#he is sooooooooooooo oh my gos

[seiwas]

every time i think or speak abt hajime the words just flow out in an endless stream 😔

[xoalsox]

taemin doing jonghyun's adlib in sherlock (originally in clue)

[mrschwartz]

INSANE thing he's said that i'm not fully convinced isn't made up

[likesummerrainn]

SurrealEstate 2.03 The Butler Didn't

"Why do all of August's machines look like what people in 1953 thought machines in 1997 would look like..."

[orcelito]

Tales of Arise is the game of all time

Proof: this face on Dohalim ^

Also these scenery pics I took. This game is really beautiful

[theother-victoria]

actual footage of me after reading this

bound beyond time (i’m forever yours) ft. mr. reca ☼ honkai: star rail

selected fandom : 崩坏：星穹铁道

xoxo, ieva ✶ @theother-victoria hiii, vic! i got you for secret santa; i hope i did him justice for you 💗

syn. in the center of every stage was you, yours was a face he couldn’t and never wanted to forget. the contrary applied to you in every life you’ve lived, all except this one. to his surprise—this time, his was the face you remembered from the times he extended his hand out to you after every performance.

In the center of every stage, there was you. From the cadence of your voice delivering every line to the precise movements of your hands emphasizing every emotion, you embodied perfection in his eyes. To him, you weren’t just a performer—you were the performance. The curtains couldn’t conceal your brilliance; instead, they framed it, accentuating the glow of your stardom with every rise and fall. It was every actor’s peak, one that he believed you were destined for.

Mr. Reca was an eccentric man, his reputation preceding him as one of the most celebrated filmmakers in the cosmos. His days were consumed by plotting intricate narratives, brainstorming ideas that pushed the boundaries of imagination, and nitpicking the finest details, all in pursuit of the masterpiece he dreamed of creating. Among the countless memories he had meticulously archived—keeping the vivid and discarding the uninspired—the moment he first saw you shone brightly in the former category. That meeting, etched into his mind, marked the beginning of something extraordinary. You weren’t just another actor; you had become the axis around which his creative world turned.

It amazed you how someone could devote themselves so entirely to their craft. Your perception of Mr. Reca had shifted over time, from initial awe to something more layered. If you could choose one word to describe him now, it would be finicky.

On set, Mr. Reca’s presence was undeniable. When he stepped into the center, a magnetic energy followed—commands spilled effortlessly from his lips, drawing immediate action from the actors and crew around him. His brilliance was as much a curse as it was a blessing. Inspiration often clouded his judgment, and you could see it in the furrow of his brow or the glint in his eyes, revealing whether he was boisterously elated or utterly dissatisfied with the unfolding scene. A lack of passion is discardable, while a hunger for new heights always reached the surface— it was the pinnacle for success.

As devoted as you were to your own craft, you knew you could never match his obsession. It wasn’t just passion for him���it was compulsion, a relentless pursuit of perfection that left no detail untouched. To stand in his world, under his scrutiny, was as overwhelming as it was inspiring.

Mr. Reca’s gaze lingered on you, sharp and unrelenting, as though he were dissecting every fragment of your soul. His eyes, dark and gleaming like polished obsidian, held a peculiar mix of scrutiny and reverence. It wasn’t a passing glance—it was the kind of look that peeled back layers, that saw beyond the surface, straight into the essence of who you were. It was the kind of gaze you’ve never grown accustomed to, yet were eagerly anticipating. Being valuable, being of use, it added a sense of belonging—as if you were born to be a performer.

(Deep down, you wanted that to be true too.)

Finally, he spoke, his voice low but resounding, filling the room with the weight of his words. “Do you know what you’ve done here?” He stepped closer, the intensity in his eyes burning brighter. “This... this isn’t mere performance. This is art, raw and untamed. Brilliant, utterly brilliant!”

The silence stretched as if the galaxy itself held its breath. Then, his voice dropped to an almost reverent whisper. “You don’t just act—you become. It’s a skill not many possess, your ability is what I’ve been searching the cosmos for! And yet... even perfection is not enough. I need more from you. Do you understand?”

“But director—”

He raised his hand, signaling for you to wait for him to finish.

He paused, his gaze softening just a fraction. “But mark my words—you are unlike any I’ve ever seen. You are the center of this world I’m building. It is your time to shine!”

You barely managed a nod, his words heavy with both expectation and strange admiration. Mr. Reca’s intensity was like a force of nature, sweeping everyone in his orbit along with it. He stepped back, his hands already sketching shapes in the air, as though he could see the entire film projected before him.

“More,” he muttered, half to himself. “More than this. This is a star’s performance, yes—but it must be a supernova. I need to see every raw nerve, every flicker of despair, every shred of hope clawing to survive. Anything less is mediocrity.”

His gaze snapped back to you. “And you are not mediocre.”

The words struck you, not for their praise but for their precision. They felt less like a compliment and more like a decree, as though failure wasn’t just unacceptable—it was unthinkable. It came off as a form of pressure, weights beginning to tower on your back as you took a deep breath.

“You ask for so much,” you replied quietly, your voice steady but tinged with frustration. “But what if I can’t give you more? What if I’m already giving you everything I have?”

He paused, visibly caught off-guard by your honesty. His hand, mid-gesture, stilled in the air. Then he laughed, a sound both unexpected and startling, sharp as glass but somehow rich with amusement.

“My star,” he said, his voice dripping with theatrical flair, “you misunderstand. It’s not that you lack—it’s that you don’t yet know how much you possess. My job is to pull it out of you, to strip away every inhibition, every doubt, until only brilliance remains.”

(I will break down the wall that is blocking your potential.)

His steps carried him closer, his figure looming as he peered at you with a ferocity that gave you goosebumps. “It’s not perfection I demand from you,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, almost conspiratorial. “It’s truth. And truth is messy, painful, glorious. Do you understand now?”

You held his gaze, unwilling to let him intimidate you, and yet there was a flicker of something unfamiliar in your chest. Admiration, yes—but also a strange yearning, a desire to rise to his impossible standards. Not just to meet them but to exceed them, to see that glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes again. It was almost tugging at your heart, desire overcoming your senses. Even if the slightest hint of doubt remained, you’d lift your chin to stare him in the eyes—for it was the only way you’d ever be content with yourself.

“I understand,” you said, your voice firmer now.

“Good.” He straightened, his expression shifting back to his usual manic determination. “Because the next scene must be unforgettable. The audience must feel the weight of your love, your grief, your longing. As if you’ve lived it yourself.”

Your breath hitched. He wasn’t asking for a performance anymore; he was asking for something deeply personal, something real.

Incorporate your feelings into your voice; let it be apparent what you’re trying to convey.

Don’t let the audience “guess”, let them “know”.

It was the mantra you played in your head, several minutes before the soles of your shoes collided with the wood on the stage. The straightening of your shoulders, balanced posture, and a prayer that you wouldn’t forget any of your lines. You controlled the pitch of your voice, and the rhythm of the story you were demonstrating to the crowd. It almost seemed as if you weren’t doing a good enough job at that from his critique.

“And how would you suggest I do that?” you asked, folding your arms in apparent offense. “Pluck longing and grief out of thin air? Or perhaps you think I should have lived a dozen lifetimes to understand such emotions.”

His lips curved into a smirk, sharp and knowing. “Perhaps you have.”

The comment caught you off-guard, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if he was teasing or if there was some deeper meaning hidden beneath his words. He turned abruptly, his coat swirling around him as he strode toward the edge of the stage with haste.

“Come,” he called over his shoulder, extending a hand towards you. “We’ll rehearse until the stars themselves grow envious. I won’t rest until this is the greatest scene ever captured on film.”

You followed reluctantly, the weight of his expectations pressing down on you. But even as he barked commands and paced relentlessly, there was something in the way he watched you, his gaze softer than before, tinged with an emotion you couldn’t quite name. It caused you to allow him to take your hand, sharing the warmth and determination in his slender yet calloused fingers.

The rehearsal dragged into the late hours, the rest of the cast dismissed long ago, leaving only you and Mr. Reca under the harsh glow of the stage lights. He had become quieter as the hours passed, his energy focused entirely on you.

-

Practicing with Reca felt like an endless marathon.

“Again,” he said, leaning forward in his chair, the intensity in his eyes undiminished.

