#another pretty crier in the building

[crguang]

somethin’ bout those tears of yours… how does it feel to be adored?

Shrieks or symphony? They’re all the same to her. However, your cries will always sound better than any orchestra.

warnings: smut, finger fucking, kafka eating pussy like i know she can, afab!reader, dom!kafka (duh), dacryphilia (thats the whole point of this if im honest)

wc: 3,2K

A/N: wow guys um. this didn’t go as planned but im not really complaining, i never write smut so i dont know whats going on but enjoy nonetheless

As eloquent as Kafka is, she can’t seem to be able to put into words why the sight of your shiny eyes and pouty lips moves her so.

It’s not so much a feeling of pity they rouse as a sort of pleasure that courses through her like rain seeping into clothes. It’s a soft delight, the kind she recognizes as when she closes her eyes and lets the high notes of a violin fill her senses. Emotion twisting your features is like a carefully building crescendo— first come the furrowed brows, then the scrunch of your pretty nose and the tremble in your lips, and finally, big, fat glassy tears running along your full cheeks. The melody reaches its climax as your eyes meet hers, the dulcet tones of your poorly contained cries bringing forth something Kafka’s never found in another person. It’s a sadistic sort of pleasure to experience, perhaps, not that she’d ever care about the gaps in her morality.

She particularly enjoys the gloss in your gaze when she’s between your slick thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh, tongue swirling around your pulsing clit. Kafka sometimes rolls her eyes at how easily you are taken by emotion—she’s almost certain it’s a facade, it has to be— and thinks you’re working in the wrong business, but she can’t complain when you’re such a pretty crier. Like a loyal dog, she makes your wants happen regardless of whether you find the courage to utter them. Your jaw clenches in anger after a rude interaction with a stranger, and Kafka threatens him in an alley. Her finger’s always been loose on the trigger. Your hand trails down her bicep in that purposeful way that lets her know you want her, and Kafka buries her nose in your cunt until tears cloud your vision and you’re firmly pulling her mouth away with a hand in her hair. She takes in a breath, lips parted and coated in arousal, as she revels in the way your chest stutters and your wet eyelashes flutter. You’re at your prettiest like this; bare, sweaty, pliable under her steady hands. What a sight it makes.

Kafka sighs lustfully, a palm against her cheek as she lets the thoughts dissipate. You haven’t noticed her stare yet, too preoccupied by your argument with Silver Wolf to spare her a glance. She doesn’t care to listen in and instead waits until the heated debate inevitably has you stomping towards her with an irritated pout. Your arms cross over your chest and the crease between your brows deepens when you plant yourself in front of her.

“This girl will argue over anything.”

Kafka’s usual smile doesn’t faze you, nor does the way her fingertips linger on your skin when she pushes strands of hair out of your face. She only hums in acknowledgment. Your nose bridge is crinkled in frustration, as is the corner of your eyes, and it’s almost enough to hear the familiar symphony that sounds between her ears. If Kafka were to psychoanalyze her every thought, she’d have wondered if witnessing strong emotional responses fascinates her because she doesn’t have any. People attract what they lack, do they not? It would explain the shiver that caresses her spine when she’s face to face with a pleading victim. Her pupils grow twice in size to take in as much of the scene as possible, and she lets violins and cellos reach their crescendo in her mind until death descends and everything stops. The following silence brings satisfaction, a fitting end to a beautiful symphony.

Silver Wolf passes by the two of you with her eyes glued to her phone screen and mutters a mocking comment she intends for you to hear. You grit your teeth. The whole thing’s pretty childish and certainly unserious, but you both have strong opinions on what constitutes a good video game, apparently.

“She likes to rile you up,” Kafka grips your chin with three fingers and turns you back toward her. “Don’t mind her.”

“I’m not letting myself be bullied by a girl who can’t reach the highest cupboard without a chair,” you say the last part loud enough for Silver Wolf to give you the middle finger as she walks away.

With the source of your frustration gone, your muscles relax bit by bit until you’re sighing and running a hand down your face.

“I need some air.”

Kafka fetches your coat.

You’ve forgotten the entire ordeal when you and Kafka step outside of a clothing store, a spring in your step that appeared after the two of you spent half an hour looking at leather jackets. You ended up buying one for yourself after Kafka’s extensive comments and suggestions. The paper bag sways as you walk through the busy streets of an unfamiliar city. You’ve never been to this planet before, everything was a sight you wished you could stop and admire for more than a few minutes but being a Stellaron Hunter didn’t come with vacations. You were here on a job and would be leaving in two days, according to Elio’s script. The first part is done, the second takes place tomorrow, which allows you a moment of reprieve to simply wander around this strange city. Your sense of orientation and perception is excellent but you let Kafka lead you through bustling markets and tight alleys to get back to the base. She doesn’t say it but you know this wide detour is a way for you to take in as much of the city as you can, so you pretend not to see the man hurriedly making his way towards you and let him push you closer to her in order to grab her hand, effectively steadying you. Neither of you lets go the whole walk home.

The place is quiet when you make it back two hours later. Silver Wolf is probably curled up in a corner with a game and the others are nowhere to be seen. You waste no time in pulling out the jacket and discarding the bag once in the living area, taking off your current coat to shrug the new one on. Kafka takes a seat on a couch, one leg over the other, her chin in the palm of her hand as she watches you.

You carefully adjust the collar and tug on the jacket so it fits perfectly, then turn towards her.

“So? Does it look as good on me as you said it would?”

The corner of Kafka’s mouth lifts as she replies, “Hm… Swirl a little for me.”

You turn a few times, allowing her to see every angle. You zip it all the way up but decide you like the look better when the jacket is open. You even take some steps to and fro, delighting in the way Kafka’s usually blank gaze diligently follows your movements.

“Yes,” she finally says after a moment, “you definitely make it work.”

“Yeah? You’d pick me up from a bar?”

There’s a playful tilt to your voice when the question leaves your lips. Kafka’s smile widens. Her eyes lazily trail down your figure, then back up to your face. She leans back into the couch and tilts her head slightly to the side, fixing you with a level stare.

“I would.”

You hum in thought as you step close enough to settle on her lap, knees on each side of her hips. Kafka doesn’t move when your hands clasp around her neck. You see the amused twitch of her lips, though.

“Do you think I’d look super mysterious so you’d approach me to see what my deal is?”

“No. You’re too expressive to be mysterious.”

That answer makes your brows furrow and your nostrils flare.

“Just like that,” Kafka teases.

You roll your eyes. “So you’d only approach me for my looks? How romantic of you.”

“I’m not trying to be romantic. But,” a gloved hand sneaks under your shirt, fingers splayed out over the expanse of your back as they trace the bones of your spinal cord, “I could show you a very good time.”

“Oh, really?” You watch her peach lips when she speaks, absentmindedly leaning closer.

She hums in agreement. Her free hand comes to rest on your waist while the other leisurely wanders up and down your back. Her gloves are thin and the fabric feels expensive against your bare skin. You don’t notice how close you’ve gotten until you look up to see Kafka’s lidded eyes fixed on yours. A shiver runs through you when the pad of her fingers reaches your nape.

“You’d leave with me, wouldn’t you?” She asks with a low drawl to her words.

Kafka’s pleasure in asking questions she already knows the answers to is lost on you. She revels in making you admit things you’d otherwise keep to yourself in an attempt to fluster you, and loves watching you fight with yourself while thinking of a response. Surprising her is no easy feat but is always a treat.

“Maybe.” You say simply.

“Maybe? I’m offended.”

“You’ll live.”

“Hm. Perhaps I should be more convincing, then.”

Her chin tilts upwards and your eyes close to await a kiss that never comes. You feel Kafka’s steady breath on your lips for a moment before she leans back and raises an amused eyebrow at you. There’s a crease between your brows when you meet her teasing gaze.

“What? Were you expecting something?”

You decide to play her game and jut out your bottom lip in a petulant pout. Her lenses don’t hide the way her eyes catch the movement.

“Are you saying you’re not going to kiss me?” You whine a little, pulling her closer by the back of her neck.

The hand that was on your waist lifts to take hold of your chin. Kafka swipes her thumb over your bottom lip.

“Is that what you want?”

The cocky smile painting her face annoys you, but you know that she’ll give you what you want. She always gives you what you want. You nod, and as your lashes flutter you can tell the exact moment she realizes your submission is an act. A low chuckle leaves her, the hand on your back trails up to close around your nape in a forceful grip, and she harshly pulls you to her until your mouth crashes on hers. It’s a rough and hurried kiss; you feel her tongue push past your lips as you try to match her pace. Kafka keeps you where you are with only a hand and forces you to follow her lead, a clear reminder of who’s in charge between the two of you. Your guts tighten as she kisses you long enough that you have to exhale sharply through your nose to avoid getting dizzy. Her tongue explores your mouth like it already knows where everything is and swirls around yours in a way that has you arching against her.

You recognize the look in Kafka’s eyes when she suddenly pulls away, bottom lip shining with saliva. You’re sure she can feel your heartbeat sending ripples through your chest with how close it is to hers. An unapologetic smile makes its way onto your face. You take great pleasure in knowing she’ll make you regret your blatant manipulation.

Frustration builds inside you at the same unhurried pace as Kafka’s single digit plunging into your cunt. Her lips ignore your clit as they plant wet kisses to your slick folds, her tongue occasionally dipping between them with strokes far too light for your liking. It’s been half an hour and Kafka’s still between your thighs, savoring the taste of your arousal with no care for your release. Her gloved finger feels good against your walls and the wet sounds it makes as she thrusts it inside you only turns you on more, but it’s not nearly enough to make you come. Your wrists tug on their restraints— the glowing pink silk keeps them above your head on the mattress, unable to move. You tilt your head to the ceiling and groan for the hundredth time.

“Kafka, come on…” Your whine is real this time as you look down at her figure between your legs.

Kafka only hums over your twitching clit, then deserts it completely and raises her head to meet your eyes. Arousal stains her mouth, giving it a pretty sheen like the one on her favorite coat. Her finger opts for a massage and rubs your clenching walls as your lips part to let out another pained whine. Kafka watches the way your hips greedily chase your release, bucking towards her appreciative mouth.

A breathy moan breaks your pout when her tongue licks a long stripe up your slit. It’s warm and wet against you, and it sends pleasant shivers down your spine every time it makes contact with your needy cunt. Kafka takes her time tasting you and it’s in moments like these where you curse her patience. She has no issue working you up for hours because she knows the end results will be satisfactory, so she turns a deaf ear to your complaints and pleas. There’s a coil in your belly begging to burst and you can’t do anything but try to get Kafka to care.

“Please? Give me more…”

Kafka’s lips abandon your folds with a wet sound. She sighs exaggeratingly and adjusts herself between your thighs so she’s kneeling, then holds you down with a hand on your hip.

“So noisy,” she says, a glint in the depths of her eyes that you’re not sure you like. “Don’t make me shut you up.”

“Don’t be mean.” You groan in frustration when her finger completely stops moving inside you. “Come on.”

“Mean?” Kafka repeats, a slow smile spreading across her lips. “Fine.”

She plunges three fingers inside your waiting cunt at once, hard and fast, and the sudden intrusion has you choking out a surprised moan.

“W—Wait—“

You don’t have time to adjust to the stretch, she doesn’t let you. The next breath gets caught in your throat as her fingers drive inside you with a speed you’re not accustomed to, effectively shutting you up. She brings her other hand to press rough circles on your clit, forcing the sensations to overwhelm you completely. Your hips stutter. It feels good beyond the initial shock, great, and you’re still huffing out short gasps while you eagerly take in her digits. Your vision blurs at the edges. You can still make out Kafka’s intense gaze on your face, drinking in your expression like the sight alone could make her come.

Once you get used to the rhythm, moving against her hand and sighing in relief, Kafka stops entirely. You struggle to let out a pained noise as her fingers leave your cunt at once before you even have time to beg.

“No,” you whine, “please…”

You’re getting irritated and desperate, the feeling curls around your throat and threatens to spill in an embarrassing sob. You swallow it as Kafka slips two fingers past her lips. She suckles on them while you try to control your breathing, taking longer breaths and willing your heart to slow down lest it bursts. The digits come out wet with a mix of saliva and arousal. She spreads them apart to see the sticky string that connects them, before bringing them down to smear it over your sex in a teasing manner.

You exhale sharply when her thumb swipes over your clit a few times, not enough to build your orgasm back up despite the pleasure it brings. You tug on your restraints a second time and feel humiliated when Kafka only watches you with lidded eyes and a happy smile. You know what she’s after, what she wants from you. It’s the only way you can get her to fuck you like she means it, so you take another deep, shaky breath and keep quiet.

“Oh…?” Kafka’s middle finger circles your entrance when she witnesses your resolve. She doesn’t say another word, simply pushes it inside in slow thrusts.

You bite into the flesh of your cheek as her thumb massages the base of your clit then teases the tip. Your chest heaves but you’re determined not to make a sound. She masturbates you the way she wants to; circles your pulsing clit, slides a forefinger between your slick folds, watches the way her middle one disappears inside your cunt as if swallowed. You take it like she wants you to, also, because she’s the only one who can push you over the edge. When you least expect it, Kafka thrusts three fingers inside you at the same pace as earlier, knocking the wind out of you until you’re a moaning mess. With every sharp thrust and the pressure on your clit, you get closer to your release. Then she stops, drastically slows down to a mere massage that has your nose scrunching up and your lips trembling. A lump forms in your throat after she denies you for the third time.

She plays you like a string instrument, denies you relief she knows you crave, until your brows twist in that pretty, familiar way and she hears the bright, crisp tones of a melody meant for her ears only. Her lips part and the pupils beneath her lenses swallow the pink of her irises. She stills, muscles taut, senses attuned to every crease of your skin and quiver of your features. You take in a shuddering breath through your mouth, your eyes screwed shut in frustration and need and finally, you cry. Fat tears spill from the corner of your eyes and slide down your skin into your ears. Kafka’s reaction is instant. Her fingers drill into you, fast, rough, unrelenting. She moves to hover over you as your orgasm builds in your belly and reverently kisses your tears as they escape your eyes. Her mouth is gentle while her fingers are not; there’s a distinct ringing inside her head when the sound of your whimpers hits her ears and the salt of your tears coats her lips. It’s as she feels your cunt squeeze tight around her fingers while she softly shushes you that Kafka realizes something else.

You come with a broken cry, pleasure coursing through your body like a sudden shock as the coil in your stomach finally bursts. Kafka tears herself away from your glistening face to watch how you gush over her fingers and ruin the sheets under you. The sticky mess makes her own cunt clench, she particularly enjoys how messy things can get during sex. Her silk glove is positively dirty, the material gleams in the light and is thick with your arousal when she takes her fingers out of you.

You’re coming down from your high with your nose buried in Kafka’s neck, and occasional sniffles can be heard as her cleanest hand strokes your hair. This feeling she’s become familiar with suddenly has a name, it swirls around her ribs and snakes under the sturdy walls of her heart. Kafka doesn’t need to be eloquent to know that she adores you. She adores you especially when she makes you cry because she can soothe it all away afterwards.

[midmourn]

my boy

title my boy

pairing lee donghyuck x gender neutral!reader

summary your boyfriend doesn’t love you like he says he does.

warnings angst, cheating

word count 905

author's note repost from my old blog <3

my boy's being sus', he was shady enough, but now he's just a shadow.

duckie♡ : cant make it tonight, busy.

Your lips pressed together tightly, turning your lips a pale white before you let out a sigh and didn’t bother to send a text back. Instead, you tossed it to the side and kicked off your shoes. You shrugged off your jacket and threw it into the corner in annoyance, rolling your eyes at — you didn't even know who you were annoyed at; yourself or Donghyuck?

You wished you could say this was the first time he had ditched you for another person or something else, but it wasn’t. He had done this so many times before you had lost count which number this occasion was. Half the time, he would tell you a reason but recently, he hadn’t.

You’ve had fights about it, and the most recent one was a couple of days ago, and he had promised you he would make it up to you by going out on a date -- tonight. Which he missed, again. Your friends and mother kept telling you that you needed to actually talk it out, or break up with him. You promised them you’d talk it out and if that didn’t work out, you’d break up with him. You tried to talk to him at least twice since they told you, but he always shut you down.

Your phone lit up and your eyes glanced over to it, hoping it’d be a text from Donghyuck, explaining why he couldn’t make it, but it wasn’t. Instead, it was a notification from Twitter about the damn Oscars. Huffing, you turned away from your phone and turned your TV back on to watch Netflix again.

my boy my boy, my boy don't love me like he promised. my boy my boy my boy, he ain't a man, and sure as hell ain't honest.

You stormed into your apartment, hearing his feet hit the ground in a hasty way to make it to you in time before you slammed the door shut. “Y/N, wait!” You pressed your hand against the door harshly, but his foot got in between the doorway and door. You swallowed roughly, feeling the tears build up in your eyes as you watched him force the door open, forcing your hands off the door. He shut it behind him, his face falling at the sight of your teary eyes.

“Y/N,” he reached to grab your hand but you quickly slapped his hand away from you.

“Do not touch me,” you hissed, feeling anger build up inside you. “Seriously, Donghyuck?” You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head as you willed tears not to fall. You couldn’t make yourself seem weak in front of him, even though that was exactly where you were. “How long has this been going on?”

“I-”

“I don’t want a bullshit answer,” you snapped. “I want the truth, and I think that I at least deserve that after every bullshit lie you’ve ever given me.”

“Not long,” Donghyuck murmured.

“How long?!”

His head hung low, “Almost three months.”

“Oh, my God,” you felt sick to your stomach and you clenched your hands into fists, shaking your head. “You- you, oh, my fucking God! You asshole!” Your hands pushed his chest, bumping him into the door. “Three months? And you didn’t ever decide that I didn’t deserve this? That I didn’t deserve to be lied to and cheated on for so long? Why didn’t you just break up with me?” Your voice started off as angry and loud and then as you finished up, your voice sounded weak and hurt.

my boy's an ugly crier but he's such a pretty liar, and by that I mean he said he'd "change.”

“I’m sorry,” he sniffed, lifting his head to reveal his tear streaked face and you wondered how long he had took acting lessons for. “I’ll change, Y/N, I promise. I love you.”

“Bullshit,” you whispered, feeling a tear drop down your cheek.

“What?” Donghyuck asked, his voice hushed.

“Bullshit!” Your voice grew louder, “It’s bullshit! All of it, every single compliment, every ‘I love you’! You never loved me, you just didn't want to be alone.”

“That’s not true,” Donghyuck argued, shaking his head.

“Yes it is, because you don’t hurt the people you love, and you don’t lie to them, either,” you said.

you want me to be yours, well, then you gotta be mine.

Donghyuck shook his head, changing the subject, “I want you. I want you to be mine.”

“I was,” your voice grew quiet. “And then you ruined that by not being mine.” You swallowed and walked past him, avoiding his attempt to grab your hand. You twisted the door knob and opened the door, turning to face him but you didn’t stare at him, instead staring at the wall behind him. “Goodbye, Donghyuck. If you’re lucky, you’ll never see me again.” And I will be, too, you wanted to add.

Donghyuck continued to stare at you and he finally seemed to get the hint, walking past you to step outside your apartment. You didn’t turn to face him, but he wanted to have the last word -- like always. “I love you,” he tried one last time.

“For once in your life, just stop lying,” you whispered before shutting the door, and him out of your life.

masterlist. rules. asks.

[str8upjorkinit]

Why do you like the brat

(genuinely want to know lmao)

funny you should ask that...

it all started when I saw that one ad where leo was kicking his feet in the bathtub...(big yap warning)

shallowly, he gives power bottom energy. i was prepared to not like him since my friend was further in the game + picked leo bc she thought he looked cunty and quickly found out that she hated him, but my first meeting of him was that ad.... that ad.... hes so like girly and like cutesy and and :3c!! so then i actually met him in the game... hes so girly and cutesy omg, i live for that fake bitch energy. hes so like... pathetic and two faced and cute like....

so basically i have this thing where i yearn for this kind of dynamic where i can overpower him but hes smarter than me and also very interesting so i just let him boss me around. hes so like... weak. and i love his voice i need him to moan in my ear especially when hes being fake and cute bc he wants something from you? "captain~<3 can you please open this bottle for me?~ <3" ugh. fuck. boner. hes such a vixen. hes such a diva.

also him crying... oh my lord LEO CRYING!!! UGHHH. the world's prettiest crier <3 and his goddamn tongue piercing

also like the switch up is hot too, the duality of man <3 my pretty delicate princess!!

psychologically, hes such a fucking wreck and i love that, hes such a bitch, and hes so manipulative, and hes so jealous, and insecure, and such a liar, im so fascinated!!! does he know how awful he is? does he realize how toxic hes being? is he toxic on purpose?? is he a shit friend on purpose? is it a power trip to make sho pay for his food or is he just lazy? i want to know what hes thinking

his relationship with sho is so fascinating too, like its so clear hes scared of losing him but in a way he also hates/loves him. like wdym you have other friends besides me??? you're starting a business??? ugh, ur so lame. and he actively tries to isolate him, is he jealous of sho's popularity? his talents? his social life? or does he hate the things that takes sho away from him?? he also does not give a shit about shos happiness either bc he like badmouthed him to subaru just so subaru could leave him alone... wow... what a fucking asshole... im so invested, drama!!!! also the valentine's day line where he doesn't mention getting anything but sho does,,, it means something no?? dude, like, leo is everything and nothing, i bet he feels so worthless but to make up for that he uses sho and internet validation

hes built like a reality tv character, THE instigator but hes smart about it. hes such an attention whore, like .... regina george... guys real shit i have a mean girl kink /j

leos the type of bitch to flirt with and sleep with his boss to make more money.

ANOTHER THING he has like a weird sense of justice?? like he hates ppl who've made the world shitty (ref to when he jumps off the building) and so him and sho scamming old rich guys is kinda like them being vigilantes? leos kinda like an anti-hero in a way. hes so interesting!!! AHH!!!

omg also hes in his self-destructive era and i need to see how it goes, like will he be a villain? will his life get ruined bc of himself?? will he get punished? will he redeem himself? does he regret his choices??

ngl i tho im actually not romantically interested in him, which is pretty surprising considering how much i like him. im obsessed with him in the most objectifying way possible

but yeah i love my toxic fruit tart boy <333

[7ndipity]

Fights with them

Ot7 x Reader

Summary: what they would be like during fights/arguments

Warnings: a lot of angst, not proofread

A/N: after days of struggling to work(hello executive disfunction) I got this request, and my brain decided to jump back into gear and I wrote this in like an hour, as well as half of another request!? 🤷idk, I'm not gonna question it, I'm just glad I'm writing again.

Masterlist

Requests are open

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Seokjin: as much as he bickers with the members, I think he has a rather avoidant personality when it comes to real conflict. He's said he allergic to seriousness, which can definitely become an issue if not careful, as it can one off as indifferent or dismissive. I think he usually ends up snapping and saying something short but pointed, and then walks away before things can escalate further. Always comes back all apologetic, and tries to work through things more calmly.

Yoongi: He's very upfront and sometimes blunt, and he's said before that he hates getting angry/fighting, so I think most issues would be resolved before they can turn into a full blown fight. But I also think he might have a tendency to ignore/avoid smaller issues until they build up. In the moment, he's not that loud, but he's very sharp with his words. Immediately regrets saying anything that might have hurt you afterwards. Definitely needs some time to himself to think and get his emotions under control, but would want to apologize and resolve everything as quickly as possible.

Hobi: He's almost to open too let a fight brew properly. He'll see it coming be like, "wait, let's step back and sort this out" before it gets out of hand. When they do happen though, he's loud only for a moment, and then the rest of the time, he's unnervingly quiet. As I said in his dating HCs, fights almost always culminate in tears because he can't stand y'all being upset with each other. Like, it causes him physical pain. Makes up the fastest out of all the members.

Namjoon: tbh, I think I would fight with him the most out of the members. He's soo stubborn and passive aggressive. Tries to dismiss the issue to de-escalate the situation, but that almost always backfires. Gets loud and slams things/doors, then gets mad at himself for letting his emotions get the better of him. Definitely needs time to cool off before coming back to talk to you; could be an hour, could be three days, depends on the situation. But he does always come back to talk it out with you.

Jimin: I know several of the big fight stories involve him, but that doesn't necessarily mean that he's overly combative, I just think that when he feels strongly about something, he won't back down, which can be a good thing, until it isn't. If it's a smaller argument, he'll just say something snappish and then move on like nothing happened, but in bigger fights, he can rival Joon on volumeand intensity. He can also hold a grudge like you wouldn't believe, so communication is a super important part of resolving the issue so nothing brews into bitterness.

Taehyung: He has a tendency to get very wrapped up in the moment and take things personally, so even small fights can snowball into something bigger if you're not careful. Yells and tries to put up a tough exterior, but starts to crack pretty quick and will want to leave before his other emotions show too much. Another crier(same). Ultimately, can't stand being away from you for too long, the type that will climb in bed and hold you, but not speak because the wounds are still fresh. Will probably talk it out with you the next morning.

Jungkook: He's such a emotional and overly reactive person, so I see fights being a common occurrence with him tbh. With smaller fights, he stays pretty calm, but when things escalate, he's all over the place. Definitely an angry crier. For some reason, I don't see him really yelling during fights? He's more like Hobi in that, if he does, it only happens in bursts and the rest of the time, his tone is just slightly raised(like when he scolds ppl during lives). Does not like to walk away and wants to sort things out then and there, even though that's probably not the best idea, but he doesn't want to let the tension drag on longer than it has to.

[axolator]

Script-A-Day #2: Flight of the Bumbling Idiots by Cedric and Utku

Don't miss the stealth Harpy from way up in your balloon

Featured characters: Village Idiot, Plague Doctor, Moonchild, Shabaloth

Jinxes:

Spy/Magician: When the Spy sees the Grimoire, the Demon and Magician's character tokens are removed.

You should also remove the No Dashii’s [Poisoned] reminder tokens, so it’s not immediately obvious who the Demon is.

Spy/Plague Doctor: If the Plague Doctor dies, a living Minion gains the Spy ability in addition to their own ability, and learns this.

Complexity: Intermediate-Advanced. Recommended for players who can puzzle together what the info means before the extra deaths devour all of town.

Database link (find the PDF and JSON for running it there!)

Writeup under the cut!

Flight of the Bumbling Idiots is fast, frenetic, and can be over in a flash if the good team isn’t careful with how they act on their information. The Village Idiot along with characters like the Balloonist, Town Crier, Gossip, and Fisherman can hone in on an evil team quickly, but the Outsiders can cause the game to end sooner than an evil team would like, and the Minions can create enough misinformation to let the Demon slide through on a solid bluff — as long as the Magician doesn't fool them!

With characters this volatile, there are some bag-building considerations to make. Consider leaving the Gossip as a bluff for the Shabaloth (but not always!), and maybe put the Innkeeper in with a death-heavy bag so a twelve-player game doesn't end on Day 3. Extra death from a Godfather or Assassin can help a No Dashii or Imp bluff, and if the Moonchild’s in the bag, strongly consider putting an Innkeeper or Mayor in the Demon bluffs to explain why a chosen evil player didn’t die.

Be a little careful with when you decide to use the Shabaloth's ability to resurrect a player. Without a Professor on the script, a raised player indicates that the in-play Demon is absolutely, positively a Shabaloth, which can ruin an evil team's plans — but don't wait until final 3 to regurgitate, since that's a confirmed non-Demon evil doesn't have the time to kill! If the Shab is sinking most of their kills and only occasionally going for a double to fake being the Gossip or help an evil player bluff, consider not resurrecting at all if it would feel fair and fun to the good team. If the Shab is getting doublekill after doublekill, however, make sure you resurrect a player at some point.

Some notes:

Be nice to the Knight in an Imp game. I know it's tempting to show the Knight a Minion that can later become the Demon, but this can end up being super unfun for the Knight player and the good team, since it means their info is basically useless. However, don't shy away if it's another Demon - knowing that player who reads super evil (because they ARE evil) isn't the Demon is still valuable information!

Make sure your group is aware of the Cannibal's interactions with the Klutz and Moonchild. If the Cannibal suspects they have the Klutz/Moonchild ability (because the most recently killed executee claimed it on death), they have to publicly choose someone, or they're cheating. If the Cannibal player is new and/or doesn't realize this, make sure to privately remind them.

If the Plague Doctor dies, don’t be too harsh on the good team. Ending the game after town executes on 5 by using a duplicated Assassin ability isn’t particularly fun for either team. When you can, gain a not-in-play ability, and use it in a way that keeps the game fun and interesting while giving the PD something to chew on as they solve for which Minion ability they gave you.

Know how to run the Harpy's madness. Being mad that a player is evil is pretty vague and not as disruptive as, say, the Cerenovus's madness can be, so don't be afraid to kill early and often if a mad player isn't sincerely trying to convince town their target is evil. The Harpy's main powers are to accelerate the pace of the game and to frame actual pushes on evil players as Harpy-madness: if the Harpy outs their presence in the process, that's usually okay for evil. That being said, consider killing Harpy-mad players during the following night (before the Harpy chooses new targets) if the target has blatantly ignored or outed the madness during the day.

That's about it for me today! I'll see you tomorrow with the next script.

[existentialmagazine]

Review: Bashlow shares dreamy new alternative-pop single ‘Pretty Crier’, delivering intimate meaning with haunting yet catchy sound

The Los Angeles based alt-pop artist Bashlow has been slowly but surely letting her audience further in with every glimmering single release, sharing a handful of songs since her 2022 musical beginnings. With tracks that individually deliver solid sound and deeper meaning, her discography only further shines in unison with running themes that when listened to together give so much more of an impact. Now as she breaks into 2024 with another moody new single titled ‘Pretty Crier’, it feels like Bashlow is soon going to be a name you’re hearing worldwide.

Tender from its beginnings, ‘Pretty Crier’ leans less into her typical loud, dark-pop edge, instead taking on a more emotive delivery for a song with lines that yearn to be finally heard. A gentle electric guitar riff carries it in from pressing play, each dainty string ringing out into the vast openness, a solitary feeling as their notes dissolve into nothingness with only Bashlow’s vocals to keep them company. Her soft lines are just as pained in their isolation too, lulling into a low-toned delivery while lyrics like ‘says if I leave I’ll be alone, terrified that he’s right so I just got into bed’ carry with them a weight so much heavier than you’d take in at first glance. Things slowly but surely rise, building into backing ooh’s, tapped beats and intermittent booms before finally reaching their peak at the choruses introduction. Through piano keys, a shifted guitar riff, striking beats and more, you can feel the melancholy front and centre, with Bashlow’s vocals soaring into higher ranges while still feeling held-back and held-down like a mirror of the relationship she’s singing of.

The personal nature of the words make them all the more harrowing, tying back to a recollection of Bashlow’s first college relationship and its emotionally abusive nature. Not only that, but her words are just as much inspired by backhanded compliments and the stream of men who've told her she’s “actually really pretty” when she cries, finding a sense of peace in finally coming out and saying it plainly because it just looks all the more ridiculous. As she details what she went through, lines like ‘he keeps all my friends on his side, even if that means he lies’ embody the manipulative nature of a partner who never had her best interests at heart, refusing to take accountability for his poor behaviour. Continuing with admissions like ‘he used to love when I cry’ , it’s clear that Bashlow knows in retrospect this was a ‘red flag’, yet in the moment it’s hard to leave someone who controls every aspect of what you do. As friends and family notice the distance placed between them, aching parts like ‘trying to find a way out, mum’s getting worried I’m never around’ feel so burdened within this isolation and inability to ask guidance from anyone she knows or loves. It’s hard not to find other ties between lyrics like ‘sometimes it’s easier just to say yes’ and ‘got into bed and gave him head’, with abusive relationships of this nature often leading your decisions through a guilt and a fear of doing wrong.

It’s safe to say that ‘Pretty Crier’ isn’t an easy listen, it covers themes that are raw and unfiltered, depicting an abusive relationship for the truth of it and without hiding any of the gritty parts. It hurts and yet Bashlow makes it feel so beautiful in sound, haunting you with its ease and rising intensity as she finds her confidence and independence once again. Between the start’s stripped-back nature to the progressively added backing vocal layers, clashing drums, airy vocal runs, electric guitar twangs and more, the volume and character that was taken from her is once again returned by the end of this three minute journey, and depicting that in sound alone is something only those with true talent can do so capably. Don’t forget to keep listening for yourself here to really carry the impact of what Bashlow has written here, and find some solace if you’ve ever found yourself in a similar position, as ultimately you can make it out the other side.

Written by: Tatiana Whybrow

Photo Credits: Unknown

// This coverage was supported and created via Musosoup, #SustainableCurator.

[glacialswordsman]

Ever since he was a child, Kaeya had been taught to silence his cries.

It was meant to keep him safe, or so he was told. If no one can see or hear his weeping, then they can never use it against him. The only people he was ever allowed to let himself openly sob were his parents—who held him and shielded him from the gaze of the world.

Yet ever since he was left in Mondstadt, there was scarcely a moment where he was able to cry as he did with his parents. His tears were held back, his noises kept silent, his countenance schooled into something other than clear distress. The only time he felt safe crying was in the night during cacophonous thunderstorms that masked his desperate yearning for comfort. Even then, it was hardly ever.

When he bore his heart, his expression was anything but pretty. He was an ugly crier, and it gave him even more reason to hide it all away. What would the people think of him if they were to see their Cavalry Captain in such weakness, looking so hideous as he bawled and grieved? They wouldn’t rely on him anymore—wouldn’t trust him! He’s spent so long carefully crafting his new persona, building his reputation so high that he wouldn’t be able to afford to look down and risk falling. If everything came crumbling down, he would crash and burn, landing upon the carefully constructed marbled floors in a grisly ‘splat’.

A morbid, gruesome fall from grace.

… But Adelinde has never lost her faith in him, not once. Not when she had every right to, just as everyone else at the Winery and Manor. Even when he legally broke off all ties with the Ragnivindr name.

As she knelt beside him and made her presence known by calling for him so gently, another sob left him while he gritted his teeth, attempting to at least bite back his whimpering and sniveling despite the torrent of tears that poured from his eyes. His eyepatch was thoroughly saturated already, and he couldn’t keep himself from yanking it off and tossing it off to the side away from Adelinde. Regardless of this, his scarred eye remained shut, still keeping itself hidden from another’s gaze; even hers.

“Miss Addie,” he hiccupped, shaking his head. The feeling of specters haunting him brought him to curl in further as he lamented, holding the letter to his chest as he nearly completely folded in on himself. “What have I done?”

Ah. Right. He knows the answer:

Nothing.

He did absolutely nothing, and it left him in shambles due to his inaction.

( 🧹 )     THE ACHE SHE felt grew at the glance he gave her. it burned to know that her darling master kaeya didn't believe in it. himself. her boys deserve better than the lot they've been given --- the suffering , pain and . . loss they've all suffered. she wants nothing more but to plop it in the laps of every single fatuus. except the one that her boy likes. he's fine.

UNLESS HE DOES something abhorrent to her son. then she'll shoot him dead. harbinger or not she'd do it. or at the very least give it a hard crack.   

ADELINDE REMEMBERS HER grief then , remembers the night vividly and how shock had been stamped down into cinders -- finding out that there wasn't . . anything to bury whatsoever left her horrified. that horror clung to her heart for days , days she struggled to keep going , but she had to. she had so much to do and couldn't afford to stop.

SHE HAD WEPT for days after the funeral when she wasn't busy. kept the other maids busy cleaning up the house , put focus on the grounds of the manor with the gardeners to . . resolve the burnt grass on the winery's grounds. it was a lot to deal with but soon the manor was sparse of any of her employers. master crepus had departed , master kaeya had unceremoniously been told to never return and within days of that . . master diluc had disappeared.

SO MUCH HAD happened and she had barely been able to keep her feet firmly planted on the ground it'd felt like. she worked in a daze , still having had work to do so that the manor wouldn't fall to ruin in ( what she didn't know at the time ) the four years that master diluc was away. as the paper title writ , the closest living relative of the ragnvindr name would be the one to make the decisions on things of import --- she had gone to mondstadt to speak with kaeya . . only to find that he'd changed his last name.

BACK TO SQUARE one it had been , the head maid that looked at the blunette and saw a son in him had little clue what to do next . . but even a surname change did little to keep her from seeing him. he was still her boy.

AND HER BOY needed her again.

SHE REMOVES HER glasses off her nose , looking down as she cleans them free from the tears that had fallen onto them. letting out a slow shaky exhale she moves to carefully place the contents of the box back inside ; taking note of what seemed to be something of further import within. but for now she had more pressing things to worry about. closing the lid she stands , entering the kitchen as she first reached for the kettle and poured the both of them the tea that initially had been in the middle of being prepared.

AS SHE SINKS to her knees , she finds that the side she on is . . unfavorable as it is one where he cannot see her outright due to his eyepatch. she wants him to know she's there for him ( as she will until the end of her days ) but that she refuses to initiate any sort of comfort from this side unless he knows she's there and consents for it.

( IT WAS CLEAR that he was already in an emotionally heightened state ; she didn't wish to exacerbate it by accident and . . and trigger an attack )

   ❝    MEIN SCHATZ . . I'M here. i'm here i'm here --- if you need me please reach for me , oh meine Perle . .  ❞      she's never seen him grieve like this , she doesn't recall him crying like this either. the last she could remember was recently but his tears weren't . . like this. archons her heart breaks for him , wishing nothing more to hold him close and comfort him.

[gay-dorito-dust]

For Aegon

❛ what, am i not allowed to look at you? ❜

You could feel him staring at you; No, you could see him staring at you from the corner of your eye as you skimmed the paragraphs of your book under the guise of ‘reading.’ So much so that whenever you braved to glance at Aegon, who only seem to thrive in being caught as he continued his blatant staring with absolutely zero shame as a smirk growing across his lips and a glimmer in his lilac eyes. You didn’t know whether you should laugh or cry out of disbelief at his lack of digression. It never ceases to baffles you how shameless Aegon could be, even within the eye of the public he would have the misfortune to rule. His words not yours.

“you seem to have developed a staring problem as of late, my prince.” You said without taking your eyes off of the book in your lap, despite your desire to read had long since became a thing of the past, “And more so then not that staring has been aimed at me for most of the time.” You didn’t even have to look up to know that his smirk had widened across his face for Aegon was a simple book to read, even a child could do it. “What? Am I not allowed to look at you now?” He asked amused, you didn’t reply. “If my staring causes you were so much discomfort, then why haven’t you voiced your displeasure?” Aegon gauges your silence as a means to continue voicing his thoughts. “Or perhaps, if I’m right in assuming, you actually like it.”

You snorted, closing the book and placing it beside you as you looked over to address Aegon, only to find that he has moved himself closer to you as he leant against the Weirwood tree, arms and ankles crossed over one another. Had he always been so quiet on his feet? “Don’t flatter yourself Aegon, I’m probably not the only one you’ve been staring at.” You mentioned matter of factly, recalling the times where his lusty lilac eyes lingered elsewhere as you fought against the feeling of jealously building within your throat. You didn’t know why you were feeling this way, Aegon didn’t seem the type of man to willingly commit to anyone and you seemingly detested his depravity and uncouth ways at every turn.

However you didn’t catch onto the brief flicker of sadness within Aegon’s expression when you turned back to attend to your abandoned book. “If it brings you any reassurance but my eyes have never looked at another the way they looked at you.” He starts as he brought himself down to sit next to you beneath the bloody eyed tree with crimson leaves, testing the waters by grasping your hand in his as he took note of how you froze momentarily as though to compose yourself before falling into a sense of ease that still held onto that little bit of tension. “They may look to others in lust but to you, they’ve looked at you with nothing but admiration, comfort and above all, love.” Your body stiffen at the word but your eyes were peaked with interest as a warm sensation began to flood your chest as though you were a hearth brought aflame.

“Whether you believe my words or not, I do not care for I know my feelings to be true because whilst I may not be born into a loving environment; I still crave the things I cannot have and love is one of them if not the sole thing I crave to experience the most.” Aegon paused, feeling himself becoming overwhelmed with his own emotions that they started to form themselves into the tears that brimmed his pretty eyes. Aegon was always a pretty crier, you’ve noted. He made it look like an art form and you couldn’t help but squeeze his hand to console him into continuing. “So whenever you doubt my devoting to you, it hurts. I know why you doubt me, I understand it more then anyone because I’m the one who has to live with the consequences of my own actions.”

Aegon lays his head against your shoulder, pressing a kiss there before burying his head deeper into you as though he couldn’t get enough. His hand gripping yours tightly but not so much so that it caused you pain. “Yet here I am, laying my heart bear before you, praying to the seven in hopes that you don’t ever break it.” He finishes, too emotionally drained to remove himself away from you, not that he’d ever want to anyway; Clenching his eyes shut in waiting for your rejection, for you to smash his glass heart into a million fractures so small they looked like stardust. “Don’t pray to the Seven Aegon,” you told him softly, “for they’re the type who’d come to collect what is owed in droves. They’ll rob you blind of everything in the name of faith.”

“Then I’ll pray to you instead.” Aegon replied hastily, moving his head away from your shoulder to look at you with his bleary, bloodshot eyes as he smiled weakly. “Then you’ll have too much faith in me. I’ll let you down should I not meet your image of me every time.” You responded, resting your forehead against his, rubbing your nose gently his own. “Then don’t, let us be perfectly imperfect together until the end of our days.”

[engenuity]

en- when their s/o feels insecure about other girls

note: Hello! I’m here with a request and it will be my first time doing something like this for the seven of them. To the anon who requested, sorry for doing this late but I hope you’ll enjoy it!

request: their reaction with their s/o saying “i wish i was beautiful like other girls.”

pairings: enhypen members x fem reader

words: 1602 words

፧ lee heeseung  

→ you were simply sitting on your desk during a short break, being surrounded by some of your girl friends, when you gave that comment

→ your friends simply snickered at you, accepting it as a joke (well, half of it is)

→ but when you looked at where your boyfriend sits, he’s frowning at you

→ unlike some of your friends, heeseung is deeply aware of your insecurities

→ so you sent a bright smile on his way hoping that he will not be more bothered and burdened than necessary

→ come lunch and when he took the seat next to you, he quickly also brought up his favorite ramen, but this time, he gave it to you

→ which, happens close to never, because come on, heeseung and his ramen? literally inseparable

→ but you know he’s sacrificing his ramen to offer you comfort and you fall for him deeper if that’s even possible at this point

→ he ended up being too affectionate to you (acting as if he’ll eat the noodles you scooped therefore having his face only inches from you, teasingly pinching your nose until you swat his hand away, and after you ate your meal you ended up half cuddling him with you leaning against him and his arms around you)

→ you’ll end up forgetting the insecure thoughts made before, because now you have heeseung affectionately saying through his words that you deserve what you have and that he’s here for you, and no matter how little you think of yourself he’s here to help you appreciate your own self even more. 

፧ jay park

→ you were hanging out in his dorms when you said it (you saw some of your school mates posting their pictures and you can’t help but feel green)

→ he starts up snorting saying “no one’s made ugly anyways”

→ the dork that you are ended up saying “well, how are you ugly?”

→ but both of you know that it’s a lie and out of all the people in the world how can jay and ugly be in the same sentence

→ he tackled you and the both of you ended up in a tangle in the couch

→ but then he started playing with your hair and softly, he said, “you’re beautiful.”

→ you’ve never been a crier but hearing those words uttered with most care, you can’t help but tear up a bit.

→ although he acted nonchalant, he will never forget it and he vowed to help you build up more confidence

→ if before, his way of affection is through teasing, now he’ll still tease you but compliments became very common too

→ “you look great in that fit” ; “how did you make your hair look like that? it’s amazing” ; “did you know about this hand cream? here, try it, i can buy it for you” 

→ with your permission, he started posting pictures of your dates or just pictures of you, and you always fall a sleep with a smile after reading the cheesy (but utterly romantic) captions he always have posted with the lot. 

፧ park sunghoon

→ you stood there in front of an advertising screen and you uttered those words not knowing that your boyfriend can hear you (well you thought he was still in the cashier paying for the things he bought)

→ he never said anything, so you remain clueless whether he heard you or not

→ your mall date continued as usual, after watching a movie the both of you just stroll around the mall, both coped up with each other. 

→ but this time, uncharacteristically, he asked you to join him in skating (you usually just sit in the sidelines after falling in your butt far too many times) 

→  of course, you’re skeptical because, come on, you already made so many embarrassing moments in front of sunghoon, but when he looked at you with that pleading face all reservations were easily swept away

→ this time though, he didn’t teach you how to properly glide or skate or even walk with the blades, instead he never took his hands and eyes off you as he glided, confidently maneuvering you with him.

→ you feel as if you’re dancing on ice with him, which you probably actually are

→ you find yourself laughing in exhilaration when he effortlessly threw you into a spin and you came back facing him. 

→ there in the ice rink, with your face inches away from him— blushing and obviously elated from happiness, sunghoon silently promised that he will make you see how beautiful you really are.

→  although on the ice, dancing with you in his arms, you already felt so so beautiful. 

፧ jake sim

→ no matter how hard he tries he literally wears his emotions on his sleeve

→ so when you half-jokingly opened up about this insecurity, he looked so hurt on your behalf

→ he thinks it’s unfair that you view yourself too little when he’s willing to give you the world

→ will turn into some deep conversations

→ “why would you think that?” 

→ will listen very closely and at first you wanted to brush it as a joke but when you saw how he’s suddenly very serious and attentive you ended up opening the can of worms aka some of your insecurities about your looks

→ you’ll find yourself leaning your head on his shoulder tearing up a bit, his arms either on your shoulder or softly caressing your head

→ then after the whole opening-up thing, he’ll tell you that you’re beautiful, one-of-a-kind, overall amazing person

→ and that he’ll stay by your side as long as you let him and he’ll make you believe that you’re so much more than what you think

→ he also sent a silent prayer pleading that you’ll be allowed to be comfortable and happy with what you have. 

፧ kim sunoo

→ well, before he became your boyfriend, he’s your best friend first

→ so he is already practically aware of most of your demons

→ when you off-handedly made the comment, he won’t hesitate to snuggle you in his arms and kiss you on the cheek

→ “what are you saying you silly, you’re already so, so beautiful”

→ you’ll end up snickering at him / pouting

→ then this time, he’ll quickly kiss you on the lips

→ “you’re beautiful, you have no choice but to believe me, seriously.”

→ you’ll end up laughing at him, and although some doubts remained in your mind, you can’t help but appreciate your boyfriend. 

→ because of course, who even doubts kim sunoo?

፧ yang jungwon

→ like in the heeseung situation, you were just fooling around with your friends when jungwon heard you joke about it

→ will not waste a second to butt in the conversation suddenly to say “what do you mean, you’re very pretty”

→ your friends will not waste a second to let out very loud shrieks

→ but it will not end there because when the both of you are walking home he’ll casually say— “but actually, pretty might only appear to be about outside appearance while the word beautiful encompasses all aspects, no? but what i meant was that you’re beautiful and you’re enough.”

→ you’ll be super shy because of that but he’ll just giggle and swing your holding hands playfully

→ you decided to add a prompt kiss before you separate ways

→ so now it’s his time to be shy

፧ nishimura ri-ki

→ the both of you were camping on a café doing your own requirements

→ this counts as a date for the both of you, because well what’s important is that you’re together and this time, you just simply decided to be productive students

→ you found yourself having a short break and while browsing in instagram, you off-handedly made the comment

→ the guy in front of you will not make any comments about it, and it’s honestly fine because you didn’t even notice the words that passed through your lips

→ imagine your shock when you came back on doing your paper and your mail was bombarded with lots of memes with hearts in them

→ there were also some pictures of jay and heeseung of all people with humorous captions

→ at first it was funny but then you can’t continue doing your homework so you told ni-ki to stop sending random things at your mail

→ the guy working in his own laptop didn’t reply, instead you just got another email

→ ‘—you are beautiful! claim it or this meme dealer will not stop’

→ “seriously!?” ( you exclaimed, hoping for a non-virtual response but you got nothing)

→ you thought more mails will come containing memes and you’re feeling mixed emotions of both fondness and irritation

→ but this one was not a meme, but rather a latest picture of your boyfriend drinking in his straw and pouting, with a meme-layout caption of ‘the woman reading this is my girlfriend and she is beATIFUL periodt periodism dot . ‘

→ now you just ended up laughing at his antics, and fully appreciating the efforts of your meme-dealer boyfriend

→ “fine, okay, okay. i admit i’m beautiful”

→ as a response, ni-ki gave you a proud smile and a thumbs up

→ the both of you continued doing your papers and it was such a productive, self- assuring, fun date with him. 

→ then later on at night you’ll call him — “ya! you can only send that last meme to me got it?!” which he’ll respond with a laugh then a deadpan “duh.”

[docockbrainrot]

i think i want you (to leave)

Summary: We’re all running from something. Sometimes, metaphorically. Sometimes, literally. Literally running, from the very strangely hypnotizing supervillain that seems hellbent on ruining every bit of your life he can get all eight of his limbs on.

Pairing: Doc Ock X Reader/ Otto Octavius X Reader

Content: Slow Burn, NSFW eventually, 18+

AO3 link here.

Previous Chapter

Chapter 5

anathema// former vandal

The next several days are an uneventful blur. You barely leave your apartment, except for brief dog walks and grabbing food from the bodega across the street.

It’s 9 pm on Saturday and you’re fresh out of the shower, tucked away in a very fuzzy robe, lounging on the couch and watching YouTube on your television. You almost miss the subtle taptaptaptap sound coming from your window, you're so engrossed in the cooking show you’ve been binging. Gotta fill the void somehow, right?

You can’t see anything outside from where you’re sitting. The lights are on and make it impossible to peer through the reflections on the glass. Maybe it’s a bird. Or a branch is caught on the fire escape. Either way, you certainly can’t be assed to check it out and you take another sip of your chamomile tea- you’ve been trying everything under the sun, just about short of literally snorting lines of melatonin, to try to sleep better at night. Nothing’s been working. But you have been making a very valiant effort.

A few moments go by and you forget all about the window disturbance until,

TAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAP.

It’s jarring. It’s loud. Above all else, it’s annoying. Chekov spares you a look, like you’re the one making a racket. Effectively exasperated, you make an effort to set, not slam, down your mug, feeling decidedly not Calm and Relaxed as the tea promised. Suppose it’s not miracle shit though, is it? You would not be a good candidate for a horror movie because you fearlessly storm over to the window and throw it open (it wasn’t locked in the first place; you’re quite terrible at remembering to). You stick your head out and glower at whatever irritating mischief is happening out here, ready to rip the fire escape off the side of the brick building.

You’re greeted by something cold and hard (and indubiously metal, judging by how it felt against your sternum) shoving you back into your apartment, sending you sprawling unceremoniously to the hardwood floor. A string of profanities ready to leave your tongue, you sit up and adjust your robe in an attempt to preserve a modicum of your modesty. The rant dies in your throat as red eyed claws grip the threshold of your pre-war window and it’s almost comical the way He maneuvers himself in, far too large to be making these sorts of entrances. Standing up to his full height before you while you’re still sitting dumbfounded on the floor reminds you of just how impressively built he is. You manage to pick your jaw up, but your ass remains firmly planted on the wood.

“Uh… you could have just used the buzzer, dude. I have a front door, you know,” you sputter out, brain blitzing in pretty much every way possible. Your thoughts are racing and eventually they settle on the most important thing you can think to ask in that moment: “... Why aren’t you wearing a shirt.” You can't help the way your eyes are drawn to his broad chest, gaze lingering on the vast scarring that spills out from the metal contraption clamped around his midsection.

Otto very graciously closes the window behind himself. Or at least his little robot accomplices do it for him. You still aren’t sure what’s going on with that- the whole AI thing. Not even a blip on your radar of concerns at this point. “Didn’t want anyone to see me come in. Your building has a camera on the front, facing the street.”

“That’s why you’re shirtless?” You ask dumbly. Interesting method of camouflage. “What? No- what? It doesn’t matter- listen to me. I need you to do something for me. A small favor.”

He doesn’t seem to notice the compromised position he put you in. Typical. Gathering up your broken pride, you get up and tighten the tie of your robe a bit. It isn’t until then that he has the decency to look a smidge embarrassed and you hope you didn't just give him a free show on your way to getting to your feet. “You literally just broke into my apartment and now you’re asking for a favor? We barely know each other!”

“Less complicated when there's nothing personal involved yet, plus- you let me in,” he corrects you. You wish he would stop doing that. You wish he would stop meeting with you like this, under weird and mysterious circumstances. Even though it's only been like twice. You're already over it.

“You threw me across the room!”

“Touche.”

Otto does not apologize and you did not sincerely expect him to. The look on his face reads more like the cat that got the canary than regretful. You feel as though you’ve come to recognize that expression on his face and you also feel as though you don’t much like the fact that you’ve enough encounters with this man that you can recognize a damn thing about him. “What… could you possibly need me to do for you? I am not robbing a bank.” You just want to get that out into the open as soon as possible.

“I don’t need your help robbing a bank,” he snorts as if the idea is preposterous and you take a moment to feel insulted. Wow. Okay. You could totally rob a bank if you wanted to. Deciding to not comment on your wounded ego, you let him get to the point. Otto pulls something out of his inner coat pocket. It's some kind of rolled up paper and you think at first maybe it's a newspaper or magazine. He unfurls it onto the coffee table and holds it open with two metal claws on either side so it doesn't ravel itself back up.

You realize it's a blueprint. "This is… Oscorp," you point out stupidly, brow furrowing in confusion. There's levels to what's happening here. Layers upon layers, melding together with rot and decay and you can all but smell it. But there's something missing, something that would tie all of the wackjob shit that's been happening to you and around you together. It feels like when you have a very particular thought and then walking into another room makes it dissolve from your head. You're trying to grasp for it, to fit the puzzle pieces together, but it's just out of reach.

"Yes. It is. I have a small task I need you to do," Otto starts off, metal phalanges pushing his glasses up onto the top of his head as he looks over at you. For the first time, you can see his eyes in the light. The warm amber feels like a mockery- you have seen his cruelty in action.

"Where did you get this?"

"Does it matter?" Of course he'd say that.

Your fingertips brush against the metaphorical wayward chain link. It's right there. You just have to grab it and pull it back to you, like the anchor of a ship before it can set sail.

He's talking. You aren't listening. He's tracing a finger over the schematics. You don't see it. Realization washes over you in a heart-dropping tsunami. The voicemail you got from Oscorp plays like a broken record in your mind. 'Hello, Y/N. We're calling in regards to your employment status here at Oscorp. Unfortunately, due to a breach of security, we are having to make staffing cuts and are going to have to let you go. We appreciate your time and effort and wish you the best of luck in your next endeavor.' It didn't make sense at the time. A lot of things didn't. You replay the scene of poor David, desperately pleading for his life at the hands of the man hunched over here, just in your living room. You mentally re-run it over and over like bad 80s sitcoms on late night television.

"Lab Coat Guy…"

You don't realize you whispered it out loud until Otto goes silent.

"What?"

You slowly look at him and take a single step backwards, shaking your head. The company embroidered on David's lab coat hadn't been clear to you in the moment- but it's crystal in hindsight. Oscorp. "You got me fired." Your tone is flat, until anger flashes through you, like a streak of lightning through a dark, moonless sky, illuminating all of things that didn’t make sense before.

"It doesn't matter. What I need you to do-" He's so nonchalant, so blasé that it only stokes the embers of frustration until there's a roaring blaze burning beneath your skin. It's all about him, what he needs, what he wants. He has the nerve, the audacity, to keep traipsing into your life, kicking you while you're down and then ask for favors? You want to say all of that to him but unfortunately for you, you're an angry crier. Your outburst of bravery at him the last time you saw each other had surprised even you- but now there's so much more emotion roiling around inside you.

"No. No, no. Fuck you. You got me fired! I can't- I can't not have a job, I have to pay rent! You could get me arrested for just talking to you!" Oscorp had you canned to tie up any potential loose ends before anymore Davids could slip through the cracks. You think about how scared the poor dude must have been, threatened into stealing blueprints from the biggest corporation in the city, for one of the most infamous criminals. You don't know how they found out you were even remotely involved and you don't want to know.

Tears are streaming down your cheeks and once the floodgates have opened you're very familiar with how long it's going to take to close them again. After all you've been bottling this up since you found out, too disappointed to even tell any of your friends or family.

Otto appears taken aback, to say the least. He even looks like he's at a loss for words; that's a first. You know he could kill you where you stand in the blink of an eye, but in that moment you don’t even care. You’ve been trying so hard for so long to get on your feet, to do things for yourself and get away from the past. You moved across the country, you left everything behind, you got a damn dog. It seems like every time you manage to take a step forward in life, you’re knocked flat on your ass, apparently literally sometimes. It isn’t fair. Things don’t come easily to you, you’ve always had to work for them. You aren’t wealthy, you aren’t a supergenius, you’re just… you. The job at Oscorp was good money and you really felt like you were getting your shit together for a while.

“They’re not who you think they are,” he says finally, so calmly, with such carefulness about his words, that you sniffle pathetically and look up at him. He doesn’t look nearly as pleased with himself as you thought he might. And here you’ve been, under the impression that he gets off on hurting people. “Oscorp. I’m not… I’m not just doing this for me. You have to understand that.”

The schematics are furled up and tucked away. You make the mistake of meeting his eyes. Maybe it’s just the tears that blur your vision, but you swear you see a softness there before they’re hidden away again by his glasses.

He lingers at the window.

“I hope you’ll reconsider.” And then he was making his exit, even taking care to gently close the window on the way out. But he raps on the glass with his knuckles from where he stands on the fire escape and you know the look of confusion on your tear-streaked face speaks for itself. Otto points to the latches on the window. ‘Lock it.’ He mouths before he’s gone, presumably to wreak havoc and harass other unsuspecting young women that don’t want anything to do with him.

You thought everything had come together- but the more sense you make of it, the less you seem sure of the bigger picture. You aren't even sure exactly what he wanted you to do.

You’re left with an endless bounty of questions, and not enough answers to satisfy any of them.

[alwayssaysalways-blog]

A Pretty Crier by me

I wrote this as I broke down at 1am, crying about the loss of my sister by suicide and losing my grandmother 3 weeks later. I silently screamed, hating my life and who I am, not knowing what I did to deserve this. Throughout my life, I’ve lost ten people, but the last two have hurt me more than I could ever imagine. I’ve been to more funerals than most do in one lifetime, all within a few years of each other. Each time, I’ve been able to overcome my grief within a few months. This time seems different. This time is different. I’ll never be the same. 

The day I found out that my oldest sister died, I was working and couldn’t answer the dozens of phone calls coming through from my family: my grandparents, my aunt, my step-dad, my sister, even my mother’s boyfriend. Everyone except my mother, who I don’t have close relationship with, but I thought she may have been in an accident. I got a voicemail from my aunt, who was clearly crying, to call as soon as possible. At the end of my shift, I decided to call my grandpa back to hear whatever news was yet to come. When he answered, he asked what I was doing and I cheerfully responded that I was just finishing up some work tasks. He told me to sit down, but I continued to work diligently. 

~ Lexi died last night. ~ 

I sat down. No, I collapsed. My legs buckled beneath me, as if my world fell apart on top of me.

The words echoed in my head, my mind spinning with what could have happened. An accident maybe? She was never really a good driver and she had moved to Indiana about a year before. In late November, I’m sure the roads are slicked with ice, so maybe a devastating accident? Maybe she was murdered by some spiteful human being? Lexi was always so kind to strangers, a bit shy yet outgoing. That didn’t seem plausible. 

- What happened? - 

~ Lexi killed herself ~

Another shockwave ran through my body, the world around me spinning out of control. My vision blurred, but I felt no tears. My sister had suffered from depression and chronic grieving since we lost our dad twelve years ago to a clotting disorder. In fact, twelve years ago to that exact day. She must have grieved so much, imagining 12 years without our father, as he missed her graduation, becoming a firefighter, and getting married. She must have grieved so much, and I never called. It barely crossed my mind that it was the anniversary of his death, my day so long and busy at work, I didn’t think to call her and remind her that I’m here and I’m grieving too. I didn’t think to call. Why didn’t I call?

- How? -

I needed to know. I know myself and I couldn’t not know. I needed to know what she did. Did she drug herself to numb the pain and accidentally overdosed? Did she jump off a building or bridge? Did she purposely crash her car? Did she cut herself too deep? My other sister (Annee) and I have known that Lexi tend to cut herself, but superficially and always healing. We could see them when we went to the beach, and as we’re all medically inclined, we recommend moisturizer and sunscreen to protect her skin. Although she’d probably break the skin again anyways. Maybe this time, she went too far?

~ She hung herself ~

It felt a building fell on top of me. I couldn’t breathe. She hung herself. The words echo again and again. She hung herself. That means it wasn’t an accidental overdose or accidently pushing a blade too deep. She hung herself. She made the time to set up a rope. She used her energy to put it around her neck. She made the decision to let go, let herself go limp, possibly struggling and suffocating? All alone, she let go of everything, consciously. She hung herself. She let go of everything. Her little sisters, her husband, her family, her dog, her life. She hung herself. To escape, to feel free of the ongoing, suffocating grief from our father’s death, to finally breathe? The irony of the thought brought me out of my spiraling thoughts enough to hear my grandpa ask ~ How are you doing? ~ 

~ I’m okay. I’m okay. ~ The words barely escaping the lump in my throat. The rest of the conversation is hazy, and I hung up to finish my work and leave as soon as I could. I realized not a single tear has fallen and it felt disrespectful not to cry. My sister killed herself and I can’t bring myself to cry? Even once I got into my car, I couldn’t cry. I silently screamed as questions and memories flooded my mind, but no tears in my eyes? As soon as I got home, I cried and cried. I haven’t stopped crying since. 

In the weeks that passed, I scribbled on endless pages 

it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real

Sometimes, I still feel like it’s not real because how could it be real? The three sisters against the world, always and forever. I had always been an “always say always” girl rather than a “never say never” type of person. My always is broken now, my always is gone, my always is never coming back.

I’m not the same girl I was before. I don’t think I ever will be. I’m a sad sad girl with a sad sad life. Everyone knows, but no one sees the sad girl. I’ve dealt with grief so much in my life that I’ve become too good at hiding it. Too good at hiding my pain, my sorrow, my hopelessness, my need to escape, my silent screams. Behind closed doors, I look at my reflection and see her, especially her eyes. Do you know how hard it is to see her every time I look in the mirror? She’s here but she’s not and she never will be again. Instead, I’m stuck with me, my reflection, and my pain. Behind closed doors, I continue to silently scream and cry endlessly, questioning everything about myself, my life, my future. 

I realized that I’m prettier when I cry. I think because it’s truly and entirely me. I can’t smile without forcing it, as if the muscles in my cheeks must grind and creak into an unnatural, unachievable state. I’m a pretty crier, but no one sees because no one sees the sad girl. No one has to see the pretty crier.

[yrbutchgf]

hey, i'm feeling a bit insecure in my identity rn and i was wondering if you have any... tips, or anything like that. i'm a lesbian who feels more comfortable in a masc role, and i think i would identify as butch... but i feel like i'm too emotional. i cry SO often. my mental health has been less than stellar for the last 10 years or so lol, so that plays a part, but i'm also just a crier. things that make me cry: criticism, heated discussions, presentations, movie/game/book endings, all music with violins, some music without violins, christmas commercials, those miniature food clay charms... literally everything. and it's always in public too, which is embarrassing enough as it is. and i know that doesn't have to mean anything for my gender identity, but the whole "boys/men don't cry" thing kind of did a number on me lol. i always feel like a little girl when others watch me cry, even though i want to be the protector. sorry for rambling, but i feel like you always have good takes on butchness and stuff like that, so i was wondering if you have any tips on feeling more secure in my butch/masc side :)

ok before i say anything else, thank you, i’m honestly really flattered you think that highly of my takes lol <3 i do try my best, i’m glad i’m able to help people to whatever extent i do with my posts. also, bit of a length warning -- i always set out with the intention of writing succinct responses to asks, but it always gets away from me, and this time "getting away from me" meant "turning into a manifesto." well, oops. c'est la butch/femme.

now to start this answer off: i definitely relate. i’m also pretty emotional. when i get stressed i get really shaky, especially in my hands, and then after that my body turns on the waterworks. i also have a fairly exuberant personality in general, and i'm very expressive with my hands & body language. the only times i’ve ever really fit the stoic archetype have been on accident, usually when i’ve felt uncomfortable in a social situation and it’s come off as strong silence. at the same time, i also don’t like when people see me cry or be emotional in general, especially in public. it makes me feel vulnerable in a way that i don’t like to give most people, and the fact that i can’t fully control when or if i do is uncomfortable. and i think disliking that feeling is totally normal, or at the very least it’s a common boundary to have. regardless of sexuality, gender, or presentation, there’s a social urge to cover up when we’re feeling our feelings, but even beyond that there is, i think, a reflexive, self-preservation level urge to cover up what can be easily damaged. so to an extent, i think it’s natural to shy away from vulnerability.

at the same time, the urge to push down one’s tears is not necessarily a HEALTHY urge, only a COMMON one, because you’re right: emotionality has no bearing on your gender or what roles you can take up. some of my best butch and masc friends are also extremely emotional people, and they’re very open about it, and in a lot of ways that openness almost feels to me more masculine or more butch, because they’re embracing their feelings, and that’s obviously a really hard thing to learn to do, so it’s powerful, admirable, and also to be honest, it’s attractive! the ability of someone to be brave enough to be vulnerable can in many situations make the people around them feel more at ease, and i think it can become a very steady, very stabilizing sort of masculinity. in other words, someone who is very comfortable in their tears is also very good and healing to be around. so i think in a lot of ways, when you learn to own your emotions rather than push them away, that can very easily augment your butchness rather than take away from it.

now obviously everyone views butch/femme differently, whether as genders/sexuality labels/dynamics/what have you, but for me no matter what at the center of these terms there is always this nexus, this core focus, of care. in the dynamic, butch/femme is about butches & femmes caring for one another in complementary ways both in- and out-side of romantic relationships. so when we talk about butchness standalone, you and many other people reach for words like “protector,” and i don’t think there’s anything necessarily wrong with that, i think protection can and often is a key role, but my point here is, where is that urge to protect coming from? it’s from love, from caring about the people you love. and i think it’s important to remember that and to frame it that way, because when you do, it becomes pretty simple: your emotionalism is more than anything a sign of that urge to care/protect/provide in you, or a driving force to those urges, however you want to frame it. far from taking away from your butchness, your emotions are at the very foundation of what it can be. i talked about this in the butch/femme server a bit, and thren @lesbiandaemon said it perfectly:

i genuinely think i (and many others!) would feel so much safety and security being w someone who allows themself to be vulnerable and earnest abt their emotions and it definitely augments butchness, from my perspective as a femme. i envy and care deeply for the butch whose emotions and vulnerability are on display, there's a strength in that imo, even if you've been made to feel self conscious and dysphoric and "less than" bc of that. i think of phrases like "the strength to remain tender", "the violence it took to be this gentle" in the lens of trauma but if that applies and you're ok w it, i think it could also apply here too [...]

whether ppl know it or not, sometimes the way one carries themselves can be projected onto others; there's already an example in how anon mentions the "big boys/men don't cry" thing, vulnerability being shut out and dismissed/disparaged isn't going to make anyone more eager/open abt their emotions. and like, going back to the butch/femme dynamic, it does feel so much more stable and steady if someone has the courage to acknowledge and let themselves feel their emotions, it's very welcoming and validating, knowing that someone can have a strong image and show their tenderness, knowing that you're safe and free from mockery/scorn to do the same when someone protective of you knows how it feels and will care for you because they feel touched to their core and have let you know in more than one way.

and i want to add an important caveat here: obviously not everyone who cares very deeply is going to be outwardly emotional or show it in the same ways. that’s true for all kinds of reasons. i think a lot of the stoicism we see in traditional depictions of butches can come from how people relate emotions to masculinity (that is to say, how people view masculinity as inherently based around a distance from one’s “softer” side), but also, honestly, i think this may also have roots in the historical coping mechanisms that a lot of butches took on in the face of a world that was unkind to them.

in stone butch blues, for example, there’s a lot of talk about this idea of “hard” versus “soft,” or “going stone,” especially when jess is first getting into the bar scene and she’s still fresh-faced to violence. and going stone in this context isn’t just about sexuality, it's also about how so many butches learned to stop letting people in even at a basic emotional level. for them, hardening up was an inevitability of circumstance, not an inherent facet of their personality or a building block of butch identity. i’m sure plenty of old-school butches would be glad to know it’s no longer inevitable or necessary for a butch to close themselves off completely in order to survive.

of course there are also plenty of butches who are just naturally reserved with their emotions, and that’s also fine -- that doesn’t mean they don’t feel things, or that they don’t care. they care -- all of us do! some of us showing it more or less than others doesn’t reflect badly on any of us, whether we’re of a more stoic or a more open variety. but some of us really can’t help showing it, and that’s okay. that’s just how the love spills out. the right person won’t see that as weakness or a crack in the fine china of your masculinity or whatever, they’ll see it as a lovely and endearing part of your whole and warming butchness. so embrace your emotions. do your best to honor the role they play in butch/femmeness. try to love your emotions, or at the very least not to be afraid of them. and remember: you are strong. your tenderness will not destroy you. in fact, it’s what built you to begin with.

[brella-boi]

28 27 for Chili and 42 46 for Tai?

at home at last I can answer these!!!

27. What makes them sad? Do they cry regularly? Do they cry openly or hide it? What are they like they are sad? (Chili)

Chili is sort of known for going AWOL when depression starts catching up to him. His meds help of course, but sometimes it's just too much and he knows he can be an absolute asshole during those moments so he sort of shuts everyone out of his life during that. Is it unhealthy? Yes!! Does he know that? He ignores that fact lmao. Not really a crier either, but it slips in private sometimes. It's easier to drown your sorrows in ice cream and TV though.

28. What is their biggest fear? What in general scares them? How do they act when they’re scared? (Chili)

We're gonna shove abandoment issues to the side for a second here because I've mentioned it a lot already and this time we're gonna tap into his fear of losing touch with reality from his psychosis.

It's almost an unpredictable thing for him on what is going to change next. There's things he sees often, like Carlson the pigeon, or the creepy guy on the roof of a neighbouring building, or that birds sometimes stare for unnaturally long time, or that one seaslug at the entrance to his apartment building. Sometimes there's a fire alarm going off next door that isn't real. And those he knows how to handle. He knows its just another one of Those Things that just isn't real and it's fine to ignore. But there are some hallucinations that completely freak him the fuck out. Those are the ones that alter how people look, how people he trusts somehow do not look friendly anymore. And sometimes he hears His Voice (Tartar's) shouting commands and almost succeeding in getting Chili to do things he does not want to.

He's afraid that one day it'll become too much and he'll hurt someone, or worse- do something that cannot be reversed.

42. What are their goals? What would they sacrifice anything for? What is their secret ambition? (Tai)

Tai our blorbo doing everything wrong only wants for things to go back as they used to be. He hates change. It unnerves him. He wants his brother back and he wants to be trusted. He's got one goal in mind and by god will he do anything to get it. People's feelings towards it don't concern him.

46. Do they make a good first impression? Does their first impression reflect them accurately? How do they introduce themselves? (Tai)

Tai is fairly shy when it comes to meeting new people and gets scared fairly easily, but his curiosity to new people sort of negates that. Especially the weirder something is. From a first impression you'd probably vibe check him as quiet and reserved, but he can be an absolute chatterbox if given the chance. The biggest thing you'll notice is that he just Uses His Hands A Lot while talking and that can get pretty distracting lol

[highlifeboat]

For character dynamics could we get 1 2 4 5 and 12 for Mecassa? :D they cute

Character DYnamic Asks for Melon and Cassie <3

1. What’s the first thing they usually do to get the other’s attention?

If Melony isn't paying attention, Cassandra will usually just go up behind her and give her a kiss on the head. It's pretty damn effective and usually ends up with Melony blushing which... obviously Cassandra thinks is adorable. The alternative go to is to throw something soft at her, which results in in Melony giving Cass a flustered look that is equally as adorable.

It's pretty easy for Melony to get Cass's attention just by calling to her, but she also does the "throw something soft" method. Cass will usually give her an annoyed look when she gets hit with a pillow, but it goes away pretty fast when she sees Mel giggling.

2. How comfortable are they with touching/being touched by the other?

They're both really comfortable with it. Cassandra's always been touchy, and adores being touched. And, after Melony got a little more comfortable around Cass, they were always cuddling or hanging onto one another when they had the chance. They're both a little touch starved, and it's like their main love language. So much physical affection between these two.

4. How do they know the other is in a bad mood before they say anything?

Cassandra is... pretty obvious when she's in a bad mood. She gets incredibly aggressive with her movements and gets this almost permanent scowl on her face. She'll also give this constant low growl. Melony's... a lot more careful when Cass is in a bad mood. Cass would never hurt her but it's still kind of scary when she gets mad.

Melony is a lot more subtle, but usually if she's in a bad mood she gets really glassy eyed. She's an angry crier and almost always looks on the verge of tears when she's in a really bad mood or really stressed out, and Cassandra always notices. You better believe she provides her little maid with so much comfort, too.

5. How would they react if the other told them “I love you” or “I trust you”?

When Melony said "I trust you" to Cassandra for the first time is actually broke her for a second. Cassandra spent a lot of time building a trusting relationship with Mel but to hear this woman actually say it was something else, and almost a bigger deal to Cass than their first actual "I love you" to each other. It just felt really good knowing that the girl she liked actually trusted her, and she tries really hard to preserve that trust.

On the other hand, Cassandra blurting out "I love you" to Mel for the first time is probably one of Melony's fondest memories. If just because she'd never seen Cass struggle to say something so much in her whole time working in the castle. It was both adorable and a little awkward.

12. How do they react to each other’s nicknames/terms of endearment?

Cassandra's names for Melony consist of "Mel", "Dragostea mea/My love", and "Sweet Bee". Melony adores being called all of them. "Sweet Bee" especially makes her smile like an idiot.

Mel will call Cass "Cassie", "Love bug", and occasionally "Dragă/Honey" (Usually in response to "Sweet Bee"). Cassandra loves hearing Mel call her any term of endearment, though. It just makes her feel warm inside.

[peeterparkr]

perennial;tom holland|prologue

sequel to perfidy. 

Prologue: daffodils 

↳ flower meaning: new beginnings. 

story summary: After the war, Tom let the flowers die of thirst, Harry decided to water dry flowers and Timmy never stopped taking care of his. But flowers speak for us, flowers have meanings. And like flowers, maybe you’ll keep on blooming, it’ll be up to you if you decide to wither. And it’ll be up to you what flower you end up choosing.  

pairing: tom holland x y/n

warnings: a bit sad, just a little. 

word count: 3k

first chapter.  perfidy (final chapter) ( series masterlist) 

perennial masterlist.

wanna be tagged?

Hello, finally, the long awaited prologue is here. I hope you like this as much as you liked perfidy. Hope I can live up to your expectations! I’m super excited for this! Let’s bloom. 

To make a flower last, you have to water them, provide them with enough sunlight, and love. There are flowers that last, flowers that don’t. There are flowers that bloom again, there are flowers that even in times of diversity, they manage to get up and in their colors. There are flowers that only bloom once. 

Perennial flowers tend to keep blooming, for short times, then fall dormant the rest of the year.

Flowers, like humans, die of thirst. 

But humans, like flowers, can bloom again. 

You hadn’t, you wouldn’t. Not now. 

The usual thing after a breakup is to feel lost, cold. Everyone tells you to keep yourself busy, to reach out for people, ignore social media, change your surroundings. Keep yourself distracted, go out with friends. 

Start a new life. Bloom again. 

In other breakups it had been easy, you had cried a few days. You had pitied yourself and listened to sad music. Watched sad movies. You remember going out with your best friend to parties, movies, park, arcades. You remember shielding on your studying, your photography, your writing. You kept yourself busy.

Keep yourself busy. That’s what everyone tells you. Re-start your life. You should go to a new beginning. Keep yourself busy? Bloom again? 

How were you supposed to do that? You had died of thirst.  You had technically no job now, none of your friends wanted to speak to you. You didn’t want to write. You didn’t want to go out. 

How?

What were you supposed to do? How pathetic. 

How were you supposed to when you were the one who had wrecked your relationship? 

You wondered what would’ve happened if you’d told him sooner about it, if things had been different. Would you be in his arms? 

You needed to call your friends.

You didn’t want to do that, really. What friends, really? 

Timmy? Sam? You couldn’t call them. 

Charlie and Danielle? You didn’t want to. 

Emily? You were never close with her. 

Harry? No, not Harry. You were very angry at him. 

Tom? 

Tom. 

He was the only one you wanted to call. But he never was a friend. And well… He wouldn’t answer. And why would he? 

And why would you call him? What would you tell him if he answered? 

You should; though. 

After that day, you were seeing his face everywhere. You knew it would come. You thought you had initially imagined Tom after the kiss. You thought it had been your imagination, as if your mind was playing a trick.

But it hurt to think you could’ve built something so beautiful. Timmy had asked you why you still loved Tom. 

Why wouldn’t you? 

There was still so much love waiting for Tom. In the little time you’ve spent together, you had learned that kissing comes in many different forms and emotions. You learned a new superpower he had, how to take away minutes from time so he could make it stop. You learned that you could really run out of breath from laughing, and you learned that it is possible to share one only breath. You learned that he could take away your breath with only one single glance, and you had learned how to lie. 

White lies, to help you both sneak into places where you could only bump smiles to one another. You had learned how to forgive him. 

You had forgiven him. But he would never forgive you.

And maybe that was what made this one breakup more difficult. Knowing that you had killed a flower. 

Loneliness is a curse, a very horrible curse. You didn’t want to call your brother because you didn’t want to hear another lecture over what you did was wrong but how it wasn’t your fault and then trying to stop him from coming for Tom. 

You hated Harry right now. 

Because, you were confused. Very, very confused. Why wouldn’t you? 

Harry had kissed you. 

Tom had seen it. 

And Timmy was currently calling you. You ignored the phone call. And thought about it, how stupid this felt. Confusion wasn’t new. And your mind was shooting you with flashbacks, just like it had done with Tom. 

But now, Harry? Harry? But this wasn’t right. Harry was a friend, right? 

Yes, he was a friend. 

Harry. 

There hadn’t been any sparks. No. Because you loved Tom. 

You really loved him.

But…? 

No. 

But then there was that thought in your mind again. How did you feel about Harry? 

Right now, angry. Yes. Because for now you didn’t care about you, you cared about Emma. Emma was a friend you’d found along the way. And really, you missed her. 

You’d lost too many people in the sake of a few days. 

Best you could do now was to pretend you’re okay. For your parents, for your brother. For yourself. 

Damn, but this was so stupid. How the hell had Harry done this so selfishly? 

You really couldn’t call him out on selfishness. But you were angry. Because you were so vain. Naive and vain if that makes any sense, at all. 

And you knew that the letter you’d sent to Tom could have… calmed things. Now they would seem like your words were empty. 

It should’ve lasted longer, you knew it wouldn’t, but it should’ve. Tom. Tom was who you loved. 

You’ve given him one letter, you wouldn’t write another one. There wasn’t much to be said now. You had spent most days building up an excuse or a plan to forget about him. 

You had cleaned out your room, removing every Polaroid from your wall, because now that you didn’t have Tom’s it felt empty. And maybe that was what opened your eyes, you had to cleanse yourself, because all your life you had had that question. 

“What if?” 

Tom had been that constant what if in your mind and that’s how it turned out. Big disaster. And then you hated it, again. It was meant to always end up that way. 

How many chances had you left behind because you had been clung to Tom? How many romances had passed by because you had ingrained in Tom? Because of that stupid thought. 

Loneliness is a curse, yes, but it’s also a blessing. Because you realized it. And it had been good that you’d gotten rid of everything and given it to him, you couldn’t keep holding on to something that would lead you nowhere, you couldn’t keep holding on to something that would end up in another disaster. Though you knew it was him and always him and you’ll always keep waiting for him to show up… you couldn’t keep up with that. 

Even now, you were waiting for him to show up with yellow flowers, but he wouldn’t. He wouldn't show up. He wouldn’t call and it was stupid to be waiting for one call. 

And though in your walls it had seemed easy to take off, the real story wasn’t. How many things had you let go off because of Tom? 

He’d robbed you of every chance of being happy. He was the reason why you’d probably always cancelled plans for him, and he had been the reason you’d said no to a marriage proposal that would have probably been the ideal ending for you. 

But it was Tom. Always. Always. Always Tom. And no matter how many times you’ve tried, it kept coming back to you. Every time, you always stopped yourself from taking new chances, of beginning again because there was always that thought in your head, that Tom and you were meant to be. You were so stubborn, like a tired child who is throwing a tantrum for a popsicle. 

But no, you saw it again, in the most poetic and romantic way, the way it could work for a story. Everlasting. Never ending. Infinite.

That’s so dumb. 

It was different now, and you’d always been crying for him. There you were now, again crying for him, hugging a pillow staring at the empty walls. You shouldn’t have left that day, you should’ve explained it to him. Tell him you hadn’t been the one to start the kiss but at the moment, you saw it as a loss. 

Had he read the letter that you’ve written a whole night? 

Maybe. Maybe not. 

He probably was crying too. You know Tom was a silent crier, something you’ve learned among the years. You knew he probably would cry when he was in the shower or brushing his teeth, or just as he was about to go to bed. 

You were very much alike. But you knew he probably wasn’t crying right now. You knew you probably were the only one laying down on the bed crying. 

Had this been all inspired by that stupid child that had first fallen in love with him? 

Everything was… lost. 

You’d touched rock bottom. That meant you could only go up from now. 

Maybe it had never been supposed to last forever. And you knew you had known it from the first time his sight turned tender, this wouldn’t last. Just like flowers, you would wither. And you had. 

And although New York was a bliss to remember, you wanted to forget it because it hurt. 

People say that when you break up with someone you should start again. Maybe you would. 

And the sun always comes out after the storm. The brightest of dawns would come after the darkest nights. 

It would come. 

Like a flower you’d bloom again, eventually. But you wondered if any flowers were able to bloom after the coldest of  winter frosts. 

A change. 

But there you were still ignoring Timmy’s call. 

Life had presented a chance. And you were wondering if you should take it. 

It would be stupid if you didn’t. It wasn’t… The opportunity of a lifetime. Maybe it was But it was a chance for a change. 

A big change. 

Would you let another chance go because you were still attached to Tom? Would you let go another life because of Tom? 

Cherry had called. She was moving to London. Cherry. Your cousin, around your age, few months older, pretty, very pretty and cheerful. Her mother, your mom’s sister, had moved to LA to follow her aspiring acting career but ended up opening a flower shop. 

She was quite a character. And she had had a proposition which seemed like a crazy fever dream when she said it:

 “I got offered a job in London! Can I go crash your place for a bit? Let’s be roomies! Or we could switch places! Come to LA, and go after your dream, sweetie! Come help with the flower shop!” 

That was… An idea. Crazy idea. 

Cherry was your cousin, you wouldn’t be alone if she came. That part of the plan you were kind of okay with. 

But leaving?

You had told Timmy about it. Because you had to face that, too. Timmy was leaving. Timmy, and you couldn’t be more thankful, had been making sure you didn’t feel lonely. You didn’t know why he had been so kind to you. But Timmy was leaving. 

He had told you a few days before, how he had kept it as a secret for a while. He’d be leaving for LA. Hollywood. 

And he wouldn’t go alone. 

Emma. Emma was going with him, too. They were starting again. A new life. Chasing their dreams, going for the stars. 

Hollywood. 

So there you had been, wondering if you should tell Cherry to come and live with you. Have some company, not be alone. Maybe she’d make friends and then you could tag along with them. 

Or switch places

“What would you lose?” Timmy had asked you. “Maybe it’s the change you need.” 

“Dunno. Leaving home to a stranger?” 

“It’s your cousin,” Timmy said. 

You shrugged. “I don’t like people invading my space.” 

“That’s just an excuse for you not to go.” 

“Why would I leave?” 

“You need a new start, y/n,” Timmy said. 

“But I can re-start here,” you pointed out. “Besides, working at a flower shop.” 

“Then tell her to come,” Timmy said. 

“But I can’t live with… someone,” you chuckled.

“You can, you’re just giving excuses to stay alone.” 

You stayed quiet. “I am alone.”

“I don’t want you to be.” 

You sighed. 

“You could tag along with us, too.” 

“Emma wouldn’t like that.” 

“She’s forgiven you,” Timmy said. 

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Timmy had assured you. “She understood it wasn’t your fault.” 

You didn’t Answer anything. 

“What would you lose if you came to LA, too?” 

You would lose your chance to see if Tom ever showed up at your door again.

“Is there anything you could lose?” He asked again. 

Was there? 

And you had called Emma. And it had been difficult, complicated, and weird at the beginning. You apologized again. Because Emma really didn’t deserve to be there. 

She told you she’d given back the ring. You had told her about the kiss… That was not your place to tell her and you would be risking everything by telling her. But you needed a new beginning and this involved telling things. Even if it risked ending things earlier.

But she’d understood. No, it wasn’t easy. And it was a conversation that lasted a couple of days. And at least that had kept you busy. Trying to mend that relationship. And maybe Emma needed a friend, too. Maybe Emma really needed someone too. And of course, she was angry. 

She didn’t blame you, though. She believed you. And Emma knew it, then. You told her the whole story, beginning to end. Script and memories and explanations, of everything. You even told her about your feelings for Harry and how angry you were. You told her that yes, you had felt something, but friendship was more important. 

You didn’t have that friendship anymore, though.

She understood, more than anything. Because maybe it’s a universal thing. To not know how to feel. To be confused. The heartbreak. To feel like you’re not going to bloom again. 

But she saw you, going through the pain that she felt. And you listened to her, and you cursed every damned time the damned script came up. But you understood each other. Because both of you didn’t understand it. And she’d seen your story, and she didn’t blame you. Because sometimes you give everything nd it’s not enough. And maybe that’s why she’d pitied you, because she’d also given everything, but Harry had broken her once, and Tom, Tom had broken you once, twice, three times. And no, it hadn’t been easy. But maybe she needed the other side of the story or maybe she just needed a girl friend. 

Just like you needed one. 

Because Emma, Emma was lonely too. 

Honestly the conversation with her had ended up in the incredible conclusion that all of us women get to eventually: Men are trash.

“Honestly, you know what we should do?” You had said. 

“What?” 

“Let’s go to Greece, sleep with three men—“

“But—“ Emma frowned.

“Hear me out,” you chuckled. “Make sure we get knocked up—“

“Are you insane?” Emma cackled.

“I haven’t finished,” you laughed. “Open up a nice Greek hotel, wait 20 years until our respective daughters get hitched and wait for them to invite their three possible dads to the wedding. And we can have fun singing ABBA songs.”

“Is that—“

“The plot to Mamma Mia? Absolutely.” 

And maybe you should’ve gone to Greece. Honestly you were considering it. But it was soothing, having a friend. It was nice. You had both talked on the floor, crying over two damned Holland’s. You’d start a club. And it was the beginning of an old friendship. It’s nice to have a friend.

So of course you were bummed she was leaving.

“Let’s go to Hollywood, y/n,” Emma said. 

Would you take Cherry’s offer? 

You wouldn’t. That was only stupid. And though Hollywood was talking to you and you aspired to follow the big dream. The big screen called you, and you were probably blinded by every light that was begging you to go, you knew you’d only reach out for a dream that had tumbled you down. The dream that had withered you. And really, to go without any job? And go work in a flower shop… You loved flowers, but it wasn’t… You didn’t know anything about them, just that yellow flowers made you cry, that Timmy gave you peonies and that lavenders meant calm. 

And going to LA without any chance…. No. 

Because Timmy had one. And Emma had one.

You didn’t. 

So you’d received your cousin. A roommate.  Which was… Different. She’d asked about your room, how lonely it seemed. First thing she noticed was the yellow flowers you had, from the scratch bouquets you’d made for Tom. 

“Yellow tulips? And yellow roses? Hopeless love and forgiveness? Daffodils? New beginning. Who did you hurt, cousin?” 

You didn’t tell her anything about your life, not really. Except you wanted to start a new one. You told her that you were going through a tough time and you wanted a new beginning. 

“Like a daffodil, then,” Cherry said. 

You didn’t answer. 

“Like daffodils, those pretty yellow flowers, you had them here.” 

“Yellow… flowers?” 

“Yes, perennial flowers, they bloom each year in spring, just after the coldest of winter frost,” she grinned.  “They mean new beginnings, we should get some for the house, I believe that flowers help us heal, sometimes we don’t get it but the flowers we choose are normally the ones that say what we want,” she nodded. “You know, maybe it’s cause I’ve been in that flower shop my whole life, but I really do believe that flowers speak for us, so let’s get you some daffodils, get you a new beginning.” 

You weren’t a daffodil. But you really were going through a winter frost. At least you felt as cold. But would you bloom? 

“Yeah, like a daffodil.” 

And life really wanted you to bloom again it seemed, and it really wanted you to have a new beginning. Life then again, gave your other chance.the big opportunity. Life having mercy. 

Because there had been another call, too. A few days after Cherry arrived. 

“Y/N, hello dear, why haven’t you been answering my calls?” 

“I’m sorry, Alessandra, I’ve been… busy.” 

“You have a job already?” She asked. 

“I—“

“Because if you do I need you to quit right now.” 

“What?”

“Because they’re producing your script.”

“I thought they didn’t—“

“I sent it to another studio, we are going to Hollywood, darling.” 

And maybe this was your chance to bloom again, like a daffodil. And you had tried to call him, Tom. 

And he never came, until it was too late. 

And you’d asked Cherry that if he ever came, to give him daffodils. And he had, and he had brought heleniums, evening primroses and chamomiles. 

“Yellow flowers, too,” Cherry had told you as soon as you’d landed on LAX. “Funny thing, cousin, he didn’t even know what flowers he’d chosen, can you believe it! But once again the flowers spoke for him, he brought heleniums which mean let me comfort you, and chamomiles, oh chamomiles which mean he admires your courage and the lovely evening primroses, which mean he’s unsteady, but will learn to love you.” 

“Did you give him the daffodils?” 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s funny isn’t it? You both chose yellow.” 

“Yeah, funny.” 

“The other guy, he brought daisies.” 

“Other guy?” You asked. 

“Yeah, Harry, he said that was his name.” 

Harry had brought you flowers. 

“It’s funny isn’t it, the guy in the morning who helped you pack-- He brought peonies.” 

“Harry?” 

“No, your friend bought peonies,” Cherry pushed. “Those mean romance, huh.” 

“No, but… Harry came?” 

“Yeah, yeah he brought daisies,” Cherry said. “Isn’t it funny, though, the three of them brought perennial flowers.” 

“What even-” 

“Perennial flowers, which means they were dormant but that eventually, they'll bloom again.”

But who would bloom? 

first chapter. perfidy (final chapter) ( series masterlist)

perennial masterlist.

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[ravireyes]

ravi’s instagram — the 2020 birthdays, part iv. — marcus reyes

my husband turns 31 today.

marcus reyes, you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars. i'm sorry that i can't stop saying the word husband every chance i get. i reckon i'm 3 years away from saying "hubby" unironically and i'm sorry about that too.

i woke up feeling sensitive, i guess we can blame scorpio season for that (cursed). not bad sensitive, though, good sensitive. don't worry (i know you will). and it got me thinking of the first time i cried in front of you. i'm not a big crier, we both know that, i think i can count on my hands the times i've ever sobbed in my life. 

it was probably some time in early 2017, we had a date night, still freshly-announced official partners, mere months into this brand new thing. we went out to the theatre, because i asked you to take me. mind you, i have never liked musicals in my life. not one. and yet, the idea of having an excuse to dress up and be taken out like that just thrilled me. it was the glitz and glam of it all, and the idea of being seen with you, i guess. i told you i never needed a ring or any kind of proof of our love, but i'm not going to deny i enjoy parading around with your hand on my back.

well, we went for phantom of the opera, which in hindsight is a bold choice for two people who couldn't care less about theatre. i don't think i even understood the story for the first hour of it, but then! then this number comes up, the song is called "all i ask of you". christine and raoul are declaring their love for each other on a rooftop, beautifully orchestrated music starts to swell.

god, i certainly did not care for the play before, but suddenly i was paying a little too much attention. "let me be your freedom," he sings, and that was the first punch to the gut. "say you need me with you, now and always," she sings back. "say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime," he asks, and she asks him the same on the next verse. i was weeping. which was honestly pretty embarrassing for a date so early into the relationship, and for someone who claimed to be such a non-crier.

i'll spare everyone from quoting the entirety of the lyrics here, you can give it a listen later. to summarise, it's about this couple coming together, and how all they ask of each other is love. to be loved. raoul waxes poetical about keeping her safe, christine goes on about her fears and her woes, they both offer the other everything, and they don't ask for much in return. "love me, that's all i ask of you". the song builds, and builds, and peaks in this explosive moment where they belt in unison "anywhere you go, let me go too -- love me, that's all i ask of you". and the song fades out with them, mellow and soft.

god, i cried a fair bit, quietly. my heart hammering away in my chest, tears gathering in my eyelashes. but see, it was confusing, this cry felt different from anything i could compare it to. again, not a big crier, but i had cried watching romance once before; when i was a lonely teenager living in a shitty flat in a corner of the city, i bawled my eyes out watching pretty woman. and back then, it was just that, being a lonely kid. wanting love, yearning for something i could never quite get my hands on, feeling like i wasn't made for it. this cry wasn't like that. because i had you.

you leaned closer and whispered to ask if i was okay. i sniffled, and wiped my tears, and stubborn as ever i said i was just coming down with a cold. you were sweet enough to not call me out on a blatant lie, but you squeezed my hand really tight and didn't let go for the rest of the night.

i cried because i finally got it. i finally had what every movie, every song, every play was written about. i cried because you, with your warm heart and your hands that feel like something sacred, you loved me. and you taught me how to love. i know you did, because i've never felt like this for anyone before.

so much of me, i owe to you. i think you really put me back together, when we first met -- that's what you always do, you put people back together. you bear the weight of the skies on your shoulders, and you still have time to hold all of us in your arms, too. a knight, a protector, you wield a sword but you never let the weight of the armour crush you, because you're good like that. you're strong, and tender. you're patient. you're my home, my safe haven, my lighthouse. i thank the stars every night for whatever led me to you. i think i'd be doomed to a life of agony if we'd never met -- quite frankly, dear, i don't like to imagine a world in which i can't reach for your hand over every table, across every bed, in the middle of any play.

you are the best person i've ever met. you are the love of my life, my better half, my entire heart. i am so proud, and so grateful, and so happy to be your spouse. happy, happy, happy, you just make me so happy and i can't shut up about it. i'm happy you took another trip around the sun, and that you chose to do it by my side. i can't thank you enough, for loving me. and for being you. i love every corner, every crevice, every line of you.

anywhere you go, let me go too. please?

i've written enough now, i need to go back to putting together your surprise breakfast in bed. thank you for sleeping in, for once (you're welcome for actually tiring you out last night to make this a possibility). i hope you love your presents. and me. i hope you always love me. that's all i ask, and all i need.

i love you, always.

happy bday, @itsmarcusreyes !