#i had a dream that i made these drawings so naturally i woke up and made them fr

[luckykiwiii101]

Hello, I am writing to you as a 22-year-old girl who managed to enter the void on the night of May 17 and changed her whole life.

I started my void  challenge in December 2021. It was very difficult for me both physically and psychologically. Because I had an environment that was abusive and violent. And my conditions were very terrible. I had an exam that I couldn't win for 3 years, an alcoholic father who beat me, and a mother who never let up on it. I have lost a lot of things in my life in 3 years, but I have never given up on emptiness. If there are people who are still struggling with the gap, I hope my success story will be a motivation for you.

One morning when I woke up with failure again, I was feeling extremely unhappy and hopeless. But an incident at home during the day made me say, ‘That's enough, I'm going to fuck everything up tonight and wake up in a void.

When I wasn't feeling very sleepy- or even sleepy at all- I lay down on the bed. Because I'm afraid to fall asleep. In order of;

15 min Holotropic breathwork

20 min Silva method

10 min Alpha State meditation

After lying motionless for about 45 minutes, the brown noise started playing. It is very natural that there is a desire to move, to be overwhelmed,to give up in this part. Please continue for your dreams. When the brown noise was playing, I used a single affirmation. 

‘I'm simply deciding that I'm in a void.’

I can't remember how many times I repeated it. After a while, everything became quiet and I felt so peaceful for the first time in my life. I had a 30-page document and I said that everything in there would be manifested.

A day ago, when I had nothing, I now have a house on the Mediterranean coast, a black bmw ix car, a Harvard math degree, an online job where I earn 25 thousand dollars per month by working only 4 hours a day 4 days a week (Dollars are very valuable in the country where I live, and my salary is multiplied by about 30.), I have a beautiful face, body and skin. I also showed that I can ride horses professionally and draw pictures. I confirmed that the apple products, books, cosmetics and skin products in my wishlist are also in my house. I have also declared the person I will meet about 1 year from now and who will become the man of my dreams.

THIS IS AMAZING!!!! I’m so happy that you’re now living your dream life 💗

This is such a good example of showing people that they can truly do anything. Thank you for taking your time to share this 💗

[januaryembrs]

Any fluffy sweet Drabble about the moon boys 🫡

SWEET MORNINGS | Marc Spector x reader

description: the boys wake up to their girlfriend making breakfast, too bad she has no clue which boy is fronting that morning

length: 1.1k

warnings: representation of DID, Marc's slight self loathing (it's Marc idk what to say). Writer has never experienced DID so I am going off the show

He woke up peacefully, which had once been a fleeting dream in itself for a man like him. He’d spent years jumping at the smallest sounds, flinching at voices and footsteps, ready to be up and out of bed within a moment’s notice. Yet, when his eyes slowly blinked out of the reverie of sleep, he heard her humming along to the radio, already half way through the song, heard her socks sliding against the kitchen floor as she whirled around the stove, and the smell of pancakes and coffee hit him with full force. 

His lips drew into a smile before he even knew it, and he was drawing the covers back, her side of the bed not entirely freezing which told him she’d been up about twenty minutes. Marc grabbed his shirt off the floor, the same one Steven used to sprinkle with sand when he had no idea about their coexistence, only two years later, it was scrubbed clean, even with a pretty, knit rug you’d bought from your apartment when you moved in. 

Tugging it over his head, he padded into the living room, where he could already see your form where you danced around the kitchen, entirely unaware of his approach. He’d been trying to teach you self defence, said you needed to learn to have a sixth sense when it came to people on your tail, because he had a tendency to worry about you more than Steven and Jake did. But maybe it was the fact he had naturally light footsteps, or maybe it was the fact you knew in the comfort of your home he would always be there to protect you, either way your guard was entirely down by the time he swooped behind you, grabbing you in a warm, soft hug, pressing kisses down the side of your bare neck and onto your shoulder. 

“Morning,” His voice was muddied with sleep, and he cleared his throat, hoping to take some of the husk out of it despite the fact you whirled around to look at him with something that told him just what you thought of his rumbling voice. 

“Morning, honey,” You said, pressing a small kiss to his lips, your hand still on the frying pan that he now realised had been filled with mini-chocolate pancakes, the batter sizzling and cracking in the oil, “You hungry?” 

Marc wasn’t really listening as he gave a ‘mhm’, too busy burying his nose in the crook of your neck and jaw, kissing lazily there as he tightened his grip on your waist. 

His gaze fell on the counter after a moment, the blueberry porridge Steven went crazy for already dished up in the little purple bowl you’d painted for him for their birthday, whirled of steam coming off the breakfast that was slowly turning a cornflour colour with the chopped fruit swirling in the centre. 

“Sorry, baby, I think Steven’s still sleeping, I can try ask him-” He started as you used a spatula to quickly flip the pancakes, their underside a golden brown that made his mouth water.

“Oh, don’t worry. I wasn’t sure who was joining me for breakfast, or if all of you wanted something, so I made a bit of everything,” You said, smiling at him as you turned the gas down and spun in his arms, batting your eyes at him with an innocent smile, “Chocolate pancakes for you, blueberry oatmeal for Steven and a black coffee for Jake since I know you guys got mad last time we had bacon together,”

“What a woman,” Jake’s voice was a growl of appreciation that Marc couldn’t help but agree with, and he was quick to lean in to steal a handful of long kisses, grabbing the soft plush of your hips with feather light fingers and pulling you towards him, “Ay, Romeo, your pancakes are burning.”

You sprung away from him like you’d heard the alter yourself, your eyes wide in surprise, “Your pancakes are burning!” 

He heard Jake chuckle and a smile made it’s way onto his face as you fretted over whether the brown was where the chocolate had melted or if the mix had singed, but Marc thought he might just eat anything you gave him because you poured so much love and affection into it he couldn't help but think it tasted divine. 

“Marc, I’m sorry, I know we have the no hogging the body rule and I got to have her all last night, but please let me have just a few bites- o-or atleast ask her to save it for me, that stuff smells delicious,” Steven seemed to be wide awake and kicking at the sight of food, and Marc sighed, reaching out with one hand to swoop your hair off your neck as he kissed the very top of your spine. 

“Steven asks if we could save him the blueberry oatmeal since it’s my turn to spend time with you,” He said gently, and he feels you smile before he sees it, the way your cheeks crinkle and pull tightly. 

“Of course I can, baby, I’ll put it in the fridge,” You said, despite the fact the man was inside the body, scooping the little circular goods onto two plates for both of you. Turning to set the plates on the table, Marc grabbed two glasses out of the cabinet, opening the fridge door with a rattle as the magnets clasped pictures of the two of you to the cooler. 

“Orange or apple juice?” He asked, pulling the former out of the side drawer for himself. 

“Orange, please,” You replied politely, grabbing some cutlery out and laying it beside his plate. 

The two of you sat down finally, Marc sliding the filled glass over to your half of the dinner table and allowing himself to just watch as you picked up your knife and fork, digging into the chocolatey breakfast before it went cold. 

He never deserved any of this, the light touches and the breakfasts and the devotion and the way you put him on a pedestal. But sitting in the slow hum of the radio, the most obscure top hundreds playlist he thinks you could have chosen, he bit into his pancake, his tongue exploding with sugary yumminess, as you told him the weird dream you’d had about him becoming some kind of half horse, centaur type man and how you wondered if he would wear jeans on the front legs, the back legs, or if you would have to have custom, four legged bottoms made for him. 

The two of you laughed, because he didn’t quite understand what had gotten him so lucky as to end up with you. He could get used to all this.

[novascharms]

teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe

reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.

word count — 4.9 chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap. masterlist

twelve

tuesday, february 11th

being a good multitasker has always been one of those skills you prided yourself on. it was something you’d perfected over the years, something you needed in every facet of your life—being the responsible older sister, the student body president, the volunteer, the worker. juggling everything, keeping a hundred things on your mind, your to-do list, was second nature. it was just how you lived.

but all of that—every skill, every strategy, every ounce of focus—vanished the second rafe cameron kissed you 38 hours ago. you hadn’t been prepared for it, didn’t know it was possible for someone to completely scramble your mind, to set your body on fire with just the press of their lips. there are about 1,300 nerve endings per square inch of skin, and rafe had somehow activated every single one with that kiss. your brain chemistry had been rewritten, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t undo it.

it didn’t matter what you did, who you talked to, what you watched—you couldn’t escape him. his lips, his touch, haunted every thought, clung to every waking moment. he was embedded in your skin, in your mind, from the moment you woke up to the moment you closed your eyes. even then, your dreams had no mercy.

it only took a blink, and you were back in that room, rafe's arms around you, nipping your bottom lip, feeling his breathe mingle with yours, you could still feel how his chest felt whe you'd rested your hand on it, could still remember that little sound he'd made right before your mom burst into the room.

a little voice in the back of your head whispered the reason you were still thinking about it, why it was still playing on a loop in your head—you wanted more. you craved more, and it was consuming you, gnawing at the edges of every thought. more of rafe, more of that kiss, more of whatever this thing between you was.

"y/n," a sharp voice cut through your daydream, yanking you back to reality. startled, you blinked rapidly, your head jerking toward your english teacher. ivy, who had been carefully scribbling something in her notebook, glanced at you in confusion, noticing your delayed response to the question you hadn’t even heard.

"uh—yes?" you managed, trying to sound coherent despite the fog of your thoughts.

mrs. campbell raised a brow, her gaze expectant. "can you answer the question?" she asked, her tone firm but not unkind.

you cleared your throat, scrambling to pull yourself together. the quiet shuffle of ivy’s book caught your attention, and you glanced over, spotting a small note tucked in the corner. 'meaning quote,' it said, the words a subtle lifeline as your mind scrambled to catch up. your gaze flickered to the blackboard behind mrs. campbell, and there it was—‘so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.’

the words from the great gatsby stood out like a beacon. for a heartbeat, everything inside you went still. the weight of the room—the eyes on you, including mrs. campbell’s—felt like it was pressing down on your chest. but then, slowly, you straightened in your seat, drawing on a sliver of confidence, the reminder that you’d read this book twice now.

“i think…” you started, your voice shaky at first but growing steadier with each word. "he's saying that people are always fighting against things they can't control. like… no matter how hard we try to move forward, the past always pulls us back. our memories, our regrets, maybe even guilt—those are the currents he’s talking about."

there was a long pause as mrs. campbell studied you, her eyes sharp, weighing your answer. finally, she nodded, turning back to the class. "exactly. so what we can deduce from that is—" her voice trailed off as you tuned her out once again, giving a quiet nod of thanks to ivy.

"what's going on?" ivy whispered, her concern evident in the way she leaned in. it wasn’t like you to zone out like that, especially in class. "what did bootleg messi pull now?" she added, her voice light but teasing, and you smiled, turning back to the board but not before giving her a gentle shove. you heard her quiet giggle fill the space between you.

of course, you hadn’t told your friends about the kiss. that would’ve been like asking hazel to strangle you in front of everyone—which, knowing hazel, she’d probably do without hesitation.

you’d made it clear to them, especially to hazel, that you wouldn’t let him in, that you’d protect yourself from whatever this thing was. and yet, here you were—letting him all the way in. the situation would’ve been different if you had any plans to cut him off, but you didn’t. you wanted more. a lot more.

when class ended and you found yourself standing by devon's locker, waiting for her to dig around for her chemistry book, your mind drifted again. was this normal? did everyone feel this kind of almost desperate withdrawal after something as simple as a kiss? it felt ridiculous to admit, but you were completely disheveled by a boy. by a kiss. a damn good kiss.

"ready?" hazel's voice pulled you from your thoughts, her tone a little sharper now that devon had finally shoved her book into her backpack and nodded in agreement. without thinking, you looped your arm through hazel's as the four of you started walking out of school. "did you ever hear back from that angry customer?" you asked absently, your mind still somewhere else.

hazel hummed in acknowledgment, then chuckled, "yeah, she reached out to customer service, and guess what they told her?"

"the exact same thing you told her?" you guessed, grinning, and hazel gave a quick nod, her lips curling into a smirk. "yup," she said, popping the p in ‘yup’ like it was the final nail in the coffin.

your small smile faltered when you stepped outside the building and saw what was unfolding in front of you. "what is going on?" ivy's voice was filled with confusion, and you couldn’t help but feel the same.

rafe and topper were in the middle of what looked like a heated verbal argument. you and everyone else could see the anger between them, but the exact context was lost in the shuffle of their raised voices. their friends had formed a circle around them, trying desperately to intervene, but it was obvious nothing was getting through. rafe kept attempting to walk away, but topper blocked him each time.

on rafe's third attempt, he finally shoved topper, who stumbled but quickly regained his balance. before he could do anything else, kiara stepped in, her face furious as she shoved topper back, shouting ‘enough’ and ‘stop’ in his face with an intensity that made the entire scene feel dangerously close to something more.

rafe took the opportunity to break free, even though his friends were trying to stop him. it was clear where he was headed, though—straight toward you.

hazel's voice was low and confused. "is he coming over here?" she muttered, and you could see rafe’s friends trailing behind him, likely to make sure he was okay.

you started walking toward rafe to meet him halfway, your voice sharp with tension. "what are you doing?" you asked before he even reached you. there was no way he was about to start something in front of half the school.

"come with me," rafe said, his tone brokering no argument, the command obvious in his words. "i'm driving you home."

"rafe—" you tried to protest, but before you could finish, john b’s hand landed on rafe's shoulder, his voice urging him. "rafe, c'mon—"

rafe spun around to face his friend, irritation clear in his expression. "i’m not in the fucking mood to deal with him, alright?" he snapped, not bothering to wait for a reply before grabbing your wrist and tugging you along with him.

"rafe, slow down—" you tried to keep up, your steps faltering as you struggled to stay with him. "rafe, i came on my bike, i can’t just—"

"i'll pick you up in the morning," he interrupted, his voice as firm as steel, cutting off any further protests. before you could argue, he flung open the passenger door, blocking you in the small space between the car and the door. it was clear what he wanted: you had two choices—get in or physically fight this six-foot-tall athlete who wasn’t giving an inch.

his jaw was clenched tight, his posture rigid, and you felt an overwhelming urge to kiss the anger right off his face. you could feel the intensity building inside you, the heat of the moment becoming unbearable. it was that urge—raw and undeniable—that finally made you climb into the car. a few more seconds of standing there, and you knew you would’ve done it, would’ve kissed him and made everything even more complicated than it already was.

he doesn’t say a word as the car hums to life, just starts driving with a tense grip on the wheel, his jaw so tight it looks like it might snap. you're left staring at him in disbelief, the weight of what just happened sinking in. was that real?

you can tell something’s wrong when he moves his hand from the gear stick to the steering wheel, and you notice his hand trembling—just slightly, but enough to make your heart skip. “rafe,” you say softly, your voice almost a whisper as your hand moves toward his. the second your fingers brush his skin, his whole body tightens, and he pulls his hand away like you’ve burned him. “not when i’m driving,” he snaps, the coldness in his tone like a slap to your chest.

you watch him, sadness pulling at your chest, and slump back into the seat, the air between you two thick with tension. only then do you feel the sharp throb in your feet, the pain from the new shoes you’d barely managed to keep on all day. you shift your bag aside and carefully pop your heel out of your patent black ballet flats. they were new, from steve madden, whose shoes were designed with a particular vendetta against women’s feet. blisters were basically guaranteed.

you wince at the sight of the angry bubble forming on the back of your heel, and despite the sharp sting, you already find yourself daydreaming about soaking in a hot bath tonight, the relief already calling your name.

"what?" rafe’s voice breaks through your thoughts, and you look up at him, unsure what he’s seeing. "what? nothing." you frown, sitting up a little straighter.

his eyes flick back to the road, but his tone softens just a little. "you're in pain. you just winced. what's wrong?"

you shake your head, dismissing his concern as you try to shove the discomfort aside. "i have new shoes on. just a blister." you try to brush it off, but when the car stops at a red light, you notice rafe’s eyes flicking down to your feet.

"take them off," he says, almost like an order, but you hesitate. how were you supposed to relax your blistered feet in his car without feeling weird about it? and how was he not disgusted?

"no, that’s not proper. it's okay," you tell him, your voice a little shaky. he rolls his eyes, exasperated.

"you're gonna make me do it?" he mutters, but before you can answer, he’s already leaning across the seat, his hand reaching for your shoes, completely ignoring your protest.

"rafe!" you gasp, startled as you kick your feet, trying to push him away, but he grips your shoe like it’s his personal mission to take them off. the light turns green, and you panic, "rafe, stop, the light turned green!" you try to wriggle out of his grasp, but he’s relentless, fighting you for your second shoe even as the cars behind honk impatiently.

finally, he lets go, and with both of your shoes in hand, he tosses them casually into the backseat as if nothing had happened, his eyes back on the road like the whole scene had been completely normal.

"you know you’re insane?" you mutter after a beat, disbelief creeping into your voice. rafe’s lips press together, his eyes still focused ahead.

"i have very little patience today," he mutters under his breath as he pulls into your street. the reminder of his earlier anger stirs a knot in your stomach, and you hesitate, wondering if you should ask what happened. but you don’t—prodding him further would only make things worse.

he parks his car and you reach behind to find your shoes he carelessly threw to the back but before you can, he's opening the backdoor and grabbing them. you blink when he slams the door shut and leaves you with no shoes.

you're just about to open the door, ready to ask him for your shoes, when the door swings open and rafe scoops you up into his arms. "rafe, what are you doing?" you ask, your hands instinctively wrapping around his neck for support.

"i'm skydiving, obviously." he says flatly and with one swift kick, he shuts the door behind him, then presses the button on his car keys to lock it.

you can't help but grimace at his sarcasm. "you're just being so lovely today," you mutter, offering him a fake smile. he smirks in response, clearly enjoying this. before you know it, you're standing in front of his door, rummaging through your bag for the keys.

"i am, aren't i? and you really don't deserve it since you've been avoiding me," he says, a small edge to his voice, his tone playful but with something else lingering under the surface.

your cheeks flush, the heat creeping up as you finally manage to unlock the door. "i… h—"

"whenever you do that, that subtle hesitation," he interrupts, his voice suddenly serious, "you're about to lie. have you ever noticed that?"

your eyes widen as he gently sets you down on your feet, his words making you feel caught off guard.

"i mean, i'm saying it to help you," he continues, "when you become president, you can't be caught lying this easily."

you let out a soft sigh, the warmth of embarrassment spreading across your face. you cover your face for a moment, feeling exposed. "i'm sorry," you murmur, the sincerity in your voice not lost on him.

he shakes his head, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders, grounding you. "i looked it up. i think it's a defense mechanism."

your jaw drops just a little, surprised that rafe, of all people, has done research for you. research was your thing.

"you don't like confrontation," he continues, his voice calm, "and you don't like dealing with your emotions. you like things you can control and predict and feelings are probably the most unpredictable and uncontrollable things we experience. i think you're willing to do a lot to avoid those two things, including lying."

it’s a strange feeling, to be psychoanalyzed this way, the way you so often do to others. you’re not used to being the one on the receiving end of this kind of observation.

his hands shift from your shoulders to cradle your face gently, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks in a tender, almost reverent way. "i can feel that you're afraid."

"is it that obvious?" you whisper, your heart fluttering as your nose brushes against his, the proximity making your breath hitch.

he nods slowly, his lips just inches from yours. "just can't figure out why," he murmurs, his voice low and soft. then, with a gentle teasing bite, he nips at your bottom lip.

you want to tell him why, to explain the gnawing feeling in your gut that something is bound to go wrong, that eventually, he’s going to break your heart. but you don’t say that. because, well…

you're a liar.

"i've never done this," you begin, your words rushing out in a nervous ramble, "i… i avoided you because i didn’t even know how to look at you anymore after sunday."

your hands fidget nervously, eyes darting around as you feel the panic rise. "i watched…" you hesitate, unsure how to say it. "..adult content yesterday," you whisper it like it's a secret, "and it was so scary. i almost broke my laptop from how hard i tossed it off my bed." your voice is barely above a murmur, and rafe’s eyes widen in amusement.

he starts laughing, shaking his head as you quickly look around, despite knowing no one will be home for another hour.

"you watched po—"

"don't say it!" you hiss, your cheeks burning at the thought.

he’s still laughing, amusement dancing in his eyes as he pulls you close, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "c'mon," he says, his tone light but insistent as he takes your hand. "let’s go."

you let him lead you up the stairs, your nerves gnawing at you. you're unsure what’s next, what’s going to happen between the two of you. but that's what being with rafe always feels like—you never see anything coming with him.

you both settle on your bed, the quiet hum of the room filling the space between you. you sit cross-legged while he turns toward you, his gaze steady and soft, as though he’s trying to convey everything without saying a word. then, his voice breaks the silence, low and calm, like a soothing balm.

he looks at you and the distance you've put between the two of you. “firstly, you have nothing to be afraid of,” he says, a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. with an easy pull, he brings you closer until your leg is draped over his, the warmth of his touch grounding you. “this doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want it to be. i just want you to feel good—feel okay. we’ll go at your pace, yeah? wherever you lead me.”

his words settle over you like a promise, steady and unyielding. you nod hesitantly, fingers nervously fidgeting in your lap. “i think… we can take it slow, right?” your voice is quiet, unsure, as you glance down.

he tilts his head forward, his forehead brushing against yours, forcing you to meet his eyes. “course,” he murmurs, the weight of his sincerity making you exhale softly.

with tentative fingers, you reach up, your thumb grazing over his lips in an almost reverent motion. “i don’t know anything,” you admit, the words slipping out like a secret.

his smile softens, a small, reassuring thing that makes your chest tighten. “m’ here,” he mutters, his hand resting gently on your waist. “i’ll help you, just like you help me.”

and what was the harm in this? something quiet and undefined, not quite a relationship, but not nothing either. it felt safe—like an agreement between the two of you, unspoken but understood.

“like… comparative advantage,” you murmur, your voice still soft but gaining a touch of animation.

he raises a brow, clearly unsure where you’re going with this.

“comparative advantage,” you repeat, lips brushing against his. “it’s when countries—or even people—specialize in what they’re relatively best at. it’s about focusing on what they can produce most efficiently, with fewer resources or less effort, instead of trying to do everything.”

he blinks, his head tilting slightly as he considers your explanation. “you know what i find fascinating?” he asks, his voice carrying a quiet, teasing warmth.

you hum, encouraging him to continue, a small smile already playing on your lips.

“the more you ramble about shit i don’t understand, the more attractive i find you,” he says, his tone light but earnest.

a laugh bubbles out of you, your heart racing as he dips his head, pressing playful kisses along your neck. “tell me more!” he demands, his hands sliding around your waist and tugging you closer.

you giggle, your arms looping around his neck as your mind scrambles to find something—anything—to say. “uhhh… oh! i was just reading about nuclear fusion!”

he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his brows raising in amused curiosity.

“it’s when two lighter atomic nuclei combine to form a heavier one,” you explain, your voice picking up speed. “and it releases a ton of energy in the process. that reaction—it’s the same one that powers the sun and stars. isn’t that wild?”

“so wild,” he hums thoughtfully, leaning in to press a soft kiss against your lips. the gentle contact almost derails your train of thought, but you push forward, determined to finish your point. “and what’s even more fascinating is that the ingredients—deuterium, which comes from seawater, and tritium, which can be bred from lithium—are virtually inexhaustible. it’s sustainable energy, rafe. the potential is endless.”

he hums again, his lips brushing along your jawline, the vibration of his voice sending shivers down your spine. “that’s very interesting. tell me something else,” he urges, pulling you fully into his lap, his hands steadying you like you belonged there.

you can’t stop smiling now, your head tipping back as his lips find the curve of your neck. “mmm… did you know that some theorists believe modern politics has moved beyond traditional ideologies like communism or liberalism?”

“had no idea,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice muffled but attentive, his focus clearly divided between your words and the way you react to his touch.

“they think political life is more about pragmatic management and technocratic governance now,” you continue, your voice gaining a touch of excitement. “and like, look at italy or greece. during their financial crises, they elected experts—economists, and engineers—as politicians. moving toward different kinds of ideologies has such detrimental changes for people like you and i so the fact that it's actually happening just blows my mind. isn’t it crazy?”

he pulls back just slightly, his lips quirking into a lopsided smile as he meets your eyes again. “crazy,” he agrees, though the glint in his gaze tells you he’s not entirely focused on the politics you’re rambling about.

but you don’t care. because in this moment, heaven looks like a boy who lets you ramble about the chaos in your mind while kissing you silly and what could possibly be better than this?

"how does your brain store so much?" he mutters, his voice low and laced with genuine curiosity. his fingers brush absently against your skin as he pulls back to look at you.

you grin, shrugging lightly. "i think it’s easy to remember things you find interesting. how many soccer players do you know by name?" you counter, raising a brow.

he nods with a lopsided smirk, conceding the point. "got me there," he murmurs, his gaze lingering on you. something shifts in the way he’s looking—soft but heated, like he’s cataloging every detail. his hair is tousled from your hands, his lips swollen from the past few minutes of losing himself in you, and those dark, dilated pupils seem to see through you entirely. he looks utterly undone and so painfully perfect that it makes your heart stutter.

you hesitate for a moment, nerves battling the growing pull toward him, before slowly shrugging off your knit cardigan. the weight of his eyes doesn’t falter as you tug the fabric from your shoulders. it’s not the cold air against your skin that makes you shiver—it’s him, the way his gaze turns unreadable, intense.

as your fingers reach for the hem of your shirt, you lift it inch by inch, exposing your tank top underneath. you tug it into place as the strap—too loose and stretched from wear—slips down your shoulder. his gaze snaps to that small sliver of bare skin, and you swear you see his jaw tighten.

your breaths come slower, more measured, as you reach up to push the other strap down, your fingers trembling slightly. just as it slips, his hand darts out, stopping you gently but firmly.

"you don’t want—" the words tumble out of you in a rush, panic and self-doubt crashing in like waves.

"of course, i do," he interrupts, his voice immediate, steady, grounding. "course, i want you. i want this." his thumb brushes featherlight over your shoulder as he leans in to pull the strap back into place. the gesture feels like both a reverence and a reassurance, and your chest tightens at the tenderness of it.

"but," he continues, his tone soft but deliberate, "ten minutes ago, you asked me to go slow. and just before that, you couldn’t even handle me saying the word 'porn' in your presence." the corner of his mouth quirks up in that teasing way that feels like it’s meant to defuse the tension.

you can’t help but let out a small laugh, one that eases some of the nerves still coiled in your chest. "mm, okay. true." you slide off his lap reluctantly, preparing to create some space, but he doesn’t let you go far. his hand catches yours, tugging you back into place.

"but," he says again, this time a whisper that dances between the two of you, heavy with promise, "we can do what we did last week…" his free hand trails up, his fingers brushing your hair back. his lips find yours, slow and deliberate, the heat of his touch setting your skin aflame. "and maybe a little more."

his words linger against your lips as he kisses you again, this time deeper, and you melt into him. your feel weak, and you’re grateful for his arms around you, steadying you, keeping you grounded. for now, you’re here, with him, the rest of the world fading into an unimportant blur.

your lips finally meet, and the sensation is overwhelming, a fever spreading through your body as heat blooms beneath your skin. every nerve feels alive, crackling with electricity as your fingers instinctively thread through his hair, your grip hesitant at first but growing firmer as his hands find your waist, pulling you closer like he can’t bear to let you slip away.

the kiss is everything—more than last week, deeper, more intense. his teeth graze your bottom lip, and your body arches toward him involuntarily, a soft whine escaping before you can stop it. he takes the opportunity to part your lips, his tongue sliding against yours with a confidence that makes you melt. you know he can tell you’re inexperienced, his movements deliberate, guiding you like he’s speaking a secret language through touch alone, teaching you how to follow his lead.

as the moments pass, you start to understand—how to move, how to meet his rhythm, how to make it good for him. the realization that you’re succeeding comes when he lets out a soft groan, the sound low and raw and entirely new. it’s exhilarating, uncovering pieces of him no one else has, learning what makes him tick.

you pull back just enough to breathe, gasping softly as his lips trail after yours, placing feather-light kisses that leave you dizzy. before you can steady yourself, he shifts his attention, lips brushing down your neck. at first, you think it’ll be sweet, the same soft kisses from earlier, but you couldn’t have been more wrong.

his mouth turns ravenous against your skin, nipping and sucking with a ferocity that leaves you reeling. your body tenses at the sudden intensity, a flood of pleasure replacing the brief surprise. soft moans spill from your lips, unbidden, and your hands tug at his hair, urging him closer as his mouth maps every inch of your neck.

"rafe…" you exhale, the name slipping out in a breathy whisper as he continues his assault, each kiss igniting something deeper inside you. he’s relentless, leaving no spot untouched, and while your brain tries to remind you to tell him not to leave marks, your body doesn’t care. you’re too far gone, too wrapped up in the moment to consider future consequences.

he has you completely undone, your body pliant under his touch, and when your hips buck against him without permission, he freezes. slowly, he pulls back, his breath heavy as his eyes meet yours. they’re dark, hazy with desire, yet tinged with restraint. "alright," he murmurs, his voice low and strained. "that’s good… think we’re getting a bit carried away."

the rational part of you knows he’s right, but the part of you currently tangled up with the most magnetic boy you’ve ever known? that part couldn’t care less.

"uh huh.." you're nodding as if you agree even though your lips are finding his again, hungrier this time, desperation spilling into every kiss. you can’t bear the thought of letting him go, the taste of him too intoxicating to resist. his hands come to your shoulders, trying to steady you, but the moment he pulls back, the beginnings of a warning on his lips, you silence him with another kiss, deeper this time, pouring everything you’re feeling into it. and for a moment, he lets go—he kisses back with a force that steals the air from your lungs. his resistance crumbles beneath the weight of his own desire, the kind of need that’s buried so deep it aches to surface. his lips move against yours, his hands trailing to your waist as if he’s forgotten why he should stop, as if it’s impossible for him to resist, and he doesn’t—at least, not right away.

you’re insatiable, your thoughts scattered, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. but rafe pulls back again, this time with a sharp, frustrated breath, and gently moves you from his lap onto the bed, standing so quickly it feels like he’s trying to physically distance himself from the tension.

he runs a hand through his tousled hair, pacing toward your desk. "slow," he says, his voice strained, almost pleading now. "we just said slow." the firmness in his tone doesn’t mask the desire still lingering in his eyes, a battle between restraint and something far more primal.

you’re left sitting there, panting softly, your body alight with sensations you’ve never felt before. your mind is racing, flickering like a switchboard as you replay every moment. how were you supposed to be patient now, knowing what his touch felt like, knowing how easily he could unravel you? waiting even a day, a moment longer, feels impossible.

chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap.

taglist — @rafeysworldim19 @my-name-is-baby @pogueprincesa @fveapplestall @chalametlover444 @slutglimreqpers @uarmyhopeworldwide @junxe3 @bakuhoethotski @wintercrows 

let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist & interact with post to remain tagged <3

[foreingersgod]

hiii, could u write smth for emily please? something with sleepy early morning cuddles on her day off and overall being physically clingy <3

Touch . EE

pairing: emily engstler x reader

emily had gotten home the night before absolutely exhausted and worn out. she was stressed and overwhelmed, this week had felt longer than it actually was. her body ached, her head hurt, and all she wanted was you.

she remembers fumbling with the key to unlock your front door, clambering through the threshold, eager to be home. her shoes and jacket were off in seconds and her wallet and keys were tossed carelessly onto the marble counter of your kitchen. it felt like she hadn’t been home in years, dragging herself up the stairs to your shared room.

excitement struck her body as she finally reached the bedroom, she couldn’t wait to wrap her arms around you and fall asleep. she didn’t have anything planned at all for tomorrow, completely prepared to force you to stay in bed with her all day. a day of rotting in bed with your body pressed up against hers sounded like heaven. when she opened the door, noticing your sleeping figure, she stripped of the rest of her clothes and crawled into bed beside you. she said nothing, pulling you into her and resting her head in the crook of your neck. she let out a long and weary sigh as sleep over took her.

I've been lonely since I woke up

I want a touch, no, it's never enough

a merciful stream of light flooded through the cracked window, illuminating the entire room. the light pried at emily’s eyes causing her to rise from her deep slumber. she yawned, stretching her long limbs and groaning in relief. she hadn’t slept this good in a while. with eyes still laced with sleep, practically glued shut, her arm extended to search for you. her calloused fingers met with the silky skin of your shoulder. she cracked an eye open, the early morning light still too much to bare as she looked over to your side of the bed.

you were laying there on your side, turned away from emily. both of your legs were thrown in opposite directions, something that drove her crazy but she still loved you despite your habit to hog the bed. your body rose and fell as you took gentle breathes, snoring softly as you carried on dreaming.

she was still so so tired, wanting to let her eyes close again and sink back into her pillow. but the urgency she had for you was much greater. most of the time, she’d wake up before you just like this. you were quite the night owl as opposed to emily’s early bird nature. but with both of you having the entire saturday to yourselves, she was having a hard time letting you sleep while she sat awake.

she scooted closer to you, pushing the sheets off of your torso so she could get a better look at you. even though you were facing away from her, she couldn’t help but sit and admire you. she brought one hand up to your back, allowing her fingers to draw small shapes on your exposed skin. everything about you had her entranced, from the delicate texture of your skin to the way your hair fell perfectly around your face.

the mornings, she realized, were so lonely without you.

I heard her voice then had a crush

Made me remember all the reasons why

“emily?”

your voice sounded into the room, sleep curling itself around the essence of your words. she had let herself fall into a shallow form of sleep as she continued to run her hands across your body, only to be abruptly pulled from it when she felt you shift.

her heart melted when she heard you for the first time, she had longed for you presence for what was nearing an hour. your groggy, yet still sweet morning voice was music to her ears. she felt herself smile as you called out her name.

“yea, baby?” she mumbled into the pillow.

“what time is it?” you had asked, already sensing how early it was. emily felt a small wave of guilt, realizing that it was hours earlier than what you normal would have awaken at. but that was quickly diminished when you finally turned to face her.

stretching in the process, you rolled over, resisting the urge to throw the sheets back over your body and doze off once more. emily removed her face from the pillow to soak in the image of you. you smiled the moment you laid eyes on her, throwing a leg over her waist and placing your feeble hands on her chest. her large hands instinctively came to rest on your thigh, thumb making mindless circles on your skin.

“about 7” she leaned in to place a kiss to your forehead “sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up this early”

I wanna give you all I've got

Until I'm not even a thought

“s’ok” you let your eyes flutter for a moment, feeling her lips linger on you “i don’t mind. would rather be awake with you anyways”

a sloppy smile danced its way onto emily’s face. her cheeks turned slightly pink, always so sheepish when you flattered her. she was so whipped for you, mesmerized by everything you did. even if it was just wanting her company as you wallowed in the sheets.

“do you know how much i love you?” she inquired.

a satisfied sigh escaped your lips as you tucked your head into her chest. you felt her chin rest on your head as you nuzzled your nose against her neck. you couldn’t help but chuckle, you don’t think anyone could possibly know the amount of love you held for your girlfriend.

“course i do, em” you hummed, lavishing in her warm embrace. you let your hands drag from their place on her chest and up over her shoulders “do you know how much i love you?”

“mhm,” you could sense her drifting off again “i think we should stay like this…all day”

she abandoned your thigh, now trailing her hands under your shirt. your skin formed small goosebumps when you felt her cold fingers run along the underside of your breast. you knew her touch wasn’t from a place of lust, but from a place of passion and desire.

“i like the sound of that”

You've been hangin' out in my head

I've been imaginin' you in my bed

the room was filled with soft snores and gratified breathing. occasional small talk was made, but neither of you needed to speak, content with the silent company. the busyness of the world blared outside, persuading you to leave the house, but nothing could pull you from this moment.

she couldn’t believe that this was her reality. that she got to lay here with you like this, the most beautiful person to walk the earth, someone so kind and gentle. you were her soulmate, she was convinced. it was something so bizarre to love you. she had a hard time imagining that you were here beside her; doting on her, whispering how much you loved her.

But my imagination can only go so far

although, she didn’t need to imagine. she had the real thing right here.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

taglist:

@idiotsnake @girlokwhatever @uraesthete @katemartinsimp @rimunagenius @patscorner @julienbakerloverr @sunfairy-world @anakinsmakingmeweak @barbacoas-stuff @0alessia0 @kc88888888 @kinfluenza @lacyspeaks @pbueckerslover

i don’t know why it isn’t tagging some of guys so i’m trying to figure out how to fix that :’)

[rars]

i had a dream that i was scrolling down my dash and saw this jojo comic and it made me laugh so hard i woke up. so naturally, i had to draw it and make it a reality

[saltydumplings]

OMG I LOVE YOUR STORIES SO MUCH!

Could you please do one where the villian dies and the hero is all sad and stuff but then they find out the villian isn't actually dead?

Request #32

Ooooooo yes, yes, this will do nicely...

The bed was cold. Had been cold for the past two weeks.

The hero did what they'd now grown accustomed to doing and pulled a pillow against their chest, hugging it tightly whilst their eyes slipped shut - wishing it was something else. Someone else.

Sleep wasn't easy still, but it was getting better. The hero managed to drift off over the course of an hour, mind pointedly blank as they let the relief of unconsciousness wash over them. It was the only time they didn't think of them. The only time they didn't have to remember...

They woke up only three hours later. Or, at least, they thought they did. But when they felt a puff of breath against their neck and an arm draped over their waist - the embrace so warm and so familiar - the hero knew that they must be dreaming.

They turned around sleepily and tucked their head beneath the villain's chin, hiding themself away into the safest place they knew.

Softly, a hand came up to stroke through their hair, skilled fingers carding through messy locks: "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

The hero could have cried at the sound of that voice. Instead they simply cuddled closer, taking the small moment for what it was.

"You didn't," they said. "I'm still dreaming."

The villain hummed. "Is it a good dream?" they asked.

"It's perfect," the hero said.

A beat.

The silence between them was soft. Comfortable. A quiet sanctuary made for just the two of them to share - so familiar with one another that it seemed only natural that they should take a moment to indulge in that single embrace; natural to let all other things fall away if only to acknowledge a touch as if it were holy.

"I didn't plan to run," the villain said after a while. "Definitely not for that long."

The hero huffed, the sound of it bitter as it left their lips. "I wouldn't exactly call dying 'running.'"

"Woah, who said anything about dying?"

The hero froze.

Suddenly something seemed to dawn on them. Or, more accurately, everything did: the warmth of the bed, the villain's hand in their hair, their shared breaths, the way the sheets tangled around their legs...Too detailed, too specific, too - too real.

"What do you mean dying?" the villain pressed.

The villain who was alive, and here, and holding them.

Wait.

Wait.

The hero sat up and switched on the light, half expecting the villain to vanish with the room's shadows but instead they remained, dark eyes blinking up at them with more innocence than they should be allowed.

The hero's next breath came out shakily, voice no stronger than a hollow whisper: "How are you here?"

The villain's head cocked to the side, one hand reaching out...

The hero shuffled back. "You died."

Their partner froze almost perfectly, a tense second passing between them before their hand retracted back and they joined the hero in sitting up straight, brow drawing down in the same way it always did when things got serious. Always had...

Did - had; did - god the hero didn't know what to think anymore.

If the villain was alive then what had they seen? What had been plaguing their dreams - stealing the breath and tears right from them - for the past two weeks?

They had thought...God, they had thought...

In that moment, they truly didn't know whether they wanted to punch the villain or hug them.

"Hero, you," the other paused, eyes widening fractionally at the sight of the tears quickly gathering in the hero's eyes. "You didn't think I was dead, right?"

At the simple question, the hero's expression crumbled miserably.

A broken sob split free from their throat and they fumbled - still hopelessly torn between punching and hugging so they grabbed the pillow next to them instead, clutching it close and burying their face. The villain was everything to them; they had thought they'd lost everything.

"Oh, Hero, I'm so sorry." The villain's arms found them quickly, pulling them tight and close. "I'm so sorry, I didn't- I thought you would know. I thought you would - you always know me so well - and I...Two weeks. God, you thought I-- for two weeks."

Screw the pillow, the hero was too wrecked right now to do anything but cry. They pushed the item away in favour of clinging onto the villain instead, pressing in as close as they could manage.

"I'm sorry," the villain kept saying. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Good. They should be.

The hero hated them - hated them.

And they also loved them. So, so much.

Whatever had happened before didn't matter in that moment. The hero couldn't have cared less about how the villain had gotten there - how they'd come back, come home - because at the heart of it all they didn't have time to. The night was still pressing down on them: outside the streets were dark, the city lights shining coldly underneath a misted fall of rain and the sound of a rumbling unquiet...

And the hero was still so scared that they would wake up.

[honeyflower-bellybower]

I had a dream tonight and I thought it was cute so here it is

The Potters', Christmas, probably 1977 or around that.

Sirius and Remus are standing right under the Christmas tree, and there's no one else in the room, because it's night. They have a small light up, on Sirius' wand point, but the wand's been left on the small coffee table so that now it only creates some visible shapes, but their faces are no longer lit.

They used the light, a minute ago, to see the stairs as they made them down, the tiny, neatly wrapped box with a golden ribbon as Remus put it in Sirius' hands, and the earring inside it.

It was a small thing, nothing too catchy, to replace Sirius' current simple gold hoop. This, too, had a little gold hoop, but it also had a pendant, a crescent moon with a star inside it. The star was floating about in the semi-circle, enchanted, and it spun on itself occasionally. The moon was enchanted as well, though not visibly, to grow full and wane again.

Remus thought it better to give it in secret, as the romantic implication of such a gift were far too obvious. The Marauders knew, but not the Potters, and they normally had additional visitors for gift giving, too.

Sirius loved it of course. He took off his old hoop and had Remus put in the new one at once. Then Remus admired the result, a calloused hand on Sirius' soft cheek, and they kissed.

They are kissing now, gently, both cherishing this moment and the rare feeling of peace, of being safe and sound. Breathing each other in. When they pull back, Remus draws an affectionate line long Sirius' cheekbone with his thumb, and hits the small, gold moon lightly before resting on his neck. The earring spins and the star twirls cheerily in his pool of space.

It matches him perfectly, he thinks. Something so lively, that can never be still, and yet so elegant.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, because he can't keep it in. He hopes if he can look deep enough in Sirius' eyes he might fall in.

And he sees them glint, even in the dark, and Sirius squeezes his hand like he, too, is simply feeling too much. When he talks, it's strained, as if he's struggling to keep his voice down. "You're just the most gorgeous thing," he says, and Remus is startled into a smile.

What's he saying? Out of all the things Remus is, and could be praised for, beauty surely isn't one. Certainly Sirius doesn't love him for his looks. Certainly. But Sirius looks at him like he truly is seeing something gorgeous, an artwork. Remus feels his awestruck gaze on his big, crooked nose, his jagged scars, his plain brown eyes.

"I still can't believe my luck," Sirius gasps, and Remus wants to laugh. "I can't believe you're real, and I get to have you."

Yours, Remus thinks. All yours.

Remus has been feeling that disbelief for ages, all the time, when he looks at Sirius, when he holds him, when they kiss, when they're in bed together and Remus gets to touch even, he gets to know the feel of his pearly white skin and trace the line of his solid arms, his lovely back. He feels drunk on the thought that it might be the same for Sirius.

"I love you," he says, both hands squeezing Sirius' now. Sirius squeezes back. "I love you, too."

They kiss again, and this time is less graceful, less delicate. It's everything they can't put into words, because they don't know how or because the right words haven't been invented.

"Oi! No messing around with the gifts, you raiders!"

Remus and Sirius spring away, as James bounds down the stairs and throws the lights on.

"Fuck," Remus mutters.

"Prongs!" Sirius accuses.

"Oh, shit, sorry," James says, taking in the actual nature of the situation.

His shouting is sure to have woken the Potters, Remus thinks, throwing a concerned look at the corridor that connects the living room with the master bedroom, downstairs. But, horrified, he discovers it's not James who woke them. There she stands already, Euphemia Potter, a hand to her chest and a gasp on her mouth.

She turns to her son, wide eyes and a stern set to her lips. "James!"

James' expression mutes in shock. He throws a look at the boys, then looks at his mother again, then forces a smile through.

"Ah, dang, you caught us! Promise we're normally better at pranks!" he laughs. James Potter was a terrible liar to be a Marauder.

Euphemia arches an eyebrow at him, having none of that.

"Effie, we were just," Sirius tries, voice shaking.

He mouths around for words. Remus can see his eyes shining, a different type of glint this time. The Potters mean the world to him, Remus knows. He's spent his whole life defying his own parents openly, but a single bit of judgement from Euphemia Potter would shatter him.

Except, when Euphemia turns to them, she looses her reproachful set immediately. She reaches for Sirius, hand extended as if to touch him, even though they're on opposite sides of the room.

"Oh, darling," she says, head tilted and a sorrowful bend of her brow. She looks bashful, like she was the one caught onto something. "I'm so sorry. I heard a noise and wanted to check," she gestures vaguely to the corridor she came from, "but then I heard..."

Remus feels his cheeks heating up. How long had she been listening?

"I wanted to just go back to bed," she continued. "I'm sorry. It was supposed to be a private moment..."

Sirius' shoulders relax. Remus feels it, too. She's... not mad? Not even weirded out? More than that, she's apologizing for... intruding?

"You mean..." Sirius raises his eyes, hopeful. "It's alright with you?"

"Of course it's alright!" James blurts, eyes big. He looks at his mother, expectantly. "Right?"

Euphemia raises her eyebrows, like she's surprised and a little offended, too. "Of course." She nods, fervently, and casts a fixed look on Sirius, then on Remus, as if to make sure it's been received.

Then, her tight lips flicker and her features melt, settling into an affectionate smile like she physically couldn't keep the stern look for long.

She gasps softly. "Oh, but you two are just adorable!" she coos, and then points a finger at them both. "But don't think you can get away! I'd have never let you sleep in the same room if I'd known!"

"Effie," Sirius starts, at the same time James gasps, "mom!"

"Non of that!" she chides, "the same rules as when Lily visits apply. A corridor away."

"We all sleep in the same room," James pushes on, "every night!"

"That's right. With you and Petey there."

James groans. "We have silencing spells, mom."

That's about when the embarrassment gets strong enough to shake all remaining shock and emotion away, and Remus catches on.

"We've never done anything," he rushes to say, confused as to why would Prongs so valiantly fight for their room-sharing rights.

But then he realizes that's too much of a lie, and no one'd believe it, and Sirius is looking at him like he's gone mad, so he clarifies, "in the room, I mean. With the others." And then he wants to groan in frustration because there's no saving this, is there? Now he just admitted to doing things in a room without others in it, and therefore in this room, at the Potters', and he definitely should've just shut up. So he does, mortified.

Euphemia simply looks validated on her point. She nods to herself. "A corridor apart," she declares, "and I shall ask Gully to keep an eye on you." Then, a thought hits her. "No need to tell him why, of course!" she assures, sweet and preoccupied again, "and, oh, Monty is definitely awake now, but it's alright. I'll just tell him you boys were trying to steal some pies away... you don't worry about a thing."

Remus is a couple steps behind Sirius at this point and can't see his face, but he knows instantly what he'll say. Sirius turns to him first, asking for permission. Remus smiles and nods.

"It's fine, Effie," Sirius says softly, "you can... you can tell him."

Euphemia blinks, then smiles broadly, then shakes her head. "Oh, no, no, you do that in the morning, then. These are things we ought to do ourselves, no one else. Now off to bed. I'll make the new sleeping arrangements in the morning."

They all go, in various states of queasy and emotional.

That night, Remus and Sirius make the best of their last bed-sharing opportunity, hoping Gully hasn't been notified yet.

[kairiscorner]

Helloo, can I request Miguel with an artist reader who draws him a lot? 👉👈 Like the reader has a secret crush on Miguel and he inspires them a lot, without even knowing it. And maybe there's a Gwen-and-Miles-like-situation where Miguel by accident discovers the drawings of him in their sketchbook?

AAAAAAAA ANON THIS IS SO CUTE !! tbh i wanted to finish the miggy fic i had for ate @binibinileonara bc i wanted to connect these two together, BUT I COULDN'T RESIST, I'LL MAKE IT SEPARATE BC WHY NOT !! thank you for the lovely idea btw (i also had an idea like this actually in my notes) THANKS FOR GIVING ME THE OOMPH TO DO IT !!

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

you always had this desire to capture all that interested you in its full beauty, in its unbridled greatness. that was, to you, the essence of all your art pieces; they always reflected how you saw the world, how you saw nature, how you saw people.

you never believed people had one or two faces to them, you believed people were multi-faceted, that every person was a kaleidoscope of beauty, skills, quirks, flaws, fears, hopes, and dreams. you loved capturing every bit of people who intrigued you the best you could, and you hoped that if you stood back and admired the big picture that was them, going over the details and fibers that made each person their own–from the good, bad, pretty and ugly details–you would finally see the whole, uncut image of the person you were illustrating; who you were painting in the colors you saw them in, the colors that stuck with you and filled the empty canvas of your mind with all sorts of shapes and splotches of hues and shades that formed the image of them when their name would come to mind.

and for some reason... that person to you right now was miguel o'hara. you had a lot of things to say about him, even words that many would argue don't exist. you felt a myriad of feelings when you were around miguel, and you knew there was more than just the dictating leader miguel that everyone was familiar with. like all people, miguel, too, was an explosion of different kinds of colors to you–colors that only you could see, because when he was around you... he was more than just the cool, calm, and collected boss everyone saw him as.

he was much more caring, much more funny around you. his smile when you told him a funny story illuminated a bright yellow and a warm orange to you–his eyes would twinkle and you'd see the hazelnut brown in his eyes, and a shade of what appeared to be coffee brown at the bottom of his irises. he exuded a commanding aura, a dark, cool blue–but when paired with you, and only you, he exuded a bright red; a color of fiery passion, intimacy, and most of all... attraction.

he was the subject of your affections, you, the soulful and emotional artist that admired him and all that he was from afar and up close. you admired the way he held your hand when you were scared on a few missions, you admired how gently he held you when you two were caught between a rock and a hard place; and how soft and loving his eyes were when they gazed at you. you knew he might have felt a platonic kind of love for you, what with being so comfortable around you and all, but you felt a different kind of love for him–and you hated denying your creative side the indulgence of capturing him in all his beauty.

hence, you began slowly filling the empty spaces of your sketchbooks and notebooks, or whatever other papers lay around when inspiration struck you, with images of him and only him. you caught his face in moments where he was nonchalant, disappointed, angry, grumpy, and... smiling.

when you witnessed his smile for the first time when you met him, that image was burned into your retinas, into your mind, into your heart. you saw that smile from the minute you went to bed to the minute you woke up, the only thing that saddened you was that you could never hold that man who smiled at you and made your heart beat a little faster–you could only watch him and be with him at a distance. but art was the bridge between you two that'd close that distance you wanted to cover so, so badly.

you did, at times, believe what you were doing was... a little creepy. you refused to let anyone see your sketchbooks even before you drew him, and that was out of embarrassment at your drawings. but now, it was a new kind of embarrassment, a feeling adjacent to guilt and disgust at how nobody but he could fill your mind and have you wanting to keep him in your mind by feeding yourself, indulging yourself in putting him on paper and coloring him in; to be with him at a closer perspective than how you two were in the real world.

you had to admit it–seeing him constantly in your mind, wanting to let thoughts of him out on paper as you wanted to be through with imagining him, but knew you couldn't the more and more you portrayed him–it meant you... wanted him. you really, really loved him.

you knew nobody should know, nobody had to know about this little crush you had on miguel. you'd rather die than have someone peek at your sketchbook that was filled with all kinds of drawings of him. but unfortunately, the man himself bore witness to your caricatures and illustrations of him when you left your sketchbook at his office.

you ran as quickly as you could, praying he hadn't opened it out of curiosity. he was always asking you what you were up to, and you'd immediately shut your sketchbook and laugh awkwardly, claim you were merely doodling. you always left out the part that you were constantly drawing him, and only ever him; and now, he'd find out.

as you entered his office, scouring with your eyes for your sketchbook, a figure emerged from the darkness behind you and gave a slight cough. "this is yours, isn't it?" that low, fluid voice was none other than miguel's. you turned around in fear of what he was going to look like–would any of the faces you drew seeing him as be one of the faces you'd see?

to your surprise... no. he had a different, completely new face that you had never drawn him in; a flustered state. he was blushing, his angled cheeks and high nose bridge were covered in a pink-red hue–and he was grinning. he handed you the sketchbook with a now sheepish smile. "i'm sorry, i wasn't sure if it was yours. i had to... look through for a name. and, um... it was very–" he wanted to continue, but then, he saw you were on the verge of tears.

"i'm... sorry..." you muttered, feeling incredibly ashamed of yours and busted for having indulged in drawing him without him knowing. guilt stirred in your stomach and elicited tears to well up in your eyes. miguel smiled, and as his eyebrows curved upwards together to form a look of reassurance, he placed both hands on your shoulders.

"listen, you have a wonderful talent. i'm sorry if you don't hear that enough, but that changes today. i'm so... wow, i'm so flattered you thought i was good enough to be drawn that way. it feels... amazing, to know an artist sees me fit to be their, what would you call it?" he asked as he wiped a tear rolling down your cheek away from you.

"a... muse." you whispered, wiping the rest of your tears away. miguel chuckled. "right, a muse." he said as he inched closer to you, with the sweetest smile on his face. "i might sound really crazy right now, but... i want to be your muse. i really, really want to be your muse." he said, with emphasis on 'your'.

your face lightened up as the tears that welled up gave your eyes a glassy look, and you saw the blush on his deepen as you became more and more flustered. you smiled and wrapped your arms around his chest, pulling him in for an embrace you needed to release. "and i want to be your artist. only yours." you whispered, to which miguel reciprocated your hug. and it was here that you witnessed him in a new color, a pinkish, reddish hue that made you feel all kinds of happiness and excitement.

a love meant to be captured and painted in with bursts of emotion and care for one another.

a/n: I'M SO SORRY IF IT DIDN'T COME OUT THAT WELL NGL I MADE THIS A LITTLE RUSHED 😭😭😭 BUT I LOVE MIGGY HERE PLSSS AND I HOPE Y'ALL LOVE HIM HERE, TOO <333

tags !! @thecoolerdor @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @luvstarrstruck

[yanderecrazysie]

Curiosity (Yandere Tsukishima)

This was a Quotev request!

Title: Curiosity

Pairings: Tsukishima Kei x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, swearing, suggestive themes, non-consensual touching, seriously creepy vibes from Tsukishima

Summary: Tsukishima seems like a normal guy, except that he’s always writing in that journal of his. When you decide to see what he’s up to, you learn that he’s anything but normal.

curiosity

/noun/

a strong desire to know or learn something:

 DAY 1

It’s the first day of school again. (Y/n) looked beautiful as ever today, I missed seeing her in her school uniform. Of course, I’ve been following her around town over the summer, but I missed seeing her in a skirt. This is the last year I see that until I make a move, as I doubt she’ll wear skirts to university.

I’ll do my best to draw what she looks like, since this is a special occasion, but there’s no way my art can do her justice.

Tsukishima Kei was a quiet guy, which, you supposed, was common for smart kids. You hadn’t known him well throughout high school and you doubted you’d have much time to get to know him, since the end of your third and final year was nearly upon you both.

One interesting thing you always noticed is that he was always writing in a journal of sorts, sometimes sketching away in it instead of writing.

You always wondered what it said.

DAY 17

(Y/n) smiled and waved at me today. She does that to everyone, I know, but I couldn’t breathe when she turned her divine attention on me! I felt like, even for a second, I had her undivided attention! I’d do anything, ANYTHING to get that on me again. I’d fucking kill everyone she knows if that means she’ll look at me and only me.

Tsukishima always gave you the distinct vibe that he wanted a friend, especially after his only friend moved away last year, but that he didn’t know how to approach anyone. You sensed a sort of longing when he looked at you and you wondered if your friendliness appealed to his loneliness. Perhaps he was awkward or shy?

You felt bad that you hadn’t had time to talk to him, but life really was just too busy. You always tried to be friendly when you passed him in the halls or made eye contact. 

It was the least you could do.

DAY 33

I love (Y/n) so much that I was willing to dig around in her trash can to find that lip gloss she’d thrown away. How many guys would do THAT for their girlfriends? She only wore it a few times since she didn’t like it very much, but that just meant I had so much of something her precious lips had touched.

I felt like I was in heaven putting it on- like I was kissing her! I had dreams about doing just that and I woke up feeling happier and more refreshed than I had been all year. I need more.

You’d always felt like someone was following you and like your things were disappearing, but you wrote those feelings off as paranoia. Maybe you should take those things seriously, but who had time for that? You were on the student council, an honor student, and preparing for college.

Why didn’t you see the red flags?

Were you really so colorblind?

DAY 52

I went to her house and climbed in through the window. Thank goodness she’s on the first floor.

I went straight to her bed and just laid on it and inhaled her scent from the pillows and blankets. She’s on vacation and I miss her so much, so I really couldn’t help doing all this. It’s her fault for leaving me.

I wonder if she wants our room to look like this or if she has a better one in mind. I’m not a fan of the color but, if she likes it, who am I to disagree? I just want her to be healthy and happy with me. I’ll make her.

You were a naturally curious person. That’s probably why you did so well in school- you had a thirst for knowing why and how that many people your age didn’t care for. You never just wanted to accept things without an explanation. Better to be informed.

Sometimes you were called nosy or told to mind your own business, but you couldn’t help it. You also had a bad habit of eavesdropping and “investigating” on your own. You’d do great in a Nancy Drew book, but it annoyed real-life people.

It’s really no surprise that, when you went to grab Tsukishima’s left-behind notebook, you couldn’t stop yourself from peeking inside and reading some of the entries and looking at the drawings.

DAY 82

I peeked through her window at just the right time and caught her getting undressed for a shower! I think I’ve died and gone to heaven. Words can’t describe the experience, so I’ll draw what she looked like instead:

You felt sick. For once, you wished, desperately, that your curiosity was nonexistent. If you could take back everything you’d seen in the last few minutes, you would.

You’d just go off to university, blissfully unaware, and never see that freak ever again. How could he write and draw such things? How could he violate your privacy like that? How dare he-

“You read it, didn’t you?”

The empty classroom went so silent you could hear a pin drop. Your horror felt like metal weighing down your stomach and throat. You couldn’t swallow, you couldn’t breathe.

Tsukishima was right behind you, inching closer each moment, but you couldn’t hope to turn around or run away. You were petrified, rooted in place like you were a statue. A statue with wide eyes and terror etched into your features.

You wanted to claim you hadn’t but the journal was still open in your hands, opened up to a disgusting drawing of yourself and your eyes couldn’t tear themselves away from it. Even if you wanted to futilely make up an excuse, your mouth wouldn’t form the words. You couldn’t so much as squeak.

As he stands directly behind you, his hands caress your waist, finger pads sinking deep into the flesh through your shirt. You shudder in disgust, but that’s the most movement your body can even make.

Even as his fingers dance at the hem of your shirt, daringly searching upwards against bare skin, you can’t move or make a sound. You wished you were a fight or flee kind of person and not a freeze.

You feel his lips brush against your earlobe and you violently shudder as he speaks into your ear a few chilling words.

“Don’t you know what curiosity did to the cat?”

[guardpupleo]

i dozed off for like an HOUR earlier tonight and got consumed by the most visceral and descriptive wet dream i have had in fucking AGES . a lot of it is lost on me now just by the nature of dreams but holy fucking shit i need to write this out because he needs to read this too . this is my favorite part because of how sheerly fucking insane it makes me and because i woke up right after because my dick was so hard .

cut for length obviously this is so fucking LONG

i pressed my hips harder against his, the knot of my strap grinding into him and i feel him shudder and whine and dig his nails harder into my back, his face bright red and with tears welled up in his eyes. the sight makes me growl down, pressing into him again, rolling my hips, teasing him with the knot. to my surprise, he rolls his hips back into me, managing to start to get the knot in.

of course, this gets such a reaction out of me, hearing the noises he makes and how his breathing quickens, and i just look at him and catch his gaze.

"wow, it looks like somebody's desperate to be treated like a puppy, huh? didn't think you'd be that eager to take my knot.." i coo at him, and this elicits the exact reaction i was hoping for; mumbled, barely cohesive words trying to justify himself while he pressed his hips into me, desperately trying to signal for me to keep grinding my knot into him.

"what, love? come on, im gonna need you to tell me to keep going.. it's a bit of a stretch and i don't want to hurt you, after all.." and as i speak, i gently roll my hips into him again. "but i do love feeling you bottomed out like this, on my cock, pretty boy.."

a sharper whine and he's almost panting for me now, and i wipe tears from his eyes so he can look at me clearer. all he can manage are half whispers of the word please, panting and blinking tears of pleasure away trying to keep his composure.

and with his affirmation, i snarl, holding his hips with both hands now to help guide him into me, and i deeply grind into him, every bit that the knot slipped in, bringing a higher pitched whine from him and his claws digging into me harder.

i move myself so i can tuck my face against his neck and collarbone, slowly and torturously fucking my knot into him, easing him up and also just working him up.

his claws dig into me harder, i know hard enough to raise lines on my back and i growl and hiss through my teeth, biting into his neck barely hard enough to leave a mark.

"come on, doll, i know you can do more damage than that. im not gonna let you take this whole thing until you can at least draw a little blood."

i draw back, and start just pumping into him again, letting my knot press against him but not into him, getting him to raise and roll his hips with pitiful little whimpers and barely audible pleas for more. but he complies once he fully realizes i meant it, and i start fucking into him faster.

i finally press my knot against him again, letting him do most of the work for me, but still rutting my hips in time with his. i snarl as i feel him absolutely slash down my back, feeling the sear of skin being broken and i nearly come undone right then and there, feeling my tdick throb violently against the base of the strap.

my hips start moving faster, and his breathing picks up, and i feel him start to tense up below me, and i lock eyes with him ever so briefly as i catch a glimpse of the mess he's made of his makeup with his tears, and i snarl and growl and feel him getting closer to taking the knot to the base.

"fuck, darling, you're really gonna take it.. i can't .. you're doing so good for me, know that?" i manage out, through gritted teeth, knowing im so damn close, each deep push against him as the knot nearly makes it in. i keep grinding into him, feeling him start to tremble and whine under me, and finally, finally, the rest of the knot slips in, and he really digs his claws into me.

i growl and can't even function enough as i feel him clench and shake and pant and whine and just press against his collarbone, rutting my hips into him just so he can feel the knot all the way in him, my hips jerking and my cock throbbing as my orgasm just fucking breaks me.

[kate-komics]

Scars of the Protector

A (very) short story about how Wrecker got his scars.

This started as a warm up drawing then morphed into this. I'm just in a very Bad Batch mood lately. I've always been curious about Wrecker's scars. I had a dialogue going on in my head what drawing so I thought I'd practice a little writing too! Let me know what you think! I'm always very nervous to share my writing because I have no idea if it's any good 😅 so any constructive criticism is welcome!

Star Wars- The Bad Batch

Word Count: 660

Warnings: Angsty as hell, vague descriptions of battle, vague descriptions of panicking

Scars of the Protector

His hulking form was barely contained in the Bacta tank. The medics seemed doubtful he’d even fit. For the first time in his life, he looked small. Over a day now he floated in the salty healing water, motionless. His brothers watched on in suspense as the hours sluggishly rolled on. If they got him here sooner he’d already be healed and there wouldn’t be scarring like the medics predicted. He’d still have two working eyes and hearing in his left ear. If they actually worked as a team this wouldn’t have happened.

Hunter was always their unquestioned leader, but Wrecker was the protector. Despite his gentle nature, he knew how the regs saw him. A threat. A brute. He took on the role with great pride, always willing to step up. Always willing to fight the battles for his brothers. 

This is our fault.

The unspoken words made the air in the small sterile room heavy. There was no point in saying it out loud, they all knew. The guilt was so evident on their faces. They all panicked and now their brother was paying the price.

From the moment they were born, they were told they were special. Different in a good way. It made them better than the rest. The perfect soldiers. Out there, it made them cocky.

It was their first mission. A battlefield they’d trained for and dreamed about their entire lives. Finally fighting the war they existed for. It should have been second nature, and in a way it was. In the beginning, they flowed with the action flawlessly. The commands and formations drilled into their heads. Was it really this easy? It was, until their numbers started to dwindle. They were forced into a corner in the heat of battle.

After gurgling hours of fighting they were the only ones in the squadron left, surrounded in the rubble with no way out. How could it have gotten this bad? They were better than this, weren’t they? Instead, the prodigy Bad Batch had been reduced to cowering children in the bodies of men. They’d ceased firing. The march of the remaining droids was deafening. They’d all froze, fear gripping their quivering limbs. All of them, except for him. 

Their strongest brother. The explosives expert still had something left to save them. He gathered his final handful of thermal detonators and armed them all quickly. It was more than enough to take care of what clankers were left. He removes his helmet to get a better aim before tossing the charges over their rubble barricade.  

He turned to smile down at his brothers, as he had so many times before, to assure them it was going to be okay now. He’d protected them like he always had. They were safe again. Before he could speak, a single detonator was returned, Wrecker taking nearly all of the blow.  

The battle was won. Medics took hours to arrive.

Most men would be dead, but then again he wasn’t most men. A bred killing machine. A freak. Their brother. And now the only one to wear the evidence of the horrors they’d seen on his face. Something to remind them how they failed him that day, and a quiet promise they’d never let it happen again. They’d all make sure of it. 

They knew he wouldn’t be angry when he woke up. He was never angry. Still, they were afraid of what had changed in him. Would this be the same brother they knew? Would he still smile and laugh the way he always did? Could he even still do that?

Only time and healing will tell, and they stay by his side for all of it.

They all drift in and out of sleep in the medical bay, but none of them ever notice the small eyes peering around the corner. A vigilante gaze, like theirs, that also makes sure her brother would be okay.

[tatumrileyslover]

THE BLUE ROOM TEASER

Pairings: Park Jimin x Reader

Genre: vampire!AU, strangers to lovers, slow burn, eventual light smut, angst, gothic

a/n: this was originally supposed to be out for Halloween but god did I get too into it and made it more than double the length I wanted it to be lol. It’s literally over 20k. Anyway this is based of the gothic novel Carmilla, it has some of the same characters as in the book. I’d definitely recommend reading it if you like sapphic vampire stuff.

—

"I wondered when you'd come," he said without moving, as if he'd been waiting for her. "The sun is so harsh today. Draw the curtains?"

She did, watching how the heavy blue velvet transformed the room into a twilight world. When she turned back, he had shifted to make space beside him on the counterpane.

"Come," he said softly. "Lie beside me. Like we used to."

The words struck her oddly - they'd never done this before - but she found herself moving forward anyway. It wasn't proper, she knew, to be here without Madame Perrodon's supervision, but Jimin had a way of making improper things seem natural, inevitable.

"Why do you always lock your door?" she found herself asking as she carefully settled beside him, the question that had burned in her mind finally finding voice.

His smile widened slightly, though his arm remained over his eyes. "Do I? Perhaps I sleepwalk. Perhaps I have secrets I must keep." His free hand found hers, fingers intertwining with that unnatural coolness she'd grown used to. "Perhaps I'm afraid of what might come visiting in the night."

"You mock me," she said, though without heat.

"Never." He turned then, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at her. The dim light caught in his dark eyes, making them appear almost burgundy. "I would never mock your curiosity. It's one of the things I find most..." he paused, seeming to taste the word before speaking it, "...delicious about you."

The way he said it sent shivers down her spine, though not entirely unpleasant ones. They lay in silence for a moment, his cool fingers tracing abstract patterns on her palm.

"Tell me a story," he said finally. "Something from your childhood. A memory you hold dear."

She thought for a moment, and then, "I had the strangest dream once, when I was very young - perhaps six or seven. Though sometimes I wonder if it was a dream at all..."

His hand stilled in hers. "Tell me."

"I woke in the night - or thought I did. There was a figure standing by my bed, the most beautiful being I'd ever seen." As she spoke, the memory became clearer, details she'd forgotten surfacing like bodies in dark water. "They knelt beside me, stroked my hair. I felt... loved. Cherished. But also..."

"Also?" His voice had taken on an odd quality, intense yet somehow distant.

"Afraid. Not of them, exactly, but of how much I wanted them to stay. They spoke to me, though I couldn't understand the words. And then..." She touched her breast unconsciously, just below where the charm now lay. "There was a sensation, like being pierced by ice and fire at once. I screamed..."

"And the servants came running," Jimin said softly. "With candles and concerns. But found nothing amiss, save a very frightened little girl."

Saffron sat up slightly, looking at him with surprise. "How did you know?"

His smile was dreamy, distant. "Because I had the same dream at that age, watching over you, caressing you. Strange, isn't it? How some souls are destined to meet, how some moments echo across time until they find their mirror?" His cool fingers brushed her cheek. "Perhaps that's why I feel as though I've known you forever."

The charm at her throat seemed to pulse with sudden warmth, but she found herself leaning into his touch despite it. Something about his words rang both true and false, like a bell with a hidden crack.

"How strange," she murmured, settling back against the pillows. "That we should share such a similar dream."

"Perhaps not strange at all," Jimin replied softly. His fingers had moved to trace the line of her jaw, touch whisper-light but somehow burning cold. "Some meetings are written in the stars, dear one. Some souls call to each other across time itself."

—

[jedibinx]

Last night I had a dream about someone called Daniel who I was dating and he died and I woke up and I'm still feeling the grieving for some reason so Daniel is gonna get a character profile and it's completely self indulgent and I don't care I'm sad.

This is Daniel. Daniel lived in Wales and was a Welsh boy through and through. There wasn't a day that went by where he didn't wake up and smile as the vast expanse of nature outside his bedroom window gave him all the energy he needed to get through the day.

He was an artist by trade; he would create whatever took his fancy at the time. His favourite medium to work in was sculpture but he was also a huge fan of digital art and when he finished a day's work at his art studio he would go home and draw some more, creating art pieces catered to his girlfriend just so he could make her smile.

Outside of the art world, Daniel loved to spend as much time outdoors as he could, often walking through forests and over beaches and just enjoying ... being.

Daniel was loved by everyone who came into contact with him. There was something about him, an aura that just relaxed everyone and made them feel comfortable around him.

Daniel sadly passed away. It was sudden and completely unexpected. His girlfriend left work early because there was a nagging worry in the back of her mind she couldn't shake, coupled with not having heard from Daniel at all that day, and she went over to his flat, letting herself in with the spare key where she found him still in bed, asleep forever.

The local University created an art exhibition in his honour, a local graffiti artist memorialising him in a huge mural on the side of the art building on campus. The art world mourned, his friends mourned and his girlfriend was inconsolable. It was unfair; ripped away from the world for no good reason.

[evelynlikesfrogs]

Signs everything I thought I knew was wrong

I needed to dump my thoughts and feelings somewhere because I feel like im annoying my support group. I think my egg finally cracked Wednesday and immediately I had to start researching and buying gender affirming things. Anyways, here's my list of signs that I wish I had seen like a decade ago, please be kind I'm very new to opening up like this

Another Girl in elementary threatened me with makeup and cross dressing and I wanted it bad.

I think this one is such a major factor in why I feel like this has to be real. Its well before puberty and well before I knew transitioning was a thing. Just a natural thought for someone who’s the wrong gender

Multiple times pleading with god to just make me a girl

Still cis tho obv

Thinking if I held still for long enough in bed, some sort of magic would make me a girl and fix this wrong body of mine

I still remember the dreams where im a girl, i legit became proficient at lucid dreaming just for it.

Ah fuck the egg_irl memes are hitting too hard

My favorite game character is Bridget, listening back to the song is hitting really hard actually

Legit had an anxiety attack and took a day off work because my transfem friend said “careful, i said the same thing before i came out”

Wishing i had magic to turn myself into a girl

Playing female characters just to feel cute

Putting on leggings in highschool, then sleeping in them

Some female mannerisms

Kinda hating my poor skin but couldnt do anything about it since thats only for women am i right fellas

Mild euphoria when someone says good girl

Envisioning myself as the girl during fantasies

Jealousy over a womans body

Ive never seen any man sit cross legged at a table the way i do, idk why that one pops up but i’ve seen plenty of other girls do it

Desire to steal womans clothing to cross dress

At current moment I have no desire to bite my nails because I want them to grow out, even though I was a nail biter for 27 years

In pre school, tried to convince another girl to swap clothes with me

In pre school, loved pretending i was at a hair salon and the other girls in the school would give me a haircut. It gave me ASMR

Speaking of ASMR, I like exclusively listen to makeup, nail and hair roleplays

Feeling like i dont want to transition because I could be ugly

After realization, I dont have nearly as much of an appetite, maybe subconscious bodily sabotage in the form of overeating

Not seeing any future when I tried to plan my life better, before I ever considered the option of becoming trans

Feeling hurt when my dad made somewhat transphobic comments about my trans cousin

Wondering what my parents would do if i woke up one day as a woman and had to explain that to them

Genuine euphoria at the idea of trying on womens clothing, but thinking that i was weird and kinky

Playing with stuffed animals with my best childhood friend, a fellow girl

Hating my balls

I bet it feels good to cry, its probably cathartic

Hating body hair god i hate this so much, I’m just bad at shaving it and dont want to be covered in razor burns and have to explain to coworkers why I shaved my legs and arms

Hating my nose

Adopting a super masculine persona

Forcing myself to have a much deeper voice to not feel any of my true feelings

Actually seeing a future after considering becoming trans

Being hurt by transphobic comments at work before I realized my egg status

Was I sending what they said to my friend because i was hurt by it and wanted reassurance?

When i started drawing again, i had no desire to draw “cool badass epic shit” i just wanted to draw super cosy watercolor paintings.

God damn it i’ll say it, I fucking love pastels. Both the art medium and the color spectrum

Repression of my desire to dance and sing, or I guess express myself in any format due to internalized transphobia

“Mens fashion is so lame, girls have it so good. Im cis tho”

Pure depression my entire adult life

Wanting genuine friend connections with women in a more feminine way

Never caring about going out and buying clothes because none of them worked for me

Trying to force myself to not look at girls clothes because “thats only what weirdos do”

On this topic, how the fuck did i think this shit was normal… i wasnt watching women or anything, its not like i was being creepy in reality. I just wanted to see the womens clothes. Why is that such a bad thing for someone to want

Being jealous of my friend since he was openly wearing his girlfriend’s sweatshirt

Dude i stared longingly at a pink gamer girl chair, still cis tho

Speaking of gamers, being super jealous of C9 Sneaky that he could pass so well and was totally fine with showing that whole side of himself online. Same with Finnster.

I think i hate my voice, ever since realizing this about myself i cant help but hear my voice and think its not me

Being afraid to see a therapist because im not sure honestly

Fearing crying, but that might not be internalized transphobia and actually just be a side product of the vice grip on masculinity in society

Daydreaming about becoming a girl

General body dysmorphia

I want to cry but i cant, why cant I cry why

[voodooveil-writes]

Marinette as Bakugo’s sister.

This is a concept for an au where Marinette is Katsuki bakugo’s sister. If you want more, then ask, or if you want to use my concepts credit me. Just note that I’m not the first to have this idea, I’m just adding a bit of flair. ALSO NOTE THAT I AM AGING UP THE CHARACTERS!!! Marinette and her friends will be 17, not 13, and Katsuki and his class will be 18, not 16. Marinette will not be a stalker! It’s frankly gross to ship two 13 year olds, AND make one of them a yandere. It also gives me as the writer more freedom to make the characters more independent. Character designs that differ from cannon will be pictured using the app called Gacha Life 2. For those of you rolling your eyes, Gacha is not all bad, and not everyone is one of those cringe 12 year olds making “heat” videos. I can’t draw very well and I personally use it to express my creativity in a way that is easy and fun. (this story will take place before any major story archs in the MLB series.) (this story with take place after bakugo was rescued from the league of villains.)

Ships: adrienette (Adrien x Marinette) ninya (nino x Alya) bakugo x (TBD) (I’ll post a poll for who bakugo should be shipped with.)

With that said; Marinette was born Miyuki Bakugo. She is very close with her 1 year older brother Katsuki, who has a quirk called ‘explosion.’ Miyuki’s quirk allowed her to change minor aspects of her appearance at will, like her hair color and length or her eye color. This requires energy though, and changing her hair color is the hardest to do over long periods of time. Also, Her quirk doesn’t work when she’s asleep.

Despite her quirk, she was born with heterochromia of both the eyes and hair. Her hair is mostly brown hair (from her father, Masaru), and blond in the front (from her mother, Mitsuki). Her right eye is red (Mitsuki) and her left eye is brown. (Masaru.) but because of her odd appearance, she was often called names. It was usually a ‘witch’, due to her duel-colored eyes.

All her life, Miyuki dreamed of nothing more than to move to Paris and be a fashion designer. As it happens, Masaru’s brother, Tom, lived in Paris because of his dream to be a baker! So when Miyuki was twelve, she moved to Paris with her aunt and uncle. She visits Japan twice per year to see her family. She socially changed her name to Marinette Dupain-Cheng to match her aunt, Sabine Cheng, and Uncle, Tom Dupain, who would pose as her fake parents to not invite unnecessary questions. It worked out great, Mitsuki’s half-Russian and half-Japanese DNA mixed with Masaru’s Japanese DNA made Miyuki Asian and Tom and Sabine are both Asian. (Tom same as Masaru and Sabine being Chinese) ethnically, her aunt and uncle fit fairly well. In Paris, it was never brought up. When she got to Paris, she used temporary dye to dye her hair dark blue, both to eliminate the risk of being judged for her two-toned hair, and to fit better with her aunt who had dark blue hair too (she used temporary dye because she likes her natural hair color, and when it begins to fade, it’s time for her twice-annual visit to Japan to see her immediate family anyways.) She used her quirk to change her eye color to blue, also to avoid judgment and fit better with her aunt and uncle.

Currently, Marinette spends her days designing clothes in her free time, spending time with her best friends Alya, Nino, Adrien (whom she has a crush on), and others, Saving Paris with Chat Noir as ladybug, and helping her parents in the bakery. One day, however, she woke up, not realizing that her dye was fading, and took a shower. She didn’t realize that her hair was back to normal until she stepped out of the shower and saw her hair in the mirror. Being out of blue dye and it being time for her to go to school, she used her quirk to make it blue. If you remember from earlier, her quirk drains her energy a lot and doesn't work while she is asleep. What will happen when she falls asleep during class? What will she say when asked what’s up with her wacky hair?

I hope you were intrigued by this concept! I'm open to questions, comments, and suggestions. The poll for who Bakugo should be shipped with will be up once I get three or more suggestions. I'm open to anything as long as it isn't disgusting (major age gap)

Here are some other designs for Marinette (and Alya because why not) that I made in preparation for this story!

[valleyofhyperfixations]

"Finding us again" - Stardew Valley Elliott x Farmer fan fiction part 4

Trigger warning: night terrors and false accusations of SA (not straight forward, only alluding to)

Chapter 4 - "Only dead people visit when you sleep"

Elliott woke up with a weird, abstract feeling that made him question if he was really awake, or just dreaming about it. Months ago this would have made for an interesting source of inspiration, but now he dreaded those dreams. He always tried to escape from them, it always proved impossble, and always, *always* in those dreams he encountered… them. The tragic love of his life, his muse, the person he owed for making him believe in his book again, getting him out of a depressing loneliness, and so much more. They came to him in the nightmares, bearing the same injuries he saw them with for that brief moment in the clinic, and usually some more as well. He always woke up from these dreams in cold sweat, and always remembered the sentence he heard long ago heard from his grandma - “You know, Elliott, only dead people visit you when you sleep. So if I ever come to you in a dream, wake up quickly and say a prayer to Yoba for me. Will you, sunshine?”

Elliott never agreed with this statement and was angry at how reductive it seemed, even as a child. Dreams have no limits and no boundaries, he thought, why would death be an exception from that? But… when he thought about it, he couldn’t remember a time when he dreamed about someone who wasn’t dead. Not as more than a symbol, anyway. The only person who ever came to him in his dream as if they were there in flesh, speaking and acting just like they would in real life, was his beloved deceased grandma. May she rest in peace and may she have a pebble in her boot for the rest of eternity.

This time he knew for sure it was a dream, because he woke up to Ash sleeping next to him in the sheets, curled up like a little kitty. Elliott smiled with teary eyes, greatful for having a pleasant dream about them at least this once. In real life it would be impossible - even if Ash woke up and was able to leave the hospital without him knowing, or without someone from the city coming to throw him out of their farm, they would first do a million other things rather than lying on the floor and sleeping next to Elliott. Next to the man who promised to always support them and failed, whose last words to them were such hurtful things, and who was essentially responsible for their current condition.

Since he finally has a pleasant dream, he decided to make the most of it. He started by combing his fingers through their hair - it was so soft and silky, almost like in real life. Then he moved to sliding his fingertips up and down their back, barely touching the skin, just reveling in the possibility that he can. Elliott was breathing heavily, delight provided to him by that merciful dream being almost unbearable to take. Finally, he decided to let himself indulge and rested hand on Ash’s hip.

It was cold.

Not with a natural coldness, like a nose in the winter or hands with poorly working blood circulation, but cold with the irrevocability of a stone or… or a corpse.

Elliot rapidly brought himself up to the sitting position, and not taking his hand of Ash’s cold hip, placed the other on their arm. It was cold as well.

“Ash. Ash, wake up, please!”

Elliott’s mind suddenly lost the awareness of being in a dream, leaving him holding onto the ice cold body and desperately trying to move it, to see it’s face. But Ash’s body turned out to be extremely stiff as well, barely allowing Elliott to dent parts of skin, certainly not changing the position of whole limbs and torso.

“Ash…” said Elliott in a crying voice, at first met with no reaction, but after a few seconds he had noticed a small change that began happening

Farmer’s body was melting under his hands.

The cold corpse turned into water under Elliot’s warm, alive fingers. Writer immediately tried to draw them away from Ash, but they were like adnate to their body.

“NO!” 

Elliott shouted and pulled harder, but it was of no result.

His hands were sinking deeper and deeper into an unrecognizable fluid that he made of his most beloved person, and instead of water it began gushing blood. Ash’s blood was on his hands, on his knees unable to move up from the floor, and as his palms were sinking deeper and deeper, soon his face, too, and all his body will be forced to plunge itself in remains of the terrible fate he has caused. From outside he heard the townspeople screaming his name, coming to see him meet the punishment deserved.

“Elliott”

They were right after all. It was he who killed farmer. His beloved Ash died by no other but his hands.

“Elliott!”

He felt his debased body uncontrollably shaking. Did his mind really made up all the clues he saw about Shane? Was he so sickly jealous, that he somehow made himself believe in the fantasies, which's only purpouse was to ruin Ash’s perfectly good and loving relationship? To end their life?

“ELLIOTT!!!”

He bursted awake, with someone shouting his name and shaking him by the shoulders. Someone with face of… oh no, not again.

Ash watched their best friend, their… more than that first call their name in his sleep, then shouting “no”, then crying, and then, after they finally managed to wake him up, squealing like a terrified animal and crawling under the wall, where he kept weeping and taking loud, shallow gasps for air.

“…Eliott?”

The man didn’t answer. Ash slowly leaned towards the nearest lamp, being cautious not to make any rapid moves.

“I’m going to give us some light, okay?”

There they were. Just as frail, weak and pale as in Eliott’s other dreams, but without bandages or bruises. Another trick of his sick imagination?

“Elliott, it’s just me.” Said the phantom, carefully curated by his brain to torture him. With each dream he had a misfortune to experience, Ash’s form seemed even more realistic, more… like they were really here. And if it is true that only dead people visit in your dreams… was that to mean that the love of his life was slowly departing from this mortal plane?

Elliott shook his head, never letting his eyes off of Ash’s figure, out of fear that the moment he will look away and then back at them, illusion of the person he loves will disappear or transform into something terrible.

“Stop torturing me.” He whispered in a weak voice on the verge of tears “If you want to t-tell me you are dying… say it once and go.”

“Elliott, what in the hell are you taking about?”

Ash was now seriously worried, they ditched keeping the distance and moved towards Elliott, wanting to check if he has a fever, or maybe it is a symptom of taking some drugs? He wouldn’t resort to that coping mechanism… would he?

Elliott sat petrified as the farmer moved towards him and looked with a sweet worry into his face, asked him something, but he was too stunned by his storm of contradicting emotions to respond. Truly, the nightmares were testing him this time. If only it *was* real, if only his farmer really looked at him with such concern and wanted to care for him so badly, he would call himself the happiest man on the planet. Few things made for greater pleasure than knowing that someone cares for you so deeply and so badly wants you to be safe. But Elliott knew that every such dream turns into something horrible sooner or later, and if he let himself melt in the good parts, their loss would be even more painful. So he sat stiff.

“Elliott, I’m begging you, speak to me.”

Illusion of Ash put their hand on Elliott’s forehead, which caused his whole body to flinch. Ash immediately withdrew the hand.

“You don’t want me to touch you?”

Pain and worry Ash’s voice was filled with caused Elliott to admit that the nightmare defeated him once again. He couldn’t bare causing such distress to even an illusion of Ash, and knowing he has to choose between that and another gore hallucination - he decided he’s at least familiar with the second one.

“I-it’s not that.” He fully gave in, letting his body tremble and his words flow like he was talking to the real farmer. “Just… every time I touch you… something bad happens”

“Something bad…” Ash observed him very carefully as they made a little more distance between them and Elliott, sitting cross-legged in front of him. “Like what?”

“W-well…” Now Elliott looked at the floor, and every part of his body was shaking, in anticipation of horrific ending of this dream, which surely had to come very soon. “I dream about you and for a moment I really think you’re here. But after that, I always do something wrong, like look away from you, or touch you, or I don’t even know exactly what… and then you die again. And I wake up.”

“Och, El-”

“So,” He interrupted the phantom, now with a stronger voice. “if you are here to inform me that my real Ash is dying… Or punish me, or whatever might be your objective… Please just do it once and be done with it.”

Ash felt as their heart broke into a million pieces. Hearing Elliott speak with such pain in his voice, and understanding that he truly believes they’re not the real farmer, was possibly the most miserable thing they have ever experienced.

“It is *really* me.” They said in a teary voice. “I’m right here with you, Elliott.”

Writer still sat in the same position as before, looking at the floor on the side of him and trembling ever so slightly.

“Look.” Ash took his hands into their cold palms, which caused Elliott to flinch, but this time they didn’t withdraw contact. “You are touching me. I’m still here. Everything is okay.”

Elliott forced himself to look at his hands, which already merged fingers with Ash’s - almost subconsciously, a force of habit. He half-expexted his hands to still be covered in blood, or for farmer to suddenly turn into a cloud of dust and start screeching, or for something similar to attack him the moment he lets his guard down. But nothing of sorts came to be.

Elliott cautiously moved his hands, feeling Ash’s sickly skinny and pale, but still very human palms and forearms. Their skin was cold, but human cold, getting neutral and warmer when he touched near the veins. Even the shape of hands was familiar, with freckles in the exact places he remembered them to be, and small scars acquired by working in the mines or having accidents while cooking - not one missing. Finally Elliott dared to look up, where should lay the face of his beloved, and to his astonishment - it was really there. The same as always, skinnier and paler, but aside from that the exact face of his farmer. With lighter-toned birthmark covering left side of it’s cheek and eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.

“A… Ashie?” He finally let himself to trust his senses. Too emotional to speak, Ash just nodded their head and beamed, looking with hope at Elliott’s changing expression.

They embraced, hugging each other tighter and tighter with every moment, two streams of tears flowing from both of their faces. Ash was here. They were really here. A dream he didn’t dare to suspect was true came to reality.

And if Ash was really, actually here then… what was Elliott doing?!

“Goodness gracious, my behaviour is disspicable!” 

Elliott broke away from the hug, making enough distance between them to see each other’s faces.

“What?” Ash looked at him, quite confused.

“You were the one to endure an attack, weeks in the hospital, coma and a platera of terrible encounters, and yet once again *I* sit here being taken care of. While my primarily duty should be to care for you and make up for all the hardships.”

Ash looked him wide eyed. They made a half-hearted protesting gesture, but were also a little curious about how writer’s monologue it’s going to continue.

“Ash.” He said, in a pompous voice. “I regret so deeply those hurtful words I said to you at the beach. I ought to be asking, no, begging for your forgiveness until the end of the world, and it still might not be enough. I want you to know that if I could do quite literally anything to deserve your mercy, I am ready to sacrifice whatever you ask for. Till the end of my days, if anything I am capable to do could be used in your service, I…”

“Elliott.” This time Ash effectively interrupted his monologue. “You don’t need to do any of that things. You always wanted what was the best for me, you took care of my farm… I can’t express how much this means to me. And, well…” They grimaced at the memory that was recalled with that sentence. “You were right about Shane.”

Hearing these words caused Elliott’s insides to overflow with relief, and normally there would also be a little aftertaste of success, but right now Ash’s peace was much more important than his satisfaction.

“Yes, but I didn’t have any right to demand breaking up with him from you.”

“No, you didn’t.” Ash sighed. “But can’t we just both agree that mistakes were made, and that you compensated tenfold for yours?”

“I might agree to declaring half of my debt paid off.” Elliott genuinely smiled for the first time in this conversation, and for the first time in even longer made an expression that on him signalised a flirty joke. This, thankfully, was met with a laugh of true happiness and relief from Ash - the real Ash, his Ash, the Ash who made it out of hospital alive and was slowly regaining the spark in their eye.

They fell asleep on the floor, this time undisturbed by nightly terrors. For Elliott it was his personal idea of heaven - if it depended on him, they could have stayed in that position on hours and hours. Sadly, it did not.

First knocking to the door was heard on an ungodly hour of 8:30 AM.

“I’ll get it…” Said dimly Ash, but they barely had energy to lift themselves up on their arms. 

Elliott gently put his hand on their shoulder, signaling for them to go back to sleep. He himself, although grudgingly, stood up and went to open the door.

“Hello dear Ashley, I’m glad that you’re… Just *what* are you doing here, young man?!”

Elliott’s inner monologue was stained with a nasty curse word. It was mayor Lewis - the only darn person in Pelican Town who didn’t learn to refer to Ash with the preferred version of their name and pronouns.

“Helping.”

The answer was short and he knew if wasn’t satisfactory, but being woken up by mayor Lewis of all people, and then immediately hit in the face with unspoken yet obvious accusation, did not put him in a social attitude. Mayor Lewis scoffed.

“I very much doubt that you would be the person who she would like to be helping her right now!”

“THEY are just fine with me being here for now, and are now resting, which they very well deserve.”

“Well, I demand to check it for myself!” 

Lewis put on airs, wanting to be seen as a protective and caring guardian of the townsfolk that he himself thought he was. Elliott sighed.

“I’ll ask if they want to see you.” He answered, and retreated to the house.

“I apologize for disrupting you, Ash.” He whispered, approaching them carefully. “But mayor Lewis came to examine your wellbeing, are you feeling fine enough to…”

“Good heavens!”

Elliott cringed inside, as he heard the very much uninvited intruder scream and wake Ash from their sleep. They were blinking and still trying to absorb the situation, when Lewis ran up to them and started asking questions.

“Ashley, my dear, what did that monster do to you? Why are you lying on the ground?! Tell me truly if you really approved of him being here, because I am ready at any moment…”

“Wait… a moment, please… what happened?”

Mayor Lewis whizzed loudly with his nose, pointing his finger accusingly on Elliott.

„You’ve drugged her!”

Writer gritted his teeth, trying not to blow up at mayor of Pelican Town. He would try to argue if the situation was just about the horrid assumptions, but in his moment his primar concern was to not escalate this in front of Ash.

„What?!” Exclaimed they, now fully awaken. „No Mayor, don’t even think that, Elliott was…”

„It’s okay Ashley, you needn’t protect him anymore.” 

He tried to pick Ash up, throwing out of them some of the blankets and speaking words of honest concern over their meek protests. 

„Lewis, stop that!” Said the writer, grabbing him by his arm, for now more as a suggestion than aiming for physical confrontation.

„You will respond for what you did to her, young man!”

On the surface it looked like Lewis wasn’t grabbing Ash too strongly or made any other physical gestures out of which they couldn’t escape with ease. Because of that Elliott would make a few more attempts to resolve this case with his words only, but he took quick glance at Ash and what he saw made him skip the half-measures. Their body went stiff and ceased making any moves, eyes got wide and their mouth opened a little, trying to catch more air. A trauma freeze response.

„I said leave them be!”

Writer pushed himself between Lewis and the farmer, who clutched to him immediately with all their limbs, and took them a good few steps away. Only now, seeing Ash lingering on Elliott for safety, Lewis understood the recklessness of his actions.

„I’m sorry, I… I thought that I was helping.”

„That wasn’t Elliott.” Said Ash sniveling a little. „Didn’t Harvey tell you?”

„Well, he sort of did… But I…”

„What do you mean «sort of»?” Elliott’s tone made it clear that he had lost his patience.

Mayor cleared his throat.

„Well, we thought… that is… doctor Harvey deemed that possible… That coma might have affected your memory, miss Ashley.”

„It’s Ash.” They corrected him for the umpftilionth time. „And I assure you that it didn’t.”

„But how would you begin to know…” Lewis stopped half sentence and half step, held in his place by the death stares coming from both of them. „Okay, I… I’ll better be going. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything, Ashley.”

Lewis left, definitely not convinced of Elliott’s innocence. After a few more visits - some pleasant, like from Leah, some painfully cautious like from Marnie and Alex - Ash was clearly tired and Elliott was glad to see that apparently most other neighbours either decided to check on the farmer tomorrow or by sending a letter.

“Sit here, I’ve prepared you some food for the supper.” He said softly, leading Ash towards the sofa. “Do you wish for anything else?”

“Thank you so much, it looks great.” Ash attempted to turn towards the door. “But I didn’t feed the chickens yet… and the honey needs to be harvested…”

“I will take care of it all while you eat. My dear, didn’t Harvey give you one of his lectures about not working too much?”

“Maybe he mentioned something…” Ash smiled, watching Elliott’s exaggerated irritation at their intention to work. The supper was good - light oatmeal with some of their favourite fruits, but Ash’s stagnant stomach couldn’t fit the whole portion. They sighed, lamenting their usually excellent appetite.

“I think I didn’t thank you yet for taking care of my farm.” They smiled at Elliott when he came back from the yard. “You don’t know how much it means to me.”

“It was a pleasure to not let the fruits of your labour wither.” Answered Elliott, but his smile was weaker than before. This, of course, didn’t escape the attention of town’s biggest empath (which was, according to Elliott, not at all a good thing to be).

“What’s wrong?” They’ve asked.

“Oh no, it’s… it’s nothing.”

“Elliott, please, I do want to know.”

“I don’t want to worry you.”

“Well, now I *will* be worried until you tell me.”

Writer shook his head, half-amused by his defeat. He stood next to the sofa, then crouched next to it, suddenly unable to find the right place for himself.

“It’s…”

Ash moved to the side of the sofa, patting a free spot next to them.

“It’s” Said Elliott with more confidence now. “not something I would wish to concern you with, since the cause is just my wide imagination, playing cruel tricks on her owner. But if you insist to know…” He took a breath to calm himself a little. “All those… visits from people who seemed to be convinced, or at least to not exclude the possibility that it was me… That I was the one to….”

“You’re afraid that your memory is playing tricks on you?” They asked in a melancholic voice. Elliott nodded. “I get it. It flew through my mind too… but believe me, I remember that day way too clearly. I remember Shane…”

Ash flinched and Elliott immediately hugged them tightly.

“You don’t need to tell me anything if you don’t want to yet. Or ever, for that matter.”

Ash let out a soft cry and teared a little, all the time clutched to Elliott and receiving gentle caressing from him.

“Elliott?” They said after they calmed down to a degree.

“Hmm?”

“What are we?”

“Well, I can’t imagine that you’d have energy right now to establish a new relationship.” Elliott blushed from the tip of his nose to his ears. “Although believe me, I’d be not against it. But for now, my l… my dear, it’s of the most importance that such questions are directed to you. What do *you* want us to be?”

Half of his mind hoped to hear something in the lines of “I want you to me mine, Elliott, acquire the bouquet from Pierre’s as soon as the possibility occurs”, but he was almost equally happy to hear:

“I… I want you to sleep with me tonight.”

And so he did.