, Making Buggy stare at them a bit confused.

"I'm ... Me? I mean I hurt your friends, Im a Pirate of a rivaling pirate crew! You should hate me?" He said softly, he felt a small peg to his ego but he couldn't help it.

"I guess...but I wasn't there to see all of what you did. I always try to think people deserve a chance even if others think against it. After all, we are a different kind of Pirate-" She said softly, Feeding him another bite of the risotto. His eyes locked onto her, He didn't remeber the last time someone treated him with this level of kindness?... actually thinking he could be something better or giving him the benefit of the doubt.

"Huh- Quite the sappy one" He joked, making (Y/N) also chuckle a bit and shrug once more.

"Well what can I say- Us theater brats gotta stick together"

[quasi-normalcy]

🔥 Star Trek

About the entire franchise?

Alright: I think that it always needs to walk a tightrope between depicting a better future and laundering propagandistic military/colonial narratives. I think that, of the series, TNG and DS9 walked this line best, the former by ensuring that it always (almost always) stayed on the right side of the line, the latter by calling attention to the line and problematizing it whenever it crossed it. Picard season 1 was actually very, very good at recognizing this line and illustrating what happens when your society crosses from the one side to the other side. One of the many reasons why I dislike Picard season 3 is that it seemed blissfully unaware of the line's existence. But for my money, the series with the absolute worst track record of recognising that this line exists and staying on the right side of it (and this is where the scaldingly hot take comes in)...is Voyager.

Seriously, though. We have a ship in the middle of nowhere. It's a Starfleet vessel nominally, but everyone in Starfleet thinks that it's dead, and a third of the crew are rebels who don't want to be there in the first place. And yet, for some reason...it continues to operate under strict military discipline at all times. The ship is basically a military dictatorship under Janeway, absolute, unquestionable, and (as far as anyone knows) for the rest of all of their lives. When one of the Maquis guys in the first season questions why this should be so, Chakotay slugs him. Everyone wears uniforms at all times; we barely see civilian outfits, even on the Maquis, after the first episode. There's another episode where Tom commits insubordination and they keep him in solitary confinement (a form of torture, btw) for a month. There's an episode in the seventh season where Seven of Nine imagines becoming fully human and the way that she embraces her newfound individuality...is by wearing a uniform. So...when you're little better than an automaton, you get to wear whatever you want, but when you're a fully realised person, you join the navy? Oooookay. Everyone is locked permanently into their jobs. Like we all laugh at poor Harry Kim and his "forever an ensign" problem, but just consider what it's like for the poor guy. He doesn't know if he's ever getting home. Every day, he gets up and he goes to the bridge and he presses buttons and takes shit from everyone else...and that's it. That's his life. As far as he's aware, when he's ninety years old, he'll still be up there with one pip on his collar, taking orders and pushing buttons with veined and palsied hands. That's his life; he is his job; they're all their positions in the military hierarchy and that's all that they will ever be...and they're happy about it. There are no labour disruptions, no: "Hey, maybe Chakotay could try pushing buttons for a few days and I could try dispensing New Age wisdom." When Neelix asks to cross-train with Security, he's politely rebuffed. But they're happy about it. Nobody seems to have a serious problem with this. The text of the series is about the value of human individuality versus the "mindless drones" of the Borg Collective, but the subtext is about the value and satisfaction that comes with absolute submission to a power structure. I mean, I like the series nonetheless, it has lots of good episodes, but...honestly?

[hoernypie]

︵‿୨ purrfect afternoon ୧‿︵

Happy International Cat Day ฅ^._.^ฅ

tags: threesome, roommates au, p+a, p+v, creamp!e, double penetration

wc: 3233

As the scorching August sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the quiet suburban street, the sound of chatter and laughter grew louder as a pair of two young men approached the familiar house. Suguru and Satoru stumbled through the front door, their arms laden with shopping bags. The coolness of the air conditioning washed over them, providing a welcome respite from the scorching heat outside. But what greeted their eyes was anything but typical. In the center of the living room, a peculiar sight awaited them: their roommate in a sleek black costume, complete with a tail that swished playfully and delicate ears that perched atop my head. My eyes widened in surprise as I turned to face my roommates, and the sudden silence was as palpable as the tension that filled the room.