You delivered the line for what seemed like the millionth time, your voice cracking with exhaustion.

“Better,” he murmured. Then, after a pause, softer still, “You’re getting there.”

It was the closest thing to praise he’d given all night, and for reasons you couldn’t explain, it made your chest tighten.

“Do you ever stop?” you asked, half-joking but half-serious.

He looked at you sharply, as though the question had offended him, but then his expression shifted. “Stopping is for those who are satisfied,” he said, his voice unusually subdued. “And satisfaction... is for the ordinary.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “And what about happiness? Do you think that’s ordinary too?”

The question seemed to catch him by surprise. He leaned back in his chair, the shadow of a smile playing on his lips. “Happiness,” he echoed. “Perhaps. But happiness is fleeting. Creation—true creation—is eternal! Once this is ingrained into your soul, you will find what you truly desire.”

You stepped closer, emboldened by the rare moment of vulnerability. “And yet, for all your talk of eternity, you seem afraid of anything that lasts.”

His gaze snapped to yours, startled, and for a moment, the air between you felt charged with something unspoken. Then, slowly, he smiled—a small, sardonic thing. It annoyed you greatly, but your thoughts remained unspoken. After all, the director’s words were law in the field they were trapped in.

“You have a way of cutting to the case,” he said. “I’ll give you that.”

“You make it easy,” you replied, your voice tinged with amusement.

The silence that followed was different this time, less tense and more... intimate. His gaze softened, lingering on you as if trying to unravel a mystery he hadn’t yet solved. You could sense his delight through his eyes, that shined with a lovely brilliance as though the world had revealed its most precious secret.

“You are extraordinary,” he said finally, his tone low and almost reverent. “Even if you don’t realize it yet.”

For the first time, his words didn’t feel like a critique or an expectation. They felt like something else entirely.

-

Seeing you in another lifetime was something he’d never imagined was possible. Your position on set, the props, the lines you were rehearsing, he could view them in his mind as horizontal frames. The world seemed to momentarily glitch, as if the fabric of time itself had slipped, and he was stepping through a scene he was familiarized with. Is this what Deja Vu feels like?

He’s felt as though he’s done this before, standing in front of you like this—asking a question he never thought he’d ask. It was pure, unbridled curiosity—a rush of water that needed a blockage, your answer.

“Why have you decided to become an actor?”

“It wasn’t a choice, really,” you admitted. “It was... instinctual. Like breathing. I suppose it’s where I feel most alive, where I feel like myself. The stage.. feels like my home.”

He nodded slowly, as if turning your words over in his mind. “That’s how I feel about directing,” he said. His gaze drifted upward, past you, as though seeing something far beyond the theater walls. “Just as you were born to be a star, I was born to put your abilities to use—to create a revolutionary film with you as my main character!”

He is meant to control the narrative, yet often—he’d find himself oppressing your influence of turning this into something uniquely yours.

“I feel as though this is something I've told you before,” he spoke, his eyes snapping back to you, locking onto yours with a sudden intensity. “Do you remember anything?”

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening. There was something about his words that struck a chord deep within you. A faint memory stirred—hazy and fleeting, like a dream you couldn’t quite grasp. You drew a blank, leading to your next words that carried a hint of uncertainty.

“No,” you admitted, “I’m pretty sure this is the first time you’ve said this, Director.”

“Then the lack of rehearsals is causing me to misremember, the universe is beckoning for us to get back on stage!”

“I won’t let this masterpiece stagnate while I still have time! Tomorrow, we rehearse Act Three until it sings—or until we all drop from exhaustion!”

You couldn’t help but giggle as he stormed off, already muttering notes to himself about lighting angles and blocking. Despite his eccentricities—or perhaps because of them—he had a way of drawing you in, of making you believe you were part of something monumental.

-

Under the dim glow of the stage lights, the set was transformed into a cavernous, otherworldly temple. The scene was surreal, layered with blues and silvers that shimmered like moonlight on water. Columns twisted upward into the darkness, vanishing into a false infinity. You and Mr. Reca stood at opposite ends of the stage, the energy between you crackling with tension.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice unusually soft, almost hesitant. Something was wrong. He seemed almost fidgety and it was beginning to bother you.

You nodded, unsure why this scene felt heavier than the others. The script was straightforward—a confrontation between a prophet and a wanderer, an exploration of fate and choice. Yet something about it felt... wrong, or perhaps too right, as though it didn’t belong to the film at all but was borrowed from somewhere else.

He stepped forward, his character—the prophet—looming with an unsettling grace. His robe billowed with each step, as if a phantom wind followed him. You remained still, the wanderer, your figure clad in tattered attire, a stark contrast to his grandeur. A contrast in energies paired with it.

When he spoke, it wasn’t Reca’s voice you heard, but something older, deeper, resonating in your very bones. “You’ve come far, traveler. But tell me, what is it you seek?”

You hesitated, your lines faltering on your lips. The stage around you blurred, its edges distorting like ripples in water. The script’s dialogue faded from your memory, and instead, words spilled from you unbidden, as though summoned from a place beyond thought. You could feel your words wavering, a habit Mr. Reca had forbid you several times, but you never remembered his exact words.

“I seek... clarity,” you said, your voice trembling. “A truth that eludes me. Something I feel I’ve lost.”

Reca tilted his head, his dark eyes glittering like twin stars. “Truth,” he echoed, a faint smile curling at the edges of his lips. “You ask for the impossible, for truth is fleeting. It is a reflection in shattered glass. And yet, you persist. Why?”

Your hands clenched at your sides, and without thinking, you took a step forward, emboldened by the unfolding scenario. “Because it’s all I have left! A memory I can’t place, a face I can’t name... but I know it’s there. Somewhere. I feel it.”

He froze, his gaze sharpening, and for a heartbeat, it wasn’t the prophet staring at you—it was Mr. Reca. His lips parted slightly, as though he recognized something in your words. But just as quickly, he slipped back into character, his voice cold and unyielding.

The way it should be.

(The way he needed it to be.)

“Memories are not absolutes,” he intoned. “They are fabrications of the mind, stitched together from fragments of dreams and shadows. What you seek is folly.”

“No,” you shot back, your voice rising with raw emotion. “What I seek is mine! And I will tear through the heavens if I must to reclaim it!”

For a moment, he looked at you as if seeing you for the first time. His hands, usually so precise in their gestures, wavered. He remembers you.

Then, breaking the tension, he closed the distance between you with sudden ferocity. He reached out and grabbed your wrist, his grip firm but not painful. His eyes bore into yours, his next words quiet but resonant.

“Do you remember me?”

(Do you remember this scene?)

The question wasn’t part of the script.

Your gaze was illusive, attempting to recall a line— even trying to conjure one from thin air. The temple around you seemed to ripple and fade, the illusion breaking apart. The stage, the lights, even the props—all felt like a thin veneer over something vast and incomprehensible. Like mesh fabric, it wasn’t difficult to see through—only if you paid close enough attention.

By now, he would’ve uttered your line to you if you’d forgotten—but that wasn’t the case. This was real.

“I...” Your voice cracked. “I don’t know.”

His grip tightened slightly, his gaze desperate now. “Think. Feel. There’s more to this than you understand. I’ve seen this before, lived it before—you’ve lived it before.”

The words struck like a bolt of lightning, leaving you breathless. A flicker of something surged through you—an image, a feeling, a name that hovered just out of reach. What was he talking about?

(Do I remember you?)

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whispered, your voice trembling. It was like staring at a wolf who bared his fangs, where an incorrect answer could cost you your life.

He released you, stepping back, his expression unreadable. The prophet’s mask shattered completely, leaving only Mr. Reca��his vulnerability laid bare in a way you’d never seen before. “Then we’ve already lost time,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But perhaps this time, we’ll get it right.”

The moment lingered, heavy and tense. Then he shook his head, clapping his hands sharply. “Again!” he declared, his tone snapping back to its usual commanding presence. “From the top! And this time, don’t hold back.”

A scene fueled by pure, utter desperation.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that the scene was more than a rehearsal. It was a fragment of something deeper—a connection that transcended lifetimes.

-

You didn’t remember him.

