#be nice to be please im fragile

[rj-orion]

"No More Love In Paradise"

A short story (?) by me, inspired by "Love in Paradise" from EPIC: The Musical. Comment your suggestions, praise, whatever :))

[pinky-in-blankets]

I wanna make selfshiper friends and doodle their ships and my ships as friends sometimes(even if we ship the same Cannon character-), but gosh, I'm so easily intimidated by everyone in this community. Im sure alot of you are friendly but eeeee i dont wanna interact first qwq

[Proships/comships dni.]

[seventhcallisto]

Need a bf and a gf or two bfs or two gfs or one gf and one gf and one bf or maybe even two gfs and bfs or—

[interlvgos]

got us falling in love (2.2k, george/lewis, teen)

George couldn't tell you the name of the club they've ended up at, the events that led them here a blur of champagne and grins, the bitter sting of Lewis' almost win disappearing with the slip of alcohol down their throats, making way for celebrations instead.

author's note: this is my first fic i've ever written and i can only apologise in advance sdjfnsjkf i'm not sure what.... this is but enjoy! cw warning for slightly nsfw towards the end and over-excessive use of 'pretty boy' as an endearment. 

George presses himself against the bar, the alcohol he'd already had making him feel tipsy and lightweight. He's had only enough alcohol that's made everything much softer around the edges, eyelids a little heavier when he blinks, but not enough to be drunk. Another drink is pressed into his hand, and George tips it back, revelling in the sting of it against the back of his throat. He places it down in time for a body to slide up next to him at the bar, pressing against his back. 

He turns around to find Lewis beaming at him, the club lights reflecting his eyes in a way that makes him look ethereal; ecstatic. George can barely hear him when he speaks over the music, and he ducks his head a little closer, almost stumbling. Lewis speaks up, still grinning. 

"Dance with us?"

George falters for a moment, because, what? It's the last thing he'd expected from him, but Lewis doesn't seem to be joking, expression giving away that he, too, is as carefree as George is. He motions over to where George can see Bono and Angela on the dance floor, each moving with the beat in tandem with other Mercedes employees - George squints, determined to make the others out, before giving up with an exaggerated sigh when he realises that, yeah. That requires much more effort than he's willing to part with. 

Lewis moves away and George gives chase, pressing close to his back as they move through the crowd. He likens it to their current relationship, which George isn't sure what to make of - there'd been touches he's sure lingered slightly too long, glances across the room during briefings; accidental eye contact when they thought the other wasn't looking. Predominantly on George's side, albeit, but he didn't think it was entirely unreciprocated. But this was Lewis - brilliant, beautiful, good Lewis who George was always chasing, always wanting after. 

He'd always follow Lewis if he asked him to.

George feels the music with each step, head moving in sync with the beat as they make themselves comfortable with their spot. Lewis speaks to someone in front of him, but George is preoccupied with the blend of music into the next song; knows it's one he loves. A small grin makes its way onto his lips, hips moving slowly in tandem, the heavy baseline making his movements akin to careless. His eyelids flutter shut, and George focuses on the vibrations beneath his feet, feeling the base in his chest when he moves. 

It isn't often he can let go, like this. He's surrounded by safety, the private club room offering a security blanket of obscurity; there are no prying eyes here, no unsubtle flashes of cameras, whispers to the press. It shows in how he moves, head tipped back as the lights bounce around him, the comforting thrum of bodies allowing George to enjoy himself, move his hips that little more as he presses back against the bodies, and finds himself against a solid chest. He's about to apologise, trance momentarily broken when a soft chuckle sounds in his ear. He turns around, finds Lewis in front of him. 

"Easy, there," Lewis laughs, teeth bright white in the fluorescent lights.

Lewis doesn't move away like George believed he would. Instead, he meets him halfway, his own body beginning to move in time with the beat; thud, thud, thud. Hips left, hips right. George remains frozen in place, his shock rendering him useless when Lewis' hands appear on his hips and apply pressure; moving him with him. He's still grinning when he shouts above the music. 

"Where'd those moves go?" Lewis asks, loud to be heard above the music, eyebrow raised. The tilt of his smirk is enough to let George know there's nothing mocking about what he's asking, and it relaxes him instantly. 

George replies in kind, continuing the movement of his hips when Lewis removes his hands; he allows himself to be swallowed by the sound, eyes taking in the grins of those around him, watches as drinks slosh over people's fingers, and feels his shoes stick to the tacky floor. Lewis moves in front of him, finding his own rhythm, grin dimming to a gentle smile as he moves with a grace George could only dream of. He's sure he's the polar opposite; long limbs moving awkwardly, too much, whereas Lewis' muscular frame moves just right, muscles visible through the mesh of his shirt, the sheen layer of sweat making George's mouth water. He needs a drink, he needs to be closer. 

He's still marvelling at Lewis' arms when the beat changes, dropping into a heavy baseline, the low thrum much slower, more intense, sexier. The bodies surrounding George push closer with the change in pace, the music having the air electric with want, almost palpable enough to touch. George is lost, within himself and to the music, accepting the change immediately; the movement of his hips becomes more refined, arms raising as he moves in tandem, vibrations sending him spiralling. 

It takes him a second to register the hands on his hips. It takes him a second more, once he's opened his eyes, to realise that it's Lewis now gripping him tightly; his hands curving around George's hips like it's second nature; like they're made to be put there. There's a challenge in his eyes when George meets his gaze, eyes dark. George steps closer and closes the distance between them until they're chest to chest, reigniting the movement between them. 

Their hips press together as they move in sync, George's head ducked to rest on Lewis' shoulder. Their height difference makes it tricky, but George makes it work. He lowers his arms to wrap them around Lewis' neck, his fingers finding purchase on the base of the other man's neck. George squeezes, once, emitting a low hum from Lewis as they move. He forgets about those around him, instead focusing on where their bodies are meeting, feeling his heart rate quicken and his pants tighten in response to the body pressed so close to his own. They've been skirting around one another for too long, cultivating in the heat between their bodies, how George feels himself harden almost immediately at the brush of Lewis' fingers beneath his shirt. 

He's ripped from his thoughts as Lewis growls, low, pressing his nails into George's waist as he abruptly turns them around, pulling George back against him until his ass is pressed against Lewis' hips. George gasps and tilts his head back, accepting when Lewis rests his forehead against the joint of his shoulder. He doesn't back down, the alcohol making him brave; making him bold. He's spurred on by the hard line of Lewis pressed against him, and rocks his hips back once, twice. Feels his own pants tighten even more. 

The rock of his hips is all it takes, apparently. George smirks, victory tasting sweet on his tongue as Lewis drags them from the dance floor and into the bathroom. He pushes George into a stall, and locks the door behind them. He looks predatory. 

George loves it. 

Lewis steps closer and traces the contours of George's skin; fingers lingering on the crease of his elbow, down his forearm. He wraps his fingers around George's wrist and holds on in such a way that there's a whisper there of you can stop me, but silent hope in his eyes that he doesn't. George looks down and contemplates Lewis' fingers; the crease of his knuckles, the ink seeping into skin that George wants to press his mouth to; taste on his tongue. Looks back up to meet his eyes and wonders if Lewis ever truly considered a world where George would stop him from doing this, from doing what George has wanted from him for so long.

Lewis moves the hand he has situated on George's wrist down to his waist, large hands gripping his hips before walking them backwards step by step until George's back meets the cold wall of the bathroom stall. A sharp gasp leaves his lips, letting his head rest back against the wall in an act that makes him shiver and brace against the sudden rush of cold touching his back.

Lewis laughs softly, quietly; doesn't say he's sorry.

"Georgie", he whispers instead, smile close to something George doesn't quite let himself call fond.

Lewis wraps an arm around him and pulls them close, pulling them flush together. George's hands instinctively raise to rest on Lewis' chest, fingers gripping loosely into the other's shirt like it's all that's keeping him grounded, keeping him here. He feels like he's losing his mind - finds he doesn't care if he is. Lewis leans forward, and lets his lips ghost across the scope of his neck, nose brushing carefully at the shell of George's ear. He can feel Lewis pressed against him, the hold of his body beneath his hands where his fingers - now more desperate in their hold of Lewis' shirt - keeps him right where he wants him.

Lewis pulls back, looks at his lips, and then looks at him. His demeanour is calm, a soft flush high on his cheeks the only signs giving his want, his desire, away. George doesn't kid himself into thinking he looks as collected. There's a question in Lewis' eyes, and George braces himself; knows that what happens now will change everything, change them. Away we go.

George inhales; holds his breath. Exhales. "I don't want you to stop."

It's all Lewis needed to hear. His hands raise to wrap around George's jaw, index finger gently dragging across George's lip. It makes him gasp, lean forward, and Lewis is there to catch his lips when they chase his finger; pressing his own lips against his, pushing them further against the wall. George whines, high in his throat, a sound he'd be embarrassed about if he wasn't so far gone; his hands move to Lewis' waist to slide under his shirt, press his hands to hot skin. Lewis pulls back just enough to move his lips down George's jaw and down his neck, giving the barest scrape of teeth when he meets the joint of George's neck and shoulder.

It pulls a moan out of George, suddenly and all at once, his desperation clear in the flush of his cheeks and the want in his gaze. Lewis looks at him, studying; drinking him in. He wants to remember George like this, desperate for his touch - desperate for him. The heavy baseline of the club music fuels him, and Lewis feels drunk on it, hungry for this -

"Pretty boy," he whispers, pressing their lips together again. "You're looking so pretty for me, baby, fuck."

George is too far gone to be embarrassed of the noise that leaves him, the desperate moan high and keen. He nods eagerly and ducks his head to find Lewis' lips again. He tastes divine, heavenly, like George could taste him over and over again and still find something new to marvel at. He nips at Lewis' lips and sucks gently, smiling proudly to himself when Lewis groans.

"You look so good out there, George," Lewis continues, moving his hand to gently rest against George's neck, tapping his index finger against his jaw. "Moving like that. Knew what you were doing, didn't you?"

His voice is soft, almost a coo. George knows better.

"Had everybody looking at you, baby. Pretty boy moving his pretty body."

Lewis speaks like he's on autopilot, as though he can't reign his thoughts in before he speaks, metaphorically drunk on George's body where he seeks out his skin and presses his nails in to drag across George's stomach. George sucks his stomach in and nods, begs - doesn't know what he's begging for.

"Lewis, please," he whispers, chasing Lewis' fingers again as they pass his jaw.

He's successful this time, sucking Lewis' index finger lightly, hollowing his cheeks when Lewis adds a second; baby blue eyes looking up at him through his lashes where George has slumped against the wall. Lewis' lips part slightly as he watches George suck, watches him make a mess of his fingers, wonders what he'd look like fucking back on them instead, letting Lewis fill him completely. He removes his fingers and shushes him when George whines, kissing him hard; needing.

"Wanted this for so long," George adds, hair sticking to his forehead slightly. Lewis reaches up to push it back, grips it enough to almost be tight. Lewis knows, understands the ache, the desire. This thing between them burns harshly with the want of their desire and all the lost touches, the lingering, culminates to this.

George moans again, lifts his gaze to stare back at him. His lips are glossy with spit and when he slowly sinks to his knees, grabs for the buttons on Lewis' pants, Lewis sinks his hand into George's hair again and lets him - doesn't think of what this means for them, doesn't think of tomorrow, thinks of nothing else but this boy - his boy - on his knees for him, swallowing him down, pulling Lewis under with him.

[moicrunchysillies]

thems

This account is so I can post about my lil guys so expect to see more of them here!

I'm just fucking around tbh they fun to draw and it'll be fun for other people to see :D

If u would like to know more about thems or ask me anything I will kiss u and happily tell u about thems!

So have info about them for now👍

[chorodevotee]

「 ✦ Welcome to my little shrine ✦ 」

Hello there! My name's Valeri (Val for short), I'm 19 and this is my Osomatsu-san/OC content blog! My little shrine for the (fictional) people boyfailures I love the most.

I am currently: NOT taking requests, but I plan to! When I feel truly ready for it...

Things I'll post and reblog here:

Random headcanons of the boys (mainly Choromatsu and Osomatsu, because they're my absolute favorites!)

Content about my Oso-san OC (Her name is Yakko. You will meet her soon enough!)

My art, hopefully! Hopefully!

Any and all things related to Oso-san, really...

Poetry, maybe?

Things you should know:

N//SFW will be posted here. So, minors, please don't interact. You'll be blocked on sight.

Dark topics / yandere stuff will be posted here (with proper warnings, of course). If you don't like that kind of content, don't read it or interact.

I won't post BLmatsu. Please don't tag my content as BLmatsu or anything of the likes.

Osomatsu-san IS my whole personality, btw... This is what happens when you like a series a little too much for a little too long. It becomes part of you.

I'm completely and utterly insane about this anime and its characters.

I'm a tree that has grown too big. Everything that nurtured me, I have swallowed. Tangled in my roots and buried in my skin are the things dearest to me. Where does my devotion end, and where do I start?

English isn't my first language, so... Please bear with me, I am trying very hard.

Welp, I think that's about it. Is this good enough? I've never managed a blog before... I hope we all can get along! I'm shy, but I'm totally willing to talk. Especially about Oso-san, obvs...

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

hi :)

[ejcaswelll]

hello everyone i’ve literally refused to look at the hsmtmts ig or read any news about s4 since that one cast photo without ej . feeling very normal about this

[lovely-english-rose]

idk maybe i just don't like my stuff much anymore because any time i have the audacity to be proud of or enjoy something i made its beaten out of me

[sheepgirlmaidtummy]

sending you burgers for when ramadan ends

AUHG TY TY TY TY TYT TY TY TY ILYSM,, PRAYING FOR YOU

[the-kipsabian]

idk if im gonna be very vocal today, had a very anxiety inducing dream about topics im very sensitive about and now i feel like shit so. yeah

[rainbow-needs-help]

We’re trying this for real this time. hopefully without the computer yeeting my post into the abyss before I’m finished. Idk what I wrote in my little spiel in the og post before it died but I know I said something along the lines of starting to actually practice writing/journaling a little bit and wanting to improve, and being kinda proud of some bullshit I whipped up the other night when I couldn’t sleep so. Without further ado, some thoughts on my brother’s bedroom window:

I wish my window was like my brother’s, placed above the roof over our porch. A turn of a latch, a slide of the glass, and a push of the screen, and he could sit on rough tiles under the night sky. His is the only window like that in our home.

I wish my window was like my brother’s. I’d clamber up to the peak of our rooftop, the tiles scaping my hands and knees and pulling out little red drops as I crawl and climb and finally settle. I’d lay on my back, face towards the stars; I’d reach. My palm scraped, bloodied, raw, turned to the heavens in a silent question, asking–begging, pleading–to be taken away. Not forever. Just for a moment. Just for a day. Just for a chance to look down upon the Earth and witness life as the stars do.

I’d drop my hand. It would settle on my stomach, on top of the other. My ankles would be crossed. My head would be back. My mind would be quiet. My eyes would trace the few constellations I know and could see, until they slip closed. And then, I would sleep.

I wish my window was like my brother’s, so that I could feel a moment of peace. Perhaps it’s good thing that window is his. If it were mine–if the gateway to the moon and the stars and the endless sky were mine–I may never return to Earth.

[wireframearson]

gay people

without words + transparent under the cut

[dataflowdiagram]

Call of the Bells

The bell that wakes me from my sleep The bell that tolls my dying The Jingling bells that rattle sweet The one that marks my crying The bells of sadness, joy, or light The bells of those that we forget They ring for all, those out of sight And yet, we keep what we can get I long to mark those bells of time To write them down, remember The days bells rang for me and mine On this, a new November A cold and dreary autumn night as it was pressing winter The day the bells come out to fight And All shall see them splinter The shattering battering Murdering rage the bells they fall, break from their cage They run, and prance, and dance about In Merriment, they seek to shout. Be free.

[b0nkers-papaya]

Funfact: Dru is extremely flexible. Like, lowkey kind of scary flexible.

Unfortunately, Dru is completely unaware about this fact about themselves. Alyss would, and very much could tell Dru straight up, but she wants Dru to find out on their own because she thinks it would be funny, so now she’s kind of just waiting for it to happen. However, Dru is not the type to “fuck around and find out” and actually uses their brain on a day to day basis, much to Alyss’s dismay.

[countv0ncunt]

you don't HAVE to be niceys to me but being mean to me is like being mean to a bumblebee that bumbled into you between flowers :/