"It's not like that! I just was trying that on..." 

My cheeks flushed a deep crimson as I stumbled over my words, trying to explain the unexpected scene. The cat costume clung to my body, the silk fabric sliding against my skin with every anxious twitch. Suguru's eyes widened in a mix of shock and confusion, while Satoru's gaze remained eerily calm, his usual air of nonchalance unruffled. The silence stretched like a tightrope, threatening to snap under the weight of their unspoken questions. I clutched at the plush tail draped around my waist, desperately searching for an excuse that wouldn't make me sound like a complete lunatic. But as they both stared at me, the absurdity of the situation washed over me, and I couldn't help but let out a nervous giggle. The tension in the room broke, and Suguru's expression shifted from shock to amusement, his eyes sparkling with curiosity as he took a step closer. "Well, if you're going to wear it, you might as well own it," he said, grinning as he dumped the shopping bags on the floor. 

Suguru's encouraging words brought a relieved smile to my face, and I took a deep breath, standing up straighter in the cat costume. "Okay, okay," I said, deciding to embrace the moment with a newfound sense of humor. "Let's say I'm just getting into the spirit of things for the upcoming Halloween party."

Satoru raised an eyebrow but said nothing while smirking. Suguru couldn't help but let out a hearty laugh. "A Halloween party, huh?" he teased, setting his bags down on the counter. "I guess we'll have to find costumes that can top this one."

Feeling a bit more at ease, I playfully stuck out my tongue and padded over to them on the soft paws of the costume. "I dare you," I said, challenging them both with a mischievous glint in my eye. The evening ahead was suddenly filled with the promise of fun and light-hearted banter, a much-needed reprieve from the usual weight of our lives.

Satoru's smirk grew as he met my playful gaze, his eyes traveling up and down the curves of the cat costume with a newfound appreciation. "I think we might have to step up our game, indeed," he said, the challenge in his voice unmistakable. The mood in the room shifted from awkward to electric, the air thick with a playful tension that had been absent for too long. Satoru leaned against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest as he studied me. "You know, it suits you," he said, his tone dropping a notch. "The tail, the ears... they're all very... enticing."

My cheeks grew even hotter as I felt a thrill run through me, the costume suddenly feeling less ridiculous and more like a seductive second skin. Suguru's laughter subsided into a knowing chuckle as he watched the exchange, his eyes shimmering with mischief. "I think we've got ourselves a little devil kitty."

The three of them shared a moment of laughter, the tension shifting into something more... interesting. Suguru stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on my hip, his thumb grazing the soft silk of the costume. As the night grew darker, the temperature in the room seemed to rise, the costumes becoming less about Halloween and more about exploring the hidden desires and passion that had been lying dormant beneath the surface of their friendship for years.

Encouraged by their reactions, I leaned into Suguru's touch, not one to be outdone Satoru stepped closer as well, his gaze lingering on the slit of the costume that revealed a hint of my thigh. "I think we should have a little photoshoot," he suggested, his voice low and tantalizing. "We could see how many different poses a cat can do."

My heart raced as I considered the implications of his words. Was this just playful banter, or was there something more happening here? Suguru's hand slid around my waist, pulling me closer to him, while Satoru stepped behind me, his breath warm against my neck. The two of them positioned me in a seductive pose, one that accentuated the feline grace of the costume. The camera clicked, capturing moments that felt both playful and dangerously intimate. As the flash lit up the room, I couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement mixed with a hint of the forbidden. The costume, once a source of embarrassment, now felt like a catalyst for something I never knew I wanted.

The heat of their bodies pressed against mine, and I felt the warmth of their breath on my skin. My laughter turned into a soft gasp as they gently adjusted the costume, their fingers brushing against me in a way that was both innocent and undeniably sensual. With each pose, the boundaries of our friendship blurred a little more, and I found myself caught in a flirtation that I didn't want to end.