It was a devastating blow, one he couldn’t overlook no matter how much he tried. After so many lives together, only his memories remained intact—a cruel imbalance, as if the universe itself delighted in reminding him how fleeting your connection could be. It was like trying to hold water with your bare hands, watching it slip away no matter how tightly you clenched your fists. The offense he felt struck him like lightning, he could already imagine the dark clouds above his head—pouring heavy rains down his coat.

And yet, he clung to you, or rather, to the idea of you. To the fragments of the person you’d been in the countless lives you’d shared. Perhaps it was his curse, to be the only one who remembered, to carry the weight of your shared past while you looked at him with eyes that held no recognition. A cruel twist of fate, where you were always the star and the forgotten shadow trailing behind you.

This life, however, felt like the harshest punishment of them all.

He stood frozen on the street, staring up at the towering billboard where your face was plastered in bold, cinematic glory. You were radiant, even in stillness. The advertisement was for a new film—a blockbuster directed by someone else. Someone who wasn’t him.

The sight twisted the knife further. Out of every life you’d lived together, this one just so happened to be his least favorite. You didn’t know him. You didn’t work with him. And, worst of all, you didn’t belong to his world anymore.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he adjusted his grip on the bouquet of flowers in his hand. The bright, delicate petals felt absurd in contrast to the weight in his chest. What use were flowers when you wouldn’t pay any mind to him?

To you, in this life, he was nothing more than a stranger—a nameless admirer who might approach you after a performance with stammered praise for your acting. Not that such an assumption was false, but it was painfully incomplete. Admiration was a drop in the ocean compared to the depth of what he felt.

He wanted to be more than that.

He had been more than that.

He ran a hand through his already-disheveled hair, his fingers trembling as they brushed against his forehead. How many times had he vowed to stop chasing after you in lives like this? To let you go and trust that, somehow, fate would realign your paths? And how many times had he broken that vow the moment he saw your face again, his resolve crumbling to dust under the weight of his longing?

He couldn’t turn back now.

Not when his leather shoes had already trampled the floors of the grand theater, carrying him to the ticket booth just to be the first in line. Not when he had spent hours rehearsing how he might introduce himself to you. God, he was an utter mess—a man reduced to shambles by the memory of a love you couldn’t even recall.

The theater doors loomed before him, an entrance to a world where you shone brightest. He hesitated, clutching the bouquet tighter, the edges of the paper crinkling under his grip. What would he even say? What could he say? Should he even approach you?

For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he should leave. But his feet betrayed him, dragging him inside as though the gravity of your presence was impossible to resist even in this life.

He didn’t know what he was hoping for. A spark of recognition? A fragment of the soul-deep connection you used to share? Or perhaps just a moment, however brief, where he could bask in the warmth of your light again.

As he stepped into the theater lobby, the familiar hum of anticipation filled the air. Posters of you adorned the walls, each one a reminder of how far you’d come in this life—how far from him you now stood.

The flowers in his hand suddenly felt heavier. What use were they when he was chasing a ghost of who you’d been? When the version of you he loved existed only in his memory?

And yet, he stayed.

Because no matter how many lifetimes passed, no matter how often the story ended the same way, he couldn’t stop himself from hoping that this time, it might be different. That maybe, just maybe, you’d see him.

Not as a stranger, not as a fan.

But as someone you’d once loved too.

As he embraced the role of the spectator this once, he sat in one of the seats in the front row. Each seat is typically upholstered in rich and comfortable fabric, in a deep hue of crimson. The padding is firm yet inviting, crafted to cradle the audience through long performances.

It was almost as if he were dreaming.

He’s familiar with this scene, but his role was different in this life. He’s used to the praises from the audience for his directory work, glimmering eyes with the most reverent expressions—but this work was not his. You weren’t his.

The seats were filled to the brim, and the film was nothing short of astonishing—though he couldn’t give too much credit. There were too many plot holes that contradicted earlier events, some of the injuries looked feigned, the sounds were recycled one too many times for his liking— he could continue until sunrise if that was what it would take. The only thing that saved this film was you. In his professional opinion, of course.

It wasn’t simply films that laid buried in your inventory, but plays as well. It was an opportunity he wouldn’t miss for the world. The stage was yours, and everyone else belonged in the background—that was how it’s meant to be. As your tears kissed the tiles beneath your feet, the emotion in your voice had risen. What a wonderful sight it was.

The 25th of December, a holiday of caroling and the tearing of gift-wrappings. For him, it was only a day of solemnity.

The sight of you speaking to the other director made his heart ache, a sharp and visceral pang that tightened his chest. There you were, laughing softly at something the other man said, your hands gesturing animatedly as if you were sharing a private moment of camaraderie. He hated how natural it seemed, how effortlessly you connected with someone else in a way that used to belong to him. His fingers tightened around the stems of the bouquet he carried, the soft petals brushing against his wrist, as if mocking his hesitation to go through with this.

For a moment, he considered interrupting. He could stride over, extend the bouquet with a flourish, and perhaps even say something witty enough to draw your attention away from the other man. But what would be the point? To you, he was nothing more than a fan, a stranger whose presence was as fleeting as a gust of wind. The thought stung more than he cared to admit.

Ultimately, he decided against it. It wasn’t as if he could cut into your conversation, especially not with the radiant way you were smiling. The last thing he wanted was to tarnish that expression by making things awkward. Instead, he turned toward the hallway leading to your dressing room.

The narrow corridor felt suffocating, the plush carpet muffling his hurried steps as he made his way toward the door with your name displayed elegantly in bold, golden letters. A simple yet personal marker of the star you’d become. The star he assisted you in becoming in so many lives. He cherished those memories greatly.

He hesitated as he reached the door, staring at the handle for a long moment. The bouquet in his hand suddenly felt absurdly extravagant—delicate white lilies interspersed with soft pink roses, wrapped in a sheer ribbon. Would you even appreciate it? Would you know it was from him, or would it join the countless other gifts you received daily from fans and admirers?

Still, he couldn’t leave without doing something. With a sigh, he gently placed the bouquet on the small table outside your dressing room, arranging it just so. He adjusted the ribbon one final time before taking a step back to admire his handiwork. For a fleeting moment, he imagined your reaction upon finding it—your fingers brushing over the petals, your lips curving into a small, puzzled smile as you wondered who had left it.

But even that wasn’t enough to soothe the ache in his chest. He lingered a moment longer, his hand brushing against the edge of the table as though it might tether him there, might convince him to stay. But the sound of distant laughter echoing down the hall reminded him of reality.

With a deep breath, he turned and walked away, his steps brisk but heavy. The bouquet remained behind, a silent confession he couldn’t bring himself to voice.

Little did he know, you caught a glimpse of his face before he turned on his heel.

It was a cycle. He’d leave a beautiful bouquet in your dressing room, striding off with a snarky expression as if he’d just gotten away with a crime, completely undetected. He was aware of your gaze, and the slightest glimmer of hope filled his chest at the thought that maybe, just maybe, you’d seek him out.

The sky was beginning to darken, leaving him no choice but to exit the doors of his second home—letting the snowflakes drift onto his skin.

Footsteps.

And they were yours.

“Excuse me!” you called out, rapidly moving towards him before letting out a few pants—hinting at your rushed response to him leaving.

He froze mid-step, his breath catching in his throat as the sound of your voice cut through the cold evening air. The snowflakes fell in slow, lazy spirals, dusting his coat and hair, but he couldn’t bring himself to move or brush them off. His focus was on you. Come to think of it, when was it not? It almost caused him to chuckle.

His heart, however, betrayed him, hammering wildly in his chest.

You came to a halt a few steps away, clutching the bouquet of flowers he’d left in your dressing room. The sheer ribbon fluttered slightly in the winter breeze, and your cheeks were flushed—not just from the cold, he thought, but from the exertion of chasing after him.

“Are you the one who’s been leaving these?” you asked, holding the bouquet up slightly as if to emphasize your point. Your voice carried a mix of curiosity and something else—was it gratitude?

For a moment, he considered denying it. It would be so easy to shrug, to claim it wasn’t him, and slip away into the snowy night. But as his gaze met yours, he knew he couldn’t lie to you. Not when you’d gone out of your way to find him. Just as he hoped. Maybe this was the chance destiny had brought him to, would you remember him?

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice steady but quiet, the word lingering in the frosty air between you. “It was me.”

You blinked, clearly not expecting the direct confession. “But... why?”

He hesitated, the truth teetering on the edge of his tongue. How could he possibly explain it? That he remembered lives you didn’t, that he’d loved you in ways words could never encompass? Instead, he opted for something simpler, something you might actually understand.

“Do you know what you’ve done here?” He inquired, his voice filled with reverence and glee. “What you’ve conjured is no mere performance. This is art, raw and untamed.”

“These,” he pointed to the flowers that your hands clutched with the smallest amount of strength, enough to keep them from being blown away—yet not enough to dim their beauty. “Are gifts from an admirer of your craft, for you—my star, have cast your glance to even the dimmest areas in the theater!”

“Well,” you said after a beat, a kind smile tugging at the corners of your lips, “thank you. They’re beautiful.”

The silence between you was only filled with the sounds of children’s laughter as they gazed at toy trains through glass windows. This kind of atmosphere suited you, he believed.

“I never got your name,” you added, tilting your head slightly.

He hesitated, knowing that revealing too much could complicate everything. But then again, you’d sought him out—maybe, just maybe, this was a step forward.

“It’s Reca,” he said finally. “Just Reca.”

You gave him an amused look. “No last name?”

“Not one that matters,” he replied with a faint smirk, his usual snark slipping through despite himself.

You laughed softly, the sound like a melody he hadn’t realized he’d been longing to hear. “I think.. I remember you from somewhere, have we met before?”

Genuine surprise filled his features at your question, he almost felt his knees go weak at the realization that you remembered him.

“I believe we have.”

It was the only acceptable answer, every fiber of his being was begging for you to hold onto that recollection.

“I’m surprised I forgot in the first place.”

“Why, am I truly that forgettable? Let me make an impression so great to make sure that isn’t the case, hm?” He suggested, extending his hand—a gesture that you could reciprocate without hesitation.

“Coffee?”

“It’s eleven pm.”

“Please?”

(I’m glad you remembered, don’t ever forget me again.)

taglist 🔔 : @snobwhimsicality @mitsvriii @papiliotao @bladism @tragedy-of-commons @thestarswhisper @meirvelle @somatchajade @gladiolus-nyx @milk-violet

[tinybeetiny]

Proposal: Maknae Line

I split this into 2 parts because it was getting sooooo long anyways:

I know this isn't how traditional Korean proposals are... but I was raised in the US sooooooooooooo yeah :)

If you would like to be a part of the taglist please fill out this form

CW: Explicit language, cringey mushy, i tried not to repeat themes and stuff....

Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist | Ateez Wedding Masterlist | Hyung Line

San:

San had bought the ring MONTHS ago but he never found the right moment. He knew you didn’t like the cheesy grand gestures but he figured you wouldn't want something as nonchalant as a “Hey bud, marry me?” So he felt a little stuck. He thought Wooyoung would be able to help but he would always gave some crazy idea that made San rethink their friendship (JK they’re the real soulmates). After some extensive research, he found the perfect place.

“You want to do what?” You ask looking up from your phone “I want to go on a hike!” San said very VERY excited “Um honey… you know I’m not an outdoorsy person (I’m so sorry if you actually are)” you said hesitantly raising an eyebrow at your bouncing boyfriend “Please baby! It’ll be so much fun. I looked up the trail and it’s not even that far. Pretty smooth terrain!” San practically begged and who were you to deny your man of anything especially when he was so excited about it.

When the day finally came around you instantly regretted agreeing to come on this hike. Not only was it humid as all hell but the mosquitoes sensed you were gonna come outside that day and decided they would also like to be out as well “San. I’m getting devoured here. Why don’t we go back home and we can have a lazy day instead” you try to coax him back to the car “Nu-uh, you already agreed! No backing out now” he said taking your hand dragging you to the trail. It was a long hike before you reached the desired destination. “WAIT!” San yelled before turning to you “Close your eyes” You gave him a skeptical look “Why? What are you going to do to me?” You asked very suspicious of him.

The past couple of weeks he had been very sneaky and secretive, slamming his laptop shut whenever you came out of the room. You just figured he was watching porn or something but there was this lingering feeling it was something else. You hesitantly closed your eyes not expecting him to pick you up bridal style “What are you doing San?” You questioned as you wrapped your arms around his neck anxiously “I don’t want you to trip” he said, you could hear the smile in his voice. It took 30 seconds for San to walk to his desired location but the entire time he kept looking down to make sure you still had your eyes closed wanting to keep the element of your surprise. Your arms tightened around his neck when you felt yourself descending to the ground "Relax baby, I won't let you fall" he whispered in your ear. You hesitantly removed your arms once you felt your feet touch the ground "Keep your eyes closed just a little longer" You focused on your surroundings hearing the sound of a loud waterfall and the strong smell of nature took over your senses. It seemed as if the mosquitoes disappeared as well.

San took a moment to take in the surroundings, the way the sun reflected off the water, the trees gave enough privacy from wandering eyes, and the freshness of the scenery made him smile. "Okay! Open your eyes" He said with much excitement. It took a few seconds for your eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness from the sun but once they did you couldn't help but gasp, partly from the beautiful scenery but mostly at the image of San on one knee a few feet in front of you. "San, what are you doing?" You question not fully understanding. His eyes fill with realization before reaching into his pocket to retrieve the little black box "Oh my gosh" "Iloveyousomuchandiwanttospendforeverandeverwithyoupleasemarryme" He rushed (more like screamed) out, you stare at him for a minute not understanding a word he said "huh?" San took a deep breath for a moment "I love you so much and I want to spend forever and ever with you, please marry me" He said with a little more confidence "Yes, a thousand times yes" You said through tears. San was up in an instant taking you into his arms, and placing a firm kiss to your lips. He slid the ring on your finger finding it to fit perfectly "You know, we didn't have to hike for you to propose to me. You could've asked me at home but I love the effort either way"

Mingi:

"Wow Mingi, It's beautiful up here." You say staring over the edge of the balcony at the vast city below you "A beautiful date for my beautiful girl" He said with a silly grin on his face, you turned side-eyeing him for a moment "If I hear one more cheesy line from you I'm going to jump" you threaten, the whole plane ride over he was hitting you with cheesy pickup lines he read online somewhere... and it was a LONG flight but Mingi insisted on going to New York for your next date. But who are you kidding you loved every single word that came out of his mouth "Shush and come here so we can eat" he chuckled as he motioned for you to join him on the blanket he had set up, a rooftop picnic in New York seemed like a dream. You and Mingi had talked about quite literally everything from their upcoming tour to the bird that landed next to you the other day. It was a nice quiet change from your day-to-day craziness.

Up on this rooftop, it was just Mingi and you, no screaming fans, no work calls, no other soul to interrupt. Once you finished eating Mingi cleared everything and you positioned yourself in his arms not wanting this night to end "I don't want to go back yet Min, can we stay a little longer?" you say as you snuggle deeper into his chest "However long you want my love" His words a little muffled as he places a kiss to the top of your head "But first I have something I need to do" He says standing and pulling you to your feet as well. You look up at him a little confused as he takes a few deep breaths trying to calm his racing heart. It's always been you no matter what, no matter what he was going through he always thought of you. You were the one called when his mind got the best of him and yet you're the reason for his nerves now, not that he would ever change that. This is something he's been NEEDING to do for a while and there was no better moment than now. With one final deep breath, he knelt down on one knee, your eyes widening in surprise, and before he could even get a word out or even begin his speech he most definitely did not prepare you screamed a yes in his face. Mingi paused for a second not expecting your reaction at all. He stood with a wide smile on his face sliding the ring on and instantly running the the railing "SHE SAID YES" Mingi yelled to no one in particular and considering how high you were you would think no one would be able to hear but with how loud he was you wouldn't be surprised.

Wooyoung:

Wooyoung had asked you a total of 5 times, and each time you told him no. The last time he asked was 4 weeks ago at a nice restaurant right outside of Seoul, you knew it was coming just from the way he was acting. The food had just arrived and Wooyoung cleared his throat before you could start eating. He stood up and got down on one knee but before he could even get a word out you shook your head "Get your ass back in your seat now" you whisper yelled, Wooyoung blinked before pretending to tie his shoe.

The rest of the dinner was... quiet. It's not that you didn't want him to propose you just didn't want something so public, but Woo was so outgoing that he wanted a grand gesture to show how big his love for you really was. "I don't know what to do Hwa, she keeps saying no, maybe she doesn't actually want to marry me" He felt defeated "I don't think that's the issue here, have you guys ever talked about it before? Like what her dream proposal is or something?" Seonghwa questioned him, now that he mentioned it you guys never really talked about the whole proposal thing, you talked about everything after. "Maybe she doesn't want something so big and public. You can still make an effort without it being too much" Seonghwa gave him a couple pats on the back before getting up and leaving.

"Please San! Yeosand already said he would help me" Wooyoung was begging at this point, he had thought of the perfect plan but he needed people to help "I told you man if I cancel again she's going to kill me, ask Mingi he's got nothing planned" San said before they hung up. Sighing, Wooyoung opted to text Mingi demanding his assistance rather than asking which to his surprise he agreed right away.

"You want it here?" Mingi asked holding the giant heart in the OPPOSITE direction of where Woo wanted it "NO, give it here, take these rose petals and spread them like this" Wooyoung exasperated. Mingi and Yeosang shared glances both having the same thought, Wooyoung was acting like a bridezilla and he wasn't even the bride. "Is this good enough Woo?" Yeosang asked after spreading the last of the rose petals "I think so, I texted her to meet me around 7 and it's-" Wooyoung paused to look at his phone "OH SHIT IT'S 6:50, I HAVE TO CHANGE, YOU TWO GET, THANK YOU FOR YOUR HARD WORK BUT YOU GOTTA GO" He yelled pushing the two out of the door. He got changed in record time giving him 2 minutes before your arrival. 2 minutes to calm his nerves. 2 minutes before potentially changing his life forever (he's quite the dramatic king I love it).

"Hello? Woo? Are you here?" He heard your sweet voice calling out to him "IN HERE MY LOVE" He called back. He heard your heels clicking closer and closer until you reached the slightly cracked door, with a tentative push you opened it the rest of the way. "Hey, what was so urgent that you-" You stopped mid-sentence noticing the rose petals at your feet. Your eyes continued to travel until they landed on your boyfriend, then the giant heart with the four words that you've heard five times now but this time felt different. This time it felt more personal, not so many eyes, just Wooyoung and you. "So, what do you say?" he asked hopeful that you would say yes this time. He just about shit himself when he saw you smile, nodding your head as you made your over to him. "Are you being serious right now?" He asked shocked that you actually said yes "Yes Woo, I'm saying yes. I really wanted this moment for us to just be US. It means a lot to me and I'm not willing to share it with anyone else. That's why I kept saying no. Everything was too much" you said taking his hand into yours "Oh come on, not EVERYTHING was too much" he said rolling his eyes "The ostrich....?" you question him tilting your head "HEY it was the one Seonghwa rode, I think" "Why would I want that?!"

Jongho:

Jongho wasn’t too into grand gestures, he'd much rather keep things lowkey but he couldn’t be too lowkey. He always wanted to keep the intimate moments of your relationship private, not really posting about or talking about it publicly. That doesn't mean he didn't cherish you more than anything, keeping all your moments via photos and videos. After 1 year he had to buy more storage on his phone seeing as it was all taken up by you. He had thought long and hard about how he was going to go about this until he figured he could put all these pictures to good use. It took him a good 2 weeks to put everything together seeing as though there were thousands of photos to go through and he wasn't trying to have a 2- hour movie which was honestly very hard, he had a lot of favorites. "Seonghwa. I need to borrow something" Jongho stated, not even asking “what do you need to borrow?” Seonghwa asked cautiously “pillows”

"Oh Jongie! This looks amazing, I can't wait to- are those Seonghwa’s pillows?" You turn giving him a questioning look, he only shrugs in response motioning you to sit. You cuddle up on the blanket as he reaches for the remote. "So, what movie did you pick out?" You ask as he turns on the projector "The Wailing" he smirks as he watches your eyes widen in horror "The what? You know I don't like scary movies" You whined, rolling your eyes. Jongho kisses the side of your head, snuggling you closer.

He presses play and his voice is the first thing you hear "Hey (Y/n)... and future me. I bet you're so confused right now, bet you look so cute too." You feel him chuckle next to you. He was right, you were extremely confused. You were fully expecting to be scared out of your pants instead you see your boyfriend's face up on the screen "Now that you can see my handsome face I'll explain. I wanted to put together a little something to show how much I love you! So sit back and relax, with me. and enjoy" He gives a wide gummy smile before he disappears and a picture of you from your first date shows up. You look over at Jongho and find him staring intently at the screen.

The slide show continues and you feel yourself tearing up. You felt several tears run down your cheeks as a little video of the 7 boys popped up “hey shorty, I hope you’re pleasantly surprise! He’s been working on this for like almost a month now” you hear Hongjoong say “you’re the last person to be calling someone shorty” Wooyoung pointed out. He quickly shut his mouth when Hongjoong gave him a side eye. The rest of the boys gave their little speeches of how they think you’re so great and the perfect fit for their maknae. The floodgates finally opened when Jongho popped up on the screen again “Hi again baby! Did you like my surprise? I bet you did! I bet you’re crying right now. Anyways. I’m gonna let me take over from here. I love you” You feel Jongho move next to you, looking over to you seen him knelt on one knee “Holy shit” you gasp “I love you more than anything in this world. Will you marry me?” He asks with hopeful eyes “yes oh my gosh yes absolutely I will marry you” you cry tackling him into a hug “oh hold on” he says reaching for the remote. He presses a button and the boys are on the screen again screaming and cheering while Wooyoung is running around in circles “what is this?” You laugh “it’s their reaction to you saying yes… you don’t want to see the other….”

[catcze]

APHRODITE APHRODITE APHRODITE OMG OMG HI ITS SO GOOD TO SEE YOU POSTING !!! and about WRIOSTHSDFJS HES SOOOOOOOOOOOOO FINE.

i have so many unsavory thoughts about his handcuffs....... his broad shoulders.......... his fluffy hair.......... omg he is so dogboy HE IS SO GERMAN SHEPARD CODED????? LIKE PLS SIR GROW EARS SO I CAN PET YOU ??????? i just wanna give his head pats and scritches while he lays his head on my lap 🥰🥰🥰 im such a sucker for that ong I JUST LOVE HIM HES SO FINE I CANT WAIT TO HAVE HIM

(sidenote also hurt/comfort wrapping his fists after he gets into a fight without his gloves ?? BLOODY KNUCKLES KINDA....... JUST KISSING HIS HANDS WHICH ARE SURELY SCARRED FROM THAT TYPE OF FIGHTING)

REN BABY HEYYYYYYY <33 I MISSED U !!!!

MY GOD SO TRUEEEE 😭😭 bro he is so fine forreal holy shit ;;;; there is just smth about him that !!! AHSDHAJKSBS I can't even word it but omg his vibes are just so off the chart 👀

AND YESSS My god just soft moments with Wriothesley,,, BRO could you just imagine how he would met into your touch, and how he would sorta push his head up into your hand when it pets and plays with his hair? and how, if you stop, he'd open his eyes and give you a little glare until you get back to it, then and only then will he close his eyes back up and lean back into your lap.

AN D UFUALKMDS THE HAND WRAPPING LORD HAVE MERCY;; the urge to write this fic after u mentioned it??? aaAAAA

Like him trying to do it himself at first, since he's experienced in patching himself up after his fights and he doesn't want to bother you with something like this, but he immediately caves when you see it, gasp, and then take his hand in yours to help. And oh you're so busy with spreading ointment on his split knuckles and wrapping it so gently in bandages, worried that you're doing it too loosely or too tightly, that you don't even see the way his gaze on you is so fond. He holds still for you, places his hand on your lap so you can tend to it, and does his best to assure you that he's fine, dearest. Wriothesley doesn't think his heart can take much more, seeing you dote on him and care for his worn and scarred hands–– then you raise his hands to your lips and give it the gentlest of pecks, then turn his palms over and pepper small kisses over every scar you know is hidden under the bandages. All the way from his hands, to his wrists, then migrating to his face and up to his lips. And it's all he can do to contain himself when his heart feels like it's going to jump right out of his chest.

("Be careful next time, okay?"

"I promise, my love."

"And find me when you need help, please. It makes me feel better knowing I can help you like this. Knowing that you're cared for."

and as if he thinks you couldn't make him love you any more than he already does, you just go and prove him wrong.)

[thesweetnessofspring]

What blows my mind on rereading the books is how attracted to Peeta Katniss is. I hadn’t read them for years so I did think of them as a typical wholesome relationship with a nice guy that never dives into the attraction parts. But now I see the constant flirting that happens, the hunger and need to be close, the description of his body and face, the whole beach scene. And Peeta is super respectful for all of the books but Suzanne didn’t make it seem like a lot of nice guys are written where they wouldn’t dare show any attraction. Peeta in the cave is sneaking in kisses and post games he mentions them being alone together. They’re RIDICULOUSLY into each other . And I appreciate that they found the balance of a nice couple being horny for each other, it always feels like most media at the time portrayed sexual need as something that can only happen with bad boys.

They are into each other at EVERY SINGLE LEVEL it is ridiculous. As a fandom grandma, I remember when people were fancasting Peeta back in the day and one of the more popular choices (though he was 🤢 for many reasons) was Alex Pettyfer. I think a lot of people pictured Peeta super hot (as opposed to what he really is, which is boy-next-door-cute) in part because Katniss's details and descriptions of him are soooo layered with her attraction. Like yes, Katniss, please go on more about his big strong arms and the sunlight in his hair and his blue eyes. 😂 We don't get Peeta's POV but it's obvious he's smitten by her physically as well, saying the flames suit her and that to him she's "perfect."

And Peeta!! That boy could be such a heartbreaker if he wanted to! He flirts with Katniss so effortlessly and in general is really good around people, but he never gives her cause to be jealous (by my reading of the book he doesn't with Johanna in the elevator, even though the movie interpreted that part differently). And oh my, does Katniss crave his touches! Even from book one she's giving him genuine gestures of affection and delighted in what he gives to her. I think because kissing is more intimate she has a harder time feeling the "hunger" when they only ever kiss in front of the camera. I've said it before and I'll say it again, if Katniss ever had a chance to really kiss Peeta without cameras around she would have made up her mind about the boys a lot sooner.

Non, it is so, so, SO important to me that Katniss and Peeta have that real sexual chemistry you talk about and why the movies are so disappointing in this aspect. I think that relationships between adults in shows and movies have offered more that are "healthy, in love, and hot for each other" recently, but we hardly ever see it for teenagers! The "nice guy" is usually kinda awkward or there isn't a lot of chemistry, and all of the sexual tension comes from the "bad boy." There isn't really a bad boy equivalent in THG, but Peeta still fills in a sort of "good guy" role in the love triangle and the fact that Gale can get jealous and pushy but Katniss is still like 😑 with him, but 🥰 around Peeta is sooooooooooooo important. Like yes, teach those young people that healthy conflict resolution is hot!! Teach them that safety and gentleness is a turn-on!! YES YES YES!!!

[kakusu-shipping]

24 hours later and I'm still fucking thinking about him he has 30 minutes of screen time in which he says the most incomprehensible British Bullshit imaginable and then dies

This scene from Virtue's Las Reward with GTM-CM-G-OLM but instead of Luna, Sigma, and Alice being the dumbest dummies when it comes to technology it's just me going ham info dumping robot nonsense while I'm massaging his poor stiff joints and he's flirting with me the entire time

[baby-xemnas]

One thing I enjoy about Law/Bepo is that I constantly see the debate surrounding “Is Law getting it?” Like, is the man so hot and stoic he’s constantly getting ass or is he a creepy workaholic weirdo with terrible social skills who couldn’t possibly get laid? And the LawBepo answer is both. The man fell in love with a mink at 14 and has not looked back. He can hook one guy, specifically a guy who apologizes like it’s second nature and thus needs constant validation and is over obvious with his feelings in a way that’s nye impossible to misinterpret. Man found his wife at 14 while recovering from a depressive spell and thus has never had to exist in the normal dating scene. Could not possibly hit on a woman at a random bar and be successful on anything but his looks but is, in fact, constantly getting laid cause he picked his wife up out of the snow during his preteens. A creepy little weirdo who built his sexuality around a mink and thus would have a terrible time in a regular dating scene, who is dating his co worker and thus can work and fuck at the same time. Man has a partner with a natural predisposition to swimming and would do great on a regular sail ship but instead chose a submarine so his partner can never be more that 100ft away from him. A workaholic creepy little weirdo with negligible social skills who is, in fact, constantly getting laid, it’s the ideal Trafalgar Law.

THIS IS A BEAUTIFUL ASK ANON THANK YOU SO MUCH

Man found his wife at 14 while recovering from a depressive spell and thus has never had to exist in the normal dating scene

put that shit in GRANITE

constantly getting laid cause he picked his wife up out of the snow during his preteens Crying

😭😭😭

so. sooooo true. i love how he is so terrible when people flirt with him - easiest examples are Monet or Robin even if neither was serious about it we digress - he didnt even BOTHER being friendly like yeah yeah whatever whatever shut up bitch - he is such a rudeass, the type of rudeass that only comes with being extremely married. he is NOT interested, he will not lift a finger or bother with a smile

its soooo real how technically he has no game cuz he dont need it - i would argue with lack of social skills - he does have them he just doesnt use them - he can be charming as a person if he wants to (cuz how else do you collect such a big crew)

i dooo LOVE the thought of him being STRANGE AND OFFPUTTING and he is really saved by being a hottie when he is put in a fucking situation. he has to do very little, he is hot, and thats exactly what he does - bare minimum, he is so not invested - because he is thinking about how everyone is inferior to Bepo - also Bepo will be jealous if he finds out...Bepo..

BUILDING HIS SEXUALITY AROUND A MINK - YEEESSS thats my favorite!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! its the same with just HAVING always been with Bepo ofc its fucking normal that a guy is a bear, why the fuck not. thats a guy, thats their guy - Law's special guy in particular whomst he treasures...like IMAGINE living with a permanent furry since middle school thats ought to become normal for you in like a few months..and Law seeing him LIKE THAT ruined humans for him fr...whatever...People? who cares. he has such a lovely wonder next to him. going thru puberty while your bestie, most loyal person to you is a furry...permanently altered brain chemistry. literally built different

you are sooooooooooooo right its so true and its the best

i love that Law a sexy guy who is completely off limits and unapproachable on purpose - he has sex life on easy mode because he saved Bepo once and have stayed a prince charming, knight in shining armor for Bepo EVER SINCE. he is always a hero he is always awesome and the best

laughing about a submarine being confined space lmao oh of course...you are trapped in there with him, Bepo (Bepo: yay \o/♥)

AND ANOTHER THING THAT MAKES LAWBEPO GREAT FOR LAWS CHARACTER - being in a long time established relationship - A CHILDHOOD SWEETHEART EVEN - makes him Very Cool. Oh you kept a good relationship for a decade and even developed it into a romantic partnership? Awesome. It makes a man complete dare i say! I love when characters are married as hell, genuinely a massive flex

thank you so much for the ask you are so fucking right im sorry if my reply is too chaotic xoxo thank you for loving lawbepo with me

[da-rulah]

hellosiesss :)

may i ask, can you maybe do headcanons with the ghouls how theyd act if theyd catch a cold? :]

alrighty, my first headcanons? i'm into it let's GO! (Gonna do the Ghoulettes too ofc because I love and appreciate them 🥹) Sodo

This guy cannot TAKE it. He is the WORST patient.

He's stubborn asf. Cough medicine? Don't know her. Lozenges? Don't know her. Rest and fluids? DON'T KNOW HER.

"I'm FINE. GO AWAY........... wait no where are you going? COME BACK HERE."

You'll spend all day arguing with the guy who can't taste the soup you're force feeding him because his sinuses are so. damn. blocked. But no, he will not back down.

Keeps you up all night with his sniffles and coughing fits and yet, he still, won't BLOODY LISTEN to you.

It takes him 3 days of being sick to actually admit he's sick. By this point, he hovers in your doorway wrapped head to toe in a blanket, sniffling and sulking.

"...I think I'm sick."

Rain & Cumulus (because they'd react much the same)

Neither one wants to be a burden. The thought of you having to take time out of your day to care for them? Oh, it pains them.

"You're looking a bit pale, love?" ... "No...no, it's... the lighting?"

They try to keep going as normal, powering through but you have to tell them it's okay to rest.

You've lost count of the amount of times they've thanked you for the tea. Too many. It's too many. It's just one cup of tea...

Tries to hide their coughs from you so they don't bother you

"You don't need to help me, it's my fault, I got sick..."

You can't stand that sad look in their eyes every time you do something nice for them. It's not self pity, it's a wordless apology and endless thanks each time.

Bless them

Phantom & Swiss (again i think they'd react similarly...)

It's like having a toddler.

"OooooOOOOoooOOOoooOOOoowwwWWWWwwwWWWWW, my heeeeEEAAAAAAaaaaDDDDdddd"

Literally writhing around in bed whining like they'd had their arm amputated.

"Babe, I need a shoulder rub." "Babe, I need cough sweets." "Babe, I need tissues." "Babe, I need chicken soup with those dumpling things you make that are sooOOOoooOOOoo good."

More deceptive than Lucifer himself. It's just a blocked nose.

Don't fall for their lies. They just enjoy being pampered.

Typical MEN.

But you can't argue with them because it's not worth the hours of pouting, whining and side eye you'd get from their end of the couch.

Mountain and Cirrus

They will not let you do ANYTHING.

Refuse to admit they're sick at all.

"The cold never bothered me anywaaaayyyyy."

You know full well they're sick, you can see their red nose and you hear the coughing fits from the other room but they just. keep. going.

Making that cold their BITCH. The show must go on.

They're like freaking machines or something idk

You have to trick them into taking anything that might help. "I just thought you might like some tea... It's.... refreshing?"

The first signs of them getting sick, they're chugging cough medicine like it's the last water in the desert. It will NOT get the better of them.

Aurora

She complains. A lot.

Makes an noise every time she blows her nose. "AaaaaaAAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHHhhhhhh"

She's emotional asf. She tripped on her blanket as she was dragging it down the hall to you and wept like a baby.

When you brought her dippy egg and toast soldiers for breakfast? Anyone would have thought you'd asked her to marry you.

She's so appreciative of everything you do for her. She makes a note to get you a gift when she can breathe through her nose and leave the bed again.

"I'm sorry i'm sick... love you..." all pouty and adorable.

Whines whenever she has to move an inch.

SEND ME MORE HEADCANONS IF YOU LIKE, THIS WAS FUN! 🥰

[1eos]

Prev anon, I WARNED YOU THE BOOK WOULD RAISE YOUR BLOOD PRESSURE BECAUSE OH MY GOD THE GIRL LIVED AND DIED AS SAC OF DONATABLE PARTS! I READ IT AT 16 AND CRIED SO MUCH BECAUSE SHE JUST NEVER HAD A LIFE. SHE DIED THE MOMENT SHE GOT FREEDOM. THE WORST ENDING PLOT TWIST BUT OH MY GOD. (Also I’m a bish so I was hoping other sister would finally tap out and be like “I have VASTLY overstayed my welcome on this planet at the sake of my sisters health and wellbeing” which she technically was ready to do but she ended up having a long life???? . Also white privilege is that the brother never goes to jail).

when i got to the part where the dad is like 'he wants to be punished for being a serial arsonist so i'll do the worst thing to him--giving him a hug' i thought abt the ask u sent me earlier and thought thats what u meant bc that pissed me off bad BUT IT ONLY GOT SO MUCH WORSE. like it was ooooooooooooooooooooo weird the book did all that about that child having no autonomy or choice just to kill her off and her organs donated without her conscious consent. it was such a cop out. even if she went through all that decided ykw? i DO want to give a kidney that wouldve been a bit defanged on the whole autonomy from her parents BUT deeply realistic or hell even if the car crash happened and the sister said HELL NO i do not want this kidney im ready to go. like its so odd that in this specific narrative the sister is like im done suffering i feel like such a burden bad things keep happening to my family bc of me and then her sister dies and shes in the throes of agony but just takes the kidney.

im just kinda let down bc this book requires you to 1. fill in a lot of emotional blanks. like i can fill in the blanks and say the sister took the kidney despite being ready to die earlier bc she already felt like she had to live for her mother or it would be a waste of the sisters legacy. but it wasted so much time on that useless ass love story when it couldve been fleshing out the emotional ramifications of the ending

which leads to point 2. a LOT of the parents shortcomings are just glossed over? the parents emotional neglect 2 out of 3 kids and the 3rd feels like a black hole that's ruined everyone's lives with a disease that's beyond her control but its quite clear to me the author expects us to believe the fitzsgeralds are good ppl just 'doing their best'. like its sooooooooooooo white american early 00s middle class w no care for anyone but themselves it honestly makes me fucking sick. the mother especially like basically had a favorite child and lowkey resented the son for daring to want to be loved and was clear about how the youngest was expendable. and the book emphasizing on how much she mourned 😐ok but u got what u wanted lmaoooo. like im sorry idk where i was supposed to get the feeling that she loved all 3 of her kids at all 😭😭😭😭😭 and then the brother turning his life around all bc his father negated consequences for him AGAIN. not to be a cynic but ppl don't change just with a fucking hug lmaooooo he shouldve gotten 15-20 years. gotten out in 5-10 for good behavior, started a prison outreach program and THEN maybe i'll believe he's changed.

[saltyr3mix]

Your gonna love the new episode

Me: oh why's that?

*watches new episode*

Me: OH MY OH MY OH MY OH MY OHHHHHHH OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHH OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

OHHHHHHHHH THATS- THATS SO- NO! WHAT DID THEY DO!?

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

OUCH

WAIT WAIT WAIT HOLD ON DID HE- HE DID!!! LETS GO!!!

WE LOSE AND WIN THESE. IM EXPERIENCING EVERY EMOTION KNOWN TO MAN THIS IS WONDERFUL THE NEW EPISODE IS AMAZING IT IS SO HARD NOT TO JUST START RANTING ABOUT IT NONSTOP

Hayden my secret favorite character my beloved my guy, my poor poor traumatized guy. SO EXCITED ABOUT HIM GOING TO WATCHFUL EYE THOUGH!!!! (Still not calling it W.E.T-)

You were correct. This episode has to be one of my favorites so far. I love it when wtdw gets dark. it has the opportunity to be such a dark show but often doesn't take itself too seriously, which is fair, i understand that this media's purpose is to be able to be consumed by all different types of ages in media. Sometimes in this show that's for the better. I mean the jokes are great! Don't get me wrong, but my personal favorite parts are when it dives down into the sadder, bloodier bits AND THIS EPISODE DID JUST THAT PERFECTLY. AND IT CALLED OUT SOOOOOOOOOOOOO MANY THINGS AND IT WAS GREAT AND OH BOY IM SO HIGH ENERGY RIGHT NOW BECAUSE OF IT.

Anyway Norman waking up for the first time one shot put on hold, the desire to write a hayden waking up in watchful eye after everything one shot is stronger. THEY KIDNAP HIM. THAT'S LIKE. MY FAVORITE TROPE I NEED TO WRITE IT OR I WILL EXPLODE.

Norman angst will still be written eventually because it's fun but right now i crave the guy of all time the dude in blue the the the you know?!

*i present hayden in my hands and shake him aggressively at you*

[degenrcy]

only i can hurt you (chapter one)

direct ao3 link! i realized i never posted this here but im getting a lot of attention from my last one sooooooooooooo yeah lol

you and shigaraki have a lot in common, thank god the 2 most miserable people are together.

warnings: very abusive relationship, eating disorders, mutual mutilation (self harm teehee) enabling

you curled up at the top of the bed, watching the tv so hard you were starting to make out the lines and the rgb of whatever lame show you were watching. it was quite late, shigaraki clicking away at his keyboard. his game was on its last hour of comp, and you didn't give a fuck about your rank anymore. shigaraki would always be better than you.

"there's no point." you muttered, pulling out your phone for the millionth time to mindlessly scroll another social media feed. being poor villains sucked.

"shut up bitch." he said back. not loud, not a shout, not even angry. a common phrase told to you, by everyone in here including your boyfriend. you couldn't even roll your eyes anymore.

"you'll always be just barely good, tomu. you know that?" you moved your eyes to his form, hunched over grossly at his cheap desk. duct tape wrapped around the arm rests, his leg bouncing, trash surrounding him. "so i don't get what's the point in you playing so much."

"better than being with you, that's what."

you scoffed. "fuck you."

"i'll fuck you up after this game."

shigaraki was right. he wasn't shy to beat you every now and then, every so often, every chance he got. bruising your wrists and throat, slapping you raw, choking you unconscious, slashing your thighs or upper body while holding you down with his weight.

"i'll kill you." you spat before wrapping up in the blanket. that wasn't to say you didn't get your fair share either, screwing with him emotionally was your form of revenge. he was physical, and you were mean. "and then you can face the family you murdered once and for all."

he only sighed, a last glance catching him shaking his head. whatever. you were going to look at the much more attractive people on tiktok. you wish you were as pretty and skinny as all these girls, but shigaraki doesn't fail to mention how disgusting you are with all the scarring and how he's ruined you for anyone else. he tells you to leave all the time, even kicks you out in the streets, only for you to come back a few hours later with teary eyes and a regretful grimace. he mocks you all the time for it and does a stupid voice impression that could only be you.

because of this, you starve yourself. starve for him, for shigaraki tomura. you feel serene and feminine and beautiful when he brushes along your ribs. when he wraps his fingers around your wrist and slowly trails up your arm to your elbow, squishing the bit of upper arm fat. "you need to get rid of this too." he would whisper, a pinky dangerously close to your flesh.

you nod weakly, placing a hand on top of his. "i'm trying... it's been two days since i've ate, you know."

he smiles. a forehead kiss. "let's make it three."

he wasn't entirely cruel. he would inadvertently starve with you, staying up for days playing video games or go on long trips with only a few granola bars or juice packs. but even when he did eat, there would be no difference. he knew that too, flaunting his warm pizza in your face and chewing disgustingly loud. guzzling down soda. eating chocolate or other sweets. your eye twitched, suddenly opening the side table and pulling out a special box.

"oh!" shigaraki exclaimed with a mouthful of disgusting food.

you opened it up, taking out your designated box cutter, fit with cute stickers and pink tape barely holding it together. you guys get rough sometimes, and sometimes things break.

with clenched teeth and teary eyes you dug the blade into your wrist. dragging- slowly, slowly. then ripped it away from you, causing a deep gash and the white layer of skin breaking through, seeping blood. a small moan escaped your lips. shigaraki swiveled around in his chair to watch you move down the small open spaces on your arm, leaning forward everytime you made a pained noise. flicking his wide eyes over when you started rummaging around the box for the small rag.

he stood up and grabbed your arm before you could wipe it all away. all the precious blood, from inside you, warm and wet and delicious.

"i'll clean it for you." he said ever so softly. your lips wavered as he ran his tongue from the inside of your elbow slowly down your forearm, lapping it all up. you told him to clean his mouth before moving up to the fresh wounds, you didn't want all that gross food grease and fat particles getting into your blood stream.

he continued licking, using his thumbs to spread open the bigger ones, making you wince. "you're so cute." he grinned, fingertip dragging lightly down the slits.

"ah, you're so dirty... and gross..." your arm felt weak, body shaking. but it felt so good. another moan, louder, as he squeezed your skin together to make the blood come out again. he kissed you, irony and with adoration.

"do it to me." he panted between sloppy kisses, occupied with palming himself through his pj pants and holding up your arm. you did as told, rolling up his sleeves for him and pushing him back on the bed. a moment to appreciate his pale and bony arms, purple and blue branches of veins scattering all over and god you wanted him to bleed out.

a shiver of excitement shot through his back as the tip of the blade pierced skin. a slight twitch of his hips when you started to slowly move- a shaky moan and eyes to the back of the head when the familiar sting and pain formed at the base of his wrist.

"you have such pretty veins, tomu... i wanna pull them out. think i could pull them out? i'm sure overhaul could put you back together." you whispered into his ear, slashing a couple more times. he grinded into you, holding the small of your back. his fingers felt up your protruding spine, making you arch into him more.

"what else?"

"i want to kill myself, for you, tomu." you kissed his jaw. "maybe i'd kill you first, then myself."

"you wanna leave me that bad?" he gripped your hip, thumbing the bone and holding it in his hand. you shook your head, bringing his wrist to your lips, reddening them with his own blood. you rolled your hips against his, flicking your tongue against his cuts.

"i wanna bring you with me, to whatever hell we'll end up in."

"god you're edgy, huh. give me that."

he got on top of you now, pulling up your shirt and ordering you to hold it. you twitched as he started carving into the skin of your stomach and the space between your ribs. you could feel the familiar shape of a heart, right on your chest. he groped your tits, then smacked you across the face. then again. and again. and again, until you finally let out that sweet sob he wanted to hear.

"keep crying," he gripped your jaw, turning your head around forcefully. he lifted it up, placing the box cutter against your throat. "don't move, or else i'll end up killing you. or do, doesn't matter to me."

you whimpered pathetically as he did a quick slice on your throat, not deep enough to potentially put you in danger, but enough to bleed. if there wasn't any blood, it wasn't worth it. so you kept crying. he cut you all over, frail skin even more ruined now. just how he liked you.

"you know you're never gonna leave, right?" shigaraki sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping up his arms. you were panting next to him, bleeding into the sheets. your body felt numb and lifeless and like nothing else mattered except him. nothing did, actually.

"don't leave me, tomu!" you cried out when you felt the bed shift with him standing up. he laughed.

"i won't."

[luffythinker]

i can't draw but i did write out the cute kiss for you <3

The classroom buzzed with the usual high energy as students milled about, sharing stories and laughter before class began. Amidst the chatter, Bakugo reclined casually in his seat. His dandelion hair made itself known to Midoriya who sat behind him.

With an amused smile now playing on his lips Midoriya couldn't help but be drawn to his self-assured boyfriend. Little things like this didn't used to affect him but it was affecting him now and so profoundly.

As the time ticked closer to the start of class, Midoriya found his heart racing a little. a simple surge of emotion running through him telling him to make a move. Unable to stop himself, Midoriya tapped Bakugo's shoulder so he'd lean back a little further instead of turn his body completely around. He complied and gingerly he reached out his hands placing them on his boyfriend's cheeks.

Those red eyes widened slightly in surprise but didn't shy away from Midoriya's enjoyable yet intense gaze.

"What's up?" He said feeling content in his hands.

In that moment, their world existed only within each other's proximity. Carefully and with a soft sigh escaping his lips, Midoriya closed the distance between them. He allowed himself to indulge in a closeness they'd never had before now. It took some time to gather it so he was going to indulge it the way he wanted to.

Their lips met gently in a place. A tender kiss, it felt vulnerable to do this because of the toughness the other boy liked to hide behind before they had their fight. His exterior as well as his insides changed a lot, Kacchan was a nicer person now.

Their lips connected, a smile slid on Bakugo's lips while they did so. His lashes met his face while he let Midoriya lead.

Soon, reluctantly they had to break away from the warmth. Midoriya let out a breathy laugh. "The blood is going to rush to your head if you stay like that Kacchan." He chided softly.

Bakugo smirked as he replied with his signature confidence, "It already did."

Midoriya blinked comprehension dawning on him, causing a deep blush to spread across his face. For once, words failed him as they drowned in the pure affection expressed by that simple statement. The implication that it's because of him made his heart rocket almost as much as it did when he sat up and stuck his tongue out making a heart shape with his thumb and pointing finger at him.

Time resumed its course around them and the noise of the classroom flooded back into his awareness.

Moment's like these are things he'll be cherishing for years to come.

OH MY GOD I LOVE YOU I OVE YOU SO MUCHOJDSJKSDKSD IDONTDESEVRE THIS OMG OMG IM SOHAPPY THANKY YOU SO MIUCH

DANDELION HAIR :(((((((((((((((

THE HANDS ON HIS CHEEKS, THE SOFT TENDER KISS, THE SMIRK IM GONNA DYEEEEEEEE

I LITERALLY CRIED BECAUSE IM JSUT SO HAPPY I LOVE THEM SO MUCH REALLY THANK YOU FOR THIS IM SOOOOOOOOOOOOO

*HEAD IN HANDS* AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA