#i show my art and get called the worst fucking names

[mapsareforbraindeads]

tbh i’m not having fun creating anymore. at all.

[inkykeiji]

you be my revolver, i got you in my hands

character: choso kamo x fem!reader

genre: curseless!au, smut

notes: eeee first choso piece ever!!! i had such a blast writing this and i wish i could’ve gotten it finished in time for christmas but alas! anyway, please enjoy this and as always please heed the warnings below and stay safe! | title credit: girl like me by dove cameron

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, pseudocest (reader + choso are family friends), age gap, bratty reader, rough sex, minimal prep, teasing, hints of manipulation, hints of dubcon, size kink, pet names

words: 6k

synopsis:

“Maybe you should stop calling me that.” “What? Why?” you pout, blinking up at him, sugared innocence coating your tone. “I thought you wanted me to call you big brother…I thought I was allowed to…”  “Bi-Big brothers don’t do stuff like this with their little sisters—” “Well, it’s a good thing we’re not actually related then, isn’t it, onii-chan.” 

Choso can’t remember the last time he saw you.

You’ve known each other for a long time—so long Choso’s lost count of the years, now, having met you when Yuuji was just a toddler (and you were, too) at the bus stop on Yuuji’s first day of Pre-K, only to discover you lived a mere few houses from each other—but you haven’t seen each other in a long time, too. 

It’s not through fault of either of you; life had gotten in the way, as it has a tendency to do so, had grown busy with intricacies and obligations that demanded time and attention, tangling around you and keeping you apart. 

You had both embarked on university endeavours; him pursuing his PhD, you continuing your undergrad, had both stuffed more and more into your lives—art shows and book readings and music festivals and tropical trips—and lost space for each other in the process.

Choso can’t remember the last time he saw you, but it feels as though no time has passed at all, as it normally does with family—you’re still just as bratty as you’ve always been (some things never change, he guesses; some things you’ll never grow out of, he supposes). 

Family.

Family is not a word he uses lightly, but you and yours had quickly become his and theirs, had quickly become ours, morphing from neighbours to friends to practically kin, members mixing to form something special, a hybrid of some sort, stuck somewhere between long-standing family friends and blood relatives. 

Which is why how you’re acting—how you’ve been acting, this entire winter break—is so undeniably inappropriate. 

And although he’s lost track of the years, everything beginning to blur together, to melt and flow and shift and breathe, he still remembers the day he told you to call him onii-chan. 

That he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget.

Yuuji’s so lucky, you had pouted, kicking at the sandy ground with the toe of your shoe and swaying a little on the swing. He has a big brother. I don’t. I’ve always wished I had one. Sighing, you looked away, fingers tangling in the chain. But I’ll never get one; it’s impossible. 

It’s not impossible, Choso had responded gently, nudging his swing against your own. I’ll be your big brother, if you want. 

And you—well, you had been so incredibly happy, all bright smiles and sunshine eyes and breathless giggles, to have a big brother to call your own.

Never in his life did he think he’d come to regret such a decision.

But you seem to be on a mission to make him, this Christmas.

Because you’re really testing his fucking patience, this Christmas.

The term of endearment oozes from your lips as if it’s melted in the wet heat of your mouth every single time, always paired with your worst behaviour: bending over in those short, sweet, slutty skirts and flashing cute Christmas panties at him; placing a hand much too high to be appropriate on his thigh as you watch a film together, leaning close to his ear to murmur out a silky question you already know the answer to; twining your ankles with his beneath the dinner table and gazing at him with eyes full of sin, leaning so far forward on the table that your tits swell, nearly spilling from the too-low neckline of your dress, then giggling when you catch him ogling. 

As a result, he’s been meticulous about avoiding being alone in a room with you—he doesn’t trust himself, doesn’t trust what he might do, especially if you start playing your little games—but he should’ve known it would only be a matter of time until you get want you want. 

Because it always is. 

And on Christmas Eve, you finally succeed. 

Somehow, you’ve managed to get him alone in his childhood bedroom—something about wanting to flip through his old sketchbooks, to search for some doodles he had drawn for you many years ago, to rip the pages from the spiral-bound spine and stuff them in your back pocket, for safekeeping, you had claimed. 

Tugging at his heartstrings, that’s how you succeeded. 

Sitting on the edge of his small twin bed, thighs slotted up against one another and both of your arms looped around one of his, he flips through the curling pages of his drawings, smudged with graphite and pastels. 

“Oh, I remember this one!” 

A dainty finger points to a cute kitten sketched out in astonishing detail, with a pink nose and a satin ribbon tied in a bow around its neck. 

“It’s you,” he smirks. “You asked me what animal you’d be, and then demanded I draw you as a kitten when I responded with a cat.” 

“You drew a lot of me,” you lean forward, swelling breasts pressed flush to his bicep, a palm sitting high on his thigh as avid eyes scan over the spread, gaze stuttering as it sweeps from doodle to doodle. 

“I drew a lot for you,” he says, the observation entirely unthinking. “You wanted a specific page, but I might as well give you this whole sketchbook. More than half the pieces in here are for you.” 

It’s a fact that shocks him in its authenticity, a realization that sends a painful, sick thrill searing through his body, saliva beginning to collect in the dips beneath his tongue.

“I’m such a lucky girl,” you hum out in a sigh, nuzzling your cheek into his arm and looking up at him with shimmering eyes. “I have such a good big brother.” 

“You’re spoiled,” he says, but his voice holds no malice, eyes softening as he stares down at you, a small smile on his lips. 

“I dunno about that,” you frown, but mischief glints in your eye. “You haven’t really given me what I’ve wanted all holiday…” 

Blood turns to shards of ice in his veins, whole body going rigid as his breath stalls in his throat, pounding heartbeat reverberating in his ears. 

“Wh-What’s that?”

He doesn’t want to ask it, doesn’t mean to ask it, but the question claws at his tongue, pries past his teeth and tumbles from his lips in a ragged, tangled heap.

And the smile that spreads across your face is nothing short of sinister, that glint flaring to a sharp shine as your pupils breathe, pulse, swallow him whole. 

“A Christmas kiss,” you say, stare unblinking and intense as your hand slips between his legs, rubbing little circles into his inner thigh, a mere centimetre or two away from his cock. 

The motion makes him jolt, hips involuntarily twitching toward your touch, brushing his half-hard cock against your knuckles.

“That’s all I want,” you sigh almost dreamily, tits pressed harder into his bicep as you lean closer, so tight they’re practically being squeezed from your sweetheart neckline. “A kiss from my onii-chan. Though…” 

Trailing off, your hand slides up a little further, pinky and ring finger tiptoeing along the rapidly hardening lump in his jeans, squealing out a short giggle as it jumps beneath your touch.

“I’m not sure that’s all onii-chan wants.”

“Onii-chan doesn’t want anything from you,” he breathes out, but his voice is rough, unconvincing, his hands curled into firm fists on his bedspread, trembling slightly, skin stretched taut across pointed knuckles.

“Another lie,” your lips tug down, voice saturated with disappointment. “You know, good big brothers don’t lie to their siblings,” you fix him with a look, glaring through feathery lashes, expression teetering dangerously on the edges of a pout.

A shiver skitters through his bones, whole body stiffening. His jaw flexes as he grinds his molars, a slow, controlled breath exhaled out his nose, his eyes flicking down. You’re still touching him, two fingertips rubbing gentle circles into his clothed cock.

“Maybe you should stop calling me that.”

“What? Why?” you pout, blinking up at him, sugared innocence coating your tone. “I thought you wanted me to call you big brother…I thought I was allowed to…” 

“Bi-Big brothers don’t do stuff like this with their little sisters—”

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re not actually related then, isn’t it, onii-chan.” 

“That—That—” he swallows hard, dense saliva pooling at the back of his tongue. “That doesn’t matter—We shouldn’t—”

“But—” your lip juts out further, forehead crinkling. “But I want to.” 

You can’t always get what you want. 

That’s what he wants to tell you. That’s what he wishes he could tell you. But it just isn’t fucking true, when it comes to you. 

“Stop,” he says instead, and although it’s supposed to be an order, it comes out as a plead, his voice hoarse, strained, thin, the proclamation high and false and tinny. 

“You’re a terrible liar,” the tip of your index finger traces the head, looking up at him through your lashes. “Did you know that?” 

He does, he does know that. He’s a terrible liar, eyes too honest, voice too sincere, expressions too candid, always giving away his true intentions and forthright thoughts.

He’s a terrible discipliner, too, incapable of saying no, of refusing his siblings anything. You know this, too. 

“St—” he tries to force the word from his tongue again, protest sticking in his throat. Stop, stop, he wants you to stop, he needs you to stop, please. 

But that’s a lie, too, the rejection refusing to take shape, to mold into something audible, something tangible, something worthwhile. 

No matter how much he wishes it were true, he can’t will it to become true—not when he wants this just as badly as you do, his straining cock exposing his real desires to you.

You’ve already taken full notice of it, yearning for you through rough denim, hot and hard and throbbing. The pad of your finger rubs over the slit in rhythmic motions, smooth and gliding, aided by the copious amount of pre-cum oozing through the material, and it jerks beneath your touch, eager for more attention. 

“It’s so hard, onii-chan,” your hand cups the impressive bulge, rolling it in your palm, a girlish giggle tickling your tongue. “It—It’s throbbing, onii-chan.” 

“Yeah? And who’s fault is that?” he breathes, attempting to keep his tone stern and his eyes stony. 

“It’s making me want to ride it,” you whimper loudly, squeezing your thighs together, completely ignoring his question. “Oh, please, onii-chan, can I ride your cock?” 

“Fu-fuck,” the curse breaks on his tongue, eyes shut tightly, breaking away from your invasive stare. “Fuck, fuck, f-fuck.” 

No. 

“I’d really like to ride it, onii-chan.”

No. 

“Can I? Pretty please?”

No-no-no-no-no! 

He wants to say no. He should say no. It’s the right thing to do. 

He’s the older brother, the eldest brother, it’s his duty to say no, to mentor, to lead by example. 

But he can’t. 

He can’t form the word in his throat, can’t mold it into a sound and push it from his mouth. 

He’s never truly been able to, when it comes to you—and he was so fucking stupid to think he would.

Because, as always, you are making it exceptionally difficult to deny, gazing up at him with shimmering eyes like that, mouth licked raw in anticipation, bottom lip bitten puffy from the front teeth constantly sinking into it.

“I—It isn’t right—” he attempts, swallowing thickly, cords in his neck straining, desperately attempting to quell the tremor in his voice.

He knows you don’t care. If he’s being entirely honest with himself, he doesn’t, either, his morality eroded to nothing more than a farce, a thin façade, not nearly strong enough to force him into doing the right thing, not nearly strong enough to fortify his rapidly waning self-discipline.

“I—I won’t tell,” you whimper, and he can see the fine film of tears lacquering your eyes, shielding lust-blown pupils. “Pinky promise! I just—I just want you so badly,” your nose twitches cutely with a sniffle, your bottom lip beginning to waver with infinitesimal quivers, soft palm caressing his cock like you love it. “Please, onii-chan?”

And Christ, you’re so pretty, so pouty, with your glistening puppy-dog eyes and pleads dripping from your lips like thick syrup. 

How could he possibly say no to something so precious? How could anyone?

“Alright,” he whispers, defeated, eyes squeezing shut as he nods. “If it’ll make you happy.”

“Really?”

And just like that, the tears are incinerated from your eyes, gaze bright and blazing with excitement, lips molded into a brilliant smile. 

You look so sickeningly beautiful when you get what you want. 

“Yes,” he nearly whimpers, and it’s pathetic, his hips twitching up into your touch, craving, desperate. “Yes, yes, ride my cock.” 

The affirmative is all you need, squealing a little with happiness as you climb into his lap, fingers up your own skirt to push your soaked panties to the side, other hand pawing clumsily at his waistband.

“Thank you,” you breathe, the words soaking into his neck, sealed with a sloppy kiss. “Oh, thank you, onii-chan.” 

He can’t help but chuckle a little as his hands find your waist, instinctive, steadying you. 

“Eager little thing, aren’t you.”

“This is all I want,” you tell him, pulling back a little to search his face. “S’all I’ve wanted for a long time.” 

He wants to ask you to elaborate on that, confusion warping his brow, but then you’re yanking at his belt loops and pulling at his zipper and wrapping a soft palm around the base of his cock, a heavy groan vibrating in his throat. 

“Wait, wait!” he chokes on a gasp as you hover over his cock, head bumping against your hole. “Let me—”

“I don’t wanna wait,” you whine out, petulant and stringy, whole face scrunched in frustration. “I’ve been waiting! I want your cock in me now!”

Fuck, you’re such a fucking brat, he’s growling as he forces you down on his cock in one swift motion, the sudden intrusion pushing a yelp from your lips. Your forehead knocks against his, sugar-stained breath wafting across his face, his tongue darting out to mop up remnants from his mouth. 

It’s really cute, the way your little cunt spasms around his shaft as he bottoms out, pressed snug and tight against your cervix, desperate in its attempt to adjust to his girth. It’s really sweet, the way your body splits itself open for him, cracking at the core and struggling to swallow him down.

“Oh, it’s so big, onii-chan!” 

“God,” he nearly sobs. “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, y’know that?” 

Giggling, you wind your arms around his neck tighter, nuzzling your cheek into his skin, then stringing a garland of wet kisses along the line of his jaw. 

“S’really thick, Choso-nii,” you tell him honestly, nodding in lethargic little motions. “I feel so full, onii-chan.” 

A laugh falls from his lips, breathy and exalted. 

“I don’t know if it’s that I’m big, or if it’s just that your cunt is so fucking small,” his voice tapers off into a whine, raspy and gruff. 

“H-Hurts a little, onii-chan,” you admit in a whimper, hips shifting in experimental little movements, conjuring a groan from deep within his chest. 

“Yeah? And who’s fault is that, huh?” he asks for the second time in fifteen minutes. “Who was too impatient to let onii-chan prep her?”

“Don’t care,” you mumble. “Wanted you s’bad.” 

He laughs again, warm and gentle and full of love, his hands squeezing your hips just enough to make you gasp, fingertips pressing his name into your flesh in blotchy little ovals of purple. 

“You have me,” he says, his words ringing clear and true with a painful sincerity. 

The vibrations of your responding hum seep from your chest into his, and he sighs, body deflating against yours, pleasant little tingles snuggling between his ribs. 

You stay like that for a moment to two, wound up in one another, chests pressed flush, breathing as one. Your auras ebb and flow, presences bleeding, tangling together and creating something that is neither one nor the other but both, a single shared entity. 

And it’s nice, it’s real, it’s natural.

But then you become impatient, as you normally do, as he knew you would, wiggling a little in his lap, fingers twining in the strands at the base of his neck. 

“Go on, sweetheart,” he urges gently. “Ride onii-chan’s cock.” 

And so you do, hips beginning to roll in slow, languid circles, fingers still laced at the back of his skull, half-buried in messy ink.

He allows you to set the pace, allows you to take your time, allows you to enjoy and savour every rock and grind and bounce, staring at you through heavily lidded eyes, hands on your waist merely guiding you—keeping you stable, just like a big brother should. 

He’s absolutely breathtaking; gaze glittering in the dim light overflowing with awe, spit-slicked lips licked raw and shimmering as his tongue glides over them again, swollen and bitten cherry red.

You can’t help but reach out to trace his features; the strong line of his brow, the delicate curve of his cheek, the enticing bow of his lips, hips slowing to uneven little ruts as you hone your focus, his eyes observing you with a sick sort of fascination.

“Did you—Have you—Have you thought about this before?” 

The question stings his tongue, revulsion flushing through his blood as guilt pricks his flesh, his cock throbbing eagerly.

“Course I have,” you breathe out with a little laugh, as if he’s so silly for thinking you might not have. “Actually, I—I—”

A sudden shyness overtakes you, an unsure giggle on your lips fading into a soft squeal as you hide in his shoulder, shaking your head a little. 

“What? Huh?” he shrugs, nudging your face up gently, curiosity clawing at his irises as they search your face, voracious. “What?” 

“Well, sometimes I…” 

The words tangle in your throat and you choke on them, gaze fleeing his own, and you shake your head again, chest beginning to stammer.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, rubbing reassuring circles into your flesh. “You can tell onii-chan, go on.” 

There are tears in your eyes now, mouth wobbling a little with the verging confession, and God, that’s so hot, why is that so fucking hot? 

“Where’s my brave little sister gone now? Hmm?”

“M’right here, onii-chan,” you whisper, face teetering on a wince, as if you’re bracing for a blow, terrified to admit to him, fearing reprimand. “It’s just that—Sometimes I do, um, really bad things with my stuffies while—while thinking about you…” 

Dewdrops of shame glitter in your lashes as your lids flutter, nose scrunching with a soft sniffle, tears breaking free of their wispy confines to roll down your cheeks in fat, glimmering streams—so fucking beautiful in the dim light of his bedroom—but you don’t dare break his stare, gazing at him through a thick shield of water. 

“Oh, Christ,” he coughs on the curse, hands flexing on your waist, blunt nails digging into your skin. “And what—what do you think about?” 

“Um,” your gaze flits from his own, to his wrinkled bedspread, then back to his face, wide and honest. “Riding you, like this. And—And riding your thighs, makin’ a real mess all over them, and your thick fingers too, filling me up…” 

Bolts of dizziness sear his brain as his lungs deflate, oxygen eaten up by pure lust and leaving his chest buzzing, burning, some sort of response mangling itself in his throat, escaping his lips as nothing more than a cracked moan.

“Do you think about me, onii-chan?” 

Your question pulls him from the depths of his hedonism and he blinks, your face swimming into view, a peculiar mix of hope and cognizance infusing your expression, eyebrows raised with false curiosity, a smirk twitching on your lips.

Ah, there she is, that brat he knows so well, that brat he’s come to crave, every ounce of uncertainty eradicated from your face, replaced with assured confidence, contradicting the tears still staining your cheeks.

You fucking know he does. 

And, oh, how he wishes he was stronger, how he wishes he could lie, how he wishes he could devour the smugness in your eyes and complacency in your smile, to humble you, to knock you from your high throne.

He settles for a kiss instead, mouth crushed to yours as a large hand cups your head, thumb pressing into your ear, fingertips dragging across your scalp as he yanks you closer. 

It hurts, his front teeth scraping against your lip as he practically gnaws his way to your tongue, his own big and thick and so fucking strong as it overwhelms yours, shoving it further into the cavern of your mouth and forcing it to stay put as he explores. 

He’s making a real mess as he slathers over your molars, over the inside of your cheeks and the backs of your teeth, drenching your mouth in him. Drool oozes steadily from the corners, collecting along the underside of his bottom lip and leaving his chin sticky and slick. 

“Yes,” he whispers, eyes shut so tightly his whole forehead crinkles, mouth wet and sliding against your own. “Yes, yes, I think about you—much too often.”

Nose nudging yours, he nuzzles into your face a little, planting a chaste kiss to your lips, then peppering a few more, quick and sloppy, around your mouth.

“But right now, I don’t want to think about anything. I just want to feel you creaming all over my cock—you think you can do that for me, princess?” His palms cushion your cheeks, thumbs swiping across your cheekbones, then brushing strands of damp hair from your temples. “You think you can do that for your onii-chan?” 

Yes you can, of course you can, you’re nodding, blinking the last remnants of tears from your eyes, rapid movement eliminating the final stubborn drops, clinging delicately to your outer lashes. 

“S’it, baby,” he encourages as your hips start moving again, working up a steady rhythm. “Just like that, good girl.”

A mewl slips from your lips, burrowing your scalding face in his sticky neck again, his undivided attention almost too much to bear. 

“Like it when you call me a good girl,” you murmur, lips dragging across his skin with the confession, streaking him with thick glimmers of spit. 

“Is that so?” he laughs a little, pressing a few kisses to the crown of your head. “That’s because you don’t hear it often.” 

Lifting your head, you scowl at him, though there’s no heat to your glare, fury dimmed by fondness, unable to smother the smile playing with your lips.

A dazzling smile spreads across his own face in response, and he laughs again, his eyes so bright, so brilliant they almost hurt, blazing like two small suns, scorching your skin as his gaze glides over it.

He watches you like a man possessed, a man obsessed, entirely entranced by the way pleasure passes over your face, twisting your features into the cutest little winces as you grind the head of his cock against your cervix, then smoothing them out with bliss as his shaft drags along your favourite spot, bouncing in shallow little motions to rub over that fleshy patch hard and fast, a stream of mewls spilling from your lips, stitched together with his honorific. 

“You’re so pretty when you ride my cock,” he groans, words tapering off into a hoarse whimper, as if it pains him to admit it. 

His palms run up your sides, fingers counting over each rib, hands committing every dip and curve and bulge to memory, marvelled by the way you fill his grip, as if he can’t believe you’re real, you’re here, you’re his—even if just for tonight.

“Yeah, yeah, keep going, use onii-chan like a toy, sweetheart.” 

And he tries to be patient, he swears he does��tries not to rush you, tries to relish in the moment, in each swirl of your hips and every puff of his name—except your pace never accelerates, never moves past anything but teasing as you use his now aching cock to continually edge yourself; moans building higher and higher, louder and louder, on the cusp of the crest before they disintegrate into nothing and you start the process all over again, the delicate fluttering of your cunt enough to drive him fucking insane with desire.

It has his entire form trembling with such vigour it’s quivering the mattress, muscles locked stiff and tight as he tries to keep from moving, from bucking up wildly, from forcing you to speed the hell up. Rough fingers sink into your flesh so deep it dimples, a pathetic attempt to ground himself, rapidly blooming bruises staining your flesh.

But he’s powerless to stifle the whines leaking through the gaps of his gritted teeth, hands flexing on your hips, whole body pulled taut with restraint. 

He’s sure you can feel his cock twitching inside of you, eager and impatient, begging you to move faster, to fuck him harder. 

But you aren’t going to do any of that—not unless he asks for it, he realizes dimly, after you bring yourself to near orgasm for the third time in a row, giggling a little at his crestfallen expression, his hair having fallen almost completely from its trademark spiky buns, braided fishermen sweater soaked with sweat and sticking to his now heaving chest.

He really thought it was real this time. He really thought you were finally going to cream all over him, so he could finally flip you over and fuck you properly, pound you into the mattress and stuff that pretty, cute little cunt to the goddamn brim with his seed.

He’d been trying so hard to be nice, to be the loving, doting, good big brother he is—but he’s also only human, and there’s only so much misbehaviour he can bear before, finally, he snaps. 

Because, sure, big brothers are meant to care for, to lead and to nurture, but they’re also meant to teach, to punish, to put bratty little sisters back in their fucking place. 

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing? Huh?” his grip on your hips tightens, halting you from moving. “You think I’m fucking stupid?” 

“Never, Choso-nii,” you gasp, astonished. “I would never—” 

Sincerity rings in your voice, but he can see it, the mischief tugging at the corners of your mouth, barely suppressed by your façade of innocence.

Anyone else would’ve been fooled—enchanted by your doe eyes and your dainty voice. 

But not him.

No, he knows better now. 

“Bullshit,” he cuts you off, eyes narrowed sharply. “You wanted to ride my cock, but you’re clearly incapable of it—”

“No I’m not!”

“—So it looks like I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.”

“No! I—I can do it!” you cry, face crumpled in fury, nails scrabbling at his shoulders.

“You lost your chance to prove it to me,” he growls. 

The world flips suddenly, momentarily a blur of inks and ivories, a breath of surprise punched from your ribs as your back slams against the mattress, trapped between the bedspread and your big brother’s heaving chest.

“You have been testing me all fucking holiday,” he snarls, specks of spit splattering across your cheeks. “Onii-chan shouldn’t give you his cum—onii-chan shouldn’t have given you his cock at all!” 

A certain type of haughtiness corrodes your shock, lips spreading into a pompous smirk.

“Oh, but you just couldn’t help yourself, could you, onii-chan.” 

“You little bitch!” 

His hips shove forward, forcing you further into the plush of the mattress, cockhead ramming against your cervix. A little noise of pain vibrates on the back of your tongue, shattering your arrogance, and a grin smears across his face, glinting in the moonlight. 

“I think it’s time your big brother teach you a lesson in respect.”

“Y-Yeah? And how are you gonna do that?”

“You’re going to take what onii-chan gives you, and you’re going to fucking like it. And then, at the end, when you’ve gone stupid from the cock you don’t deserve, you’re going to thank me for giving it to you at all. Do you understand me?” 

Defiance shines in your eyes, lacquered by a thin coating of tears, nose scrunching up in a glower. 

A rough thumb and forefinger, hardened by charcoals, clamps around your jaw, squeezing your cheeks with such force that your mouth puckers, a sticky little whine squealing in your throat.

“Do you understand me?” he asks again, each word said slow with purpose, each word annunciated with intent, his eyes boring into yours, sharp and painful. 

Finally, those tears push past your bloated lashes, shoved from your eyes by rapid blinking and rolling down your cheeks in glistening pairs, a half-stifled hiccup stuttering your chest. 

“Y-Yes,” you whisper, nose twitching. 

“What was that? Onii-chan couldn’t hear you.” 

“Yes, onii-chan.” 

“Good girl.”

And then his hips are snapping, hard and fast and immediate, fucking into you with such ruthlessness that it jostles your body up the bed, sheets collecting in little wrinkled bunches beneath you. Your nails sink into his shoulders, piercing flesh through the knit of his sweater, the muscles in your thighs tensing as your ankles hook around his waist, his shirt riding up, your heels digging into the those cute little dimples that cushion the base of his spine. 

It hurts, every pound of his cock producing a dull, throbbing ache low and deep in your gut, another torrent of tears rushing to flood your vision.

“Ch-Choso-nii, Ch-Choso-nii,” you whimper, face screwed up in pain, his name stuttered by his rapid thrusts.

“What’s the matter?” he pouts, and it’s so condescending, dripping from his lips in an over-exaggerated coo. “Can’t take onii-chan’s cock?”

The question wafts across your face in a panted breath and you lick at your lips, sopping it up with your tongue.

“N-No,” you say, and that telltale brattiness is back, watered down by his viciousness. “I can do it—I-I can do it for you, onii-chan.” 

A throaty curse escapes his lips, thrusts stammering out of rhythm for a moment as his cock twitches, and a helpless giggle bubbles up in your throat.

Even angry, he’s still so fucking easy. 

He regains his composure quickly, though, face hardened to stone but beginning to splinter with pleasure. 

“Brat,” he breathes out, though there’s mirth shining in his eyes, pure and fond and full of love. “You better.”

And even angry, he still sounds so fucking pretty; cracked moans and dense groans and choked gasps, all flowing from his mouth in a single stream, fractured by the piston of his hips.

The pain doesn’t fade, of course—it barely diminishes at all, the sheer massiveness of his cock making it near impossible to be dispelled, keeping the cramping pang in the pit of your belly steady and constant—but it does amplify the pleasure, nerves gnawed raw by the agony, left hypersensitive to the sparks of ecstasy that blaze through your veins with every quick, rough pump of his hips, every deep, hard slam against your bruised cervix, every rapid drag over that engorged spot.

It leaves you feeling high, leaves you feeling stupid, brain melting in a hot haze of lust and rendering you incapable of forming a single coherent thought beyond how incredible his cock is, his name and his title the only two things your sloppy, numb tongue can fully scrape together.

It’s all so much, too much, but it all feels so fucking good—s’good, Choso-nii, y’r so-so good—sentiment vibrating indistinctly in your chest.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he asks, words gone wispy, fading into a whine. “Does your onii-chan’s cock make you feel good?”

Yes, yes, yes, onii-chan, it’s so good, you’re so good! 

Your head nods frantically, fingers curling in the collar of his sweater, a mess of affirmatives fucked from your mouth. 

“Y’know, you’re kinda cute when you’re too cockdrunk to misbehave,” he chuckles a little, biting back a moan as your cunt clenches at the compliment. “May-Maybe onii-chan should fuck you stupid more often, huh?” 

Oh, God, yes, onii-chan; oh, please, onii-chan! 

“Yeah, you’d like that a bit too much, though, wouldn’t you, you little sl—ah—slut.”

Drool dribbles from the sides of your mouth as you continue nodding, eyes wide and unblinking, encrusted with stars. 

“Y’so pretty, onii-chan,” you manage to mumble out, sentiment tangled in threads of spit, fingers flexing in the fabric of his sweater, as if they yearn to touch but can’t find the strength to carry out the action.

And he is, so beautiful it’s borderline sickening, strands of onyx plastered to his cheeks, his jaw, his neck, strung together in clumps and saturated in sweat; damp skin glittering in the waning moonlight spilling through the slits of his window, dewdrops catching delicately in the beams as he pounds into you, every drive of his cock accelerating his pace.

“W-Wan’your cum now,” you slur the demand through a lax pout, lids beginning to weight with exhaustion, heavy as they frame dopey eyes.

“Yeah?” he laughs a little, gaze shining with adoration, and it’s breathless, it’s beautiful, his affection wafting over your scalding face. “Onii-chan needs you to cream all over his cock first. Can you—” a grunt cuts him off, and he whimpers, pushing through his sentence, his voice strained. “Can y’do that for me, angel?” 

“Uh-huh, uh—uh-huh,” your head begins nodding more fervently again, pushing your lids open with some effort to stare up at him, pupils swelling with devotion and determination.

“Then show me—Show me how gorgeous my good girl looks when she’s making a mess all over her big brother’s cock.” 

Three more thrusts and your cunt is obeying, convulsing on his thick shaft as heat gushes around him, so much that you can hear it—a sick, slick squelching as he jackhammers into you, your essence coating his thighs in a shiny layer of arousal. 

“Oh, fuck,” his eyes shut tightly before springing open again, suddenly rabid, ravenous. 

The bed creaks as his hips speed up, skin sticky with arousal as it slaps against your own, the sharp sound mingling with his ragged pants and your hitched mewls.

“Onii—Nii-chan,” you nearly wail, fingers tangling weakly in the hair at the nape of his neck, nails scraping against his flesh. “Please, please, cum, gimme—gimme y’r cum!” 

“Greedy little thing,” he rasps out, voice cracking into a whine. 

But you don’t care, you can’t care, pleads spilling from your lips as your thighs tense around his waist, hips twitching in erratic little motions, crudely trying to fuck yourself on him.  

“Need it, need it, onii-chan, fill my belly with it, onii-chan, please!” 

“Christ,” he chokes on the curse, pace faltering as he finally gives his baby sister what she wants, cock throbbing almost violently while it fills you with hot, thick cum, so much you swear you really can feel it, stuffing your belly as full as it can be, tummy bulging cutely with his seed.

You must tell him that, sentiment slipping from your lips without your permission, because he moans again, his cock giving another weak spurt, hips stuttering as he tries to fuck further into you, grinding the head into your sore cervix. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you’re murmuring, hips rolling up to meet his own. “Push it into me, onii-chan, push it into my cunt nice n deep, do-don’t waste a single drop!” 

“You really are gonna be the death of me,” he whines, face buried in your hair as he collapses on top of you, hips still moving in lazy little circles, shudders of overstimulation rippling through his form. 

“Mm,” you hum, on the cusp of unconsciousness, nuzzling your face into his neck like a kitten, then lapping at a few droplets of sweat streaming down the column. “What are lil sisters for?” 

[thethronezone]

High Consort Pt.2

Because I could not stop thinking about this mess of a relationship and if I have to suffer, so do everyone else... Here's more.

The Emperor promised to marry his Consort once he had successfully conquered Terra. And credit where credit is due because Big E actually kept that promise. Him in his armor, you in your finest clothes (specifically made for this occasion) and with only the Legio Custodes to witness the ceremony. There wasn't an exchange of vows, no reception or officiator. He simply declared himself Emperor and that you were, from this moment on and till the stars died out, his High Consort. The Custodes didn't sing, did not cheer, but stomped the ground, slammed their weapons agains their shields, all as one, making the air vibrate and the ground shake.

Guess what? You own Luna! Aka the fucking moon. Yeah, it was a wedding gift. I mean, technically the Emperor rules over it but in name? It's yours!

Like I said in the first part, if you want to work, then it's mainly administrative duties. It's actually quite important work, since you oversee some real secret government stuff. Not the worst of it, nah, the Emperor leaves that to Malcador.

Something Big E does leave to you? Organizing banquets, feasts and other festivities. Sounds more fun than it is, considering the fact that this also entails overseeing the guest list. Do you know how many people can fit in the (multiple) imperial ballrooms and gardens? A fuckton. And as the 'host' of the party, you get to greet most of them! Isn't that wonderful?

More things the Emperor calls you instead of your name! "Spouse", "my starlight", "dear one", "treasure". Those last three are only in private. Majority of the Imperium don't know your actual name and calls you High Consort. More accurately "the revered ruler of Luna, First Lord/Lady of the Imperial Palace, Keeper of Terra, the one and only High Consort to the one and only Emperor of Mankind". The title somehow gets longer each time.

You make the Emperor a bit less of a douche. He's still a bastard but you make him just a smidge more bearable. Probably because he does care about you. Will he steamroll you in every conversation? Yes. Does he not take your arguments seriously? Yep. Will he dictate every part of your life from the shadows? Yeah. But he does like seeing you happy so he refrains from doing some stuff that he knows would upset you. At least if you're there to see it happen.

The fights you have are fucking wild. You can be absolutely furious, screaming, throwing things at him, and the Emperor will just stand there and be like "You done yet?" which will make you scream and throw some more thing. Big E might try and placate you a little, "Dear, you are acting irrational, calm down", but most of the time he just waits until you get tired. And when you're all out of air he'll go "Good thing we solved that" and LEAVE. Fucking prick.

When Malcador ain't available, you vent to your personal Custodi bodyguard. Yes, they are ultimately loyal to the Emperor and will never badmouth him but this one Custodi will nod along when you call your husband a "rat-fucking-bastard".

It's not all bad of course. The Emperor can be downright romantic when he wants to. He knows all your favorites and always has this in mind when he gives you stuff or does stuff with you. New garden? Filled with your favorite flowers. Anniversary dinner? Your favorite food. A piece of jewelry he acquired on his resent battle on some distant planet? Your favorite color. When you reunite after a long time apart, he kisses your hands. The Emperor loves your smile, loves seeing you happy. All the art work he commissions of you depicts you smiling, from a subtle smirk to smiles where all your teeth shows.

In canon, the Primarchs were made out of the Emperor's and Erda's DNA (with some major gene manipulation in there) and yeah, that's still the truth in this scenario. Except there's also parts of you in there. Because if the Emperor likes you enough to marry you, then you probably have a bunch of traits that he likes. Wisdom, tenacity, courage etc.. So congrats! You now get to co-parent 20 18 of the strongest humans in the Imperium! At least one of them has your smile.

[dtmsrpfcringe]

the definitive dictionary and almanac of Tinhattery

hi, this will be a list of the main misogynistic accounts, definitions people have questions about, accounts you should follow and abbreviations— let’s gooo!! If you’re tagged in this I probably put you on the accounts to follow section. Adding a cut here because it’s long and gonna get longer

definitions!!!!

LCB- Used to stand for letscoffeebreak, she has since changed her username to dejadestalkearmeloser.

NGO- Nightgoodomens

Ingrav, Amy- Ingravinoveritas.

tardisrose- thetardisisblueandroseistoo

Tinhatters- A group of (mostly) tumblr users who think everything in these two relationships are fake and the women are abusive and the men want to run away.

Queeranoners- same as above, my favourite way to refer to them, coined by the amazing @theeminentlyimpractical

sheenbergs- Mix for Michael and Anna’s name

sheenbergnant- the amalgamation of the four bad bitches we love

sheenant- ship name for David and Michael. (Remember kids: shipping is cool but it’s fictional!!)

DT- David Tennant (Georgias husband)

MS- Michael Sheen (Anna’s boyfriend)

GT- Georgia Tennant

AL- Anna Lundberg

PR- public relations

GM- a…delegitimising way of referring to Georgia by refusing to use her last name. Instead use her maiden name. Note how they don’t refer to David as David McDonald

APAT- usually used by tinhatters (stands for Anna Plain And Tall) to refer to Anna Lundberg

PR (Tinhatter definition) - an omnipresent being forcing two rich white men who constantly champion human rights and lgbtq acceptance into a hetero relationship because they just are so oppressed and abused and not because they love their partners!

PR (actual definition) -the professional activities of an agency hired by a person, company, or other entity to shape, create, and manipulate that person/company’s public image. A public relations firm is often useful in helping a company manage its media reputation when a crisis happens, in order to attempt to minimize false information or slanderous statements which could damage reputations.

Shipping- Shipping (derived from the word relationship) is the desire by followers of a fandom for two or more people, either real-life people or fictional characters (in film, literature, television series, etc.), to be in a romanticrelationship. Shipping often takes the form of unofficial creative works, including fanfictionand fan art.

Shipping (Tinhat definition) - NO THEY HATE THEIR PARTNERS AND WANT TO FUCK EACH OTHER LOOK HE BLINKED IN HIS VICINITY THEIR PARTNERS ARE ABUSIVE I SWEAR

GREATEST HITS (posts that killed Tinhatters, feel free to submit your favourites in my inbox)

The breakdown of an anon

tassel jokes

backstreet cringe

Ingravinoveritas admitting it

Laurens amazing fuck off post that snowballed into half the fandom straight up saying fuck you to these people

HALL OF SHAME (Worst of tinhatters, again feel free to submit more)

• Taraiha’s rivals meltdown

NGO hates this fandom for…calling her out

it’s not a choice to be weird and creepy about people’s lives! (Again shipping is fine. This shit is not!!!)

it’s okay if you attack women just don’t criticise Michael Sheen (no idea what she was talking about with David) this same lady had another absolutely dog shit post I guess she removed?!

How dare women…have fun at their birthday parties?? (Part 1)

for a group constantly sexualizing David and Michaels every movement we can’t stand when a woman shows a little chest and has fun

Accounts you should follow!!!!:

@goodomenswarning - same purpose as this account, hilarious, an amazing friend

@badaziraphaletakes - calls out shitty takes in good omens as well, so much more level headed about toxicity than I am but I love talking shit with them. @thegeorgiatennantblog - best Georgia content

@fightingalgth8rs -bad bitches calling out extreme sexism

@phoen1xr0se - one of the best and I devour everything she posts

@davidtennantgenderenvy stands up for what’s right in the fandom, one of my idols and stuck up for me during a vulnerable time.

lmk more I need to add because I’m definitely missing some

THE REPEAT OFFENDERS (booo 🍅🍅):

Ingravinoveritas- one of the bigger ones, refuses to believe Georgia does anything nice for David, or that any of them actually like their partners. Can’t stop fetishizing gay male relationships to save her life. If David blinks he apparently wants to be bent over. Likes to pretend she’s not as bad as the others but has some of the wildest takes and said she felt threatened and scared for her life at someone making a Shakespearean reference. Professional victim

Nightgoodomens- a particularly nasty motherfucker. So toxic she’s quarantined. Misogynistic, ableist, um…yeah not much to say there except for the fact that apparently anything that David does that involves his wife means he’s forced into it. Would rather see them as abused puppies than accept they love their partners. Heavy on the homophobia and bi erasure since yes, fetishization isn’t allyship, it is homophobia. Everything is PR. She doesn’t know what PR means nor that David and Michael are not nearly important enough to have a 24/7 team controlling all social media and personal aspects of their lives. Neil gaiman apologist who blamed his sexual assault revelations on David’s support of trans people. Denies women flirting with each other and boils it to PR friendships??!?

Dejadestalkearmeloser- pretty much the same as nightgoodimens, flips shit when you call her out on it, I mean look at her pinned post about me and you’ll see. Also apparently I’m every account that doesn’t like her. Seems to have a problem with lesbians not liking her (wonder why lesbians don’t like the misogynistic people who only talk about the lgbtq community when it comes to fetishising mlm relationships)

Thetardisisbluesndroseistoo- flips shit at Georgia getting credit for anything, lost her shit on someone saying that Georgia has educated David on lgbtq allyship (he quite literally said himself that she does) later deleted posts when I called her out. Can’t stop laughing at that

invisibleicewands- really, really creepy about Anna, delving into her past and family to try and find…something. Body shaming. Mom shaming. The usual misogyny.

dtmsrpf- I guess a spoof on my name, belongs to one of the others on this list. The usual misogyny with a particular axe to grind against their looks and other things. Definitely a little salty.

georgiatennantunofficial (instagram)- extremely fucking gross. Body shaming and misogyny. Usual. You guys see a pattern yet?

[xhoess]

Rivals in the Spotlight

Yunho!dancer × fem!bod singer

Masterlist

Y/N is a passionate singer determined to secure a scholarship, often feeling overshadowed at her performing arts school by Yunho, a confident and popular dancer, dreams of becoming a professional dancer while managing the pressure from his family's legacy. When they are cast as the leads in the school's musical, their well-known rivalry escalates, leading to strong disagreements in during the rehearsals. Will they get over their little rivalry and put up a good show?

Wc: I think around 4k

Genre: enemies to lovers, smut, fluff

It is 8 am, and I am currently riding the bus to school. Today is the day I find out who will get the leads in the new school play. I don’t know a lot of people who are participating, but I definitely know one person: Jeong Yunho. That son of a bitch always knows how to get on my nerves, especially when I’m already in my worst mood.

I feel stupid writing this down, but I’ve been doing this for so long that I feel the need to keep this stupid diary updated. Even though it’s 40 percent me complaining about Yunho, it still is a good way to express myself, I think? I look out the bus window as the familiar scenery of my neighborhood blurs past. My thoughts keep circling back to the audition. What if I actually get the lead? What if Yunho gets it too?

As I walk into the school, I feel eyes burning into my back. That only means one thing: the names are out. My heart races as I rush to the performing arts hallway. A group of people is gathering around a piece of paper on the wall. Yunho is there too. Of course.

I push through the crowd, my palms sweating. I quickly find myself standing in front of the paper, and now I get why people have been staring. Me and Yunho need to play the two leads in the play. The worst part is that we need to play a couple. I play Alice, the female lead and yunho plays Jay the male lead.

"No fucking way... I thought you would be a background singer or something," Yunho says, standing next to me, also staring at the paper.

"Shut up, Yunho. You’re as tall as a tree, might as well play one," I snap before walking away.

The rest of the day, I try my best to avoid talking to people and head straight home after school. My best friend Rina calls me as soon as I get home.

"Can you believe this?" I vent, flopping onto my bed. "Of all people, I have to play opposite Yunho. This is a nightmare."

"Maybe you can be so miserable to him that he’ll quit," Rina suggests.

"I wish," I sigh. "But he’s way too competitive to just quit."

The next morning, I wake up with a knot in my stomach. I can't avoid Yunho forever. Rehearsals start today. I arrive at the auditorium early, hoping to get a moment alone before the chaos begins. The large, empty space feels oddly comforting. I stand on the stage, looking out at the rows of empty seats, trying to imagine myself performing without wanting to throw up.

Suddenly, I hear footsteps behind me. I turn around to see Yunho walking towards me, his usual smirk replaced with a more serious expression.

"Hey," he says, surprisingly without a hint of sarcasm. "We need to talk."

I cross my arms defensively. "About what?"

"Look, I know we don't get along, but we have to make this work for the play's sake. It’s important to both of us, right?" His voice is calm, almost sincere.

I’m taken aback by his change in tone. "Yeah, I guess."

"Let’s just try to keep it professional," Yunho suggests. "We can hate each other offstage, but when we’re up here, we need to be convincing."

I nod, still wary. "Fine. But don’t think this means I’m going to make it easy for you."

He chuckles. "Wouldn’t expect anything less."

The sun is setting, casting long shadows through the tall windows of the rehearsal room. Once everyone is ready for rehearsal we start. Because this is the first rehearsal we only needed to learn the first few pages.

I see yunho get in character and that reminded me that we are going to be lovers in the end of the play.

"Okay everyone, get in place for the first scene" the director said.

I stand across from yunho and did some last warming up.

"3.. 2.. 1.... and go!"

"Alice did you hear what happened" yunho says.

The rehearsals go on for a little more, but I keep forgetting a few words in some sentences. I can feel the tension growing.

"Buy Jay, you never know what happens when you say no" I say, I realize the sentence is wrong. And yunho does too.

"You're impossible, you know that?" Yunho snaps, slamming his script onto a nearby table. "Do you even care about this play?"

I cross my arms, matching his glare. "Of course I care! But you’re not the director, Yunho. Stop acting like you know everything and let's just continue"

He steps closer, his eyes blazing with frustration. "Someone has to take charge when you keep messing up your lines!"

My fists clench at my sides. "I wouldn’t mess up if you weren’t constantly trying to outdo everyone. This isn’t a solo performance, Yunho. It’s a team effort."

Yunho scoffs, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "You just can’t handle that I’m better at this than you."

"Better?" I laugh bitterly. "Your ego is so big, I’m surprised you can fit through the door."

He narrows his eyes, his jaw tightening. "At least I put in the effort. All you do is complain and act like a victim."

My blood boils, and I take a step forward, refusing to back down. "You think you’re so perfect, don’t you? Always criticizing everyone else to make yourself look good."

"Maybe if you spent less time whining and more time practicing, we wouldn’t have these problems," he shoots back.

I feel my face flush with anger. "You’re such a jerk, Yunho. No wonder no one likes working with you."

For a moment, there’s silence, the words hanging heavily in the air. Yunho’s expression falters slightly, a flicker of hurt crossing his face before it hardens again.

"You don’t know anything about me," he says quietly, his voice trembling with barely controlled rage. "You’re so wrapped up in your own little world, you can’t see past your own nose."

I open my mouth to retort, but the words catch in my throat. We stand there, breathing heavily, the room suddenly feeling too small, too stifling.

Finally, Yunho breaks the silence, his voice cold. "If you can’t handle this, maybe you should quit."

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. "Maybe I will," I manage to say, my voice shaking. "At least then I wouldn’t have to deal with you."

We stare at each other for a moment longer before I turn on my heel and storm out of the room, slamming the door behind me. My heart is pounding, a mix of anger and something else I can’t quite name. As I walk down the empty hallway, I can’t help but wonder if things will ever get better between us.

Yunho is left there standing, regretting some words he said.

The cool evening air hits my face as I storm out of the auditorium, my anger still simmering beneath the surface. I find a bench near the entrance and collapse onto it, trying to catch my breath. The sky is tinged with the pinks and purples of twilight, but I’m too wrapped up in my thoughts to appreciate the beauty.

"Why does he have to be such a jerk?" I mutter to myself, kicking a small pebble with my shoe.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s a message from Rina.

**Rina:** Hey, how did rehearsal go? Any updates?

I hesitate before replying, not sure how to put my frustration into words.

**Me:** It was a disaster. Yunho and I had a huge fight. Again.

Her response is almost immediate.

**Rina:** Ugh, that sucks. Want to talk about it?

**Me:** Maybe later. I just need to cool down right now.

**Rina:** Okay, just remember, you’re amazing and you can handle this. Don’t let him get to you.

I smile slightly at her words, feeling a bit better. Rina always knows how to make me feel better.

The next day:

The cafeteria is buzzing with activity as I navigate my way through the crowd, holding my lunch tray. I spot Rina at our usual table and make my way over, sliding into the seat across from her.

"Hey," she says, giving me a sympathetic look. "You look exhausted."

I sigh, poking at my food. "Didn’t sleep much. Just kept thinking about everything that happened."

She nods, taking a bite of her sandwich. "Yunho really knows how to push your buttons, huh?"

"Yeah," I agree, feeling the frustration bubble up again. "I don’t get it. One minute he’s trying to be all professional, and the next he’s tearing me down."

"Maybe he’s just stressed," Rina suggests. "This play is a big deal for everyone."

"Maybe," I concede, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. "But it’s like he enjoys making me miserable."

Before Rina can respond, I hear a familiar voice behind me.

"Can we talk?"

I turn to see Yunho standing there, looking unusually serious. Rina raises an eyebrow, but I nod, getting up from the table. We move to a quieter corner of the cafeteria.

"What do you want, Yunho?" I ask, crossing my arms defensively.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Look, about yesterday... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for things to get so heated."

I blink, taken aback. This is not the Yunho I’m used to. "You’re... apologizing?"

"Yeah," he says, looking genuinely uncomfortable. "I’ve been thinking about what you said, and you’re right. I’ve been acting like a jerk."

I stare at him, trying to process this unexpected turn of events. "Why the sudden change of heart?"

He shrugs, looking away. "I guess I realized that we’re stuck with each other for this play, and if we keep fighting, it’s going to ruin everything. For both of us."

His words make sense, but it’s hard to let go of the anger so quickly. "So, what do you suggest?"

"Truce?" he offers, holding out his hand. "Let’s try to make this work. For the sake of the play."

I hesitate for a moment before shaking his hand. "Truce."

At the Rehearsal Room, Late Afternoon:

Back in the rehearsal room, there’s a noticeable shift in the atmosphere. Yunho and I still have our differences, but we’re making an effort to be civil. Our scenes start to flow better, the tension easing with each passing day.

One evening, after a particularly grueling rehearsal, I find myself sitting on the edge of the stage next to Yunho. We’re both exhausted but there’s a sense of accomplishment in the air.

"You know," I say, breaking the comfortable silence, "I never thought I’d say this, but we’re actually doing pretty well."

Yunho smiles, a genuine one this time. "Yeah, who would’ve thought?"

This new feeling was brewing in my chest, it wasn't hatred, it was far from that.

"You know I never meant to be harsh the other day" yunho says, looking down at his shoes that are hanging off the side of the stage.

"Its okay, I said some mean stuff to you too." You lift your shoulders a little while saying. "I really need this play to go well so I can have a higher chance of getting a scholarship. That's why I was getting pissed off by you" I say.

"My parents always expect the best of me, just because they were the best in their days doesn't mean I am. I guess that's why I got so angry at you for saying I wasn't a team player." Yunho sighs ".. I really try to be but sometimes my parents just get into my head and make me forget this is not a contest"

I frown at his story, it's sad that he can't express his passion the way he wants.

I stand up and hold my hand out for yunho. He looks up confused but grabs it, I pull him up and say "you need to enjoy this yunho, talk to your parents about it. It is your life and it should be fun while you're here" I say with a soft voice, not realizing that our hands are still together.

He suddenly pulls me into a hug which caught me off guard. "Thank you y/n. You're not so bad after all" I hear him whisper.

The morning of the play:

"Ahh! How are you feeling? Today’s the day!" Rina exclaims, practically bouncing with excitement as she walks next to me.

I can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. "I’m feeling really good about all this. Not only will this improve my chances of getting a scholarship, but it’s also helped Yunho and me forgive each other."

We turn a corner, and my heart skips a beat when I see Yunho standing there, talking to one of his friends. I’m about to wave when I catch his words.

"I don't know, man. She is so annoying. I can't handle it any longer. I'm happy this act is all over after tonight."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. Tears well up in my eyes. How could he say that after everything we’ve been through? After the connection we shared the other night?

Rina notices my change in demeanor immediately. "What’s wrong?"

I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "I just heard Yunho saying he can't stand me and he's glad this is all over after tonight."

Rina's eyes widen in shock, then narrow in anger. "What? That can’t be right. That son of a bitch"

I nod, biting my lip to keep from crying. "I don’t know if I can go through with this tonight, acting like everything is fine. This play has done nothing but be stressfull, I'm done"

Rina takes my hand, her grip firm and comforting. "Listen, I know this hurts, but quitting now isn’t the answer. You’ve worked too hard to let this ruin it. Just hold on a little longer, don't say or do anything you will regret later" she said "I'll be right back just don't do anything okay?"

I nod, trying to take comfort in her words, but the ache in my chest remains. I steal another glance at Yunho, who’s laughing at something his friend said

Later that day in the school's hallway:

“That jerk,” she mutters, clenching her fists. “I can’t believe he said that about you after everything you two have been through.”

I shrug, trying to act indifferent, but the hurt is clear in my eyes. “It’s fine, Rina. Let’s just get through tonight.”

“No, it’s not fine,” she snaps, standing up abruptly.

Before I can stop her, Rina storms across the hallway, heading straight for Yunho. My heart races, and I quickly follow her, catching snippets of her angry muttering.

“Rina, wait!” I call out, but she’s already reached Yunho and his group.

“Hey, Yunho!” Rina’s voice cuts through the chatter, silencing the group. Yunho looks up, surprised.

“Rina? What’s up?”

“What’s up?” she repeats, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’ll tell you what’s up. How dare you talk about Y/N like that behind her back?”

Yunho’s brows furrow in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Rina spits, crossing her arms. “Y/N heard you this morning, calling her annoying and saying you’re glad this is all over after tonight. How could you, after everything you two have been through?”

Yunho’s face pales, realization dawning on him. “Wait, that’s not what I—”

“Oh, save it!” Rina cuts him off, her anger palpable. “She thought you were friends, that you understood each other. But you’re just a two-faced jerk!”

By now, a small crowd has gathered, watching the confrontation unfold. I feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment and hurt, but I don’t stop Rina. She’s saying everything I wish I had the courage to say.

“Rina, please,” Yunho tries again, his voice pleading. “You’ve got it all wrong. I wasn’t talking about Y/N like that.”

“Then who were you talking about?” Rina demands, her eyes blazing.

Yunho takes a deep breath, looking around at the crowd before focusing on Rina. “I was talking about the director, I was talking to my friend about how I’ve been feeling overwhelmed by her, she has been on my toes the last few rehearsals. And plus if I had to say something mean to y/n I would just say it to hee face, I've done it the last few years.”

Rina’s anger falters, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face "Oh, well this is awkward" she said while laughing awkwardly.

That evening:

A buzz of excitement fills the air as students, teachers, and parents take their seats in the auditorium. Backstage, the cast is a whirlwind of activity, making final adjustments to costumes and props. My heart pounds in my chest, a mix of nerves and exhilaration. I peek through the curtain and see the audience settling in. This is it. Months of hard work, late nights, and overcoming differences have led to this moment.

Yunho stands next to me, adjusting his costume. He looks at me and smiles, a warm, genuine smile that sends a flutter through my stomach. "You ready?"

I nod, trying to steady my breath. "Ready as I'll ever be."

The romance scene is next up —the moment where our characters, after a series of misunderstandings and conflicts, finally confess their love. The lines have become second nature, but tonight, something feels different. There's an electricity in the air, a deeper connection that wasn’t there during rehearsals.

As Yunho and I move through our lines, the world around us fades away. It's just the two of us on stage, our characters’ emotions mirroring our own unspoken feelings. Yunho steps closer, his character's confession blending seamlessly with his own emotions.

"I've been thinking a lot about us," he says, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "And I realized something important. I can't imagine my life without you."

My heart races as I respond, my own feelings bubbling to the surface. "I feel the same way. You’ve challenged me, pushed me, and made me better. I’ve never felt this way before."

Yunho takes my hand, and the touch sends a spark through me. He looks into my eyes, and for a moment, it’s as if time stands still. "I love you," he says, I know it's just his character speaking. But it's feels a little too real.

Tears well up in my eyes, and I whisper, "I love you too."

The curtain falls, and the audience erupts into applause. We take our bows, the adrenaline still coursing through our veins. Backstage, the cast congratulates each other, but all I can think about is Yunho.

I find him in a quiet corner, away from the chaos. He looks up as I approach, a soft smile on his face "hey"

"Hey" I reply

"That was... incredible" He says, stepping closer.

I could smell his perfume, he was standing so close. It made My heart beat a lot faster. "It really was..."

He looks down and meet my eyes, we don't say anything but we both feel what's about to come. "Would you like to go somewhere private..?" He asks, his voice low.

I nod, "I would like that"

He grabs my hand and we walk towards the drama room. The place where it all began. The room is quiet and dark, the only source of light is the moonlight that is shining through the tall windows.

Yunho closes the door behind us, and the click of the lock seems to tighten the tension even more. We stand there for a moment, just looking at each other in silence.

He moves closer, his hand moving away a piece of my hair.

His lips meet mine, it starts of soft but quickly deepens. His arms wrap around me, pulling me closer until there is no more space left between us.

We pull away, stading there breathlessly. And yunhos eyes search mine. A silent question hanging in the air. I nod, giving him my answer without him having to ask it.

He leads me to the small couch in to corner of the room, we sink down on soft cushions, his hands move gently over the curves of my body. I lay one of my hands on his bicep, he tenses up under my touch and his muscles tighten.

Yunho reconnects the kiss again, this time it's with hunger and passion. He slowly slides his hand under my shirt, cupping one of my breasts. The warmth of his hand tingling on my skin.

I gasp when he pulls my shirt over my head and throws it on the floor. Exposing me to the cool air. He lowers his head and starts to kiss me all over my body "you're so beautiful" He murmurs against my skin.

I blush, my hands start to unbutton his shirt revealing his chest. He shrugs himself out of the fabric and I move my hands over his skin.

We're now left in our underwear, Yunho's hand moves down, his fingers teasing the edge of my panties before slipping under the material. When his finger enters me, a groan escapes my lips, muffled by our kiss.

He takes my reaction as encouragement, adding another finger and moving in and out in a steady movement. The sensation of his fingers moving in and out of me sends waves of pleasure through my body, and I arch my back, pressing closer to him.

"Yunho," I whisper, my voice breathy and filled with need.

He breaks the kiss, his eyes locking onto mine, dark with desire. "Does this feel good?" he asks, his voice husky.

"Yes," I moan, my hands gripping his shoulders for support.

Yunho's free hand trails up my side, his touch light and teasing. He kisses a path down my neck, his lips leaving a burning trail on my skin. As his fingers continue their rhythm, he takes one of my nipples into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it. The combined sensations are almost too much, and I gasp, my fingers digging into his shoulders.

"Yunho, I need you," I manage to say between ragged breaths.

He looks up at me, his expression a mix of tenderness and desire. "I need you too," he whispers.

With a final, lingering kiss, he pulls his fingers out and helps me out of the last of our clothing. We pause for a moment, just taking in the sight of each other, the intimacy of the moment deepening our connection.

Yunho gently lays me back on the couch, positioning himself above me. He takes a condom from his wallet, and with a quick, practiced motion, he rolls it on. His eyes meet mine, seeking one last confirmation.

I nod, my heart pounding with a mix of nerves and anticipation. "I'm ready."

He aligns himself with me, and as he slowly enters, we both gasp at the sensation. He moves with care, giving us both time to adjust. Once he’s fully inside, he pauses, our foreheads touching as we share a moment of stillness

Yunho starts to move, it's slow at first but once I wrapped my legs around his waist he couldn't hold back any longer. A groan escaped from his lips and he fastened his pace.

His hands roam over my body, caressing and teasing, driving me closer to the edge. I can feel the tension building, the knot tightening inside of me.

"Yunho I'm close" I whisper against his neck.

"Me too" He says, his voice strained with his pleasure.

The sound of our breathing is getting heavier and faster. With a final trust I feel a wave of pleasure wash over me, yunho throws his head back when he feels my juices spilling over his cock. That is enough to send him over the edge too. Our moans filling the silent room.

We collapse together, yunho holds me close. His breath warm against my skin as we come down from the high.

"I think I like you y/n" yunho said, pressing a soft kiss against my forehead.

"I like you too yunho" I whisper back.

We lie there for a little longer, wrapped in each other's arms. And that's when I realized that this moment was the beginning of something beautiful.

[blackbackedjackal]

Soul Eater has always been a bizarre case. on one end of the spectrum there's characters like Kilik Rung, Mira Nygus, and even major manga antagonist Noah. on the other end there's the infamous bg jazz band that are straight up minstrels (they look identical in the manga. this was not studio bones' artistic liberty) and the death scythe repping Africa named Dengu Dinga who wears a mashup of "african flavoured" clothing. and then there's Sid, obviously i can't pass judgement on what's good or bad design rep but there certainly was a scene where Maka literally calls him a "mean blue gorilla"..

sorry for rambling, but Ohkubo absolutely takes inspiration from graffiti art and hip hop aesthetics in his work which makes the antiblackness even more disrespectful

Feel free to ignore that ask if the topic is bogging you down btw, I didn't see your last post if you're done engaging with the topic for now feel free to delete it. Looking forward to what you do with strawberry moon <3

Oh dude you're good. I just needed a nap before I answered more lol. I'll try and answer as many of these as I can because I'm honestly enjoying the discussion even though I have to step away from it for a bit. It's triggering to me but not in a way that I can't talk about it, just bogs down my mind ya know?

Anyway, I've never watched Soul Eater so I had no idea of the Black characters in the show! I had to look them up and I see what you're saying. Mira is a stereotype because I'd consider her a sexualized Black woman in this context. Kilik is like 100% fine to me at a glance, like he just looks like a Black guy though there may be some writing I'm missing that still makes him a stereotype.

I had no idea that he was influenced by graffiti art but I TOTALLY see it now in his shape language. Sid is by far the worst since he still has the big white teeth and a more 'gangster' aesthetic. Especially considering the time period Soul Eater was released, it's in poor taste at best and still perpetuating Black stereotypes at worse.

Anime is it's own sub-genre of racism in animation. White people LOOOOOVE to say "oh it's a different culture and they don't know" LMAO YES THEY DO DON'T PLAY stop infantilizing Asians you fucking sickos.

Colorism alone is such an issue in Asian countries. I've lived with people from China, South Korea, Thailand, Taiwan, and the Philippines. I've heard first hand accounts of people from the Philippines being treated like lesser human beings just for having a slightly darker skin-tone and don't get me started on how Chinese imperialism has impacted Taiwanese people. I'm not going to speak for disenfranchised Asian people but it's easy to find if you look it up. But my point is if colorism is that prevalent, imagine how much worse it is when your entire culture has a history of being exploited to the point that blackface is a worldwide issue.

Also the Boondocks exists and though not a perfect example, it still has some of the best depictions of Black people in an anime style. There's no excuse to draw racist stereotypes when there's literally 5 seasons worth of overall solid Black character designs that can be referenced for other series.

[riversandwinds]

kiss it better?

a/n: hi hi hi! this is my very first fic, I’ve never written anything before so we’ll see how this goes. please be nice, tell me if you hate it xx ! also I got fed up with autocorrect changing y/n to yen so I just gave her a name 😭

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

summary: Being an art student, Amara’s life gets so stressful around finals week. When everything starts to go downhill, Chris is there to fight with her, and maybe even kiss it better afterwards.

warnings: swearing, angst (happy ending), kissing, not really anything else except for female rage lmfao, no use of y/n

word count: 1.7k-ish

Not proofread 🤓

lots of love ~ Rivvie

What better way to start your day off than with a whole lot of chaos. Amara was jolted awake by the alarm clock’s incessant beeping slicing through her and Chris’s quiet room. Sitting up, her face paled as she saw the time, seeing that she slept through her morning lecture. Panic surged through her, immediately throwing the covers off and shooting up out of bed (much to Chris’s very audible disappointment). She grabbed random pieces of her closet off the floor in a frantic rush, barely managing to get out the door fully clothed with a “Byeloveyousomuchpleasecleanthehouse!”. (She forgot her glasses, then her phone, then her bag, making her run back to their room 3 more times.)

Shouting her final goodbye to Chris, she could feel her phone all but explode in her pocket. She was too disoriented to focus on the messages, so she ignored it, figuring it was just a random group chat. She sprinted through the commons, finally checking her phone after deciding she didn’t care enough to make it to the lecture hall.

lindsey manager (🫥)

sarah no-showed. need you to fill in today asap.

???

amara hello

Of-fucking-course, Amara thought to herself. With a huff, she turned on her heel, making her way to the campus coffee shop. I don’t even have my work clothes, God hates me.

At work, the hours dragged by as she endured her manager’s endless complaints. “You’re late, Amara, hurry up.”, “Where the hell is your uniform?”, “No, you’re not doing it right-“

The poor girl was on edge, to say the least. Her late start didn’t help, either, as she didn’t have any time to grab food from their dorm. She was barely able to handle her hunger as she worked through her shift, her empty stomach cramping by the time her shift was done. She clocked out, silently cursing Lindsey, the shop, and every customer who walked in during her shift.

As exhausted as she was, she called her professor as she was walking out, booking the ceramics room for a few hours. Finals were quickly approaching, and her clay tea set was only partially finished. She headed to the studio, hoping to make at least a little progress on her project and make up for lost time.

Her day only continued to spiral. She’d been in the studio for all but 20 minutes before she wanted to destroy the Earth entirely. As she was leaving the kiln room, tray full of breakables in hand, the door next to her flung open, slamming into her. Not only did it: A) Slam her glasses into the bridge if her nose, cutting her face, but it B) sent her entire tea set to the ground, shattering into thousands of tiny clay shards. Amara’s world collapsed in that moment. Tears streamed down her face as she stared at the wreckage, unable to muster the strength to pick up the fragments. With a choked sob, she grabbed her bag and fled the studio, feeling the weight of her disastrous day press down on her.

Stumbling into her apartment, she hoped for just a semblance of order. But the sight of the messy living room—pizza boxes, crumpled papers, clothes everywhere—made her heart sink even lower. She dropped her bag and collapsed to her knees, her body shaking with a mix of exhaustion and frustration.

“A-are you kidding me?” Amara’s voice cracked as she shouted, her frustration pouring out uncontrollably. “I’ve had the worst day- oh god… I missed my lecture, got screamed at at work, my project is destroyed, and now this mess? I can’t do this-”

Chris, complete with an Xbox controller and a headset, emerged from their room with wide eyes. He froze, his mouth slightly open in surprise as he took in his girlfriend’s state. “Baby, woah, what’s going on?” He set the controller aside and stood next to Amara, honestly a little confused. “Why the meltdown?”

Wrong choice of words, clearly, as her red, tear-filled eyes snapped to his, going wide.

“Why the meltdown?” Amara exploded, her voice rising in volume as she began to frantically clean up the mess. “Because today has been a fucking wreck! I asked you to pick up a little, just a little, Chris! A-and you couldn’t even manage that! I come home to- to this after the worst day of my life, and you’re just sitting here playing games!”

Chris blinked, taken aback by her outburst. “Mar, calm down. It’s not that big of a deal. I was going to clean up, but I got sidetracked. It’s not like—” he bends down to pull Amara off the floor, but retracts when she spits out her response.

“It’s not like what?” she snapped, angry tears streaming down her face. “It’s not like it matters to you? You think I can just handle everything on my own while you sit at home and do nothing? I’m at my breaking point, and all I wanted was the trash off the floor!”

Chris’s eyes widened, his initial nonchalance giving way to frustration. “Hey, I didn’t make your day go bad. I get that you’re upset, but yelling at me isn’t going to fix anything. I’m just trying to understand here!”

Amara’s anger reached its peak. She stood up, maniacally grabbing all of the dirty cups and pieces of trash, stomping to the kitchen to deal with it. “You think I’m yelling just for fun? You have no idea what my day was like! I’ve been on the edge all day, and instead of coming home to something decent, our house is a disaster and you don’t even seem to care!” Throwing her now empty hands up, she lets out a choked cry, pushing past Chris to enter their bedroom.

After seeing Amara sobbing and slamming the door to their room, Chris’s demeanor shifted dramatically. He stood in the living room, the weight of her words sinking in. With a deep sigh, he started cleaning up the mess with a quiet guilt, his movements deliberate and focused. He managed to tidy up the living room, stopping to order Amara’s favorite takeout. He grabbed the blankets from the closet, setting up the couch and scrolling Amazon Prime for a movie to rent. (He eventually settled on Barbie Princess Charm School, figuring it would appease Amara.)

Around 30 minutes later, when Amara emerged from the room, she was met with a surprisingly clean space and the comforting aroma of her favorite food. Chris looked up from arranging the food on the coffee table, his face softening as he saw her. “Look, sweetheart, I’m really sorry. I didn’t realize the house was this bad,” he said, his tone earnest. “I thought I could fix it.”

Amara’s anger dissipated as she took in the scene. “Chris, I—” she started, her voice wobbling with her bottom lip. “I didn’t mean to lash out like that. I was just... overwhelmed.”

Chris walked over and pulled her into his chest, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I get it now. I’m sorry you had such an awful day, Ma.” She shrugged, pressing a kiss to his chest.

Spontaneously-DoorDashed desert arrived around ten minutes later, to which Amara all but inhaled while she focused on the movie in front of her. After almost dosing off for the third time, Chris paused the movie, brushing hair out of Amara’s exhausted face.

“Time for bed, baby. Let’s get you cleaned up, huh?” Chris said, pulling a whiny Amara up from the couch, leading her to their room.

He first took care of the little cut on her nose, placing a small kiss over it when he was done. After she was undressed and her hair was brushed, he helped her into the shower, his touch gentle as he guided her through the calming process. While she was in the shower, Chris busied himself tidying up the rest of the apartment, clearing up their dinner and putting up the clean dishes in the kitchen.

When Amara emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, refreshed and feeling a bit more centered, she found Chris remaking their bed, having switched out their sheets for clean ones. The room was now a haven of comfort, with soft lighting and the faint sound of the unpaused Barbie movie playing in the background. The big lights were off, the room illuminated by the soft string lights on the wall.

“God, Chris,” Amara said, her voice filled with appreciation. “This looks amazing. Thank you for cleaning, baby. I’m sorry I yelled at you over it…” she pouted slightly.

Chris smiled softly. “I know I messed up, and I’m sorry for being kinda useless. I figured this might help some more.”

He reached out and grabbed her in a bear hug, resting his chin on her head. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We all have rough days, and I should have been more understanding. I’m just glad we can talk things out and make them better.” He pulled back to kiss between her eyebrows, the tip of her nose, and a soft peck on her lips, smoothing her hair down with his hands.

He helped her get dressed, slipping a sleep shirt over her head and sliding her underwear and shorts up her legs, kissing her knee with a grin. Amara appreciated his efforts, feeling the weight of her stress lift with each passing moment.

After a few minutes, and a few yawns from both parties, Chris turned off the string lights and the tv, declaring it was bedtime. They climbed into their newly-made bed, snuggling up under the comforter. Chris wrapped his arms around Amara, pulling her close as she rested her head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his embrace and the comfort of being understood.

“I really do love you, you know,” Amara said softly, her sincere voice filling the dark room. “Thank you for kissing it better, Chris.”

Chris kissed her forehead gently. “Always, and I love you too, pretty girl. I’ll do better next time, pinky promise.”

As the sleepy mumbling played on, they remained in each other’s arms, the earlier turmoil of the day replaced by a sense of peace and safety.

Finally settling into a comfortable silence, Amara felt her eyelids get heavy. She yawned, pressing into Chris who kissed her forehead with a hum. She relaxed into Chris’s embrace, feeling like a precious stone in the hands of a jeweler. They drifted off, Chris’s immediate snoring lulling Amara to sleep with a lovesick grin on her lips.

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

tags: @her-favorite (u the only one bb 🌝)

[trashogram]

i think the worst creative mistakes viv ever made with HB is letting Brandon rogers into the writing room, because she wanted the show to be more action but it’s brandon who wanted the shipping and i feel like that in turn ruined all the other characters because they had to make stolas look good, i remember when he was just the rich guy blitz was fucking and i miss when the show wasn’t romantic 😔

Really??? I’m not at all calling you a liar, please don’t take it that way! But I’m curious where you got this information/belief because I’ve heard (and felt tbh) the exact opposite?

It seems a lot more in line with Vivienne to be all about shipping. Her background is being in fandom — I first got into her art around 2008 on DA, which used to be a lot more popular than it is today and fandom culture thrived there along with Livejournal and FF.net as well as various forum boards. She’s been engaged with and made content for online fandom for years, and fandom has an unfortunate history of fetishizing gay romance between fictional characters to the point of openly hateful rhetoric toward any other characters in the show that might get in the way of their mlm ship — especially female characters. It’s also Vivienne’s shows, with her name on them as the main creator, that prioritize male characters and emphasizes their angst/how pathetic she can possibly make them.

Brandon’s career has mainly consisted of comedy sketches from my understanding, not so much romantic content (has he made legitimate romance content??? I apologize, I’m not really familiar with his work.) or action — Brandon’s sketches are very fast-paced/quick cuts but idk if that’s on par with an Avengers flick. He has a background in crafting jokes not Vivienne, and I assumed Viv knew that so she hired him on to assist with Helluva Boss as it was initially pitched to be a dark comedy.

I also find it hard to believe that Brandon, the VA for Blitzø (our initial and supposed main character in HB), would be happy to have his character not only sidelined in his own show, but legitimately brutalized by the narrative and characters for… not returning the feelings of a whiny rich speciesist prince that coerced him into what essentially amounts to sex trafficking just so Blitzø can put food on the table? Brandon most likely came into this thinking he was creating more comedy, but I don’t see how this twisted melodrama is all that funny. I have personally made a fair few jokes about how I would be extremely disheartened by how Helluva Boss has mistreated Blitzø if I was Brandon.

I agree that the characters in Helluva Boss have all been ruined for Stolas’s sake, and for the Stolitz ship. I also wish it wasn’t romantic, not because I can’t enjoy romantic stories but because HB isn’t good at it.

[apuckishwit]

"What the HELL are you wearing?"

Steddie ^^

A continuation of this (hope OP doesn't mind, but it fit so nicely!)

“What the hell are you wearing?” Steve—shit, Eddie should probably find out his last name if he’s going to be following this guy back to Paris…and also asking him back to his hotel room after the show—calls as they enter the charming little chateau he’s staying at. Seriously. It looks like something out of a fairy tale—ivy covered walls, a beautiful garden full of flowers and vegetables, a snowy white cat perched on the fence. If you looked up the phrase ‘charming little chateau’ in the dictionary, there would probably be a picture of this place right next to it.

Eddie peeks around Steve’s shoulder (it’s only polite to wait to be invited inside, it has nothing to do with him wanting a longer look at that enticing ass in those jeans) and for a moment, his heart sinks. There’s a woman around their own age standing in the—charming—living room, bathed in sunlight from the wide picture windows. There’s nothing particularly offensive about her outfit…except for the neon purple beret perched on her head. She’s got a huge canvas set up on an easel in front of her, the floor covered by drop cloths and paints, brushes, and other tools covering every flat surface. She’s pretty, in an off-beat kind of way—not as classically attractive as Steve, to Eddie’s eyes, but pretty all the same, and Eddie can sense the easy familiarity between the two as Steve drops his bag of purchases by the door and saunters into the living room. He plucks the beret off the woman’s head, examining it with a look of disgust and dodging nimbly when the woman reaches to snatch it back.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, has he misread this whole situation? Or, Christ, is he about to be invited to a threesome or something? He doesn’t think he’s been misinterpreting the looks Steve keeps casting at him, but he does not feel like awkwardly turning down some hot young couple trying to be adventurous…particularly as he’s kind of depending on them to get him back to Paris in time for the show.

Then he takes a closer look at the woman.

“Holy shit, you’re Robin Buckley!” he exclaims, drawing her eyes to him. They immediately go as wide as his feel.

“Holy shit, you’re Eddie Munson!” she gasps.

Well. At least he knows Steve didn’t bring him back here with the intention of having a threesome.

Steve freezes, glancing between them with a—still unfairly attractive—frown. “You two…know each other?” he asks slowly.

“I mean…not personally?” Eddie says. “Just—oh my God, I love your art! My best friend is obsessed with you!” he can’t help gushing. Robin Buckley is a darling of the international art scene—her portraits and paintings in demand in galleries all over the world. Eddie would kill to have some of her art on one of their album covers.

Chrissy is going to die of jealousy when she hears about this. She’s been nursing the worst crush on Robin Buckley for going on two years now. Ever since she saw the woman speak at a charity gala dedicated to raising money for art scholarships for LGBT+ youth.

“My art! Dude! I love your stuff. Holy fuck, the Touchstone album was on blast 24/7 while I was painting my last triptych!”

Steve has moved further into the living room and is examining Buckley’s canvas with interest. At Robin’s words, he looks back at Eddie, arching an eyebrow. “You’re a—singer?” he asks, obviously guessing. Eddie ducks his head down, biting his lip a little.

“Something like that,” he says modestly. Buckley cackles.

“Oh my God! Dingus! How do you go out for booze and come back with the freakin’ lead singer and guitarist of Corroded Coffin? What is your life?” She points a paintbrush covered in yellow paint at him, causing him to dance backwards with a laugh that is fucking musical to Eddie’s ears.

“I don’t know who that is! No offense,” he tosses over his shoulder at Eddie, “he was trying to ask that clerk in the cheese shop for help finding the train station.”

Buckley nods sagely. “In English?” she asks Eddie.

Eddie nods sheepishly. “Didn’t go so well. Thank God Stevie here was in line behind me.” He notices Steve’s cheeks go a little pink at the pet name, and can’t help but smile. He hopes he gets to see how far down that blush goes tonight.

Buckley hums, her eyes flicking between him and Steve before they go a little sly. “Stevie,” she says, sidling a little closer to her friend. She glances at Eddie again. “Voulez-vous coucher avec lui?” she asks with a smirk.

And look. Eddie doesn’t speak French. Gareth made him memorize how to ask where the bathroom is, order a beer, and tell someone to fuck off (just for funsies) and he has a handful of other helpful phrases written down phonetically in his lyric notebook. However, Chrissy blasts Lady Marmalade every time it comes on the radio and he knows damn well what Buckley just asked Steve.

Steve shoots him a sly little side-glance, looking him up and down in a way that has heat blooming in Eddie’s gut. “Oui,” he says, tossing Eddie a little wink. Eddie kind of wants to fist pump.

Buckley laughs again, sounding delighted. “Oh my God, I can’t wait to tell Dustin about this. He’s going to die!”

Steve shakes his head. “Rob, I swear to God, if you tell Dustin about this, you can walk back to London next week.”

“Pfft, like I can’t buy my own plane tickets. Worth it!” she singsongs before whirling back to Eddie. “I am so delighted to meet you, Eddie Munson…would you like to join us for lunch, or do we need to get you back to Paris, like, ASAP?”

He glances at the—very charming—clock sitting on the mantle behind Buckley’s easel. He’s not due at soundcheck for another few hours and Steve said the city was only about an hour and a half train ride. Besides. Chrissy has been so good to him over the years—she truly is his best friend as well as their manager. He owes it to her to put in a good word with the woman she’s been pining over, doesn’t he?

“I could eat,” he says. “Gotta keep my energy up for tonight,” he says, making direct eye contact with Steve as he says it. That delightful flush sweeps over Steve's cheekbones again.

Seriously. Wandering around the French countryside. Best. Decision. Ever.

[cantcompetewhereudontcompare]

A complete deconstruction: Louis Tomlinson is a terrible songwriter. Part III

So, we arrived at the last part.

Part I was a deconstruction of this idea that Louis wrote "most 1D songs" and "all the bangers." In part II we talked about how little involvement he had in terms of instrumentation, vocal engineering, melodies, etc, of his own albums. How he got given several songs that were already written, and of the other ones, they mostly came together from a melody someone else wrote.

So what's left in terms of songwriting? The one thing he pats himself on the back for, the one thing Liam gave him (partial) credit for, and the one thing he and hic co-writers agree he actually does participate in (participate is a key word): LYRICS.

[Two of his songs get special treatment you can find that post here]

To be fair, we did a little detour so I could analyze Harry's lyrics first and show you what I value and what I'm critical of in terms of songwriting. Keep in mind, opinion about art is meant to be subjective. This is my taste and my opinions, and you can absolutely disagree.

Initially, I intended to do the same breakdown I did for Harry but for Louis. I also intended to do four songs, and do the different points for each of them.

I had to give up halfway through. I analyzed Kill My Mind and We Made It (and I might post that elsewhere so you can see it). I also intended to do Bigger Than Me and Saturdays, but frankly, I'm simply not going to.

Why? It's just BORING. I'm sorry but it's boring as fuck. I do these posts because they entertain me. I LOVE talking about art more than anything. I love poetry, I love this shit. But Louis' lyrics suck the fun out of it. And no, I'm not being dramatic.

I found myself wanting to compare him with better artists who tackled the topics he did in a more interesting, more compelling way, just so I could stop reading his and analyze interesting art instead. I had to stop myself from inserting Adele, Olivia Rodrigo, The Weeknd, Fleetwood Mac, Pink Floyd, just to name a few.

I found myself irritated, rolling my eyes at my screen.

I had to take so many long breaks, to do literally anything else because the idea of having to analyze his lyrics for two more seconds pained me.

Here's the problem, and I'll break it down for you:

HE'S LAZY.

We're talking about an artist who:

Wears the same outfits and/or the same style of clothes over and over.

Doesn't seem to even brush his hair or do the most minimal effort to look better.

Takes zero care of himself, of his skin, of his hair, of his food intake and diet, of his health.

Doesn't even know his own lyrics.

Has had fourteen years to learn an instrument and to this day hasn't played one live for more than 15 seconds, despite calling himself a musician

Has regressed in terms of vocal capabilities. He could sing better at the beginning of his career with 1D than at the end. And he could sing better at the end of 1D than now.

Doesn't come up with his own melodies, or sometimes, even his own lyrics or concepts.

His idea of an image to project has been "Northern lad from Donny who smokes and curses and gives you the finger and Noel Gallagher and Arctic Monkeys and indie bands" for 8 years with literally zero nuance since then.

Even his photoshoots are lazy. All he does is smolder at the camera wearing some sort of sweatshirt and athletic pants.

His staging is ridiculous, three TVs showing his own zoomed in face in black and white.

He puts zero effort in his career, in his own person, in his own image. I'm 100% sure that I spent more time thinking about his lyrics in the past week than he ever did, and you can absolutely tell.

I tried looking at his rhyming schemes. I compared one song to another, I listened to them (it was painful) trying to find little assonances, and counting syllables to see if he mirrored anything, if he told any stories within them. ANYTHING.

I don't want to cherry pick the worst bits and present them here as a "see, he's bad!" I want my analysis to be fair.

But I simply can't put myself through that. Why?

I'm not going to tell you. I'm going to show you (a concept Louis has never heard of).

RHYMING SCHEMES, CADENCE

[Most times they're either A A B B or A B A B or some slight variation of that. I haven't found a single song where the cadence is thoughtful. To be fair, I'm taking the first verse of the first five songs off each album.]

Album 1, song 1, verse 1:

You're a nightmare on the dance floor And you hate me, and I want more You're a total distraction While I'm waiting for your reaction, why?

A A B B

Album 1, song 2, verse 1

On our way to Twenty Seven Got a place on the other side of London Doing better, doing better And I know you left a part of you In New York under your bed in a box But you're doing better, doing better

???

Album 1, song 4, verse 1 (skipping song 3 because he didn't write it)

Oh my, I remember those nights Meet you at your uni', cheap drinks, drink ’em all night Staying out 'til sunrise Share a single bed and tell each other what we dream about Things we'd never say to someone else out loud We were only kids, just tryna work it out Wonder what they'd think if they could see us now, yeah

A A A B B B B

Album 1, song 5, verse 1

I've been looking back a lot lately Me and you is all I've ever known It’s hard to think you could ever hate me But everything's feeling different now

A B A B

Album 1, song 6, verse 1

Nothing wakes you up like wakin' up alone And all that's left of us is a cupboard full of clothes The day you walked away and took the higher ground Was the day that I became the man that I am now

A A B B

Album 2, song 1, verse 1

Tell you I'm on my way Nothing could make me late Said I had a plan for us Time, it came and changed it all We had to disappear ’Cause nothing gets through here Through that circle 'round my heart Where the best of me should start

A A B C D D E E

This is just a variation of A A B B C C, it's just that two sentences don't rhyme, for seemingly no artistic reason.

Album 2, song 2, verse 1

When you don't want coffee in the morning I know I'm in a hole It's hard enough to get you sober Got no chance if I'm hungover I ain't even woken up yet Not nearly vertical All I know is I'm in trouble 'Cause the atmosphere's so cold, so

A B C C D E E E

Basically, just A A B B B, with some sentences not rhyming.

I will commend the last syllable of "vertical" rhyming with "cold" and the first sentence of "trouble" as well. But the fact that the only reason he added "vertical" was to make that rhyme, because it adds nothing to the song "I ain't even woken up yet" already conveyed the same thought, kinda ruins it for me. IDK

Album 2, song 3, verse 1

I didn't read the signs Walkin' different lines I know I took a left Tryna make it right

A A B A

I'll give him that "left" could be done for artistic reasons, like, the only sentence that doesn't rhyme and it's him talking about making a mistake. I don't know that he's capable of being this thoughtful, or that he could even come up with it. But let's pretend. This is also poorly executed and I'll expand later.

Album 2, song 4, verse 1

You give and give until it's gone away Just tell yourself you've got another day You've lived that life, you just don't see it yet I see how hard you've worked to be yourself

A A B B

Album 2, song 5, verse 1

Good and bad and right and wrong Are stories made up when we're young to scare us Love and hate are in-between Depends on your reality to see them

A A B B

---

EFFECTIVITY AND COMFORTABILITY OF THE RHYMES + NONSENSICAL AND NARRATIVE ELEMENTS

[I combined all of it together because I started doing just the rhymes and then I just got distracted by his nonsense. So have it all together. Also, I'm doing nearly every song and the ones I skip, I explain why.]

Kill My Mind

You're a nightmare on the dance floor

Cliché

And you hate me, and I want more

'Nother cliché.

You're a total distraction While I'm waiting for your reaction, why?

Distraction from what? Reaction to what? You just wanted to rhyme these words didn't you? Cause they look similar? Cause this makes no sense in context.

The devil in my brain

CLICHEEEEE

Whispering my name

Why is he whispering your name if he's already inside your brain? Wouldn't he be whispering something more interesting? Like, idk "do crime"? Or, given the theme of this song "do drugs"?

I can hear it sayin', "Ah, ah, ah"

The fuck does "Ah, ah, ah" mean? It doesn't make sense in the context of the song either.

Kept me living From the last time From a prison of a past life On a mission just to feel like When you kissed me for the last time, why?

I put the whole verse in just to be 100% fair. The last two sentences make sense by themselves, but the first three are nonsensical. He clearly just wanted to rhyme prison and mission, which don't even form a perfect rhyme (different consonants).

And ya won't let go of your hold on me And I don't know what I'd do without you now

Not criticism, but commentary, and I'm being completely serious. This is quite worrisome to write in a song that's seemingly about substance abuse. Just saying.

[I'm skipping DLIBYH because it's getting special treatment. He didn't write Two Of Us.]

We Made It

'Cause we made it Underestimated And always underrated

Underestimated and underrated mean the same fucking thing. This isn't an essay — you don't need to hit a specific word count. What's the fucking need to just pad these songs?

Now we’re saying goodbye Waving to the hard times Yeah, it's gonna be alright

Just unnecessarily splitting a single thought into two "We're waving the hard times goodbye."

If any of this was actually poetic instead of at the level of eighth grade lit class, when Ms. Smith tries to get her students into poetry and asks them to submit their own attempts, I wouldn't say anything.

It's just bad, juvenile. It's beginner levels. This man has been "writing" songs for over a decade, and he gets paid handsomely to do so.

I measure things by average pop song. He's significantly worse than that.

Like the first time Met you at your doorstep Remember how it tasted Looking into your eyes Baby, you were still high Never coming down with your hand in mine

And how did the doorstep taste, Louis?

Too Young

I've been looking back a lot lately Me and you is all I've ever known It’s hard to think you could ever hate me But everything's feeling different now

Verb tenses are kicking his fucking ass. It WAS hard to believe she'd ever hate you. In the past. It's not hard to believe now. Because she hates you now. And you are writing the song now.

["Me and you is all I've ever known" is a rampant cliché, but I'll overlook it]

Also how awkward is the wording "everything's feeling different now"? Everything feels different now?

Let me give it a whirl...

I've been looking back a lot lately Me and you is all I've ever known Would've never believed you could hate me But all the love you had for me seems to be gone

It's certainly not a masterpiece. I'm working with the constrictions of his metrics, melodies, rhymes, corny ass themes, and... I'm not a professional songwriter. Also, I'm not getting paid to do this. But at least this not only rhymes and fits the metric, but also... MAKES GRAMMATICAL SENSE.

Walls

Nothing wakes you up like wakin' up alone

Nothing makes you hurt like hurtin' who you love

Nothing makes you run, like running out of time

See? I can do it too.

It's giving, I'm 14 and this is deep.

Sorry, I know I'm verging on bitch eating crackers territory, but godddd this is so cornyyy

But these high walls, they came up short Now I stand taller than them all These high walls never broke my soul And I, I watched them all come fallin' down I watched them all come fallin' down for you, for you

The whole song is corny, which, whatever, it's a pop song. Pop songs are often corny. It's fine. Now, can I ask a question?

Why would walls break one's soul?

I would leave it as a funny quip, and be done with it, but I'll explain the problem with his simile/metaphor.

First of all, where did the walls come from? This is the first verse:

Nothing wakes you up like wakin' up alone And all that's left of us is a cupboard full of clothes The day you walked away and took the higher ground Was the day that I became the man that I am now

The chorus about the walls comes right after. Did she erect (hehe) Walls around herself when she left? Cause there's no other explanation as to where the walls came from. If the song was about him overcoming those walls and getting back with her, that'd be something that makes sense. Slightly overdone, but it'd make sense.

Well, it's not. The bridge seals it (we'll get that in a second). He's saying that because he overcame those walls, he became a better person. So did she erect (hehe) walls around... him?

Huh, little bit kidnappy. But let's roll with it. So he's using the metaphor of her, I guess building a wall around him, for some fuckass reason. A physical wall that he physically overpowers because he becomes taller and it's too short for him.

So how can a physical wall break your soul? The metaphor here would be switching from physical to spiritual. A metaphor that already doesn't make a ton of sense, now makes even less so.

The bridge, though....

So this one is a thank you for what you did to me

What did she do to you? You haven't said. All you mention is her leaving after you hurt her. Doesn't seem like she did much of anything TO you. It seems like YOU did this. Or are you actually claiming that she trapped you inside short-ish walls? If this song is attempting to be sincere and not sarcastic (I think it's sincere?) then wouldn't it be better to say "for what you did FOR me"?

Why is it that "thank you"s are so often bittersweet?

Are they? Since when?? Says who??

I just hope I see you one day, and you say to me, "Oh, oh"

You want her to say "oh, oh"? The fuck does that mean? After this comes the chorus, so he's the one talking about overcoming walls again. She doesn't say anything other than "oh, oh". Whatever the fuck that means.

[I just have to laugh because the rhymes, cadence, and rhyming scheme of this are piss poor, the melody is interpolated from three different Oasis songs (Acquiesce, Stop Crying Your Heart Out, and Cast No Shadow,) and the music video is directly lifted from a fourth, different Oasis music video for the song Live Forever. Add to that that the lyrics are completely nonsensical and you have the "Louis is a great songwriter and artist" bingo.

NO HE'S NOT.]

Habit

You're the shiver that I can't shake

You give me the time and the space I was out of control And I'm sorry I let you down I guess that I know what I already knew I was better with you And I miss you now

Not going to criticize this because it's just your run of the mill pop song, but I can't help it, this whole song is giving

Always You

I went to so many places Looking for you in their faces

He's INCAPABLE of show don't tell, isn't he?

By show don't tell I mean:

Woke up the girl who looked just like you I almost said your name

Show me that you see her face in someone else. Don't tell me.

Arctic Monkeys has a whole song about this:

I thought I saw you in the Battleship But it was only a look-a-like She was nothing but a vision trick Under the warning light She was close, close enough to be your ghost But my chances turned to toast When I asked her if I could call her your name

I'm not specifically talking about this lyric in particular when I say "show don't tell", btw. It's just that that's his vibe so much of the time and it irritates me. I'm not saying he never "shows". I'm obviously being hyperbolic, and I'm not saying you ALWAYS have to show instead of tell, either. I just think he misses a ton of opportunities to be a little more poetic that would very much elevate his lyrics.

Seeing your ex's face on someone else is a commonly used trope, which can become corny and cliché or poetic depending on how you communicate it. He chose corny and cliché.

Fearless

This is a lyrically sound song. No notes. I don't necessarily agree with his view of things — I think he has a very narrow view of what succeeding in life can be, but it's a well-written song. Lyrically, sonically it's BORINNNNG.

Perfect Now

If you are a fan of his and you're reading this... first of all, wow, that should count as masochism. Second of all, I hope you remember when I was very nice just now. Because I'm about to be a bitch.

You say to me your jeans don't fit

You don't feel pretty and it's hard to miss

'Cause everybody's lookin' at you now, my, oh my

I guess some queens don't need a crown

Listen, I'm no stranger to men writing weird ass lyrics about women. Harry did write "Couldn't take you home to mother in a skirt that short" after all (at least he tried to redeem himself with "but I think that's what I like about it"). But JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.

Not only is the jeans bit a weird ass fucking thing for a man to write that about a woman in the 2020s (to be frank, it was weird when Ed Sheeran wrote it in Little Things in 2012, so imagine now), but also, how cringe was it for him to still be doing that at almost 30?

Don't even get me started with the "Some queens don't need a crown" shit. That would've been corny and overdone if Elvis had sung it in the 50s.

Also

You never stop given half the chance

Cliché

Even when your tears are fallin' down Still, somehow, you're perfect now

Keep your head up, love, keep your head up

Cliché

You make me feel like being someone good to you

....? What? So it's up to her to... make you... feel... like being good to her? Is that not your default setting?

Every insecurity, like a neon sign, as bright as day If you knew what you were to me You would never try to hide away

No, yeah, I'm sure all her deep rooted problems with insecurity, which likely stem from patriarchy and the impossible standard women have to fulfill, would magically be solved if she understood that you like, REALLY fancy her. You're the center of the fucking universe, after all!

Throw this entire song in the trash. Burn it. Then bury the ashes. Jesus fuck, he's such a fucking asshole.

Defenceless

I come runnin' to you like a moth into a flame

This is the first sentence, y'all..

We're sleepin' on our problems like we'll solve them in our dreams We wake up early morning and they're still under the sheets

He probably thought this was so deep. Hell, his fans probably think this is deep too.

Obviously, the point is that you're not going to solve your problems if you sleep on them (double meaning because "sleeping on" something means ignoring it). My point is that it's the type of analogy your Uber driver makes at 3 AM when he picks you up after a night out with friends, and that's the only context in which this analogy sounds thoughtful in any way.

The main problem I have with this brand of lyric of his is that he takes it seriously and so do his fans. Nobody thinks "You can't bribe the door on your way to the sky" is Nietzsche or treats it at such. Perhaps it touches you personally and that's valid, but it's just a cool song, at the end of the day.

Never been so defenceless (Oh) Never been so defenceless (Ooh) You just keep on buildin' up your fences (Oh) But I've never been so defenceless (Ooh)

Tell me he didn't just rhyme "defenceless" with "fences"...

I've been holding my tongue but it's so fucking obvious that his first instinct is to rhyme words that visually look like they might rhyme. That's the level we're working with.

[He didn't write Only The Brave so we're skipping it too.]

The Greatest

Time, it came and changed it all

[Noun] [comma] it [did thing]

Abolish that sentence structure unless you're willing to make it interesting.

Also this is a cliché.

’Cause nothing gets through here Through that circle 'round my heart Where the best of me should start

The fuck does this mean?

It's you and me until the еnd

Cliché

Your face reminded me Of a love you cannot hide

It SHOWED you, not reminded you.

Writing a song "for your fans" is corny as fuck.

[Written All Over Your Face will get special treatment, so we're skipping it.]

Bigger Than Me

When somebody told me I would change

Who told you you would change? People in general? If it's people in general why not just say that? If it was a specific person why are you being vague?

I used to hide behind a smile When somebody told me I would change I was afraid, I don't know why

Something about the "I don't know why" rhyme is so fucking juvenile, but I can't put my finger on why.

'Cause so does the world outside, I've realised

Sorry, not a commentary on how good or bad the lyrics are, but is he saying "I was afraid of changing but I don't know why since the world changes too"?

His emotional intelligence is sub-zero isn't it?

I know I took a left Tryna make it right

Even hen he's trying to do wordplay he just smacks you in the face with it.

I'm not exactly a fan of Taylor Swift's, but Louis' fans often compare him to her, and...

The woman has many, many flaws as an artist (to be fair, all artists do), but when she wants to, she can write a mean lyric, and Louis CANNOT.

Everybody moved on, I stayed there. Dust collected on my pinned-up hair. They expected me to find somewhere, some perspective, but I sat and stared right where you left me. You left me no, oh. You left me no choice but to stay here forever.

THAT is wordplay.

Right and left but not meaning right and left in the directional sense

"I'm where you left me" meaning, in the physical place you dropped something

"You left me" meaning, you abandoned something, ended a relationship

"You left me no choice", meaning, I had no other option

Even a poppy Sabrina Carpenter song has more thought put into it:

We were goin' right, then you took a left Left me with a lot of shit to second-guess

She starts it off as lazy as Louis but she actually adds it a little something something.

When I say his music is worse than the average pop song...

I've woken up from my sleep

Cliché

[Blanket statements about me pointing out clichés. They're not necessarily bad. To some degree, they're unavoidable, especially with a large body of work. Unless I really go in on it, I'm just pointing out when he uses them to keep track of it. Like I said, having clichés, commonplaces, common tropes, etc, is normal. What's not normal is how often he does it]

All of these voices, all of these choices I don't hear them anymore

You don't hear the choices?

[Blanket statement about me pointing out small nonsensical elements. Pop songs tend to say some shit here and there. The problem is the frequency of his nonsense, and sometimes the levels of it. The lack of better elements is also a problem.]

'Cause, yeah, I mighta changed But everybody does

Do they? Oh wow.

Now I realise that the world outside Is bigger than me

Is it? Oh wow.

He made an entire song about realizing that the world is bigger than him.

This is what the song is supposed to be about:

As the lead single from Louis Tomlinson’s sophomore studio album, Faith in the Future, “Bigger Than Me” finds itself as an anthemic pop/rock song, on which Tomlinson sings about letting go of self-doubt, personal growth and shutting down the negative voices.

Lucky Again

If you believe that guy is Superman They're selling tickets at the cinema

Is he trying to say, like, "I have a bridge to sell you"? Cause nobody says it this way. I checked.

I'm so confused.

Whatever gets you through the darkest night

Cllché

Just find the light out in the madness, hold tight

Cllché

'Cause I'm a hard man to lose

Does this mean that it's bad to lose him? Or that he's hard to lose as in, he's got an airtag on him? A third thing I can't think of?

The rest of the verse doesn't help with context:

But I figured it out, then made my way back To a life I would choose We werе lucky once, I could be lucky again

Beforе the world, it got so serious

[Noun] [comma] it [did thing]

Before the time, it got away from us

This combination is lethal.

[Noun] [comma] it [did thing] + an incredibly overused idiom

Face The Music

Good and bad and right and wrong Are stories made up when we're young to scare us

No they're not???

Love and hate are in-between Depends on your reality to see them

Is this purposefully idiotic or am I just not getting it? Love and hate are not in-between. He's just saying things atp.

I just wanna stay in the moment the rest of my life

Cliché. A good excuse as any to listen to this awesome song:

I don't wanna face the music, but I still wanna dance with you

This is a cliché ("face the music") but the lyric is cute (and I'm not being facetious).

Close your eyes and count to ten If you're standin' on the edge of fallin' Open up and looking down Everything that matters is forgotten

Huh?

Chicago

They say bitter ends turn sweet in time

Who says that? This is the first time I ever hear these words put together this way.

You always made me feel much bеtter And I'll always be grateful for that

So many of his lyrics sound like he's texting (derogatory)

All This Time

I'm tryna find the words to say for ages

Cliché

It's not how you spend the time, it's if you waste it

Coooooorny ass cliché

And I keep on building mountains hoping that they'll turn to gold

Well that's fucking stupid. Why would mountains turn to gold? Where did you even get that they'd do that?

Also how are you BUILDING mountains? Who the fuck BUILDS mountains? Do you know what mountains are? And what "building" means?

It's the way we see ourselves through walls of trees

You guys, what the hell is he banging on about? What does this MEAN?

I keep looking up the things he writes just to see if I'm missing some context or some popular British saying. I'm not British! British people are weird! But no. It's just that he's writing nonsense.

Writing nonsense is FINE if that's your stylistic choice. I LOOOOVE Oasis and they write some of the most nonsensical garbage you could ever imagine, but

1- The music fucking slaps

2- It's not meant to be read as diaristic or biographical. It's also not meant to be read as a straightforward story or whatever. It's meant to be flowery and a little esoteric.

Louis went on and on about honest lyrics, and how little he liked metaphors, and how he didn't like exactly the type of lyric Oasis tends to write (all while claiming that Oasis wrote the type of lyrics he does like, because he's fucking stupid — I made a whole post about that).

It doesn't even feel like he's trying to be metaphorical and weird or flowery here anyway? It just feels like he's stupid and says stupid shit that doesn't make sense, all the while actively trying to make sense.

Also, Oasis' nonsense is more poetic, but it has it's own worldbuilding and logic. It's not outright dumb like "building mountains," so there's that.

Out Of My System

Take anything you can carry And leave everythin' else behind

Cliché

I am only half of what I think I can be

Are ya? Then why don't you try to better yourself? Cause that's my main issue with your entire existence. I personally think you're way too much for how little talent and hard work you put into things.

Gotta get it off of my chest

Cliché

I've lived a lot of my life already But I gotta get through the rest

Am I being too bitch eating crackers? Yes, Louis, you have to get through the rest. That is how life works.

Demons, I'm takin' all of my demons Putting them where I won't see them 'Cause I just wanna feel alive

This is such a confusing metaphor. What do you mean by taking? Taking them off? Taking them with you? What do you mean "putting them where I won't see them?" Like, what does it mean in the context of this metaphor? What do your demons have to do with feeling alive?

Having demons is a commonplace about struggling with stuff (it can be mental health, family issues, personality issues, a number of different things). It doesn't typically have anything to do with "feeling alive" or not.

I'm not saying these lyrics are necessarily invalid? I just think he could've taken a little longer to develop this metaphor more and make it click better and easier. I'm having trouble interpreting what he's trying to say here, and I don't think it's lack of trying or being pedantic. I think I'm being pretty fair, and in all.

[He didn't write Headline so I'm skipping it.]

Saturdays

I'm not supposed to be Feelin' dirty cheap on Silver Street At quarter to three

Why not? I mean, the feeling dirty cheap I get. Yeah, you're not supposed to feel that way. That's sad. I'm sorry that happened, bro.

But why aren't you supposed to be on Silver Street at a quarter-to-three? For the record, Silver Street is a street in Doncaster that's lined with a bunch of clubs. If you're ver gonna be on Silver Street, it's likely to be at a quarter-to-three. And I see nothing wrong with going clubbing once in a while.

Is he trying to say that he's not supposed to feel dirty cheap on Silver Street because he's out clubbing? But then why add the time? Would it be okay to feel dirty cheap when out clubbing if it was a little earlier?

I am being pedantic now, btw. Why? Because there are ways to write this that make it clear that the problem is with how he feels while being out with friends. Incredible songwriters, such as what Louis and his fans claim he is, would do that. Not just use the first combination of words that rhymes and fits the metric.

Hidden across my face In the crowd, I'm countin' up the days

What's hidden across his face? He never clarifies. Something is hidden. A feeling? A scar? A mole? A crowd can't hide across your face, and these sentences come right after the ones I just quoted, and are followed by:

In a haze I'm gazin' at the floor Somebody's got your trainers on The ones that you wore When you walked out the door

Still on the last two sentences: maybe he's trying to convey that him feeling dirty cheap is hidden across his face? If he's trying to do that, he failed.

The new bits I added now are alright. "In a haze I'm gazing at the floor, somebody's got your trainers on" is pretty good, actually. I personally would've said "the ones you had on when you walked out the door," instead of "the ones that you wore when you walked out the door." It just feels more sentence like. Because of the melody of this song, he tends to pause between sentences, so the way he wrote it feels like he's saying "somebody's got your trainers on, the ones that you wore." Which would be very redundant. What he's saying is that someone's wearing the exact shoes she wore when she left him.

Like I said, he suffers from chronic Not Taking The Time To Edit And Perfect His Lyrics. That's what I'm trying to point out here.

The feeling he's trying to convey is actually interesting and relatable, and the lyrics aren't necessarily BAD. They just aren't that good and can lend to confusion, especially given the cadence of the song. It wouldn't take a lot of work to make these lyrics be excellent and elevate the song, but alas...

Nobody stays the same No matter how much you want it Some things change

Cliché. And annoying at that.

Through my cigarette A shadow of you sticks me to the carpet Try to ignore it

??

Somethin' about the way The light catches the mirror in my brain It gives me shade

What?

Silver Tongues

Gettin' high on the amber wave

This is presumably about beer. You get drunk on beer, not high, Louis. If he's trying to wordplay like he's high (as in, physically) on the "wave" then he needs to find a way to close the metaphor. He could've said "getting under the amber wave." When you're drunk, you're under the influence.

Going deep for the ones who do the same

He could've continued the metaphor with this if he had used "under" instead of "high." You're under, and you get deeper. If you're high, you're not deep, because high means up. Yes, I am being bitchy. Thank you for noticing. I'm fed up.

Not to mention this sentence is confusing. What does "going deep" even mean in this context?

Air Maxes and silver tongues Settle in for another heavy one

Another heavy one what...? It's not clear in context.

You said love was a pretty lie And I choked when your smoke got in my eye Bad logic and empty cans

I can't decide if he's being clever or dumb. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt that he's saying "bad logic" because you can't choke from getting smoke in your eye, but he's said so much dumb nonsensical shit in his lyrics that I don't know.

Let's give him this one. This, that one sentence from Face The Music, and Fearless are the only lyrics of his that I find good so far.

I know nobody understands Me like you do

Cliché (tolerable)

You know, when I'm with you, I'm so much happier

Cliché (also tolerable)

You smile at me and say, "It's time to go" But I don't feel like goin' home

Cliché (tolerable)

You and me until the end

Cliché (alright cut it out)

Wakin' up to start again

Cliché (....)

There's nowhere else that I would rather be

Cliché, verging on intolerable with how many there are in a row.

Also excuse to put another huge and much better song

She Is Beauty We Are Word Class

Conversation is currency

Okay, interesting! Where is this going?

Shapes become a language

Uh... letters are technically shapes, and letters form words in multiple languages?

Square eyes and sunglasses

Is this a Keep Driving type of song? I can get behind those, but I'm not following right now.

Finding faces in the trees Fabricated fairytales Bring a new world to life Sit down, sit down in the space and time

I'm so confused.

She is beauty And we are world-class (Oh) Forever We let the feeling last

That's the chorus. Small tangent.

In Keep Driving, the first verse lists things that seem random until you hit the chorus.

A small concern with how the engine sounds. We held darkness in withheld clouds. I would ask "Should we just keep driving?"

Essentially, the engine sounds like it's about to break, and the darkness in the clouds show that there's a storm coming, but he stubbornly asks if they should keep going regardless. The part about darkness and clouds seems to indicate "a storm coming" isn't just literally coming in the real world, but also in the relationship.

The analogy is, driving in a car that's about to break, but not doing anything about it, and finding yourself stuck in the middle of a storm because you didn't act when you should've, and comparing that to a relationship.

Anyway, it seems that whoever he's talking to is as stubborn as he is, because he continues to list things in the second verse, particularly "pancakes for two" and "I will always love you."

The singing (the way he sings) gets a little more intense in the bridge. And the things he lists get more unhinged. It starts off listing things that makes it sound like a road trip ("passports in footwells"), which makes the parallel meaning of the song take even more form and makes the other things he listed in the verses make more sense (sunglasses, cameras, breakfast items, etc).

Continuing with the bridge, there are little things that allude to the summer of 2020, "tea with cyborgs" is most likely a reference to doing zoom calls with your loved ones during quarantine, and "Riot America" to the Black Lives Matter movement, which hit its peak in May-June 2020. "Life hacks going viral in the bathroom" is a literal thing that happened during quarantine, particularly on TikTok.

There's allusions to sex ("choke her with a sea view" and "side boob") and to substances ("puff pass" "edibles" "cocaine" "wine glass").

Then "tootache", "bad move", "just act normal" show us that something is going wrong. Following the theme of the song, he ends the bridge with "it's all good, hey you" and then the outro just says "should we just keep driving", signaling that, despite the fact that there's clearly issues, they'll continue to ignore them, and closing the metaphor fully.

I think Keep Driving is a brilliant song, perfectly executed. And if Louis were writing something like that, I'd commend him. Music and poetry within it gives you so many possibilities. Not everything has to be narrative-driven.

The problem that I have is that I just cannot make sense of this song at all.

This is the second verse:

Escape the inevitable Fade into light Soak up the empathy 'Cause I’m with you tonight

I'm sorry, but what is he talking about? There doesn't seem to be a thread that connects any of this.

Are we one or are we two? Are we me or are we you? Have we been all this before? Do you see what I see?

Is it a stream of consciousness type of thing? Cause I can get behind those too, but typically, the songs are, you know, better.

Like, I'm not gonna analyze this song super closely if that's what it's meant to be doing because I respect a stream of consciousness 100%, but I will judge the fact that the song is ass. If you're gonna do stream of consciousness you have to write a banger song.

This is one of my favorite songs by Oasis:

For those who might be reading this long ass essay out of curiosity and aren't familiar with Louis' song, well, I don't recommend it, but you can find it here.

Common People

I came from a good home A house full of terrace dreams That was enough for me You know, you had to see it to believe

"Gotta see it to believe" implies something unbelievable, weird. What is so unbelievable about a good home?

All the late nights, good times

Cliché

No deep pockets, but big hearts

Cliché

This song is pointless and boring.

Angels Fly

Nothin' really matters Nothin' really hurts We can talk about it It'll only make it worse

Jesus Christ, who pissed in your cereal? Not commentary on the quality of the lyrics, but my god.

If every star is an eye in the sky You'll see angels fy

Put the pain behind you now You don't need it anymore

BOOOOOO. Cliché

Holding On To Heartache

You said I wear it like a crown

Cliché

You should be starin' at the sky The birds just passin' by, love

This song is apparently about how much he misses being in 1D, which...

These two sentences I'm quoting do absolutely nothing to further the narrative and I'm not sure what the point of including them was other than not actually having to think and make an effor to come up with something relevant.

I can still hear a clock that's tickin'

Cliché

You know the party's over When you're standin' in an empty space alone

Not commentary on the quality of the lyrics, but yes, he's literally this meme (derogatory):

And time can always heal you If you let it make its way into your bones

Why'd you have to go and make things so complicated? Time can always heal you if you let it. End of. Why does time have to get into your bones? What kind of weird ass, unnecessary metaphor even is this? Just not wanting to think of a better, more compelling way to word things and sticking with the first sentence that fits the metric.

Nothing's ever easy

Plenty of things are easy. This adds nothing to the song or its meaning. You're just saying things.

[Writing this song three years after his admitted BFF said that he would've died if he had stayed in the band feels pretty fucking selfish. He's allowed to feel however he feels, but there was no need to externalize it constantly, especially knowing how much Liam was struggling...]

That's The Way Love Goes

Cool, simple song lyrically speaking. Nothing amazing and there are a couple of clichéd sayings, but it's fine! Lyrically one of his best alongside Fearless. It's a little boring musically speaking (better than Fearless, though), nothing to write home about, it could be better if he wasn't the one singing it. His voice really does ruin everything.

Change

This song is cliché o'clock:

Time of our lives

it's easy to see

We were just gettin' by

If you need, you can call on me

I'll be the friend you need

'Cause everything's changed outside, but I feel the same inside

The kids are alright

When we gonna realise we don't get another life?

I know it'll be alright

We've still got the rest of our lives

'Cause we're all the same inside

If he was trying to do a song full of idioms that'd be so cool. Like Better Than Words in 1D. But he's not trying to do that. There are a bunch of sentences here that aren't idioms. He's just fucking lazy.

The theme of the song is so boring too. Nothing's changed, I mean, some things changed, which I hate, but also I miss it, and I'm from Doncaster did you know?

----

Okay, I was gonna do High In California, but it's just a song about smoking weed, and I refuse to analyze that lyrically. I was also gonna do Miss You, Back To You, Just Like You, and Copy of a Copy of a Copy... I'm not going to. I'm bored and annoyed and I wanna be done with this.

You can find the analysis I mentioned of Written All Over Your Face and Don't Let It Break Your Heart IN THIS LINK.

---

FINAL THOUGHTS:

I think I have proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that Louis is a lazy songwriter who doesn't put too much thought into his lyrics, which are the only part where he has any actual participation (going from what he and his collaborators have said about the process so far and the liner notes in his albums).

You can feel like the lyrics touch you or you feel represented by them or whatever, that's absolutely fine. I'm not judging that. What I'm judging is how apt of a songwriter he is technically speaking. I can't judge vibes. Vibes are personal.

Technically speaking, he's terrible. Like, downright one of the worst I've ever had the displeasure of listening to.

With that, I bid you goodbye.

PS I have not proofread this monster of a post. I might do it in the future. I've had this written for a few days, and decided to post it on New Year's as a gift for those of you (all five of you! haha) who enjoy my content. Thank you

[vividachromatic]

Meant To Stay The Worst - Pt. 5

Alastor x reader

Marriage ♡

Tags: ongoing, marriage, confessions / proposals, manipulation and toxic relationships, canon typical violence and language

((<- Pt. 4 - Pt. 6 ->))

*

After being together for about 8 months in total, the two of you started seriously planning your wedding together.

While things weren't going well in the world right now, it only brought the two of you even closer.

Alastor and you had been planning your future home together for quite some time now. While the complicated things... like electricity or heating systems were left to Alastor and your father, you spent much more time with Alastor's mother and even his friend Mimzy.

Alastor's mother in particular was extremely happy for you and her son and always invited you to excitedly talk about Alastor's childhood and showed you a few photographs of him as a child. You could tell that she already loved you really much and saw you as part of the family. Which was further proven with how she insisted you call her 'mother'.

What you appreciated the most though, was that you had much more time to spend on your art and thoughts, and for the first time in your life you weren't put down for it. In fact, Alastor genuinely made an effort to let you know how much he appreciated your mind, art and the way you think quite often.

He even talked about you and why he likes your art on his radio show.

You were plannig to have a small radio station for Alastor on your future property, too.

While he was obviously not perfect: he definitely had some fucked-up morals at the very least; you were almost completely sure of his loyalty towards you at this point, despite your trust issues.

He never gave you any reason to think he'd even look at another woman or man in a weird way. In fact, he even went out of his way to express his extreme dislike towards cheating and betrayal.

(He once recommended a book to you where the husband cheats on his wife and she murders him, cooks him and eats him in response-)

While you never planned to; you were extremely sure that if you were ever to make the mistake of betraying Alastor in that way, you would definitely not survive it. Obviously this would be an extremely red flag in like... every situation.

But since you never did plan on betraying him and you were sure of his loyalty because of it, you digressed

The two of you had an unspoken understanding between each other: one that would be seen as problematic by almost anyone else.

You supported each other in everything.

------------------

"Y/N, my love..." You looked into Alastor's eyes, who recited his wedding vows to you.

Your heart was beating louder and faster than it ever has and you tried holding back tears to not look like a pussy or ruin your fucking make-up (it was very expensive).

And Alastor looked at you with pure love in his eyes. Which touched you to your core, since even when it was just the two of you he had a hard time letting his mask slip completely. But now it did.

"I love you. And I'm beyond grateful, to have you in my life and to have you want me in yours. So thank you, for giving your heart to me. I promise I will treat it like the most precious thing I have ever received. And I promise I will spend my entire life to protect you and make you the happiest woman in the world. I love you. So thank you for choosing me, being with me, and taking my last name."

You tried blinking away your tears and cleared your throat, so your voice wouldn't break.

"Alastor, I... I love you. More than I ever thought I was capable to love anyone-" You paused for a second, suddenly forgetting the lines you prepared and your heart started beating even faster - you thought you were actually going into cardiac arrest for a moment.

"I- I.... I'll-" you gritted your teeth and cleared your throat again.

Okay, get your fucking shit together now, Y/N.

"I will always stay with you. Through life and death. And I promise I will always be by your side. Through health and sickness; even if the whole world was against you." You managed to somewhat stutter out the rest of your speech.

And eventhough you fucked up, Alastor seemed to be geniunely touched by your words and gently moved his hand to hold your cheek.

The officiant probably told Alastor he can kiss you now, but you weren’t completely sure - it was like there was only static in your head, sending you on the verge of passing out.

You only regained the full awareness of your surroundings again, when you felt Alastor press his lips on to yours while the audience in your wedding cheered.

Even your family was there and you had to admit, that even when most of them were assholes and didn't care about you, they at least knew how to behave in a social setting.

Your offical wedding went better than you thought it would, your father led you to 'give you away' to Alastor and also held a speech later on.

(Your brother did too, but it was way more embarrassing since he insisted on bringing up embarrassing childhood memories and mentioning how he thought you'd die alone over and over again.)

When the official ceremony was over you held an after party with only your closest friends and Alastor's mother.

That part of the day was even more enjoyable than the first one. With a lot of music and dancing and only your closest friends giving you heartfelt words and gifts.

On the wedding night both of you treated each other patiently and lovingly.

...

During your marriage you tried the houswife / cooking and cleaning part as best as you could.

Though the cooking part went badly most of the time and Alastor ended up cooking dinner anyway...

(Though you did pride yourself on the fact that eventhough you couldn't cook very well, you could make good sandwiches. And Alastor was at least polite enough to pretend like that was at least somewhat comparable. )

The cleaning part went a little better. Although you did tend to hyperfixate on certain parts and neglect others from time to time...

All in all both of you had a very happy marriage. You loved each other. Even after the 'honeymoon phase'.

You always had enough money and supported each other's hobbies, while following your own.

Your own drawings and writings changed to be of or inspired by Alastor. Which was something he noticed (because he sniffed around your stuff), although he never mentioned it to you. And it did inflate his ego even more than it already was.

At the same time you knew, that his 'hunting trips' weren't for hunting animals, at least 9 out of 10 times.

But you were already sure of that before you even married him.

And since his radio studio was right next to your house right now, you could spend most of your time together.

You knew when he was going out to kill someone.

In fact you sometimes almost casually, although subtly, chatted about it with each other.

Talking about another bad person who would be better off dead. And the next day they were.

You liked this way more than you should. And Alastor obviously did too, since a lot of your most passionate nights ignited right after one of his 'hunting trips'.

You watched him clean off blood when he came back and helped him doing so more than once.

Alastor also made a great deal out of showing you actual self-defense and teaching you how to shoot, in case he wasn't there.

After a couple of years, you talked about expanding your family and even trying for a child.

Until one day the police knocked on your door.

____________________________________________________

Tag list:

@cryptidghostgirl @adeadreader @yourdoorisunlocked @spirit-of-the-hollow @droopingdatura @reikamasama @over-the-little-blue-house @wonderlandangelsposts @mysterypotatoink

(♡♡ thanks sm for your support! Tell me if you want to be added or removed)

A/N: Thank you for reading :D

Next chapter will be here soon and angsty.

Btw, I think this should be obvious, but I still wanna say that actually marrying someone in these circumstances would be quite stupid. This is like the perfect set up for an abusive relationship. But! This is fictional, so I'm writing this in a way it just works out for the two of them.

+ my girls, my boys, my nonbinary friends!! If you want me to actually write out the smut pls tell me if u actually want that. Bc I can, but I'm not sure if ppl actually want that. So comment pls (or write anonymously in my inbox) I'm just gonna do whatever I wanna do otherwise obviously, but I'd like to hear feedback anyways lol.

(On this note: thanks to 🍷 anon for your message :D I appreciate it. I'm just not answering publicly to avoid spoilers in case I'm using one of your suggestions(: )

Also this is obv to 90% an Oc/self-insert, so don't kill me if it's not 100% neutral, just change it in your head or don't read idk.

[v3nomly]

hiii saw your post abt modern au astarion and how you have requests open🤭 first of all i'm begging you please give us every single astarion thought you have........ kinda obsessed with modern au astarion🤭 could you please give us something about that where astarion still works in the justice system?? i'll never understand why people say he would have a different job, boy is literally born to be a lawyer/judge!! also have a lovely day😽😽😽 if you plan on keeping tabs on your anons may i be a 🍓 anon teehee

Ooo, I love the idea of modern lawyer Astarion. Instantly my brain went feral and threw my mind into the hyperbolic gutter. NSFW additions and a surprise appearance from ascended-adjacent Astarion under the cut. As always let me know if you want me to continue! Either as more thirsty ramble of an actual fic! Also I created a tag for you 🍓 anon! ♡

Astarion is just so charming and beguiling. He has everyone wrapped around his finger in that courtroom. Hanging off every saccharine word he says.

God, he’s just about lying through his teeth, but no one seems to care. He's spinning a careful web of truths and mistruths so intricate and show-stopping that he knows he has the jury right where he wants them.

You’re a bottom-of-the-food chain lawyer. New enough to the scene that you get stuck with all the shitty cases like this one. But veteran enough in the art of assholes to know the type of man Astarion is the moment you see him. The worst type of lawyer, one more befitting the name of a conman. Happy to line his pockets with the misfortune of others.

You couldn’t lie he was captivating. Every utterance of a word was a performance. Every gesture was a dance, and he played the part so well. It is what he does best.

It is when you utter one simple word that he finds his show comes to a halt.

“Objection,” you state voice almost meek, all eyes turn to you, and suddenly the spotlight has shifted.

Of course, the judge dismissed your claims, but it was enough to throw Astarion off his game. Sure, this wasn’t the first time someone had called 'objection', nor would it be the last. Yet, even with your voice as meek as it was your eyes held something he hadn’t witnessed in years. Clarity.

You saw through him, and the revelation almost made him want to laugh. You were refreshing, like an ice-filled cup of water on a sweltering summer day. For the rest of the trial, he gave you a chance to match his dance and god where you beautiful.

Maybe you stumbled or stepped on his toes, but you were merely unpracticed and the thought of you honed, your skills sharpened like a knife, brought a fiery excitement he hadn’t realized he was missing.

I could see him being subtly flirty every moment you were alone during the trail. Something that flustered the hell out of you, but you never let it affect your performance, which only furthered his interest.

When all is said and over, with the defense winning, a very proud and victorious Astarion comes over to shake your hand. Taking the opportunity to pull you just a step closer and invite you for drinks.

You knew better. Certainly knew that a guy like him was trouble, but you didn’t say no. While you wouldn’t admit it, you were somewhat eager to see what else Astarion was capable of. So much so that you had practically brought up the idea of him fucking you in the alley.

Your hands braced you against the wall, allowing you enough resistance to push back into each thrust, allowing Astarion to hit you deeper. His hands held firmly onto your hips, no doubt leaving the imprints of his long fingers on your skin.

"Fuck," you utter your legs wobbling, slowly turning to putty as he brings you closer to the edge. Astarion pauses his hold shifting to better support you. You hear him pant behind you, and you can only assume he's trying desperately to catch his breath. Just as caught up in the steamy exchange as you were. Before he steps back, allows his cock to slip free.

"Turn around, wanna see you, beautiful," the pet name speeds up your already racing heart. They were nothing new, something you had grown used to when his flirtatious remarks had started up, but the cadence of his voice felt more real, intimate.

Turning was a blessing and a curse, and both for the same reason. Astarion was handsome, there was no denying that. An air of royalty surrounded him, so perfectly pristine with so little effort. Now replaced with something just as gorgeous. White curls lay jostled, a few strands stuck to his forehead, pupils blow wide with lust, and lips swollen and bruised with the faintest strain of your lipgloss.

It isn't until he had you in his arms, a leg thrown over each one that you realize how strong he is. In the dim alley, you had only been able to make out the makings of what you assumed were abs, and while you had run your hands along his chest plenty during your initial makeout session you hadn't pegged him to be this fit. Nor did you realize how much you liked being picked up as if you were nothing but a small toy.

Astarion simply asks if you are ready, only waiting for your nod before he's once again buried deep inside you.

He kissed you sloppily, swallowing every breathy moan you let escape your pretty little mouth. Only pulling away to rest his forehead against your own.

There was little regret to be had when you let your gaze linger on him. Even as someone walks past the alleys threatening to expose your rendezvous. You think that you wouldn’t mind having him fuck you senseless again.

Dark Astarion

Imagine being his little Legal Secretary who deals with all his boring administrative issues.

Late office hours where he has his hand fisted in your hair, pulling tight, as guides you to choke on his cock. The deep laugh that would rumble through his chest right before he begins to mock you. Astarion would start off sweet with a little tease about how cute you are. Before his mouth would twist into the cocky smirk he wore so often. He’d make you look at him, mouth still placed around his aching length. You meet his eyes and moan around him. In the light, they almost appear red, like a predator ready to devour its prey. A sly fox and his dumb little rabbit.

You think for a second he’s going to praise you. Tell you how good you make him feel, so you look up at him eagerly with big doe eyes. Ready for whatever compliment would slip from his perfect lips.

“You're my personal little pet. Aren’t you darling? Only good for serving me,” he says, with little room for argument. Demeaning and possessive and the best compliment he could ever bestow upon you.

His smirk grows as he observes you squeeze your thighs together, cock growing impossibly harder when he thinks about how wet you’ll be when he has you bouncing on it later.

© 2023 v3nomly do not plagiarize, translate, or repost my writing to any other site.

[screamingfromuz]

Hi do you have any posts on the BDS movement? I think most don’t oppose it solely because it calls for a boycott of Israel, but because the org has unnecessarily called for boycotts found unjust and apparently doxxed Jewish people.. do you know anything about that?

I have a rant on them here, but not a lot else. But put simply, I think they are evil. they have doxed Jewish people, there was the whole map debacle, and they often used highly antisemitic rhetoric.

BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE!

the art boycott is pissing me off. working to isolate Israel from the global art world is fucked (how are people supposed to be exposed to other opinions if you refuse to let them interact?), but the people that suffer the most from it are Palestinian. the worst tendency of it is that if a Palestinian artist want to preform before Palestinians within the green line, they face huge backlash, and often just cancel their shows. And I can tell you that arranging shows in Gaza in fucking hard due to both Hamas's religious fundamentalism and Israel and Egypt's sieges, and the West Bank is tough because of Israel's tight ass border control that is so fucking annoying that many artists don't have the ability to fight with! So they are helping to keep Palestinians culturally isolated!

AND this block Israelis from interacting with big name international Palestinian artists which is making my life harder when I am trying to expose Israelis to Palestinian culture in order to deradicalize them! Also, I have some Palestinian artists I would like to see and it suck that the BDS will give them such hell for that, that it might not be a possibility.

I understand the desire to vote with your money, to boycott, and I give zero fucks about it. your money, your choice. My problem is how violent it is, how it attacks everyone, how they spew hate and malice. I have no problems for the original core values of the BDS (ending the occupation in the west bank, having full equality for Arab-Israelis and following Resolution 194), even if I disagree with the phrasing of some. but over the years there have been calls for violence against Jews (shoot a Jew is one of the more blunt ones), death threats against people who wanted to go to Israel, doxing and working with SJP (Students for Justice in Palestine). SJP in a shit show by itself, and often tokenise and drown Palestinian voices so a bunch of white American colonizers could play their fantasies of being oppressed and getting to be violent.

[deecotan]

I found this art and it's yours but I can only find it on pinterest and it's consuming me pls show me the original post or just give me a backstory I am Haunted

https://images.app.goo.gl/NU3FarXZQHfRyE258

Ahhh, Zoro Gets Violent the comic. One of my most reposted artworks ever. You can find my original post here. (Also on twitter.) Honestly I'm more upset about the fact that the reposters always seem to leave out the second part of the comic whenever they reposted this, cause like if you want to steal something at least steal the complete set, no? :/ (Sarcasm.)

The basic gist of the comic is basically Sanji got captured and held hostage by a bunch of bad guys, and Zoro got so furious that he barged into their lair, slaughtered the hell out of them, and had to have Sanji calling his name and murmuring reassurances to him just so he can calm down.

I did intentionally keep the backstory ambiguous because, well, I like to keep the interpretations up to the viewers to decide. But my original intention is that there is a reason why Zoro in here is so uncharacteristically violent - even more than usual, knowing how much faith he put in Sanji's ability to hold his own. And I tried to show... or rather imply that, through one of the panels of Zoro hugging Sanji (or Sanji hugging Zoro?). Sanji isn't wearing anything below his waist. Zoro, upon finding him like that, had assumed the worst.

Now I tried showing it through Sanji's dialogue, but if it wasn't clear enough, nothing really did happen. Whether that's because Zoro had arrived soon enough to stop anything from happening, or because of any other reason, that's up to you. Why the bad guys captured Sanji in the first place is also left to interpretation. The main focus of the comic really is just the depiction of Zoro's mind slowly coming back from a mix of pure, unadulterated rage and gut-wrenching fear when faced with the reality that Sanji (might) got hurt - with only Sanji's voice guiding him away from that frenzy. It was to show the utter desperation behind Zoro's eyes when he sees (or rather believes) Sanji got hurt, and contrast that with the bloodied carnage Zoro left behind - the only evidence from what happened before Sanji is able to get Zoro to calm down. Zoro is one of the most level-headed characters in the series, and he always has faith in Sanji's ability to hold on his own. Putting Zoro in a situation where the admirable steadfastness inside himself shatters because his lover is in danger is a really interesting subject to tackle.

Gotta admit, when making this comic I was actually in a pretty low place, hence why the outcome became pretty dark. Maybe a bit edgy. And I guess also kinda personal. But it did help me process whatever emotion I was feeling at the time, and reading other people's receptions of it had honestly helped me go through a difficult phase in my life. Three even wrote a fic based on this art which still made me giggle and kick my feet to this day. I love reading people's interpretations of my art, and receiving a wholeass fic about it? I'm over the fucking moon. (Go read it, it's an excellent fic).

So honestly? I still consider "fear" as one of my best artworks of all time. And while I was obviously bummed about the fact that it got reposted a lot of times, if it means that some people might be curious about the backstory enough to find my account? So be it. I'm glad people are able to enjoy my art, in any way they can.

(Still, obviously, don't make reposting art into a habit. At the very LEAST ask for the artist's permission. Respect your fandom creators, people.)

[artaxlivs]

My Masterlist -

Featuring mostly Steddie, Winterhawk & now - Sterek 💜

Steddie (Stranger Things):

HomeSteddie Farms: Rated T - Steve and Eddie had a farm and on this farm were a bunch of critters with awesome names. Plus art by Doomcheese!

End of the Beginning: Rated T - Eddie gets a do over and finds himself in the Upsidedown with Will. Can they save everyone this time? Art by @alduade-art

Do You Hear What I Hear?: Rated T - Steve brings home a mogwai, Eddie's never been good with rules

Nobody's Baby: Rated E - Steddie Dirty Dancing AU Steve & Robin best friends, Eddie & Chrissy best friends, 80s movie campiness, light BDSM, traffic light system for dancing and sex. With art by @lexplexdraws

Like a Mythical Virgin: Rated M - Eddie finds out the hard way that feral unicorns don't chase virgins for nice reasons

Let Me Be Your Man (i want to hold your hand): Rated E - Mike gets help from Steve with making a mixtape for Will. Eddie learns that there's an art to mixtapes. mike/steve bonding, laughter, fluff, little pining, smut (You can find the podfic of this one here. Read by the amazing RattleandHum (@thirdeye1234))

Destroy the Silence (Drummer Steve) - Rated E - Steve joins the band and Eddie discovers he has a thing for competent drummers, healthy bdsm communication, laughter, fluff & smut. Art by @carcrash429 (You can find the podfic of this one here. Read by the fabulous @rufusbear)

Off the Shelf - Rated E - Stripper Steve give Eddie a private show. Eddie discovers a new kink. Modern AU, basically porn with a smidge of plot.

Screw Todd, Steve's Her (His) Daddy Now - Rated E - Steve keeps calling himself Daddy "unintentionally" and Eddie's about to lose it, light bdsm, non verbal communication, daddy kink (or is it?)

The Second Worst Trip to Mordor Ever Taken - Rated T - Steve takes the boys & Eddie to Indy to a nerd store and flirts his way into trouble, Steddie, hurt/comfort, misunderstandings

Even Flowers Have Their Dangers (Series: No One Is Alone)- Rated E - What if the tunnels turned Steve & the kids into shapeshifting wolves? S4 rewrite and my own write up of S5 but with half the party as shapeshifters, smut, graphic imagery, battle scenes

There’s Something Wrong With Steve (WIP ch2/4) - Rated M - I’m not gonna tell you, Steddie, Suspense thriller, creep factor 6/10 and climbing

Let the Music Play -Series - Rated T - The music that plays every time Steve gets Vecna’d, Stobin besties, Steddie pre relationship, hurt/comfort

An Accidental Flogging - Rated E - Steve has questions about Eddie’s kinks, Eddie would like to have answers but he’s actually a virgin, friends to lovers, Top Steve, accidental kink discovery, laughter, fluff, & smut

Drabbles that aren't full fics: Happy Summer, Steve's Thighs, i was afraid to follow, Personal Space, can you read the letter for me (Part two), Pillow Talk, Steddie First Kiss Challenge, Constellations, Artax is a New Horse, To Do List

Art made by amazing artists that goes with something I wrote (eek!): Crabs, Drummer Steve, Dirty Dancing, Homesteddie

Clint Barton Centric (Marvel):

True Colors Series (8 Parts/complete) - Rated E - Clint/Bucky: The Snap didn’t dust half the universe, it turned them into soulmates who can only see colors when they find each other, Clint & Bucky don’t mean to find each other. Almost strangers to soulmates, smut, background Steve/Natasha and others

The Case of the Missing Purple Sweatshirts - Rated T - Clint/Bucky: Someone is stealing Clint’s sweatshirts…my excuse to let Clint talk about Scooby Doo

Through the Looking Glass - Rated E - Clint/Bucky: Instead of talking, they miscommunicate themselves into being sex dungeon fuck buddies, BDSM Dungeon fic, miscommunications, learning through bad negotiations, so very much smut, background Steve/Darcy, past Clint/She Who Must Not Be Named

Something to Tweet About - Rated T - Clint/Bucky: Someone tweets a series of photos of Clint & Bucky hanging out and mutually pining, they deal with it by avoiding it obviously. friends to lovers, social media ship to lovers

A Life Well Lived - Rated T - Clint/Bucky: just a glance at Clint’s last day

Make it Permanent - Rated E - Clint/Bucky: Secret dating, hickeys and tattoos and a little bit of healthy possessiveness

And the Stockings Were Hung - Rated E - Clint/Bucky: Christmas Exchange fic, Bucky's first Christmas at the tower, fluff and smut

Porn & Prose - Rated E - Clint/Bucky: some backstage smut between Mr Bingley (Clint) and Mr Darcy (Bucky)

Bucky, Lemme Smash - Rated E - Clint/Bucky: I just wanted to turn Clint purple and use this line from that meme, smut

Both, Both is Good - Rated E - Clint/Bucky: Bucky avoids Clint until he realizes Clint has been avoiding him, fuck buddies to lovers, smut & miscommunication

The Happiest Place on Earth - Rated E - Clint/Bucky: Bucky plays Hawkeye in Disneyland because the actor who plays him is short and he’s real pissed that some guy named Clint is tall enough to play the Winter Soldier, enemies to lovers, Clint in eyeliner, smut

Three to Tango - Rated E - Clint/Bucky/Natasha: James & Natasha teach Clint’s dance class, then they invite him for private lessons. Healthy communication, smut and Clint’s self degradation

A Bird By Any Other Name (Series) - Rated E - Clint/Steve: Clint as the Winter Soldier thru WW2 & the present, hurt/comfort, mental struggles, smut

Body Count - Rated E - Clint/Steve: tumblr prompt hitman meets a sex worker, just so much smut

Friends Don’t Let Friends Wait Too Long - Rated T - Clint/Steve: Steve is too nervous to ask Clint out, Bucky’s gonna help in an helpful way. Misunderstanding, fluff, laughter, Natasha being a troll

Marvel/DC Crossovers:

Draw & Release (2 part series) - Rated E - Clint Barton/Jason Todd: Clint gets a tattoo & finds a new boyfriend/Dom

Sterek (Teen Wolf):

UNLESS - Rated T - A Fern Gullyish AU where Stiles is a fairy, Derek is a 3 inch tall werewolf and Kate is even more toxic than usual, bookbinding by @eviscer-8

Take a Glorious Bite Out of the Whole World - Rated E - Stiles has known for ten years that Derek is his soulmate, Derek didn't even know Stiles existed. Soulmates, happy ending, alive Hale family. With art by @angeleyz4ever

Lie On My Front - Rated E - Derek & Stiles find themselves trapped inside a crate in a compromising position. Porn with a teensy bit of plot

Somewhere Under the Rainbow - Rated T - Wild geese can't be bothered to catch sidekicks. Fluff, magic, leprechauns, banter

[adara-sakamaki]

♤ - - INTRO POST- - ♤

Blood moon's out tonight. There are witches in the woods. The forgotten child has returned to this gilded cage called home. Abandoned children don't come back for their parents. They return for the younger siblings who weren't thrown out of that golden cage called a home.

Hey everyone! I hope your all having a lovely day!

I'm Adara Sakamaki.

I'm a Vampire, several hundred years old - and I'm a witch!! That's right! I cast spells and brew potions and fly on broomstick. The whole shebang! I even have a Cat! - Her name is Luna and she's the sweetest Kitty ever! - But I won't melt if you splash water on me so don't try that.

Now, you may be wondering - how am I a Sakamaki? - Karlheinz has no daughters. And you'd be wrong in that assumption. Karlheinz is my father, Lady Beatrix is my mother. I was born before Shu and Reiji. But good old Karl didn't want a girl to be his first born (~because stupid politics and sexism~). So instead of raising me in our dear fucked up little family I was thrown away. They didn't want me so I was tossed away and they tried again a few years later for sons - and got Shu and later Reiji.

So - some stuff about me.....

Who raised me? Uncle Richter - he did a good job in my opinion, not the best but not the worst either.

How did I become a Witch? I had a master - someone to teach me! :)

What's my sensuality? I'm Bisexual-!

Am I in a relationship? Nope! I'm comfortably single right now!

What kind of Witch are you? The jack of all trades kind! I can do at least a little bit of every type of magic - I've had many years to study and learn after all. I'm really good with most magics too - there are only a few that are difficult to do for me.

Do I drink blood from Humans? Only if they give me permission on all fronts. I don't like crossing boundaries with the Humans I know - so if they don't want &/or consent to being bitten I won't bite. I get most of my blood from hunting animals.

What are some things I like? Magic obviously. It's amazing. I also love to do art - sketching is my favorite. Skateboarding is something I like and do a lot. I also like reading books of all kinds.

What am I afraid of? Not telling you guys, I know my father is on here and I don't trust him with that information.

'Kay everybody!

Account rules time!

1. No incest/NSFW type asks. - incest is disgusting. Keep that off of my page. Any and all incest asks are going to be deleted. As for NSFW asks I'm not comfortable with those so don't send them. Semi-but-not-fully-NSFW asks should be okay. If I'm uncomfortable with any semi-NSFW asks I simply won't answer them. But bottom line NO NSFW and NO INCEST!!

2. SFW asks can and should be sent in - as well as RP starters. That is the content primarily permitted on this blog.

3. Be friendly / kind to me and Admin in your asks. Needless hate will not be tolerated here. No hating - be kind and show respect and me and admin will do the same in return.

4. All things posted by this blog WILL BE IN CHARECTER FOR ME ADARA unless it is specifically stated otherwise. Adara's personality and hobbies and opinions don't fully match up to Admin's - so basicly we're not the same person and I want people to remember that.

5. Have a good time - this blog is a place to have fun so try to enjoy yourselves.

Okay guys! I think that's all the rules and reminders we need. No need to be restrictive or anything!

THE ASK BOX IS: OPEN

Admin here Huge!

Huge thank you to my friend @bubblespalace for helping me develope and create Adara. She also runs @nephilimcursed