As the photoshoot continued, the air grew thick with the unspoken understanding that this night was going to be unlike any other. The playful banter had evolved into something more charged, and I could feel the energy between them shifting. The line between costume and reality grew blurrier, and I began to wonder if this was the moment everything changed, or if it was all just a feverish summer's whim that would be forgotten once the costumes came off.

With each click of the camera, the room grew hotter, the air thick with the scent of desire. Suguru's hand slid down my side, caressing the silky fabric of the costume, his thumb grazing the exposed skin just above the hem. Satoru's eyes darkened as he leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. "Let's try a more... feline pose," he murmured, his hand wrapping around my waist to position me. They both stepped closer, their bodies aligning with mine, and for a moment, it was as if the costume had transformed not just my appearance, but the very nature of our relationship. The playful touches grew bolder, more deliberate, and I could feel the heat of their arousal through the thin barrier of the fabric. My breath hitched as their hands roamed, each caress sending shockwaves of pleasure through me. The room was a haze of flashes and whispered suggestions, the boundaries between friends and lovers dissolving like sugar in hot tea. The anticipation was agonizing, the tension unbearable, as we danced around the truth of our feelings. But as the camera's light flickered for what felt like the hundredth time, I knew that this night would not end without us crossing that line, or embracing the passion that had been simmering just beneath the surface.

As the camera flashed again, capturing my pose with an air of sultry defiance, I felt a sudden jolt of electricity as Suguru's hand slid up my thigh, his fingertips grazing the bare skin above the costume's stockings. The room spun, and the laughter that had filled the air just moments before was replaced by a taut silence. Satoru's hand ghosted over my shoulder, his fingers tracing the line of the costume's neckline, sending shivers down my spine. Their eyes met over my head, a silent conversation passing between them that I couldn't quite decipher. The air was thick with unspoken desires, and the heat of their bodies was a palpable force, pushing me closer to the edge of reason. With trembling hands, I reached to touch Suguru's chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my fingertips. He leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispered, "You're a bad little kitty."

The playful taunt sent a shiver down my spine, and I felt my resolve waver. Suguru's hand slipped further up my thigh, his touch growing bolder, and I could feel his arousal pressing against my belly. Satoru's grip on my shoulder tightened, his breath hot and demanding on my neck. "Oh really?" I asked looking into Suguru's eyes. The room was a whirl of fabric and desire, the costume suddenly feeling like a prison of my own making. His eyes smoldered as he bent down, capturing my lips in a fiery kiss that sent my senses reeling. Suguru's hand on my hip guided me closer, and I could feel his own desire as his body melded against mine. The kiss deepened, tongues dancing together in a passionate dance as the lines between friendship and desire blurred completely. The camera on the tripod watched silently, capturing the moment that would forever change the dynamic of our trio. As we pulled away, gasping for air, the realization hit us like a ton of bricks: the costumes had unlocked a side of us that we had never dared to explore before, and there was no going back. With a seductive smile, I looked over my shoulder at Satoru. "I'm ready to see what else this kitty has in store," he said, in a voice that was nothing more than a sultry whisper while a grin spread across his face. 

Without a word, Satoru stepped around me, his eyes never leaving mine as he claimed my mouth in a kiss that was as fiery as Suguru's had been. His hand slid up my torso, cupping my breast through the costume's fabric, eliciting a soft moan that was swallowed by his hungry mouth. Suguru's hand trailed up my inner thigh, reaching the apex of my legs, and the fabric was suddenly too much to bear. The costume, once a barrier, now felt like a second skin that was begging to be stripped away from me. They moved in unison, their kisses full of need and want, their hands exploring every inch of my body as if it were new territory to conquer. The sound of fabric tearing filled the room as Satoru ripped open the costume, exposing my breasts to the cool air. “Aww man, you could’ve just taken it off and not destroyed it…” 

Suguru's mouth followed the trail of his hand, kissing and licking a path up my thigh, sending waves of pleasure through me. Their touches grew more insistent, their breaths more ragged, as the three of us tumbled onto the couch, a tangled mess of limbs and desire. The line between friendship and passion had been obliterated, and in its place, a new kind of intimacy was born, one that was raw and uninhibited. The heat of their bodies was a brand against mine, the friction of skin on skin setting me alight as we gave ourselves over to the moment, our hearts pounding in time with the relentless beat of our newfound love. The camera on the tripod stood as a silent forgotten witness to the unfolding scene, capturing every moment of our transformation from roommates to lovers, forever immortalizing our first steps into a world of shared passion and unbridled desire.

The kiss grew more urgent, Satoru's hand moving from my breast to the back of my neck, pulling me closer as his tongue danced with mine. Suguru's mouth traveled upward, his teeth grazing my neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. I arched my back, pushing my chest into Satoru's touch, my body aching for more. Suguru slid the costume away from my hips, revealing my nakedness to both of them. Satoru's hand slipped down, finding my wetness, and I gasped into his mouth as he began to tease me with deft strokes. Suguru, not to be outdone, pulled away from my neck to kiss down my body, his lips meeting my nipples, teasing them into hardened peaks. I could feel their arousal, pressing against me, and I knew that this was it—the moment we had all been waiting for so long. I reached down, wrapping my hand around the base of Suguru's cock, stroking him through his pants, feeling his length grow as he moaned against my skin. Satoru's touch grew more insistent, his fingers sliding inside me, making me squirm with pleasure. The room was alive with the sounds of our passion, the rustling of fabric, and our ragged breaths echoing in the quiet room. The warmth of their skin, the taste of their kisses, and the feel of them inside me was like nothing I had ever experienced before. This was more than just a threesome; it was a declaration of love and lust that transcended the confines of friendship, a union that would forever alter the course of our lives together. As we embraced in the dimly lit room, lost in the intensity of our shared passion, I was overcome with the undeniable feeling that I belonged in that moment. Sandwiched between the two men, I felt the warmth of their bodies, the racing of their hearts, and the depth of the connection we all shared. It was more than just a physical embrace; it was a convergence of emotions, desires, and a profound sense of belonging.

With a shared understanding that there was no turning back, the three of us descended into a frenzy of passionate exploration of our bodies. Satoru lifted me onto the edge of the couch, my legs parted invitingly as Suguru kissed his way down my body, his tongue flicking against my clit with expert precision. I could feel Satoru's cock pressing against my ass, and I arched back into him, desperate for the feeling of fullness. With a groan, he slid into me, filling me completely, and I gasped as the sensation of being stretched to the brink of pleasure washed over me. Suguru's hands held my hips steady as he feasted on me, his tongue delving deep and circling with every thrust from Satoru. The rhythm grew steadier, more intense, as we all gave in to the instinctual need that had been building for so long. I clawed at the Satoru's thighs, my moans echoing in the apartment. The feeling of being so completely claimed, so utterly desired by both of them, was overwhelming, and I could feel the tension coiling tightly in my belly, threatening to spill over into a climax. Satoru's grip tightened on my hips as he drove into me, his breath hot and ragged in my ear. "You're so tight," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. Suguru's mouth moved to my breasts, suckling and biting gently as he watched Satoru's cock slide in and out of me. The sensation was exquisite, a symphony of pleasure that had me teetering on the edge of release. And when Satoru reached around to pinch my clit, I tumbled over, my body convulsing with waves of ecstasy that seemed to go on forever. The room was a blur of moans and gasps as we continued to move together, our bodies entwined in a dance of passion that had been years in the making. The cat costume, now discarded on the floor, had served its purpose, leading us to embrace the carnality that had been hiding just beneath the surface of our friendship. 

As the climax of my first orgasm subsided, I felt Suguru's hands move me slightly, positioning himself between my legs. Satoru's grip loosened just enough to allow it, his lips never leaving the nape of my neck as Suguru's cock slid into my already-soaked pussy. The feeling of being filled by both of them was indescribable, a sensation that went beyond physical pleasure. Their movements grew in sync, each thrust from Satoru met with one from Suguru, creating a rhythm that had me panting and begging for more. The pressure built again, my body tightening around them, the friction of their skin against mine driving me wild. They took turns kissing me, whispering dirty words into my ear, and the intensity grew until I was teetering on the edge once again. The heat of their bodies, the sound of our skin slapping together, and the feeling of their cocks moving in and out was more than I could handle. 

The tension grew unbearable as we approached the peak of our shared orgasm. Satoru's pace quickened, his thrusts more urgent and sloppy, and I could feel the warmth of Suguru's seed building inside me, his hips jerking with the force of his impending release. The room was a symphony of passionate moans and gasps, our bodies moving as one in a delirious dance of desire. And then, with a groan, Satoru spilled into me, his hot cum filling me up as he collapsed against the coach, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as his fingers dug into the soft flesh on my waist. Suguru threw back his head, his own climax following swiftly. He filled me to the brim, his semen spilling inside me, creating a deliciously primal sensation that had me whimpering with pleasure. The double creampie was a declaration of their ownership over me, a visual representation of the newfound bond that had formed between us. As our hearts slowed and our breathing evened out, we lay there, tangled in each other's arms, forever changed by the carnality of the night. 

As we lay there, our bodies intertwined and our hearts racing, the weight of what had just happened settled over us like a warm blanket. The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a potent reminder of the passionate encounter we had just weathered. I looked up at the ceiling, my chest heaving, and felt a strange mix of emotions—shock, exhilaration, and a deep sense of belonging. Satoru's arms tightened around me, his breathing still heavy against my shoulder, while Suguru's hand gently stroked my thigh, his own breaths slowly evening out. We sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity, the only discernible sound being the subtle ticking of the grandfather clock in the dimly lit room, each tick resonating with newfound weight and significance. Our once unbreakable friendship had undergone an irrevocable transformation, now woven into an intricate tapestry of unfathomable love and insatiable desire. It was a point of no return, a line crossed in the midst of a tempestuous night. Yet, as the vanishing sun cast a warm, golden light across the room, we found ourselves unburdened by regrets. Our gazes locked, and in that unspoken exchange, we silently pledged to embark on an uncharted journey as lovers, a course fraught with anticipation and boundless pleasure that we would brave together, whatever the future held. The discarded cat costume lay abandoned on the floor—a poignant symbol of the innocence we had shed in the fervor of our explosive passions.

[vickyvicarious]

Jonathan's decision to play along today was very difficult to make. But, in the end, it was the right move. He set aside his anger and impulse to rebel... perhaps as much or more out of fear rather than just logic, but we do see his reasoning and it makes sense.

And honestly, I think he pushed his luck nearly to the limit anyways. Look at how Dracula asked. First, he waited a few days after everything that went down with the vampire ladies, perhaps to see if Jonathan would bring up the topic. If Jonathan does, maybe he had plans to lie to him again, to gaslight him about either never sleeping outside of his room, or about Dracula finding him dreaming somewhere else and helping him back to his own bed. Still, Jonathan's reaction to such a lie could very easily force an end to all this pretending. But since he never brings it up at all, Dracula knows he can continue his game. In fact, Jonathan is proving to be a very resilient player, one who has just enough struggle in him to make it more interesting, without being too unmanageable or ever close to actually get away.

Dracula gives Jonathan this 'request' "in the suavest tones" - he's really emphasizing his charm here, being extra friendly as he tries to make Jonathan feel even worse. But then, contrary to what he's seen thus far, Jonathan hesitates.

I would fain have rebelled, but felt that in the present state of things it would be madness to quarrel openly with the Count whilst I am so absolutely in his power; and to refuse would be to excite his suspicion and to arouse his anger. He knows that I know too much, and that I must not live, lest I be dangerous to him; my only chance is to prolong my opportunities. Something may occur which will give me a chance to escape. I saw in his eyes something of that gathering wrath which was manifest when he hurled that fair woman from him. He explained to me that posts were few and uncertain, and that my writing now would ensure ease of mind to my friends; and he assured me with so much impressiveness that he would countermand the later letters, which would be held over at Bistritz until due time in case chance would admit of my prolonging my stay, that to oppose him would have been to create new suspicion.

I think he must have been sitting there making these arguments to himself in real time. Wrestling with his fear and his outrage and possibly losing most of his control over his expression and body language as he did so. And at first, this is fun for Dracula. He wants Jonathan to struggle like this. It's fun to watch. But then, the longer it goes on, the more real becomes the possibility that this will be Jonathan's breaking point. And if it is, if he outright says "no" even this once, then Dracula's entire game is ruined. He's just committed to wanting to keep Jonathan around for another full month. Jonathan passed the test with the other vampires. Dracula has been looking forward to this. How dare he spoil this -

Dracula's rage rises as he finds himself forces to make excuses and be convincing when he likely assumed he no longer needed to put in that much effort. Jonathan finally does agree, but he didn't do so right away. And it's a very fine line, because continuing to do this does in fact make him more interesting and fun in the long run, and thus perhaps allow him to live longer. Maybe after they separate for the evening (morning, being nocturnal) Dracula would actually look back on this moment with indulgent enjoyment. He pushed perhaps right up to the limit of what Dracula would tolerate, but he didn't quite cross it, so the game can continue. But at the same time, pushing like this (or rather, resisting being pushed before giving in) is extremely dangerous in the moment - because in the moment, there's still a chance Jonathan could cross the line. Dracula has a temper and he will take it out on Jonathan if he decides he's had enough.

It's that tightrope again. More of the same. But I just... love imagining this moment. Dracula's sickly-sweet smugness at the start, his utter confidence in his victory once again. And Jonathan - pausing. Saying nothing in response. Thinking it over, taking so long to do so, trying so hard to keep a neutral face but not fully succeeding, maybe keeping his head bowed so his expression can't be seen. Dracula's anger building along with almost a sort of desperation, as he lays out all this bullshit reasoning, maybe losing control of his own tone somewhat as he gets more aggressively vehement. The absolute tension rising, up and up right until the moment Jonathan looks up and agrees, when it suddenly dissipates. But the aftermath lingers, even in Dracula's victory. Even as Jonathan writes the three letters, one after another under Dracula's watchful eye. Dracula takes them from his hand, squeezes his shoulder in ostensible thanks, but such a clear threat. Jonathan's face twitching, a little spasm of fear and despair, at the contact.

It could be SUCH a good scene in an adaptation that emphasized the abusive dynamic here.

[likeawolfatthemoon]

also the way you're losing me is just the advanced version of say don't go like

the waiting is a sadness, fading into madness -> now i just sit in the dark and wonder if it's time

i'm standing on a tightrope alone -> front lines, don't you ignore me

halfway out the door but it won't close -> do i throw out everything we built or keep it?

i would stay forever if you say don't go -> you don't know what you got until it's gone

strike a match and you blow it out -> i'm getting tired even for a phoenix, always rising from the ashes, mending all her gashes, you just might have dealt the final blow

i'm yours but you're not mine -> i gave you all my best mes, my endless empathy, but all i did was bleed as i tried to be the bravest soldier

trying to see the cards that you won't show, i'm about to fold -> do something, babe, say something / lose something, babe, risk something / choose something, babe, i've got nothing to believe unless you're choosing me

i said i love you, you say nothing back -> i wouldn't marry me either, a pathological people pleaser, who only wanted you to see her

it's not a relationship that happened in a vacuum, it's a repeating pattern of giving yourself more and more and more to people who shove it back in your face. can confirm that is extremely traumatic. it's embarrassing and painful when just the people in your immediate life see it, i can't imagine living it out on a widespread scale AND having people trying to capitalize on rumors to the contrary (when that's all you want in the first place!!!)

[littlest-w01f]

Hands

Cassian x Reader

For @starfallweek [hosted by: @azsazz and @writingsbychlo]

Starfall Week 2024 Masterlist

Day 4: Character A finally makes a move on Character B

Summary: Cassian just wants to hold Reader's hand

Cw: Suggestive, mentions of sex

You and Cassian had been friends for centuries, meeting in one of the Illyrian villages while he was in the streets, wearing scraps, he had left the village near Windhaven to live with the Lady Night and the Heir, he had returned Carynthian, showing up to your door, older, more mature, more handsome.

Any contempt you had for him having left you had melted away the second he was there outside your doorstep, you had run to hug him, melting in his hold as he spun you around, old friends reuniting.

New feelings emerged as the years passed, every time Cassian visited you in the little bookstore that you had taken over from your mother, your feelings grew with decades of back and forth, flirting and being friendly became a quite thin line to tightrope on.

Your father not being the worst of males letting you work and do whatever you felt like, still carrying guilt that he wasn't powerful enough to save yours and your mother's wings. Your family weren't warriors, which made you quite lesser ranked.

So, that's how you lived, in the bookstore you maintained, the bell over the door rang and you greeted whoever it was in your professional voice, "Good morning, how may I help you?"

"Cass!" You grinned ear to ear when Cassian stood in front of you, you ran around the counter and jumped on the giant in a hug, pulling away with a blush, your old feelings for the male increasing as you caught his scent, you didn't understand how you could feel for him as much as you did, his body having an effect on yours that made you almost want to slap yourself.

Cassian smiled, releasing you from the hug, giving you a gentle pat on your head, making you give him a glare, "Hello, y/n."

Cassian simply handed you a card, with three different handwritings on it, you smiled looking up at him, "They already read their last books? That's a talent." You sounded quite impressed

"Yeah," Cassian scoffed lightly, "They read smut more than they train, sitting in a little circle in the House while they have their noses buried in those raunchy books."

You smiled, already on the ladder, taking out the books that the three Valkries had listed, "You have to admit, these are some good books."

You set the books down in front of him, Cassian smiling at you, "If you say so..."

"If I say so?" You looked at him a little offended.

"Well, don't get me wrong, I love some good sex in writing myself," Cassian gave a cheeky smirk, "But these are just a male with a disproportionally large dick piping down an oh-so-tiny female."

You raised your brow at him, "Like you?"

"Oh no no," Cassian flared his wings fully, winking at you, "I am very propotionate."

You blushed softly, your eyes on his wings, "Aren't you modest..." You mumble sarcastically.

"Well, I'm not..." Cassian looked down at the pile of books, "And maybe... You could help me get these back to the House." He looked at you hopefully, while you were packing the books in some bags.

"I can't fly up..." You were slightly confused, "And if you carry me it'll be all the more difficult for you..."

"It's Starfall tonight." He looked nervous, "Stay for Starfall at the House." You waited for him to continue, hope bubbling in you at the sudden change in conversation, "Stay with me."

You smiled, "With you?" You repeated.

"Yeah, and maybe if you do like me the way I like you by the end of the festivities, we could be more than friends?" Cassian was hopeful.

"Yes!" You replied a little too fast, then cleared your throat before saying again, "Yes."

"You know..." Cassian's cheeks coloured, reaching his hand out. "I just want to hold your hand."

You raised your brow at him, "That's all, General?" Moving your hand to be moulded around his.

Cassian shrugged, "Yes, of course." You didn't miss his body's reaction to the title from your lips.

And he did hold your hands, all throughout Nesta, Gwyn and Emerie "oooh"ing at your joint hands, before diving into their newly acquired books.

He held your hands during Starfall, smiling watching both you and the sky.

He held your hands after, while eating and drinking, while introducing you formally as partners to his close family.

He held your hands over your head, taking you on his bed, wings flaring, groans and moans loud in the room.

He held your hands over your back, having you on your knees as he took you from behind, his very proportionate cock filling you up perfectly.

{General taglist: @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria}