#if you do I have to ask why you have a tumblr

[daynascullys]

because tumblr is the gif website, I feel like everyone here should understand the work that goes into creating a gifset. because I think not everyone does, and it’s a huge part of why people don’t respect gif makers the way that they should.

the simplest gifs you will ever see me post still take the better part of an hour to create. because in order to make a gif, you need the material—for me, that means taking screen captures of videos or finding a download for them, both of which take time. then you have to open photoshop and create your gif, which can take a really long time depending on how quick photoshop is, how long the gif you’re making is, the size, any number of variables. and then I always color my gifs from scratch. if there’s dialogue, I listen over and over to try to make sure it’s correct, sometimes I look up transcripts, and sometimes it takes time to decide how to break up the dialogue. so even if it’s a simple two-gif set of a short scene, it will take the better part of an hour at least. and again, this is for the simplest gifsets I create.

so when I gif a scene, I am spending at least an hour with that tiny little snippet of material. which means that whatever it is that is featured in the gifset, it’s something that I like or tolerate enough to spend at minimum an hour with it. and this is why it DOES NOT MATTER if you are not critiquing the gif itself, gif makers do not want to hear every negative thought you have ever had about an actor, character, scene, or anything else they may have made a gifset for. if you want to complain about something, make your own post.

do not take someone else’s creation as a chance to complain or make nasty comments about anything featured in it. if I am willing to gif something, it means that I am willing to spend my own free time looking at it and working with it and creating something with it. so even if it isn’t my favorite scene or character or actor or whatever, I like it enough to watch the same three second clip over and over again for the better part of an hour. and yes, you’re just one person, but imagine a gifset with 100 notes. say 50 of those are reblogs, and 20 have some sort of complaint in the tags. you only see the tags of people who reblog from you, but OP will see all the tags. which means it’s not just your complaint, it’s all 20 different complaints about the thing they liked enough to make a gifset for.

and look—I understand it’s your blog and you can say whatever you want. I understand that I am creating something to be seen by other people and I don’t get to control what people say or do in the tags. if you read this and think fuck that, I can do what I want, you’re right. the purpose of this post is to remind you that you can do whatever you want, but the consequence may be that the people who are creating content for your fandoms stop posting altogether because they get sick of reading everyone’s negative opinions.

all that said, for the love of god: if you like something, reblog it. send asks and tell people you like their creations. say it in the tags. send things to friends. DO NOT REPOST THINGS. if you want to reap the benefits of other people creating things, make them feel like their work is appreciated.

[aleskie]

YOU DON'T NEED TO LIFT A FINGER | Jack Hughes x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: When a guy just cannot get the hint, Jack makes sure to put him in his place. He's got your back. Always.

Warnings: none!! pure fluff and jack gets protective!! Full discloure, this is for realsies Fem!Reader!! Author's Note: This was supposed to come out a dayyyyys ago but Tumblr was NOT letting me post my drafts 😭😭 my poor therapist spent an hour watching me crash out about it najsjsshjjk

You were beautiful.

Of course you were.

In Jack’s eyes, you were the most beautiful creature to ever walk the earth.

Which is why he understands why you get hit on. He really does. Hell, once upon a time, he was hitting on you. And he still hits on you, even now, years into the relationship, because you’re worth it. Because you light up rooms without even trying. Because he’s always been a sucker for the way you roll your eyes and smile at his cheesy attempts to be smooth with you.

You’re beautiful and smart and funny, and you’re so effortlessly charming—of course people would want you for themselves. He gets it. He really does. And honestly, there’s a part of him that loves it. He loves that people notice those qualities about you, that they see in you what he sees every day. It feels like validation, like the universe itself is confirming that he’s the luckiest guy alive. He basks in the knowledge that no matter how many people give you those hungry looks and shitty pick-up lines, he’s the one you're coming home with, his hand resting possessively on your hip as he gives all those people a smirk, his claim laid without him even lifting a finger.

What he doesn’t love is when people don’t take the damn hint.

And you give a lot of hints.

Take this guy right here—Dave, or Doug, or whatever his name is—He’d somehow wiggled his way into the booth you guys shared with your friends for a night out and, while he seemed harmless at first, he was now solely focused on you. And your legs that were highlighted by the body shimmer Jack helped put on you earlier tonight (his fingers still slightly shimmering to prove it—a badge of honor, in his opinion).

You’d been giving him that polite, fake smile since he joined in—the one Jack knows so well and that always makes him chuckle, the one you use when you’re being patient but are clearly not enjoying yourself—and you’ve barely paid him any attention, save for a few fake laughs and an “Oh, that sounds cool” every so often as Darren, or Dino, continues to brag about himself, not even trying to ask about you (a grave mistake, Jack thinks, since you were the most interesting person he knew).

Jack wonders if this guy even realizes you’ve been leaning against Jack this entire time, your head on his shoulder and his hand resting on your upper thigh, or if he’s chosen to ignore that in favor of trying (and failing) to shoot his shot. Better yet, does he even recognize Jack is here, drink untouched and jaw tightening as he watches Danny (or was it Dylan) lean in just a little too close?

Jack glances at you. You’re still handling it with grace, of course you are. You always do. But he knows you. He sees the subtle tension in your shoulders, the way you lean further against him to put some distance between you and Dexter, the way your fingers tighten around your glass, and he knows you’d rather not have to deal with this.

He shifts slightly and stands, leaning forward to smile at the intruder, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey, Diego, right?” he says. His tone is casual, even pleasant, but there’s steel underneath it.

“It’s Dave, actua—”

Jack extends a hand, cutting through the guy’s attempt at small talk. “Right, yeah. Sorry to interrupt, but I think my girlfriend and I are gonna go dance now.”

He puts an emphasis on girlfriend, just to make sure this guy gets the point.

Jack gives you a soft look, the kind that makes your breath hitch just a little, and you immediately stand up, reaching for him. His arm wraps around you instinctively, his touch steady and familiar. You can already feel the tension in his body lessening now that he has you close, now that he’s leading you away from whatever-his-name-is and back into the safe, easy rhythm of you and him.

But before you can leave, the guy speaks again.

“Sorry, man, didn’t realize she was yours. You know how women are. With that dress and those legs, she was totally leading me on.”

Jack freezes.

For a second, the world seems to pause, almost like he couldn’t believe what was coming out of this guy’s mouth, like he didn’t want to believe anyone could be that stupid.

Slowly, he straightens, turning back toward the guy—Dave or Doug or whatever his name was—with a look so calm it’s almost serene. Too calm. And that’s how you know Jack is angry.

Not the playful kind of angry, where he pretends to pout when you steal the last fry or kiss him everywhere but his lips. Not the frustrated kind, like when he can’t find his keys for the third time that week or when he’s had a particularly bad game.

No, this is something deeper. Colder. Controlled.

His fingers graze your arm lightly, a small, grounding touch meant just for you. It’s subtle, but you know what it means. I’ve got this. You don’t need to lift a finger.

Jack tilts his head ever so slightly. “You wanna say that again?” His voice is so even it borders on soft, a quiet thing wrapped in steel.

Dave—or Dino or Darryl—seems to think Jack is inviting him to elaborate, which is perhaps the worst decision he’s made all night.

“I’m just saying, y’know,” Dave shrugs, his tone shifting to something almost conspiratorial, like he thinks Jack might actually agree with him if he just explains it better. “When women dress like that, you can’t blame a guy for—”

“Yeah, I’m gonna need you to shut up before I do something we both regret.”

Jack doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. The weight of his words alone is enough to send a ripple of silence through the space between them.

Dave blinks, the beginning stages of intimidation creeping onto his face. He glances at you, as if expecting backup, but you’re already leaning back against the wall, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised as you watch Jack dismantle him.

There’s a small smirk on your lips. Because this? This was a sight you didn’t get to see in public too often.

Many times, people assumed your lovely boyfriend—so easygoing, so effortlessly charming—would lack the sharpness to cut someone down when needed, would stick to uhmms and ahhhs and crassnes.

They mistook his laid-back nature for passivity, his warmth for softness. But you knew better. Your Jack could be quite a wonder with words when he wanted to be. He didn’t need to be loud to command attention. He didn’t need to throw a punch to land a hit.

So you hang back and let him handle this one, finding comfort in the thought of his arms around you later, his breath warm against your ear as you danced the rest of the night away.

“Listen, buddy,” Jack continues, stepping closer. His tone is light, almost conversational, but there’s no mistaking the edge beneath it. “You don’t talk to anyone like that. You definitely don’t get to talk to her like that. You hear me?”

“God, c’mon, man! No need to get all—”

“I already told you to shut up.” Jack’s scowl deepens. His words are slow, deliberate. “The fact that she was polite enough to give you the slightest bit of attention doesn’t mean she was hitting on you. Whatever you thought was going on tonight? Not an invitation.”

Dave—Dino? Derek?—opens his mouth, probably to dig himself into an even deeper hole, but stops when Jack leans in slightly, just enough to make his presence feel heavier. Like a storm cloud about to break.

“She’s kind,” Jack says, voice quieter now, deadlier. “So she tolerated you. But she doesn’t owe you a fucking thing.”

The last of Dave’s bravado starts to crumble. His shoulders inch inward, his gaze flickering around the booth, searching for an exit, for reinforcements—for anything that might save him from this moment.

Jack watches him for a second longer, then exhales sharply, like he’s already bored. “You think being desperate and cocky gets you the girl,” he says, shaking his head. “But I don’t need any of that to keep her by my side.” His fingers brush against yours, finding their place like they always do. “And we don’t need to waste any more time entertaining douchebags like you.”

Jack steps back, his hand sliding fully into yours as he finally tears his gaze from Daniel? Don?—who cares?—and looks at you instead. The shift is immediate, his features easing, the sharpness in his eyes softening into something familiar. Something yours.

“Let’s go, babe,” he says simply, his voice lighter now, more like himself.

And just like that, the moment is over.

As you stand, letting Jack guide you away from the booth, you hear Dave mutter something under his breath—something weak and defensive that doesn’t deserve acknowledgment. It’s the kind of parting shot people throw out when they know they’ve lost. Neither of you glance back.

The music swells around you, the bass thrumming beneath your feet, but Jack doesn’t lead you straight to the dance floor. Instead, he pulls you toward a quieter corner, away from the crowd, where the lights are dimmer, the world a little smaller.

He exhales, then wordlessly nestles his head in the crook of your shoulder.

You smile, running your fingers through his hair, your nails lightly grazing his scalp. He sighs at the touch, his arms slipping around your waist as he lets himself melt into you for just a moment. You press a soft kiss to his hair, breathing him in, grounding both of you in something steady, something real.

After a beat, he tilts his head up, a sheepish grin playing at his lips. “Did I go overboard?”

You roll your eyes fondly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You were absolutely perfect,” you murmur, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek.

His grin widens, boyish and bright, and just like that, the weight of the night lifts. He tugs you closer, his arm tightening around your waist as he starts to sway you to the music. You laugh as he spins you unexpectedly, sneaking in kisses between the DJ’s transitions, his lips catching your temple, your jaw, the curve of your shoulder.

The man who bothered you is forgotten. The tension, the sharp edges of the night—gone.

All that’s left is this. You and him and the music. The warmth of his hands on you, the sound of your laughter melting together, the rest of the world fading into nothing.

[millilps]

Italian moment fr

so!

"Milli" comes from my first cat. she was a cat my family adopted when I was 3 (2005) and sadly crossed the rainbow bridge in 2019. we grew up together!

in middle school i started watching a lot of youtube (y'know, the classic "undiagnosed neurodivergent kid with no real close friends suddenly finds themselves with insane english skills by watching youtube") and specifically a lot of LPStube. around 2016, in high school, i decided i wanted a channel too, and i needed a mascot for it, and I knew I wanted a cat. so, when I found this LPS boardgame new in box for an affordable price on eBay, I just knew it was a match made in heaven.

why is this relevant, you might ask? see, the mascot choice wasn't random. well, I liked that shorthair, but I also thought - Milli will leave me one day. I want to remember her forever for all she did for me. and so, the gray shorthair cat, or shorthair cat 483 for lps collectors, was officially named Milli and became the mascot of my future channel.

I went through a lot of thinking and doodling and thinking again before finding a good name for the channel. how do you choose a name? should I go with my real name preceded/followed by LPS like LPSHannah? a nickname, maybe? something else entirely, like myLPSpetworld and PawesomeTV? I ended up settling on MilliLPS, mascot name followed by LPS.

after I started my channel I started gaining subscribers and meeting new people, finding new friends, and obviously those friends didn't know my name - they knew me as Milli. and so, I started using MilliLPS as my name everywhere.

I used to have a Tumblr account before this one. I don't remember what it was called, I don't remember anything, I'm pretty sure I never posted anything interesting other than reblogging some MLP art every now and then, but when I made this one I knew I had to call it millilps.

in 2024, after years of having doubts on which fursona was the main (I had a white and blue cat named Umi and a dutchie named Amethyst) i decided to make a new one. one that would match my name. and like that, i had a new fursona, a black cat with white paws, tip of the tail and patch around the left eye.

and now, 2025, 6 years after Milli left this planet and some time (months?) after I found out I am non-binary, I'm here, proudly calling myself Milli, honouring a creature that changed my life, and possibly saved it too.

Tagging @lovinglapislazuli @miaowmelodie @jikimo-world @ends-thenbegins @pimpa @donnapalude @joygirlmelii

Tag game🎉

Tag your moots and ask them where they got the idea for their tumblr accounts name!

For my name it was a nickname I was giving back in middleschool! One of our teacher had a system where we worked with 'wifi' eachtime we talked in class we lost a bar of the "wifi" (was a weird joke and we never held count on that) All the kids usually joked if they needed 'wifi' , they would borrow mine if they wanted to talk more. (I was incredibly shy in middle school, I only talked to like 3 people at school;^;)

They called me Ms. Wifi because of that. I just thought it would be funny if I put 'miss' instead of 'ms' because of my terrible actual wifi connection I have at home lol.

That's my story! Now moots, only if you guys want to, tell us your story.

Tags-> @slipping-lately @firequeenofficial @noagskryf @twinklstarrrr @halfbakedspuds @polterwasteist @rokushi-san @mygedagtes +anyone that sees this and wants to do this as well

[acid-ixx]

why do people who send hate messages have to hide through anons, LMAO. first of all, if anybody wants to confront me, or any other writers, then do so without hiding through the safety of anons.

secondly, i do post occasional updates about my writing progress because i don't want others to think that i'm abandoning my writing + i'm not the only writer here spamming the yan batfam tag??? and i don't do so frequently. i'm not calling anybody out, but it's not only me spamming tags with just answering random asks and posts unrelated to it, no?

and as much as i love to write, i have a life outside of tumblr and as prideful as this sounds, let's see how you can try to emulate writing a chapter more than 10k words because you don't want to publish a half-assed fanfic for others to consume.

i take my time, and if that time may take months then let me, because i don't get paid to write, and all the things i post in my blog are self-indulgent, not an obligation. there's plenty of other people out there who can produce works quickly, but not me.

thirdly, yes, i agree. there are more talented writers than me. they deserve more followers and i stand by that! my writing style is simple, very inconvenient at times, but it's what makes me comfortable, it's what makes me happy, but with your last message, it's like you're implying i don't deserve my own space in the writing community, especially in the batfam tags. there's no rules saying that just because i update slowly, then suddenly i'm undeserving of posting in the tags with updates in my work? seriously, anon, this sounds more like barely disguised jealousy and no offense, it's honestly pathetic if you think it hurts my feelings. if people don't like the way i write, then block me, unfollow me, confront me, do whatever.

before anymore hate is sent, i'll be turning off anons temporarily soon. and yes, i'll be posting this in the tags because i know i'm not the only author being targeted by hate asks, this is all for awareness. and to all those wanting to send hate, at least don't hide behind a mask of safety lol.

[iamquiantrelle]

SO INTO YOU (part 2) ───── iamquaintrelle

# pairings: aurelien tchouameni x black reader (✨💕)

# tags: @sucredreamer @snowseasonmademe @jessnotwiththemess @rougereds @judectrl @mufasathatniggatho @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @ayeshami @greyishbach @haartemis @goldenngt @solidbriii @sailurmewn @bbgkoo @mauvecherie-writes @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro

# summary: you’re a multiple grammy winning artist with a record breaking single based on an embarrassing crush on a footballer & when that single demands visuals who else do you ask to be your video vixen besides said footballer crush? but is he also willing to blow your back out too? ♡ masterlist

The next few days passed in a blur — Madrid, the match, the rush of it all. Of course, someone caught you at the match — there was no way that wasn’t happening. You were you, after all, a Grammy-winning artist sitting in VIP seats at the Bernabéu, very much in the camera’s line of sight. The picture had already made its rounds on social media: you, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees, watching the game with full concentration. Another showed you mid-cheer after Aurélien’s assist, your excitement unmistakable.

The comments on The Shade Room were a mess.

"Why is [Your Name] at the Bernabéu??" "She watching soccer now? 👀" "Ain’t no way she just ‘watching’ — look at that smile." "She’s a Madridista now? Elite taste." "I know she was there for Tchouaméni. Be serious."

You scrolled through the discourse with a grin, but the real entertainment was happening on Tumblr. Unlike the rest of the internet, your little tchouamenithoughts page was an anonymous safe haven, a place where you could be as shamelessly down bad as you wanted. And the girlies were going through it.

moot1: she’s cute. good for him i guess moot2: the way he’s been playing lately... yeah he’s in love moot3: it’s giving soft launch. moot4: imagine being the muse for that one song she wrote... bc I KNOW it’s about him.

You had to stifle a laugh reading that one. It was already too weird, and you knew — God forbid — if Aurélien ever found out about this little corner of the internet, you’d have to disappear into the abyss.

You then reblogged a gifset of Aurélien’s highlights from the match, tagged "captain of my heart" before clicking into the inbox.

Anonymous asked: "Bro tell me you saw [Your Name] at the match? She was going feral for our man Tchouaméni just like us. Respect."

You snorted and reblogged it with a simple: "As she should."

Your phone buzzed in your hand, pulling you away from the mess you’d been consuming like your own personal reality show.

Auré: Did you make it home safe?

You smiled, a warmth blooming in your chest.

You: I did. Tired though.

Auré: You should rest. You’ll need your energy for when I see you again.

You bit your lip, shaking your head at the audacity.

You: Oh? And when’s that?

Auré: Soon. I told you, I’m doing the chasing now.

Your stomach flipped. God help you.

You locked your phone and sighed, leaning back against your pillows, your laptop still open to the mess of your moots spiraling in real-time. Yeah, this Tumblr was going to have to go soon.

But for now? You had a little more time to kiki.

***************************************************

Aurélien meant it when he said he wanted to do the rest and chase you.

The next morning, a delivery arrived at your apartment in LA. A massive bouquet — white and blush pink roses, accented with baby’s breath. It smelled incredible, and the little card tucked inside made your stomach flip.

"Since I didn’t get to be the first one in your DMs, let me be the first to send you flowers. –AT"

You bit your lip, rereading the message at least three times before setting the card down. The man was serious.

And the thing was — he wasn’t doing too much. You’d been courted before, had men try to win you over with grand gestures that felt more about them than you. But this? This was just Aurélien being him. Smooth, intentional. Never overstepping, just reminding you that he was right there.

His texts came consistently, never letting a day pass without checking in. Some were sweet. Some were very much not sweet.

Auré: Did you sleep well?

You: Mhm. You?

Auré: Not really. Kept thinking about how you looked in my bed.

Whew.

Other times, he was just ridiculous.

Auré: Hypothetically, if someone wanted to know your coffee order…

You: Hypothetically, they should just ask.

Auré: I am asking. But I wanted to see if you'd be difficult first.

You: Vanilla oat milk latte, extra shot. Now tell me why you’re asking like you’re sending a gift card.

Auré: I might be.

You: Aurélien.

And sure enough, an hour later, an email from Starbucks: [Your Name], you’ve received a gift from Aurélien Tchouaméni.

You couldn’t even be mad.

Then came the FaceTimes. Usually at night, when he knew you were home. It started casual — just him, shirtless (because of course), leaning back against his headboard while you sat on your couch, notebook open, laptop playing beats softly in the background.

"What are you working on?" he asked one night, eyes flicking to your scribbled lyrics.

"Music."

"No shit," he teased, smirking. "But what kind?"

You tapped your pen against your notebook. "Just some ideas."

His brows lifted. "For me?"

You snorted. "No. Not everything is about you."

"Shame." He stretched, flexing way too much for someone who was supposedly relaxing. "But you’ll write another one about me eventually."

"You think?"

"I know."

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway, focusing back on your lyrics. Until—

"You work too much," he murmured.

You glanced up. "And you run too much. What’s your point?"

His smirk deepened. "That I’m gonna fix that. When are you coming back to Madrid?"

You blinked. “Oh, you’re just assuming I’m coming?”

"Yeah." He looked so sure, so smug, you wanted to reach through the screen and wipe that smirk off his face.

"I have work."

"I have work too,” he countered easily. "But I make time for what I want."

That shut you up for a second. You clicked your tongue. "That’s a cute line."

He grinned. "It’s not a line, bébé. It’s a fact."

And then, as if that wasn’t enough, the next morning, another email delivery. This time? A plane ticket. First class, LAX to Madrid, one week from now.

No note. Just that.

And the man had the audacity to text: See you soon.

******************************************************

You told yourself you weren’t really considering it.

You weren’t impulsive like this. You had rules. Checklists. Boundaries.

But when Carmen barely batted an eye after you double-checked your schedule and when your best friend damn near screamed in your ear after you mentioned Madrid again?

"Are you insane? You just got back!"

You winced, pulling the phone away from your ear. "First of all, lower your voice—"

"No! Because this man has already had you in a chokehold, and now you’re just willingly running back?"

You sighed, switching the phone to your other ear. "It’s not like that.”

"What’s it like then?"

Silence.

Exactly.

Because what were you really gonna say? That you were working backwards? That the whole 'I have standards thing' was already a joke because you’d skipped about fifteen steps when you slept with him and now you were just here like some lovestruck fool?

Because you were.

"Yeah," your best friend scoffed when you stayed quiet. "That’s what I thought."

Still, none of that stopped you from breezing through TSA a few days later, sunglasses on, hoodie pulled low, boarding a first-class flight back to Madrid. Because somehow, in less than two weeks, you had gone from watching him on your screen to meeting him in person for your video shoot, and now you were sipping champagne, heading straight back to him.

You were supposed to be working — laptop open, beats playing, lyrics scattered across your notebook — but all you could do was stare at your phone, rereading his last message.

Auré: See you soon, bébé.

A slow exhale left your lips.

You weren’t even there yet, and he already had you spiraling.

The moment you exited arrivals, he was waiting.

Leaning up against his car, hands in his pockets, looking stupidly good in a fitted tee, Rhude shorts that made everything look right, snapback cap, and another Cuban link around his neck. His eyes locked on you like he’d been counting the seconds.

Your stomach flipped.

This man…

"You’re early," you said, trying to keep your voice even.

He smirked. "So are you."

Fair.

"C’mere."

You barely had time to react before his arms were around you, pulling you into him. His scent wrapped around you — warm, familiar, distracting — and suddenly, everything about this felt like a terrible idea.

If he was this good just holding you, how the hell were you supposed to handle anything else? Especially at the rate he was going?

"You miss me?" he murmured, lips at your ear.

You pulled back, schooling your face. "Did you?"

No hesitation. "Yeah."

Your heart betrayed you, but you kept your expression neutral.

"Hmm," you teased. "Was it the inside jokes? The deep conversations?"

He chuckled, dark and knowing. "The way you sound when I—"

"Aurélien."

His grin widened as he stepped back, opening the passenger door. "Get in, bébé."

And just like that, you were gone all over again.

The drive to his place was quiet.

Not the awkward kind — never that with him.

It was the kind of silence that buzzed, thick with anticipation. The kind where every glance, every shift in your seat, said more than words could. Aurélien drove one-handed, his other hand resting on your thigh like it belonged there, fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against your skin.

Like he was reminding you exactly why you were here.

The low hum of Afrobeats filled the car, blending with the occasional ping of a text on his phone. You ignored it, focusing instead on the way his fingers tightened slightly when you moved, the barely-there smirk on his lips.

"You good?" His voice was smooth, teasing.

You exhaled. "Fine."

A low chuckle. "Lying already?"

You shot him a look, but it was useless. He knew. He always knew.

By the time you reached his house, you were already on edge.

And then there was Ocho.

The massive Belgian Malinois greeted you at the door with an excited bark, nearly knocking you over in his eagerness.

"Damn, you remember me?" You laughed, scratching behind his ears as he licked at your wrist.

Aurélien chuckled behind you, setting your bag down near the stairs. "He doesn’t forget people he likes."

You glanced up, finding him watching you with something unreadable in his gaze.

The air between you shifted.

You swallowed, turning away to take in the space — the same high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows, the same sleek yet lived-in warmth from the last time you were here. But this time, there was something different.

This time, you knew what it felt like to be pressed against that couch, to have his mouth on your skin, to hear your own voice echoing against these walls.

And, of course, there were the flowers.

You huffed a laugh, finally spotting the massive bouquet of white lilies and soft pink roses in a crystal vase on the marble countertop.

"You really do this, huh?" you murmured, fingers ghosting over the petals of the bouquet before turning to face him.

Aurélien leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with that slow, knowing smirk that made your stomach tighten. "Do what?"

"This whole…" You gestured vaguely at the flowers, the way he had you standing in his kitchen, feeling like you’d stepped into something inevitable. "Seduction thing."

"I told you," he said, pushing off the counter to come to you, voice low as his fingers found your waist. "I wanted the chase."

Your breath caught as his chain moved gently against his collarbone.

"And now that I have you here?" His lips hovered over yours, his hands already moving, already claiming. "I’m not letting up."

Your breath hitched as his hand splayed against your lower back, pulling you flush against him. You were already in too deep, already fighting a losing battle against the warmth curling in your stomach, against the way he smelled — clean, like cedarwood and something distinctly him.

"Aurélien—"

He kissed you before you could finish, tilting your chin up, his lips moved against yours like he had all the time in the world, like he was savoring you, mapping you out. The hand at your waist gripped tighter, and he made a sound in the back of his throat when your fingers found the nape of his neck, threading into the soft curls there.

You felt him smile against your mouth.

"What?" you breathed.

He pulled back just enough to search your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "You taste smug," he muttered.

You arched a brow. "And what does smug taste like?"

His lips twitched. "Like someone who knew she was coming back to me."

Your stomach flipped.

You weren’t going to entertain that — not right now, not when his voice was doing that and his hands were still tracing over your body like he was committing every inch of you to memory.

So you deflected. "Ocho knew too, apparently."

Aurélien huffed a quiet laugh. "Ocho is a good judge of character."

You snorted, shaking your head, but the moment you tried to step back, his grip on your waist tightened.

"You’re not going anywhere, bébé," he murmured.

You swallowed hard.

Because he wasn’t just talking about right now.

And he knew you knew it.

The moment stretched between you, heavy with promise. His thumb was still tracing patterns on your skin, each touch deliberate, like he was writing his intentions into your flesh. The kitchen's warm lighting caught the angles of his face just right, making his dark skin glow golden, and that fade you'd written countless posts about was perfect for running your fingers through.

"You're thinking too loud," he murmured, ducking his head to press his lips to your neck. His chain brushed cold against you, making you shiver.

"Hard not to," you managed, trying to keep your voice steady as his teeth grazed that spot below your ear. "When you're being all…" you gestured vaguely at him, at this whole situation.

He huffed a laugh against your skin. "All what?"

"You know what."

"Mm," his hands slid lower, grip tightening just enough to make your breath catch. "Tell me anyway."

The command in his voice - that same tone he used directing the midfield - had your knees weak. But two could play this game.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, watching them darken as your fingers traced the chain around his neck. "All confident," you said softly.

His responding smile was dangerous. "Didn't you write a whole song about it?"

"That's not—"

"About how I control the game?" His lips brushed your ear, voice dropping lower. "About how I read the field?"

Your heart was absolutely betraying you, hammering against your ribs like it was trying to escape.

"You really memorized those lyrics, huh?" you tried to tease, but your voice came out breathier than intended.

He pulled back to look at you properly, and the intensity in his gaze had you forgetting how to breathe. The same focus you'd watched him apply to matches, to training, to everything he did - all of it was directed at you now.

"I memorized everything about you," he said simply, like he wasn't completely ruining your ability to think straight. "The way you bite your lip when you're nervous. How your eyes follow me during matches."

Ocho's tags jingled as he trotted past, heading for his bed in the corner, completely unbothered by the way his owner was systematically dismantling your composure.

"You're impossible," you muttered, even as your hands traveled up his arms, feeling the muscles shift under your touch.

"You like impossible," he countered, and before you could argue, his mouth was on yours again, more urgent this time. Less controlled. Like maybe you weren't the only one affected here.

Your back hit the counter, and his hands gripped your hips to lift you onto it. The marble was cold through your clothes but he was burning hot, all solid muscle and sure touches as he stepped between your legs.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured against your lips, but his hands were already sliding under your shirt, already knew your answer.

You tangled your fingers in his chain instead, using it to pull him closer. "No."

His answering laugh was all satisfaction, all victory. "Good girl."

*******************************************************

You woke up to Madrid sunlight filtering through his expensive blackout curtains that clearly weren't doing their job. His bed was still unfairly comfortable, sheets soft against your skin, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest under your cheek was threatening to lull you back to sleep.

Jetlag had hit you hard after... activities, leading to what was supposed to be a quick power nap but wasn’t. That kitchen counter definitely needed disinfecting though.

Multiple times.

Now the afternoon light was painting patterns on his dark skin, and you were finding it hard to care about time zones at all. When he woke up to slip away to the bathroom, you grabbed your phone, checking the damage.

Surprisingly, your Tumblr mutuals hadn't caught wind of your return to Madrid yet. But you knew better - it would only take one fan with a good camera angle to set everything off again. You heard the sink running, and then Aurélien padded back to bed, all sleep-warm skin and low-slung sweats. He lay beside you for a moment before that hand found your waist, tugging you closer.

"C'mere," he murmured, voice still rough with sleep. You went willingly, settling against his chest, ear pressed to his heartbeat. That same dopey ass smile from last time spread across your face as his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back. "How long are you staying?" he asked, playing with your hair.

You tilted your head up to look at him. "How long do you want me?"

His answering smirk was knowing as he bit his lip, considering. "A long time."

"Can't do that," you laughed softly. "But... two weeks?"

"Two weeks is good," he hummed, fingers still moving against your skin. "We can have fun, go on proper dates... maybe take a trip somewhere."

You propped yourself up on his chest. "Trips? Already planning baecations?"

"Mm," his hand slid lower on your back. "Gotta pull out all the stops. Could do Mallorca, Ibiza..." his smile turned dangerous. "Or maybe Paris?"

"Paris?" You tried to keep your voice steady, but the way his fingers were still tracing patterns on your skin was distracting. "That's a lot for someone who just wanted to be in my music video a few weeks ago."

His laugh rumbled through his chest. "Is it? When I've been catching you like those highlights at 3 AM?"

You pushed up to look at him properly. "Still can't believe that you noticed that. "

"Bébé," his hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek, "You should know that I notice everything. Why did you think I said yes to the video?"

Your heart did that stupid flutter thing again. "Because I'm a three-time Grammy winner and it'd be good PR?"

The look he gave you was almost pitying. "You really think that's why? Still?"

Before you could answer, he moved - that athletic grace you'd watched on the field now used to flip you onto your back, hovering over you with that dangerous smile.

"I said yes," he murmured, chain dangling between you, "because I wanted to see if you were as beautiful up close as you were in those award show pictures I kept saving."

Your breath caught. "You what?"

"Mm." His lips found your neck. "Want to see my camera roll? All those screenshots of you performing? The ones where you're wearing that dress at the VMAs?"

"Aurélien—"

"The way you move on stage," he continued, voice dropping lower, "the way you command attention…"

You couldn't process this - him admitting to essentially doing the same thing you'd been doing, collecting pieces of each other from afar.

"So this," he said, pulling back to look at you with those eyes that saw too much, "is just the beginning. I told you - I'm the lion." His hand slid down your side, grip possessive. "And I chase what I want."

"And what do you want?" Your voice came out embarrassingly breathy.

That smile should be illegal. "Right now?" His lips brushed yours. "For you to stop thinking so much and let me show you exactly why I memorized every word of that song you wrote about me."

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was kissing you again, all intensity and purpose, and yeah - two weeks definitely wasn't going to be enough.

***************************************************

The Madrid morning light painted his bedroom in honey-gold streaks, warming the spaces he'd left cold when he left for training. His kiss goodbye still lingered on your forehead, along with his casual "take the other car if you want to go out" - like lending you a hundred-thousand euro vehicle was as simple as sharing coffee.

But after last night (and the night before that, and the increasingly blurred hours in between), you were content to exist in the aftermath of him. Every room held echoes - the way he'd pressed you against that wall, how his chain had caught the light as he'd lifted you onto that counter, the sound of his laugh when you'd almost knocked over that probably-expensive vase.

He'd been attentive in a way that made your chest ache, all careful questions and watching eyes. The same precision you'd analyzed in countless match footage translated to how he touched you - deliberate, focused, like every response was data to be cataloged. His perfectionist tendencies apparently extended far beyond the pitch, and you had the marks to prove it.

Speaking of Tumblr... you scrolled through your dash one last time. The theories were still flying, the thirst posts still abundant, but it felt really wrong now. Here was Aurélien making actual time for you, being intentional about pursuing you, and you had a whole account dedicated to thirsting over him? The cognitive dissonance was too much.

You wrote a quick post about "digital wellness" and noted taking a break then deleted the app. You'd properly nuke the account later - right now, you had a house to explore.

Ocho followed you through the house, his tags jingling as he padded along faithfully. The home gym where he'd filmed all those workout videos that had sent your mutuals into chaos was impressive, but seeing that motivational quote wall in the flesh? You clutched your imaginary pearls. And the mural of what looked like the 1960s Real Madrid team in the hallway? Yeah, if this was heading where you thought it was heading, you were definitely calling an interior decorator.

The media room spoke more to his age - all premium gaming setups and theater-quality everything. But the real winner was the backyard. The pool area was something out of a luxury resort catalog, and the Madrid sun hit just right on the loungers.

You settled into one, Ocho flopping at your feet, and tried to process everything. Two boyfriends in your entire life, and now here was Aurélien Tchouaméni - six feet two inches of pure "god took his time" - sliding into position to be number three? The universe was really out here making dreams come true.

Your phone lit up:

Auré: Missing you already. Dinner tonight? Unless you're too tired…

Your cheeks heated, remembering exactly why you might be tired. The way he'd switched between languages when he was too far gone to think straight, how that chain had felt cold against your heated skin, the sound he'd made when—

Another message:

Auré: I can feel you thinking about last night from here 😏

The smile that spread across your face was embarrassing. Those Tumblr manifestations had worked almost too well - your mutual followers had no idea they were manifesting their own thirsting out of existence.

******************************************************

"Aurélien," you warned, trying to keep your hand steady as you applied eyeliner, "I swear to god—"

"Mm?" His voice was all fake innocence, but his hands on your hips were anything but, squeezing your ass appreciatively as he pressed against your back. "I'm not doing anything."

The bathroom counter was cool under your palms as you leaned forward, attempting to focus on your reflection instead of how his chain was brushing against your shoulder, how his fingers were tracing the curve of your—

"I'm trying to get ready," you protested, but it came out embarrassingly breathy. "We have dinner reservations."

"We do," he agreed, pressing a kiss to your neck that definitely threatened your carefully applied foundation. "In an hour."

"Which means I need to finish my face and—" you inhaled sharply as his hands slid lower, gripping more firmly. "Aurélien."

You caught his reflection in the mirror - that dangerous smile playing at his lips as he watched you try to maintain composure. The fresh fade and fitted shirt were doing criminal things for his already unfair looks.

"You look perfect already," he murmured, and the sincerity in his voice almost distracted you from how his thumbs were now tracing maddening circles.

"You're impossible," you managed, but you were already leaning back against him, makeup brush forgotten.

His laugh rumbled through his chest. "You like impossible."

"Get out," you laughed, pushing at his chest. "Let me finish getting ready in peace."

His pout was criminally effective, but he retreated to the bedroom. Through the mirror, you watched him settle on the edge of the bed, scrolling through TikTok with casual grace. The moment you spritzed your setting spray though, he stood up like it was Pavlov's bell.

Interesting.

You filed that reaction away for later research.

It was becoming clear that Aurélien had downloaded the Complete Boyfriend Experience somewhere between your time apart. His manners were even more impeccable, his timing perfect, his attention to detail almost suspicious.

He took your hand as you descended the stairs together - another discovery about the man your mutuals had analyzed endlessly. Physical touch was definitely high on his love language list, contrary to Maha's whole dissertation about him being an acts of service guy. (The smugness of proving a mutual wrong? Unmatched.)

The stilettos made you grateful for his steady presence, his hand warm and secure in yours. At the door, he turned to Ocho, voice dropping into that French that still did things to you both in and out of the bedroom.

"Sois sage, protège la maison," he murmured, scratching behind the dog's ears. The simple command shouldn't sound that good, but here you were swooning.

He led you to the car, opening the passenger door with that fluid grace that made everything look choreographed. But there, sitting in your seat, was a red gift bag.

"Aurélien…" you breathed, picking it up before sliding in.

That smile played on his lips as he made his way to the driver's side, starting the car with practiced ease. The dopey ass grin was back on your face before you could stop it as he pulled out of the driveway.

"Are you going to open it?" he asked, one hand on the wheel while the other found its usual spot on your thigh. The Cartier and Van Cleef & Arpels bracelets on his wrist caught the streetlights, and you couldn't help staring at how right his large hand looked there, fingers splayed possessively across your skin.

The gift bag sat in your lap, full of promise. Whatever was inside - expensive or not - didn't really matter. The fact that he'd thought to get you anything at all had your heart doing that stupid flutter thing again.

You pulled out the tissue paper slowly, dragging out the moment. Aurélien's thumb traced circles on your thigh as he navigated through Madrid's evening traffic, but you could feel his attention split between the road and your reaction.

Inside was a small velvet box that made your heart stop for a second before common sense kicked in. Too soon for that kind of box. Still, your fingers trembled slightly as you opened it.

"I saw you looking at it the other day," he said softly, as you lifted out the delicate Van Cleef & Arpels bracelet - a match to one of his. "Thought we could coordinate."

The way he said it so casually, like matching thousand euro jewelry was just something you did now. Like this wasn't him essentially marking his territory in the most expensive way possible.

"You're ridiculous," you managed, but you were already holding out your wrist for him to fasten it at the next red light.

His fingers lingered on your pulse point. "You like ridiculous."

"Maybe," you admitted, watching the bracelet catch the streetlights. It looked right next to his hand on your thigh, like it belonged there. Like you belonged there.

His answering smile was knowing. "Only maybe?"

You were saved from responding by his phone lighting up with a call from Jude. He answered through the car's Bluetooth, and you settled back to listen to him switch effortlessly between English and French, discussing tactics for their next match. The way authority wrapped around his words, how naturally he took command of the conversation - yeah, you were definitely going to need to write another song.

His hand never left your thigh during the entire call, thumb still tracing those maddening patterns that made focusing on anything else impossible. The bracelet glinted with each movement, a constant reminder of how quickly this was all moving.

Two weeks suddenly felt like both forever and not nearly enough time at all.

The restaurant was exactly the kind of place you'd expect Aurélien to know about — tucked away in a historic part of Madrid, all warm lighting and exposed brick walls. Private enough that phones stayed in pockets, exclusive enough that no one batted an eye when he led you to a corner table with his hand on your lower back.

"You're staring," he murmured as you settled into your seat, that knowing smirk playing at his lips.

"You clean up nice," you shrugged, trying for casual like you hadn't been watching him all evening. The black button-down was doing criminal things for his shoulders, and the way he'd rolled up the sleeves to show off those bracelets felt deliberately calculated to drive you crazy.

"Just nice?" His eyes glinted as he reached for his water glass, chain catching the light with the movement.

"Your ego doesn't need any more feeding."

His laugh was low, private. "No? After the way you were liking my training videos? Or maybe my posts?"

The waiter's arrival saved you from having to form a coherent response to that. Aurélien ordered for both of you in perfect Spanish - another language that had no business sounding that good rolling off his tongue. You were starting to think he could read a grocery list and make it sound sexy.

"So," he said once the waiter left, his fingers finding yours across the table, "about Paris..."

Your heart did that stupid flutter thing again. "What about it?"

"I was thinking," his thumb traced your new bracelet, "maybe we start there. Then Côte d'Azur, maybe Monaco..."

"That's a lot of planning for someone who just wanted to be in my music video a few weeks ago," you echoed your words from the other day, but this time they carried a different weight.

His eyes met yours, all intensity and promise. "I told you - I'm chasing. Properly."

The way he said it, like it was just that simple. Like planning European getaways and matching jewelry and looking at you like that was the most natural progression in the world.

"You're good," you said softly, watching his bracelets catch the light as he played with your fingers.

"At what?"

"This whole..." you gestured vaguely between you. "Boyfriend thing."

His smile turned dangerous. "Is that what this is?"

You tried to pull your hand back but he held firm, that grin widening. "I mean- I didn't mean to assume-"

"No?" He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "After I've been marking my territory so obviously?"

Your breath caught. "The bracelet–"

"The bracelet," he agreed, then his eyes got that glint that usually meant trouble. "Maybe next time we'll talk about a key. Make it easier than me having to come home from training to let you in."

His phone lit up with another call - Camavinga this time - but he declined it, attention still focused entirely on you.

"You can take it," you offered, but he was already shaking his head.

"They can wait." His thumb traced your pulse point again, right below the new bracelet. "I'm busy chasing."

The waiter came back with a bottle wine and poured some in both of your glasses. You took a sip quickly, trying to calm your nerves.

"You know," he said after taking his own sip of wine, eyes never leaving yours, "I'm going to ask you properly. To be my girlfriend."

Your heart did a backflip. "Oh yeah?"

"Mm." That dangerous smile was back. "Not yet though. Want to do it right."

You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. "You're really out here making men look bad, you know that?"

"How so?"

"All this," you gestured between you, at the bracelet, at everything. "The chasing, the dating, the whole... intentional thing. In 2024? In this economy?"

His thumb was still tracing patterns on your wrist, just below where the Van Cleef caught the light. "You think I'd do any less? After watching you for months?"

He made it seem like putting in effort was the most natural thing in the world (and it was). Like taking time to court properly, to build something real, wasn't a dying art. Here you were, living through dating horror stories from friends about situationships and breadcrumbing and 50/50 and men who couldn't even send proper texts, and Aurélien Tchouaméni was out here planning European trips and buying matching jewelry and talking about asking you to be his girlfriend "properly."

"You're kind of unreal, you know that?"

That smile should really be illegal. "Good unreal?"

"Don't fish for compliments," you said, but you were grinning. "Your ego is big enough."

"My ego?" He leaned forward slightly, chain catching the light. "Says the one who wrote a whole song about me?"

Your cheeks heated. "That's different."

"Is it?" His voice dropped lower, more private. "Because I have some thoughts about those lyrics..."

The look in his eyes promised you'd be hearing those thoughts in detail later.

The meal passed in a haze of excellent food and better company, but dessert? That was when Aurélien decided to be truly unfair.

He moved your chair closer to his, the scraping noise against the floor making you wince - but he didn't seem to care, too focused on closing the distance between you. The chocolate something-or-other looked incredible, but the way he picked up the spoon, eyes locked on yours? That was what had your pulse jumping.

Every movement was deliberate as he gathered a perfect bite, holding it up with the kind of precision he usually reserved for perfectly weighted passes. His eyes never left yours as you leaned forward, and the intensity in his gaze as he watched you take the bite had heat crawling up your neck.

You dabbed at your mouth with your napkin, hyper-aware of how he tracked the movement.

"Is it good?" His voice had dropped to that register that did dangerous things to your composure.

"Very–" was all you managed before his mouth was on yours, tongue sweeping in to taste the chocolate himself. His hand came up to cradle your jaw, and maybe you should've been embarrassed about kissing like this in public, but with Aurélien? All bets were off.

Those full lips of his really were criminal, and the way his stupidly handsome face looked when he finally pulled back, pupils blown and that satisfied smirk playing at his mouth? Yeah, public decency was overrated.

"Let's go back to my place," he murmured against your lips, and something in his tone had your stomach doing somersaults.

The waiter appeared almost instantly at his gesture, and you watched Aurélien handle everything with that easy command he carried on the field — getting the dessert boxed, settling the bill, all while keeping one hand on the small of your back like he couldn't bear to break contact.

The night air hit cool against your heated skin as he guided you out, his touch steady and possessive. The valet had his car waiting in minutes, perks of being Madrid royalty, you supposed. He opened your door first, naturally, and the way his eyes tracked down your body as you slid in had you feeling like prey in the best way.

The moment he settled into the driver's seat, Brent Faiyaz's voice filled the car — something about one night, about pleasure, about giving in. The universe really was testing you tonight.

You pressed your thighs together, trying to ebb off your arousal, but then his hand found your leg again. Those fingers splayed possessively across your skin, squeezing just enough to let you know he noticed your movement. Every few seconds his eyes would flick over to you, dark with promise, and the way he bit his lip when you shifted under his touch had you counting the minutes until you reached his place.

"You good?" he asked, voice rough, and the smirk playing at his lips said he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Yeah."

The fact that he could still drive this well while systematically dismantling your self-control was honestly impressive.

The drive felt endless but somehow too quick at the same time. Aurélien's hand never left your thigh, and by the time he pulled into his driveway, the tension in the car was thick enough to cut.

He moved with that controlled grace of his as he came around to open your door, but there was something darker in his eyes now, something that had your pulse racing. His chain caught the security lights as he helped you out, and the way he pulled you close — enough to feel how his chest rose and fell a bit faster than normal — had you forgetting basic motor functions.

You barely registered Ocho's excited greeting at the door, too focused on how Aurélien's hand had slid from your back to your waist, how he was looking at you like he was planning exactly how to ruin your carefully applied makeup.

"Va te coucher, Ocho," he commanded softly to the dog, and honestly? French really should not sound that good. The way the words rolled off his tongue, all authority and promise...

The door clicked shut behind you.

His hands found your hips, turning you to face him. The "AT" pendant glinted in the dim light as he leaned down, stopping just shy of your lips.

"Now," he murmured, "where were we?"

Your breath caught, heart hammering as Aurélien’s fingers dug just a little deeper into your waist. His touch was steady, deliberate — like he was taking his time, savoring the way you melted into him.

"Right about here," you murmured, tilting your chin up, letting your lips brush his just slightly. Just enough to tease.

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

His grip tightened, yanking you that last inch forward until there was nothing between you but heat. His mouth found yours in a kiss that was all possession — slow, deep, unapologetically hungry.

Ocho let out a soft chuff before trotting off, uninterested in whatever was unfolding. You, however? You were done for.

How you made it up the stairs, you didn’t know. You were only aware of the way he guided you with ease, like he owned every move you made together. By the time you reached his bedroom, your back met the closed door the moment the door clicked shut behind you. His breath warm against your skin, his hands dragging up your sides, over the fabric of your dress.

"You knew how tonight was ending," he murmured, lips grazing your jaw, fingers already working the zipper down.

You swallowed hard, exhaling shakily as the dress slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet. "Maybe," you admitted, voice breathy.

He smirked, the expression dark and knowing.

Then he stepped back just enough to unbutton his shirt, revealing the broad stretch of his shoulders, the sharp cut of his abs — skin warm, golden, flawless. Your breath hitched at the sight, because God, you’d seen him like this before, but it never stopped stealing the air from your lungs.

You never got tired of seeing him naked.

He was too beautiful.

Aurélien knew it too, the way he watched you watching him, his smirk deepening as he worked the belt from his pants.

Your own breathing was uneven by the time you were both bare, and then he was leading you to the bed, his hands firm on your hips, guiding you onto the mattress with a touch that felt reverent despite the heat simmering beneath it.

He leaned back against the headboard, toned thighs spread slightly as he reached over to the bedside table, retrieving a condom with an ease that sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed as he tore it open, sliding it on with practiced efficiency.

Then he looked at you.

His gaze was heavy, filled with promise.

"Come here," he murmured.

You crawled over to him, straddling his lap as his hands found your waist, steadying you as you settled over him. His skin was warm beneath your touch, muscles tense under your fingertips as you traced up his chest.

Aurélien pulled you closer, lips capturing yours in a kiss that was deep and unhurried, his tongue teasing against yours as his hands roamed your back. You could feel him hard against you, the sensation making your breath hitch.

His mouth moved from your lips to your jaw, then lower, trailing heat down your neck until he reached your chest. He took his time, lips and tongue tracing over the swell of your breasts before wrapping around a nipple. The sensation sent a shudder through you, a soft moan slipping past your lips as he sucked, his other hand palming your other breast, thumb circling the hardened peak.

"Aurélien," you breathed, threading your fingers through his curls.

He hummed against your skin, the vibration sending another wave of heat pooling low in your stomach. He switched to the other nipple, flicking his tongue before sucking again, his hands gripping your hips as he ground you down against him.

You whimpered at the friction, the growing ache between your thighs making you restless.

He looked up at you then, dark eyes heavy with want, lips glistening as he murmured, "Ride me."

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, at the low rasp of his voice.

You reached between you, aligning him with your entrance before sinking down slowly, gasping at the stretch, at how perfectly he filled you. Aurélien groaned, hands tightening on your waist as you took him inch by inch.

"Fucking hell," he muttered, head tilting back slightly, his grip firm as he helped guide you down. "Always so tight, bébé."

You moaned at the praise, at the delicious burn of him inside you.

He gave you a moment, fingers kneading your hips before urging you to move. You rolled your hips experimentally, exhaling sharply at the friction, at the way he stretched you just right.

"That’s it," he murmured, watching you through hooded eyes. "Take me just like that."

You set a rhythm, lifting and sinking down onto him, each roll of your hips making you both unravel a little more. His hands roamed your body, one gripping your waist, the other sliding up to cup your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple as he thrust up to meet your movements.

The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, mingling with breathy moans and curses in both English and French.

Aurélien’s eyes stayed on you, dark and hungry as he murmured, "Look at you… made for me, yeah?"

You whimpered, leaning forward to kiss him, the movement messy and desperate, all tongue. It reminded you of the first night you were together, when you had barely been able to keep your hands off each other, drowning in the sheer intensity of it all.

He groaned into your mouth, hands gripping your ass as he helped you move faster, deeper.

"Fuck, bébé," he rasped, voice wrecked. "You feel so good."

Your nails dug into his shoulders, chasing that high, loving how perfectly your bodies fit together — his deep brown skin against yours, slightly darker but complementing you like a missing puzzle piece.

You moaned his name, head tilting back as the pleasure built, and Aurélien took the opportunity to kiss your throat, teeth grazing your pulse.

His grip on your hips tightened before he lifted you effortlessly, his strength making your breath hitch. He shifted positions, pressing you into the mattress as he settled between your thighs, the heat of his body making you shiver in anticipation.

Aurélien’s hands slid down your legs, spreading them wider, and you hissed at the stretch. He paused, eyes flickering up to yours.

"I got you," he murmured, his lips brushing against your knee before he lifted one of your legs to rest over his shoulder. "Relax for me, bébé."

You exhaled, forcing yourself to melt into the mattress just as he rolled his hips forward, burying himself deep in one smooth thrust.

Your gasp was swallowed by his groan, the new angle sending pleasure spiking through your veins like electricity.

"Aurélien—"

He set a brutal pace, his hips snapping against yours with a force that had you clutching at the sheets, at his arms, at anything that could anchor you. The bedframe creaked beneath you, the headboard tapping lightly against the wall with each deep stroke.

"You take me so well," he gritted out, watching where your bodies met, mesmerized by the way you stretched around him. His free hand slid down to press against your lower stomach, applying just enough pressure to make you keen. "Feel that? How deep I am?"

You could only nod, your voice caught in your throat as pleasure wracked through you.

"That’s my girl," he praised, leaning forward just enough to kiss your ankle before snapping his hips even harder, making you cry out.

The sensations were overwhelming, your body trembling beneath him as that familiar ache coiled tight in your core. Your nails raked down his back, desperate for something to hold onto as you teetered on the edge.

Aurélien’s breathing was ragged, his hands gripping your thighs as he pounded into you mercilessly. "Come for me," he urged, voice rough and commanding. "Let me feel you."

His words pushed you over the edge, pleasure crashing over you in waves as your body clenched around him, your cry of release muffled by his mouth as he kissed you through it.

"Fuck," he groaned, his rhythm stuttering as he followed right after, burying himself deep one last time before stilling, his body shuddering above you.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your heavy breaths, your bodies still tangled together as you both came down from the high.

Aurélien kissed you once, slow and languid, before pulling out carefully. He slid off the bed, disposing of the condom before returning, the mattress dipping under his weight as he pulled you into his chest.

You let him, curling against his warmth as his fingers traced lazy circles on your back.

And in that moment, as his lips pressed against your forehead and his arm tightened around your waist, you realized something.

Whatever this man wanted, whatever he needed —you were going to give it to him.

No questions asked.

……………tbd

[svetamillss]

Hiii I’ve never really requested much on tumblr so I apologize if I’m doing it wrong

Do you think maybe you could do Hyun-Ju (120)’s surgery recovery and how things would be as we took care of her throughout the whole thing? Like how she’d respond to us taking care of everything for her while she heals? :3c

Headcanons: Your care for her during her transition to a girl💗

Featuring: Cho Hyun Ju x Reader(f)

A/N: Thank you very much for such a cute order! I was glad to write a paper about my wife!

💗💗💗

💗I'll start with the fact that you have a joint budget and you also help Ju with money for operations, the girl was against it at first, because she hasn’t work a very well-paid job, so you spend much more money on her when you could buy something better for yourself. But you claim that everything is fine and the main thing is that your beloved girl is happy and all her dreams come true.

💗Your Ju takes a lot of hormone pills. The girl has a good memory, she never forgets to take everything on schedule, but you still wanted to help her. You studied the instructions for each medicine and manually wrote a schedule of what and when to take, and then hung it on the refrigerator. When Ju saw this, she was surprised and embarrassed. She liked the way you tried for her, despite the fact that she didn't need this help. That's why your girlfriend began to look at your list often, not because she forgets something, but because she wants to please you.

💗Sometimes a girl gets very sick after medication. You immediately tell her to lie in bed, brought her medicine for nausea and a basin so that she vomits there (just in case, she can't run to the toilet). You also take care of all her household chores. Ju tries to resist and says that you don't burden yourself too much, that she can do everything herself, despite feeling unwell. But you made her rest.

💗All the operations were very scary and frightening for her. She was afraid that something would happen wrong. She didn't want to go to hospitals alone: to all these consultations, receptions, operations. She was afraid of loneliness. That's why she embarrassedly asked you to go with her, at least sometimes, she understood that you had work and that you couldn't walk with her. But you said that you will take a day off and constantly go with her where she needs and support her. Ju was grateful to you and happy.

💗Ju's most important dream came true: she had a penis surgery and removed it. The operation lasted a long time and was very difficult. After which it was very difficult for the girl to walk and for several weeks she moved only out of necessity. You always helped her in everything. When time passed, another problem appeared: your girlfriend thought that her transformation was not perfect and you didn't like it, but you repeated the opposite. You constantly showered her with compliments and kissed every part of her body. You are perfect for each other.

💗💗💗

[trannyradfem]

Wow... a link that's; referencing events mostly from outside this decade, about WoLF of ALL the organizations you could've chosen, coming from an anon blog, and linking to a news platform with an insane levels of bias. I've never seen a TRA do THAT before! /s

Take a step back. Because I'm not remotely part of WoLF or #LetWomenSpeak, in case you didn't know that. But if you wanna play that game, you're going to have to give some pretty damn good excuses for you associating with rapists like Erza Miller and Chris Chan, and then get back to me.

But I know you won't, because we both know that's a bullshit argument. You are equating a trans, seriously disabled stranger on Tumblr who has some harsh words for you, to...

☆ ICE raiding schools and arresting + traumatizing children

☆ The attempt to destroy all publically funded medical programs

☆ Removing all DEI protections at a federal level

☆ Outlawing transgender status on ID's

and so many more shit life-altering decisions Trump's tried to pull.

And you think I'm the same or worse than that for... speaking my mind on Tumblr. Just wow. You just cannot fucking stand female people who won't agree with you, can you?

What, do you think I'm in your walls or something, plotting to kill you? Whispering "kys, anon! kys!!!" into your ear every night when you go to sleep? This is just fucking ridiculous. Get a grip. Touch some grass. Go outside. Take some anti-psychotics, even, because this is downright delusional at this point.

AFABs being mean about the ways they disagree with you about politics on Tumblr aren't going to and shouldn't kill you-- it should BARELY even affect you! If you've been brainwashed to think it can kill you, then you need to focus on making yourself healthy before looking into being a vanguard for political advocacy... or even using the internet, I'd argue. I'm not remotely responsible for that lack of oversight.

I'm really tired of this pseudo-intellectualism and unwarranted paranoia fueling an overly exagerrated victim complex. It's genuinely mentally sick, and you're making each other worse, weaker, and even more miserable by encouraging this in the trans community. IT'S WHY I LEFT. Because it was too much like the literal abusive cult I was raised in! It's why so many people are defecting now.

You guys never come up with anything new, either, acting as if I didn't read this and question it when it came out. Which was BEFORE I defected, by the way. I've probably been out as trans longer than you've even been ALIVE.

So, did you really think that article was going to convince me? Because it doesn't. It only proves that I'm right, and you've just proven you don't know anything at all. Because if you sincerely think feminist women are asking men to protect them, then there's no helping you.

You've fully lost the ability to think critically, and will guzzle down any sludge so long as it has the trans flag stamped on it. You probably criticize rainbow capitalism even though it's the same exact garbage being fed to you. Have some real fucking self respect and pride, my god. I'm not going to bother with even giving you the satisfaction of arguing about this.

tbh I don’t think I’ll ever really forgive the trans movement for indoctrinating so many people into the belief that women speaking about our sex-based oppression is “terfy” and shouldn’t be allowed and any woman who does it wants to genocide trans people. even if they back off of this stance, the damage is done.

me saying “women are oppressed on basis of sex, not gender identity, and we cannot identify out of that oppression” does not mean I think it’s okay to kill or hurt trans people. it does not mean that I agree with right-wingers when they say gender non-conformity is destroying civilization. It does not mean that I am going to vote for politicians who think all gay people/gender non-conforming people are groomers.

it literally just means you cannot change your biological sex (which was never a controversial statement, even among trans people, up until like 5 years ago) and females should have special protections and spaces since we are constantly being preyed upon by males who see us as subhuman sex objects. that doesn’t mean I think all trans people are predators, it means that enough males are predatory toward women that we deserve to have spaces away from them (especially spaces where we’ll be not fully clothed).

we deserve to be able to talk about female-specific oppression without being told we’re evil genocidal nazis. and the fact that they constantly have to misrepresent what our actual beliefs are tells me they know we’re right and it scares them.

[fookinhellcurlyy]

Louis Tomlinson's Career History Pt. 1 and 2 [Post-1D] by notastrwbrysng2

Full credits to notastrwbrysng2 from X/Twitter. Reposting screenshots and texts for archiving purposes.

While I haven't done my own personal deep dive on this topic, I think this particular thread is a very informative and transparent (backed with public articles) + beginner-friendly. Not sure if this has already been shared here before but I thought I'll make this archive post anyway.

I also saw this anon of @twopoppies asking about H & L's solo careers after 1D's hiatus, so this feels like perfect timing to share it here.

I know @hoovesandfloorpaws is also doing a separate big business/industry research soon, so this introductory thread (for Louis, at least) could be a good starting point while waiting.

Note: I will copy-paste the exact texts from the tweets. The words after the cut below are from the linked thread (source). The cited articles per tweet are hyperlinked ('x'). I might replace/combine some screenshots due to Tumblr's limitations, as well as add the links from where they were originally taken.

Again, thank you so much notastrwbrysng2 (Megs) for creating this.

———

Part 1: The "missing years" not shown in AOTV

Notice how we didn't get years 2016-early 2019 in AOTV? | x

Questions I wonder about.. Louis as first signed to RCA. THEN it was announced sometime later that he switched to Epic. What happened with the label switch here? | x

"It had previously been reported that Tomlinson would end up at RCA, but when Epic Records president Sylvia Rhone heard Tomlinson’s music — in particular the song “Back To You” featuring Bebe Rexha — she campaigned for the project." Okay, okay..

It sounded at this point like Louis was on track, had songs written, had songs recorded.. Did a charity single in 2017, Just Like You cane out as a single ep.. He chatted in Nov 2017 about releasing an album and touring in 2018! Perfect, right?

....except there were crickets the first half of 2018.

January brought Louis roasting Coachellas 2018 lineup.. Towards the end of Jan, an Ask anything video.. | x

February, he teased Habit lyrics.. we have a photo of him recording All Along... And not much else..

March, The "Miss You" singer won the Best Solo Breakout award, beating out Camila Cabello, and his former One Direction bandmates, Harry Styles, Niall Horan and Liam Payne. Oh, so 4 or 5 of them were on the radio simultaneously... | x

April, another Hey, still working on the album…

And May…he left James Grant management.

Synopsis of rest of the year: (X-Factor, a couple awards, signing with WMA). Louis and Dalton Harris stuck it to cowbell and won the season.

2019 rolls around.. Two of Us promo starts and halts in March for a few weeks due to the passing of Fizzy. Louis took some time off (as to be expected) to be with family.

As of this point, Louis had released: Dec 2016: Just Hold On (not backed by an album) 2017: Back To You (no album) 2017: Miss You (no album) 2017: Just Like You (Non-album promo single) 2018: nothing! 2019: Two of Us (unattached at the time)

Yet another label change Feb 2019 now a move to Arista… STILL under S*co/S*ny.

So, 3 years in and NO completed album still? The other unattached but soon to be on the next album Walls were: KMM, We Made It, and DLIBYH with zero promotion, just a director's cut MVs that mirror much of the story Papillon.

Finally, Walls is out in 2020 with it's 4th and final single, and very little promotion.

Flash forward to concerns in 2022/2023 of the same issue: Absolutely NO airplay in his home city and surrounding areas, very little marketing in the US.

(Not much can be found about 2016.)

Coming up next: Exploring WHY Louis has hit roadblocks and how everyone is interconnected

—

Part 2: Louis' Role in 1D thru 2016

I highlighted Louis' slow moving career that started with self released singles, two label pickups (one seeming promising!), a bunch of crickets, and some movement again in 2018. To understand what was going on, we have to go back to when the band was first created. This sounds silly, yes, but it is connections that keep continuing to recur this entire time.

First, let's discuss the US market. They did not have any active boybands and record labels saw an opportunity in Brit boybands.

Leading up to January 2020, plans were put into place and discussed by Sony how to cultivate a boyband. Hottest thing in the UK was TXF. Build a boyband, sign them at their first audition in March 2010. This is a crucial link to the UK side of what will occur later on. | x

Louis & Harry both have contract dates March 26, the same day as their initial auditions. The ones on TV are their 3rd/4th. The band was set up ahead of time and played out on the cameras. During their time in the house, Lou is The Leader by week 2 (:50 in).

To reiterate AOTV, Louis has the least amount of vocals, virtually no solos until Midnight Memories. His songwriting skills were a huge asset (after "pissing off a lot of people," according to Savan Kotecha). Savan later told Rolling Stone that LOUIS led their sound forward.

Songwriting, then suddenly music management (NOTE DATE!) became Louis's role. SC began to groom Louis, who consistently fought for the boys behind the scenes, to be his "protege" of sorts and steered him away from a future solo career as early as 2014 and was "given*" an imprint

As we all know, as Louis talked about, the label did not move forward due to micromanagement by SC and S*NY. | x

At this juncture, Louis is now done with the band as of December 2015. He does not have anything lined up but is being courted by.. S*ny head Rob Str*nger. As the article in the OP explains, they wanted him for songwriting &/or music mngmt Louis at...an industry party?

Part 3 & 4 here.

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #03 死

† breakfast and training †

"His eyes are the kind of dark that makes you forget there was ever light in the world. And you hate that you're starting to notice details about him."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 5.4k

rating: mature

content: training violence, weapons, strong language, sexual tension

☠ author's note ☠

HELLO MY FELLOW SLEEP-DEPRIVED CREATURES. Welcome back to another episode of "Kiki makes questionable life choices and writes fanfiction instead of sleeping"!

Can we talk about how I wrote like three different versions of the gun scene before my perfectionist brain was satisfied? And by satisfied I mean "fine whatever just post it I guess." Don't @ me about gun accuracy, I play Call of Duty sometimes that's research enough (ㆆᴗㆆ)

Also yes, I am absolutely living for the whole "oh no they're training together" trope. Sue me. Or don't, I'm broke. All I have is caffeine and the ability to make my characters suffer. Speaking of which - Jeon in combat mode? chef's kiss My boy is out there being all professional and grumpy while Y/N is just trying her best not to get shot. We love that for them.

PSA: The whole "Cookie" thing was totally self-indulgent and I regret nothing. V is here to cause chaos and honestly? Goals.

Special shoutout to my cat who watched me write this at 3 AM and judged me silently. You're the best beta reader a girl could ask for, even if your only feedback is knocking my coffee over.

See you next Tuesday, you beautiful disasters! Remember: sleep is for the weak and fanfiction is for life.

crawls back into writing cave while mainlining espresso

Kiki

⚔ socials ⚔

read on ao3

read on wattpad

tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

Mornings in the castle hit different. Through your window, the sky's doing that thing where it can't decide if it's still night or already dawn—all soft blues mixing with hints of gold. Everything's quiet, like the world's holding its breath.

Then your alarm goes off.

"Why did we agree to this again?" Yunjin whines from her bed, fumbling to shut up the annoying buzz. Her pink hair is a mess, splayed across her pillow like cotton candy gone wrong.

"Croissants," you remind her, stretching until your joints pop. "Fresh, buttery, heavenly croissants."

"Not hungry." She burrows deeper into her blanket cocoon. "Too early for hunger. Too early for existing."

You swing your legs off the bed, bare feet hitting the cold floor. "What happened to yesterday's 'new me, new goals' speech?"

"That was yesterday's Yunjin. Today's Yunjin chooses sleep."

With a snort, you pad over to her bed. It's literally two steps away—your shared room is cozy like that, with just enough space for two singles and matching bedside tables. You give her shoulder a gentle shake.

"And what's tomorrow's Yunjin gonna think about that?"

"Tomorrow's Yunjin's problem," she mumbles, death-gripping her blanket. Smart girl. She knows your next move would've been stealing it.

"Then it's tomorrow's me problem too!" You can't help but laugh, and it finally gets her to peek one eye open.

She lets out the longest, most dramatic sigh. "Fine. Fine. You win."

Your shared laughter is soft, comfortable. It's weird how quickly Yunjin became your person here. Maybe because she's as new to this as you are—no pressure to measure up to badasses like Chaewon or keep your guard up around intimidating figures like V and Jeon.

She joined two months before you did. For her, it meant saying goodbye to having her own room, but she says it was worth the trade-off. Girl's a mess when it comes to sleep schedules, but she keeps your shared space spotless and her determination is s̶c̶a̶r̶y̶ impressive. Like, you've seen her practice seduction techniques until 3 AM, and now here she is, dragging herself up at dawn for... well, croissants and self-improvement.

There's something genuinely good about Yunjin. She's always there—to help, to listen, to just be. Five months in and everyone in Seduction already adores her. Yeah, she's clumsy as hell during physical training, but her mind is sharp. Nothing gets past her—it's like she's got a built-in lie detector.

After yesterday morning's... incident, you're extra grateful for her company.

You both grab your digital cards from your bedside tables—can't go anywhere in this place without them. They're basically your whole identity here, determining which doors open for you and which stay firmly shut.

The castle corridors feel endless this early. Most members are probably still sleeping or doing whatever gang members do at dawn. Your footsteps echo softly as you and Yunjin make your way to the cafeteria, keeping the conversation light.

"Have you had breakfast here before?" you ask, watching her stifle another yawn.

"Once." She nods, her pink ponytail bouncing. "Got up at 10 though. Wasn't worth sacrificing sleep for."

You can't help but smile. "Early breakfast hits different. You'll see."

When you reach the cafeteria, Yunjin taps her digital card against the scanner. The light blinks green, and suddenly your nose is filled with the heavenly smell of fresh pastries. Inside, only a handful of early birds are scattered around the massive space. Makes sense—most people here prefer their beds at this hour.

Your eyes do their usual sweep of the room, casual and practiced. But then something pulls at you, like a magnet finding true north. Your gaze locks with dark, piercing ones.

Jeon.

"Oh, that's Jeon, right?" Yunjin's voice cuts through your thoughts. "Guess he likes mornings too."

You nod, still watching him from the safety of the doorway. Something about the distance makes you feel almost safe. He's got that thing about him—that unmistakable aura of authority that even 6 AM can't dim.

"Damn," Yunjin says after a beat, blunt as ever. "He's hot."

"Let's get food," you mutter, rolling your eyes and heading for the pastry section.

You and Yunjin load up your plates with a bit of everything, especially those famous croissants. Finding a quiet corner, you settle in to enjoy both the food and each other's company, pointedly not thinking about piercing dark eyes or brooding corners.

You try to look casual as your eyes drift back to Jeon for the hundredth time.

He's sitting there, both hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee like it's his lifeline to sanity this early in the morning. The sight of those tattooed fingers curled around plain white ceramic does something to your brain that you'd rather not examine too closely.

"You know, I heard something interesting about him." Yunjin's voice makes you jump. S̶h̶i̶t̶ Great, she caught you staring.

"Oh?" You tilt your head, hoping your voice sounds more curious than guilty.

Yunjin leans in conspiratorially, her pink hair falling forward as she drops her voice to barely above a whisper. It's kind of unnecessary given how far away Jeon is, but there's something about him that makes everyone speak in hushed tones.

"Apparently, he's got this whole... ritual thing going on. Every single morning, without fail, he makes sure he's the first one to get fresh coffee. Like, the first cup from a fresh pot."

Your eyes track back to that cup held between ink-covered fingers. Now that she mentions it, you've never seen him drink anything else in the mornings. The way he's savoring it, eyes closed and expression almost peaceful, makes you think Yunjin might be onto something.

"Every day? He's literally the first one here?" The mental image of Jeon lurking outside the cafeteria doors, waiting for them to unlock, is both hilarious and weirdly endearing.

"From what I've heard. Maybe it's a power move?" Yunjin suggests with a soft laugh. "You know, asserting dominance through caffeine consumption."

The idea of someone as intimidating as Jeon—co-leader of the Assassination Division, member of the Council of 9, literal professional killer—climbing the ranks of one of South Korea's most dangerous gangs just to secure his morning coffee makes something bubble up in your chest.. You have to bite your lip to keep from laughing too loud.

"Imagine that being his master plan all along," you snort. "Join gang, become assassination chief, get first dibs on coffee."

You both dissolve into quiet giggles, but the moment shatters when something shifts in the air. It's like thorny vines suddenly wrapping around your lungs, making it hard to breathe. You don't need to look to know who it is.

"Mind if I join the fun?" V's voice slides over your skin like honey laced with poison, playful but with that edge that makes your hair stand on end.

His arms drape over your shoulders without warning, caging you and Yunjin in what should be a friendly gesture but feels more like being trapped. Your muscles tense automatically. There's something about V that keeps you perpetually on edge—like admiring a rose only to remember it's got thorns that could draw blood.

Yunjin manages a wobbly smile, but you can tell she's as unsettled as you are by his sudden appearance. "We were just... talking about coffee."

"Coffee?" V drawls the word like it personally offends him. He pulls back, throwing his arms behind his head in that carelessly graceful way of his, but stays close enough that you can smell cinnamon. "Boring. Now, this new training program? That's something worth discussing."

His eyes glint with mischief, reminding you of a cat playing with its food. "I'm keen to see what you girls bring to the table. Should be... intriguing, don't you think?"

The way he says it makes your skin crawl. There's nothing overtly threatening about his words, but the undercurrent is clear—the Assassination Division isn't known for playing nice, and V seems to view the upcoming cross-training as his personal playground.

"I'm sure it will be enlightening," you say carefully.

V's energy is infectious, but not in a good way. More like a disease you're trying not to catch.

He chuckles, and those thorny vines around your lungs squeeze tighter. "Oh, I'm sure it will be. And don't worry, yours truly will be there to add a little spice to the mix. Can't let things get too dull, can we?"

Before you can respond, his attention snaps to something—or someone—across the cafeteria. With a dismissive wave that somehow manages to feel both elegant and insulting, he strides off as suddenly as he appeared.

You exchange looks with Yunjin, both of you sagging with relief once he's gone. She looks as drained as you feel, like V's presence alone sucked all the energy from the room.

"Well, that was... something," Yunjin says, and you could write a whole essay about everything packed into that single word. Her pink hair is still slightly disheveled from where V's dramatic entrance messed it up.

"That's one way to put it." You try to shake off the phantom feeling of thorny vines around your lungs. V's presence leaves you feeling like you've been through some kind of emotional washing machine—tumbled around and wrung out.

"But oh my god." Yunjin's whole face suddenly lights up like she's remembered something amazing. The whiplash from her mood shift almost gives you vertigo.

"What?" You ask, though part of you already knows where this is going. Yunjin might be shy and perceptive, but she's also a total simp when it comes to pretty faces.

"He is SO handsome?" Her voice rises with genuine awe. "Everyone kept saying he looks like a prince, but I thought they were exaggerating. They were not."

You raise an eyebrow, wondering if you were even in the same conversation just now. Sure, V's gorgeous—that's kind of his whole thing. The dangerous beauty, the dripping poison. But after feeling his aura wrap around you like a boa constrictor, 'handsome' isn't exactly the first word that comes to mind.

"Did you miss the whole creepy vibe?" You keep your voice low, even though V's long gone. Some habits die hard in this place. "He talked about the training program like he's planning to turn it into his personal episode of Squid Game. With popcorn."

"Yeah, but like..." Yunjin waves her hand dismissively, "have you seen his face? Those cheekbones? That jawline?"

"The way he's probably plotting our deaths as we speak?" You counter, but you can't help the smile tugging at your lips. Trust Yunjin to focus on the aesthetics while completely ignoring the red flags. It's kind of adorable, in a concerning way.

"Doesn't change the fact that he's eye candy," she says with zero shame, stabbing her fork into her breakfast. "Like, premium, expensive, imported chocolate level of eye candy."

"True," you admit, finally taking a proper bite of your croissant.

And it is true—V's got that whole ethereal beauty thing going on, like a masterpiece painting that happens to be slightly cursed. The kind of face that belongs in museums but also probably comes alive at night to terrorize security guards.

But even as you acknowledge V's obvious appeal, your eyes betray you, drifting back to that other corner of the cafeteria. Back to dark eyes and hurricanes.

Back to Jeon.

It's not like you mean to look.

It just... happens.

Like your gaze has some kind of magnetic programming that keeps pulling it in his direction.

Which is s̶t̶u̶p̶i̶d̶ inconvenient because the last thing you need is to get caught staring at one of the most dangerous men in Kkangpae while you've got croissant crumbs on your face.

The rest of your morning slips by without V popping up again to make your skin crawl. You try to focus on getting ready for what's coming, but your mind keeps drifting to the upcoming training.

Working with Jeon and V's division? Yeah, that's not anxiety-inducing at all.

When you step onto the training field outside the castle, the change of scenery hits different. After being cooped up in the gang's concrete maze, the open space and towering trees feel almost surreal. The cold morning air bites at your lungs—a wake-up call you didn't ask for but probably need.

Today's not just another training day. It's your first cross-training with the Assassination Division, and the tension in the air is so thick you could cut it with one of V's knives.

Your stomach does this weird flip-flop thing as you walk towards the gathering crowd. Working with Jeon after... that incident? Not exactly on your bucket list. The memory of your last encounter sits heavy in your chest, making each step feel like you're walking through mud.

The Assassination Division is already there when you arrive, looking like they stepped out of some action movie poster. Some look ready to murder, others look ready for a nap. But it's Jeon who catches your eye—impossible not to, really. It's like the air itself is swirling around him like a storm about to break.

He's got that look on his face—you know the one. All business, no bullshit, could probably kill you with his pinky finger.

No sign of V though.

Makes sense, when you think about it. Those two aren't exactly besties—more like two wolves forced to share the same territory. Their whole approach to killing is different as night and day.

Jeon's all about precision. Clean shots, minimal mess, maximum efficiency. He's the type to plan every detail, calculate every variable. Need someone taken out from two buildings away without anyone even knowing what happened? That's his specialty. The human equivalent of a surgical strike.

V though? He's chaos incarnate. Gets up close and personal with his kills, leaves a message written in blood if he feels like it. He's the guy you call when you want someone dead and don't care how messy it gets. Planning? Fuck planning—V works on pure instinct and improvisation.

The crowd goes quiet as Jeon steps forward. The atmosphere shifts, less like a raging storm now and more like the heavy air before thunder breaks. When he speaks, his voice does that thing where it demands attention without actually raising in volume. And despite everything—despite knowing better—you find yourself leaning in slightly to catch every word.

"Your state of mind is everything in this line of work," he says, dark eyes scanning the crowd like he's reading everyone's potential in real time. "A calm, collected mind can mean the difference between life and death."

The task he lays out seems simple enough: shoot the cardboard target, hit the center, don't mess it up. But as you watch others take their turns, that knot in your stomach keeps getting tighter.

The gun feels wrong in your hand. Not that you haven't held one before—basic training covers that—but this is different. This is him watching, and somehow that makes your palms extra sweaty.

Then your turn's up.

Walking to the mark feels like crossing a minefield, every step measured and tense. Your heart's going so hard you can barely hear anything else.

Focus. You need to focus.

But Jeon's standing right there, making the air thick and hard to breathe. Your finger hovers over the trigger, but doubt creeps in like poison.

The target blurs in and out. You can feel Jeon watching, that heavy gaze picking apart every flaw in your stance. The pressure builds in your chest until you're sure something's gonna snap.

Just a bit longer. You need to be absolutely sure before taking the shot.

It's not like Seduction gets much practice with actual weapons—your arsenal usually involves batting eyelashes and strategic flirting, not bullets and gunpowder. So it's no wonder the gun starts slipping through your sweaty fingers.

You tighten your grip. A surge of determination hits you like a shot of adrenaline. Come on. It's just cardboard. You've handled way worse situations than this. You can do this.

Your finger starts to squeeze the trigger—

BANG.

That... wasn't your gun.

You flinch, turning toward the sound before you can stop yourself. Through the corner of your eye, you catch smoke curling from Jeon's pistol.

He's standing there looking bored, arm extended like this is just another one of his daily mornings. The gun fits his hand like it was molded for him, an extension of his body rather than a weapon.

When your eyes snap to the target, there it is—perfect shot, dead center, because of course it is.

A̶s̶s̶h̶o̶l̶e̶ Show-off.

You lower your gun, lips pressed tight. His gaze sits heavy on your shoulders, hurricane pressure bearing down until you want to scream. His face gives nothing away, but those dark eyes say plenty—and none of it's good.

"If you're not quick enough, you'll get killed." His voice cuts like ice. "Let that be a reminder for everyone else."

The words hit like a slap. Heat rushes to your face—anger, embarrassment, frustration, all mixing together into something that makes you want to either punch something or crawl into a hole. Preferably punch him, but you're very aware of everyone watching this little show he's putting on.

Both divisions are staring, and you've never felt more like a fish in a very small, very exposed bowl.

Your eyes meet Jeon's, and suddenly breathing gets hard. His stare hits different—those dark eyes boring into yours like he's trying to read your soul, pupils blown wide in a way that makes your stomach do weird flips.

That silver lip ring catches the light when his mouth twists into something s̶e̶x̶y̶ condescending. He opens his mouth—probably to tear into you some more—but then—

BANG.

Everyone drops like puppets with cut strings. Pure instinct.

It's instant chaos. Voices rise into a crescendo of shouts and commands, bodies moving with practiced urgency.

It's kind of beautiful, in a messed-up way—how quickly personal beef gets shelved when shit hits the fan. One minute Jeon's looking at you like you're dirt on his boot, next second he's barking orders to keep everyone safe.

Your heart's in your throat as you scan the crowd for a flash of pink hair.

Yunjin.

But Yunjin's nowhere.

The sea of faces blurs together—no Kazuha, no Eunchae, not even Sakura. Even Chaewon's vanished, which is weird because she's usually got this sixth sense about danger.

Another shot cracks through the air. Your fingers tighten around your gun until your knuckles go white. Your eyes keep drifting to the treeline, where shadows dance between patches of dark green.

A calm, collected mind can mean the difference between life and death.

His words echo in your head, which is ironic considering how not calm you feel right now.

Fuck it.

You're moving before you can second-guess yourself, legs carrying you toward the forest. Maybe it's stupid, but you need space to think. To be calm, like he said.

Plus, the trees might give you cover—an advantage you desperately need right now.

The forest swallows you up. Sunlight filters through leaves overhead, painting everything in shifting patterns of light and shadow. Every step crunches on dead leaves, making you wince. So much for stealth.

V wouldn't be happy.

The chaos from the training ground fades the deeper you go, replaced by normal forest sounds—birds chattering overhead, small animals rustling in the bushes. It's almost peaceful, if you ignore the whole possible death situation.

You spot it then—a ridge overlooking the training ground, hidden behind thick bushes. Perfect vantage point, if you can reach it. The climb makes your muscles burn, but you manage. Up here, you force yourself to breathe slow and steady, trying to quiet your racing heart. Your fingers trace the gun's cold metal like a lifeline.

Your back hits the tree with a thud. The bark scrapes against your spine through your shirt, but you barely notice. Every nerve in your body is focused on that rustling sound behind you.

Footsteps.

Your breath catches. They're quiet—too quiet to be some random person stumbling through the woods.

No, these are the steps of someone who knows how to move silently. Someone trained.

Adrenaline floods your system as you press yourself flatter against the tree. Your fingers tighten around the gun until your knuckles go white. Through a gap in the leaves, you try to catch a glimpse of whoever's approaching, but the foliage is too thick.

Friend or foe?

The question pounds in your head with each careful footstep drawing closer. Your mind races, too many possibilities—it could be an enemy, could be another member searching the area.

Could be death or salvation walking your way.

The steps are almost upon you now. Your breathing goes shallow, controlled. You might be exposed up here, but they don't know that. Surprise is your only advantage right now.

Shoot or strike?

The dilemma tears at you. A gunshot would alert everyone to your location. And if it turns out to be an ally... F̶u̶c̶k̶ No. Hand-to-hand is safer. Quieter. Less explaining to do if you're wrong.

Your muscles coil tight as a spring. When the footsteps are close enough, you launch yourself from behind the tree in one fluid motion, aiming to take them down hard and fast.

Instead, you slam into what feels like a brick wall.

Oh.

It's Jeon.

His reflexes are insane—before you can even process who he is, he's already moving. The air sweeps around you as he twists, disarming you with embarrassing ease. Your gun hits the ground with a clatter that seems to echo through the whole forest.

Recognition hits you both at the same moment. That flicker of shock in his eyes quickly turns to his usual look of disdain, because of course it does.

Then—a misstep.

Your ankle rolls, sending white-hot pain shooting up your leg. You stumble, sucking in a sharp breath. His grip on you loosens just slightly, and something that might be concern flashes across his face before his usual cold mask slips back into place.

"You okay?" His voice is gruff, like the words are being dragged out of him against his will.

"Just perfect," you snap back, because fuck his concern when your ankle feels like it's on fire and your pride hurts even worse.

He just stands there, staring at you with those dark eyes that see too much.

"What the hell were you thinking?" A pause, one eyebrow lifting. "You have a gun, don't you?"

You almost laugh. Because of course. If you'd shot at him, he'd be lecturing you about trigger discipline. Attack hand-to-hand, and suddenly you're an idiot for not using your weapon.

You seriously can't win with this man.

"Well, good thing I didn't use it on you then." The words come out lighter than you feel, dancing between playful and pissed. "And what are you doing here anyway? Shouldn't you be back there playing commander?"

"That's what deputies are for." The casual way he says it makes your teeth grind. "Besides, I dispatched a team to check the gunfire. Just my luck, running into you instead."

"Pleasure's all mine, chief." You load the title with all the sarcasm you can muster.

"And you?" His dark eyes study you like you're a particularly puzzling target he can't quite line up. "Any reason you're out here instead of following orders?"

"Didn't get any orders to follow." You cross your arms, ignoring how his presence makes your skin prickle. "And that ridge over there?" You jab a finger toward the overlook. "Perfect vantage point. I was trying to be strategic before you showed up."

He actually grimaces at that, like your logic physically pains him. But before he can open his mouth to deliver what's surely another lecture, you add:

"Just my luck, running into you instead."

The words—his own words turned back on him—hit their mark. His eyebrow twitches just slightly, and satisfaction blooms warm in your chest.

Score one for you.

But before you can inwardly celebrate, he grimaces. He actually grimaces before he opens his stupid mouth again.

"That?" His voice drips with condescension. "You think that's prime real estate for observation?" The asshole holds back a laughter. "Alright." He says, and you ponder the merits of hitting him with a rock.

But then he begins walking, and you trail after him, partly because s̶c̶r̶e̶w̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶ he's wrong and partly because... well, where else are you gonna go?

"Remind me again—which one of us specializes in persuasion and observation?" You can't keep the annoyance from your voice. His arrogance is starting to give you a headache.

"And which one of us is known for sniping?" He tilts his head just enough for you to catch the silver flash of his eyebrow piercing. "You think I don't know a thing or two about picking vantage points?"

"Just because you can shoot from far away doesn't mean you know the best places to shoot from." The words come out sharper than intended. "What works for a sniper might not work for surveillance. They're different skill sets."

"How so?" He doesn't even bother looking back now. "A lookout's a lookout, smartass."

Your hands find your hips. "You know what? Ask me that again when you sit in on our cross-training. Might learn something useful."

"Learn from an ensign?" His tilt is mocking. "No—learn from you?" He lets out a low chuckle that makes your teeth grind. "Pretty sure it works the other way around."

"Forgot about Flower?" You can't help the snark in your voice. "She's a chief too, and I'm sure she'd love to put you in your place."

The exhale he lets out is so exaggerated it has to be for dramatic effect. "You're insufferable."

"Feeling's mutual, chief."

You trail behind Jeon through the darkness, trying to ignore how his mere presence makes the night air feel electric against your skin. The silence wraps around you both, broken only by your footsteps until—

A rustle in the underbrush.

Before you can react, his hand clamps around your wrist. No warning, no words—just the firm press of tattooed fingers against your pulse point as he yanks you behind a massive rock. You crash against him, bodies colliding in a mess of limbs and s̶h̶i̶t̶ startled breath.

You open your mouth to tell him exactly what you think about being manhandled, but his finger presses against his lips. Shut up. His eyes scan the darkness beyond your hiding spot, focused and lethal.

And suddenly you're way too aware of him.

The moonlight paints him in silver and shadow, highlighting things you've never noticed before. Like how his eyebrow piercing catches the light—two tiny beads of silver that draw attention to the way his brow furrows in concentration. Or how that lip ring glints when his mouth sets in that stern line you know too well.

There's a scar on his left cheek—barely there, really. Just a whisper of a mark that makes you wonder what story it tells. Your eyes drift lower, catching on the small mole decorating the left side of his neck. It's such a delicate detail on someone who radiates danger, like finding a flower growing through concrete.

But it's his eyes that f̶u̶c̶k̶ y̶o̶u̶ u̶p̶ catch you off guard. Dark and deep, framed by stupidly long lashes that flutter when he blinks. They're beautiful in a way that makes your chest tight—and isn't that just f̶u̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ fantastic? You didn't need to know that about him.

This close, you can see the tiny lines at the corners of those eyes. They speak of sleepless nights and heavy choices, of burdens carried too long alone. Watching him like this—he feels different now, less like a storm trying to drown you and more like standing in summer rain.

The realization hits like a punch to the gut: you're seeing Jeon. Not the cold-as-ice division chief or the intimidating Council member. Just... him. Human.

Complex.

His fingers are still wrapped around your wrist like an iron band. If anything, his grip's gotten tighter, and you're caught between wanting to yank free and being weirdly aware of how warm his hand is against your skin in the cool night air. It's hard to tell if you're feeling trapped or protected.

The footsteps draw closer—deliberate, confident. Not someone trying to hide.

You watch a muscle tick in Jeon's jaw, the kind of tiny detail you wouldn't normally notice if you weren't pressed so close to him. It's fascinating, in an annoying way, how he can look so calm while radiating such intense energy.

His eyes flick to yours for just a second, but it feels loaded with... something. Like you're suddenly partners in this mess, whether you like it or not. It's more communication than you've had in all your previous conversations combined.

The rustling gets louder. You hold your breath. Jeon's gone statue-still beside you, but you can feel the coiled tension in him. His dark eyes snap to a spot in the trees, then back to you with unnerving intensity.

"Shoot there."

You stare at him like he's lost his mind. "What?"

"There." His voice is barely a whisper, rough with urgency. He jerks his chin toward whatever he's seeing that you're apparently missing.

"You want me to shoot a tree branch?" The skepticism in your whisper could cut glass. "Seriously?"

"Just do what you're told." The words rumble out of him like distant thunder, crackling with impatience.

You give Jeon a look, but arguing isn't an option right now.

The gun feels heavy as you line up the shot. Your finger finds the trigger, and for a split second, everything goes quiet. The bang echoes through the trees, making your ears ring. You watch as the bullet hits exactly where Jeon wanted—that innocent-looking branch that apparently wasn't so innocent after all.

A net explodes from the darkness like some kind of ninja trap, shooting toward the approaching figure. But whoever it is moves like water—fluid, impossible, beautiful in a terrifying way. The net hits empty ground with a sad little flutter while your brain tries to process what just happened.

Beside you, Jeon goes still. If you weren't pressed so close, you might have missed that tiny hitch in his breath—the only sign that this wasn't part of his plan. His eyes narrow just slightly, that crack in his perfect mask making your stomach do weird flips.

He pushes you back against the rock, putting himself between you and whatever's coming. The stone digs into your spine, cold and rough through your clothes.

Then everything happens at once.

A shadow vaults over your hiding spot, moving with deadly grace. Gunshots crack through the night, and suddenly Jeon's shoving you down, his body covering yours. The world spins into a blur of motion and sound, your pulse drumming so loud you can barely think.

When reality settles back into focus, you watch the figure reach for their mask. Your fingers tighten on your gun, waiting to see what kind of threat managed to dodge one of Jeon's traps.

The mask comes off.

Oh for fuck's sake.

V's grinning like the cat that got the cream. "Paintball night!" he announces with way too much glee for someone who just scared the shit out of you.

Relief and irritation war in your chest. Of course it's V. Who else would turn a simple training exercise into their personal dramatic performance?

You watch Jeon's shoulders drop, but the annoyance is written all over his face. His jaw's so tight you can practically hear all the curses he's not saying.

Always the professional, even when he's irritated.

V's eyes dances with delight as he watches Jeon simmer. "Don't look at me like that, Kookie," he coos, lips curling into that signature smirk that makes you want to take a step back.

Cookie?

You blink, trying to process that nickname. Looking at Jeon—all dark clothes, silver piercings, and intimidating tattoos—the last thing that comes to mind is anything remotely cute or sweet. The mental image of him buying cookies from some terrified boy scouts makes you bite back a laugh.

Now that's a story you'd pay to hear.

Jeon's eyebrow shoots up in that way that somehow manages to say f̶u̶c̶k̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ more effectively than actual words. His tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek, jaw working like he's physically holding back whatever he wants to say. He's irritated.

"I'll give you some advantage," V sighs dramatically, thorny vines wrapping around your lungs even from this distance. "No fun beating you when you're unarmed." The words drip with amusement, like this whole thing is his favorite game. "See ya."

With one last unsettling grin, he melts into the darkness. Because of course he does. Dramatic asshole.

You're still sprawled on the ground, processing what just happened. Leave it to V to turn a regular night into some twisted paintball training session. The man's idea of "improving stealth skills" is giving everyone heart attacks.

Beside you, Jeon's muscles finally uncoil from their battle-ready stance. He looms over you, and you can't tell if the expression on his face is more annoyed or relieved.

"You gonna get up or what?" The words come out gruff, but there's something else there. Something that might be concern if you squint.

Then his hand appears in front of your face. You stare at it for a second, surprised. It's weirdly bare compared to his tattooed arms, and you hesitate before taking it. His grip is firm but careful as he helps you up.

The whole night feels surreal —one weird training session bleeding into another. You glance at Jeon as he stretches, working out the tension in his shoulders.

The mystery of "Cookie" tugs at your curiosity, but one look at his face tells you now's not the time to ask.

Some mysteries are probably better left unsolved.

next | index

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© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

I think the problem is there's a massive cultural tension between 2 stances.

Everything unsightly, like garbage laundry, dishes, small appliances, cord or hobbies should be hidden away as much as possible so everything looks 'clean', that this is how 'adults' live and should be everyone's goal. Closed storage, minimal drop zones, invisible garbage and storage.

That this clearly doesn't work for a very large subset of people and homes are meant for living in comfortably, not for looking good up to someone else's standards. Your home should serve you and make your life easier, and some people experience "out of sight out of mind" a little too literally and completely to do things like store their hobbies away and still actually think to do them

You see this tension played out in home advice articles and home design opinion pieces all over the internet.

And it's one of those things that's actually about the spectrum of disability or neurology that is natural to humans that no one wants to acknowledge as the problem. At least no one really married to that first viewpoint up there. For people who are able bodied and neurotypical -enough- to pass, or are nd in just the right way, they can get away with living like that and the lack of clutter makes them comfortable and they tell themselves they are the ones doing 'adulting' correctly. Some people who live like this acknowledge it isn't desirable or healthy for other people to... some don't. Some really don't. Some people see drop zones and open storage and hobbies left out where they are visible and see it as a failure to 'live like an adult'. They see it as a dying trend of clutter and describe it with words like 'messy' and 'unsightly' or imply it's deeply off trend and needs to be done away with.

And our parents generation did a lot to try to instill view 1 in a lot of us, like it's the only acceptable way to act like a responsible person, either as an extension of their own acquired neurosis, or because they didn't like seeing their kids stuff all over the place [that is to say evidence of kids and teens being kids and teens in their house]. They learned it from their parents and the passed it on just like body image issues from parents who ask their daughters why they don't have the salad.

Like yes, on tumblr I see posts so often talking about how you should make your home functional for your brain and how you work, all the time, even ones that explicitly mention issues with executive functions or with literally forgetting things exist when you don't see them regularly. Thinking of things like desire paths might be a good way for some people to rewire how they think about their home.

But everywhere else on the internet? There's at least 20 more people trying to tell you that "open shelving" was just a fad, and needs to be done away with because it looks cluttered and 'messy'. With zero acknowledgement that doesn't work for everyone for neurological reasons.

I see these posts so often on tumblr because they are trying to do damage control for a pervasive culture of shame that treats accessibility in home design like it's unsightly.

On one hand, it's great to see people learn how to unfuck their living spaces. On the other hand, that stuff like "frequently used articles should be stored near where they're used" and "trash receptacles should be placed near activities that generate trash" are being received as radical ideas points to a serious knowledge transmission problem.

[enniewritesathing]

Hi, hello, no time no see 👋

This year, I told myself that I was gonna try and put out more poses than I have recently and what better place than to start with remaking my first (big) pose pack -- The Cuddle Sutra. For a minute, I've been wanting to go back and revisit this now that I have a way better handling on making poses (and also with a new rig). Plus, wanted to get the first part out before Valentine's ^^;

Besides, tumblr has very erroneously deleted this and the 3rd part of the series, so they're kind of lost (but they are still in my SFS folder as I don't delete anything) but it is fun to see the comparison and improvements.

(also I don't know why the cat is just there staring at the wall... she's got a lot and nothing going on in her pretty little cat head.)

How many poses?

15! Labeled A/B.

What do you need?

Any Bed!

Notes:

The Eye Bug. Yes, that's still a thing unfortunately -- unless you haven't updated your game before the Lovestruck patch or you have other methods means to avoid this. It's been 7 months at this point >(

There's gonna be some degree of clipping. They're both masc framed and John (the long haired one) is a little meaty (it's Winter in my game and he always packs on 10lbs exactly, that's just A Werewolf thing with him--) with the luumia musclar top (otherwise, he is lean).

I would say that if your sim has a (sizable rack), they'd be better off in the "A" poses.

Every sim body and combination is different, so if there's too much clipping for your liking, you're welcome to edit.

just don't claim it as your own i s2g, i will come over to your house and [redacted] your computer

that's about it unless I'm forgetting something 🤔

🛏️Preview Post🛏️

As usual, feel free to ask me questions, tag #enniewritesathing or @ me! I’d love to see your sims! Don’t forget to like/reblog and check out my other poses!

TOU: Have some common sense and decency. I implore you.

🚫No claiming as your own, no editing/reuploading (editing for personal use is very fine), no putting it behind a paywall.

All for the low, low price of ⭐FREE!⭐ (omg! and no ads either? holy shit!)

💤[SimFileShare] // 💤[MediaFire]

Thank you, @alwaysfreecc, @ts4-poses, @sssvitlanz

[bohemian-rhapsodys]

Have you ever thought about your funeral? if you're on Tumblr you probably have, so I suggest 1) you get some psychological help 2) pick a song for your friends to play at your funeral. Why? well, why not? it will be your last message to the world, so you have a chance to do something funny.

Don't be boring and play Highway to Hell by AC/DC or Should I Stay or Should I Go by The Clash, be original, choose something that represents your spirit. If you're not insane enough to listen to music and think "wow, this song would be inappropriate to play at a funeral" don't worry babe, I'm here for you and I'll help you on your way to discovering your ideal funeral song. This will work like astrology for those of us who had ask.fm in the 2010s.

So... if you're here you were probably emo or had an interest in emo or some kind of fetish idk. Don't lie. So you could use songs that are simply recognised as "emo" by all your guests to give a message. Bring Me To Life by Evanescene is a safe choice, although Going Under is another. It's never a bad time to listen to Fall Out Boy, there's Immortals or Sugar, We're Going Down. I Write Sins Not Tragedies by Panic! At The Disco would be good, although High Hopes is another option, but if your mother is already dead you can play Hey Look Ma, I Made It or if you die having just graduating college then Death of a Bachelor. Still with emo, My Chemical Romance can't not be an alternative: Welcome to the Black Parade, Dead!, This Is How I Disappear or Famous Last Words will prove your death because if you don't get up to sing you've really gone to the other side. You have Hard Times by Paramore too. Anthem of Our Dying Day or Until the Day I Die from Story Of The Year are bangers, think about it.

If you weren't emo or don't like emo stuff (I don't believe you, but don't worry I'm not going to drag you out of the emo closet with your family babygirl) you can joke about whether you will be buried or cremated, even more personalised!

Will they cremate you? Hot In Here by Nelly, Sean Paul's Temperature, Gasolina by Daddy Yankee, Dynamite by Taio Cruz, Burn by Ellie Goulding, Girl On Fire by Alicia Keys, Drop It Like It's Hot by Snoop Dog, Things We Lost In The Fire by Bastille, Blow by Kesha. And of course, Fireball by Pitbull. You're gon' boggie oogie oogie, jiggle, wiggle and dance like the roof on fire with these ones.

Will they bury you? Drag Me Down by One Direction or Get Low by Liam Payne and Zedd, The Box by Roddy Ricch, She Looks So Perfect by 5 Seconds Of Summer (you'll look stunning in that casket pookie), Six Feet Under by Billie Eilish, Sweet Dreams by Eurythmics, Scream & Shout by will.i.am and Britney Spears (all eyes will be on you, ofc) or Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd.

If not you can use any song used as an internet meme. Like Like a Prayer by Madonna, Goodbye by Bo Burnham, I Wouldn't Mind by He Is We (you can also ask your friends to make a video of your life -like a recap- titled it "saddest video in the world", full of made up stuff) or Never Gonna Give You Up by Rick Astley.

You can also choose one based on the cause of death. Hit by a car? Life is a Highway by Rascal Flats (bonus points if you are a Cars fan), Ride by Twenty One Pilots, Shut Up And Drive by Rihanna. Run over by an hoverboard? Dumb Ways To Die by Tangerine Kitty (yes, the soundtrack to the video game) or Nobody's Perfect by Hannah Montana. Shot? Bulletproof by La Roux, Hit Me With Your Best Shot by Pat Benatar, Louis Tomlinson's Kill My Mind or Bon Jovi's Wanted Dead Or Alive. Suicide? Don't Try Suicide or Keep Yourself Alive by Queen, I Think I'm Going To Kill Myself by Elton John, Rock 'n' Roll Suicide by David Bowie, Van Halen's Jump. Trying to save someone from a robbery? Smooth Criminal by Michael Jackson, Help! by The Beatles, Gangsta's Paradise by Coolio and the Avengers theme song by Alan Silvestri. Overdosed at a party? Ricky Martin's Livin' La Vida Loca, Ayesha Erotica's Literal Legend, Pitbull's Time Of Our Lives and LMFAO's Party Rock Anthem. Heart Attack? Demi Lovato and One Direction have a track called "Heart Attack" or Boom Clap by Charli xcx. Slashed to death? (I Just) Died In Your Gun Tonight by Cutting Crew. Eaten by a new Jeffrey Dahmer? Cannibal by Kesha. Or if you died young it could be Die Young by Kesha or We Are Young by fun.

If you like to be ironic the following are for you: Best Day Of My Life by American Authors, Stayin Alive by Bee Gees, I'm Still Standing by Elton John, I Will Survive by Gloria Gaynor, Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go by Wham!, Don't Stop Me Now by Queen, Stronger (What Doesn't Kill You) by Kelly Clarkson, Every Breath You Take by The Police, breathin by Ariana Grande, Survivor by Destiny's Child, Call Me Maybe by Carly Rae Jepsen (spoiler: they won't be able to call you unless its via ouija), Lush Life by Zara Larsson, My Heart Will Go On by Celiné Dion (bonus points if you drowned), So Happy I Could Die by Lady Gaga, About That Time by Lizzo, Wake Me Up by Avicii, Unstoppable by Sia, Safe And Sound by Capital Cities, When Will My Life Begin? by Mandy Moore (who doesn't love Tangled?), Rusted Root's Send Me On My Way, Take My Breath Away by Berlin, On My Own by Ross Lynch (Teen Beach Movie 2 representation here), I Don't Wanna Live Forever by Zayn and Taylor Swift, Kool & The Gang's Celebration, Alive by One Direction (bonus points if you're gay) or Viva La Vida by Coldplay.

Do you want your friends to feel like they're inside a sad edit? Somebody That I Used to Know by Goyte and Kimbra, Big Girls Don't Cry (Personal) by Fergie, The Show Must Go On by Queen, We Go Together by John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John, Katty Perry's The One That Got Away, Good Riddance (Time Of Your Life) by Green Day, I'll Be There For You by The Rembrandts, Cry Me a River by Justin Timberlake, Die With A Smile by Bruno Mars and Lady Gaga, Everybody Wants To Rule The Word by Tears For Fears. Or maybe you prefer to joke that you "abandoned" them: All You Had To Do Was Stay, Is It Over Now? or Look What You Made Me Do by Taylor Swift, Want U Back by Cher Lloyd, Problem by Ariana Grande, bury a friend by Billie Eilish, Smash Mouth's All Star, Irreplaceable by Beyoncé, Naomi Scott's She's So Gone, Friends On The Other Side by Keith David (Tiana is the best Disney Princess), I'm Like a Bird by Nelly Furtado, Anna Kendrick's Cups (for the Pitch Perfect girlies), Take Me Home Country Roads but the Lana Del Rey version to make it more random, Eminem's Without Me, *NSYNC's Bye Bye Bye, Let It Go by Idina Menzel (extra points if you died of hypothymia).

Anyway, in any context it's funny to fuck with your guests with This Is What You Came For by Rihanna and Calvin Harris.

Would you like to play a chill good vibes song for them to smoke a joint in your name? Don't Worry Be Happy by Bobby McFerrin, Here Comes The Sun by The Beatles or Michael Bublé's Feeling Good. Have you ever heard the lyrics of Treat People With Kindness by Harry Styles? You should.

Do you like the idea of kidding with heaven/hell? try Stairway to Heaven by Led Zeppelin, Hells Bells or Hell Ain't a Bad Place to Be by AC/DC, Locked Out Of Heaven by Bruno Mars (bonus points if you're gay cause sex won't take you to paradise), all the good girls go the hell by Billie Eilish, What The Hell by Avril Lavigne, Sympathy For The Devil or Knockin' On Heaven's Door by Guns N' Roses, Bad To The Bone by George Thorogood & The Destroyers (you can play the scene from Megamind in the background if you want), Otherside by Red Hot Chili Peppers, Cage The Elephant's Ain't No Rest For The Wicked, Back To Life by Zayn, Heaven by Niall Horan, The Smiths' Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now, Made In Heaven or Spread Your Wings by Queen, George Michael's Faith, Heaven Is A Place On Earth by Belinda Carlisle, A Whole New World From Aladdin (you can use the original version or the Zayn one if you like 1D), Defying Gravity by Cynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande (to leave a message that you are defying gravity to those who ground you), Almost There by Anika Noni Rose (more The Princess and the Frog representation here). Even Europe's The Final Countdown can be a good bet, as can Hozier's Take Me To Church (again, bonus points if you're gay).

I've named songs from musicals as you may have noticed, and you might like them, so One Last Time from Hamilton, My Dead Gay Son from Heathers or The Whole "Being Dead" Thing from Beetlejuice might hit the spot.

Do you believe in reincarnation or do you want to screw people that you will haunt them by being a ghost/zombie? Oops!...I Did It Again by Britney Spears, There She Goes by The La's, Dark Horse by Katy Perry, Ghostbusters by Ray Parker Jr., Thriller by Michael Jackson or The Phantom Of The Opera main track by Andrew Lloyd Webber (because it gives vampire vibes).

If you're boring you'll probably end up choosing Live And Let Die by Wings because you like the idea of telling your loved ones "let me go", and although it's part of the soundtrack of several films including Shrek the Third (so passing the scene would be funny), why not choose the actual funny equivalent? I'm talking about Let It Grow from The Lorax. "But if this ever-changing world in which we're living makes you give in and cry say live and let die" and "Let's celebrate the world's rebirth we say let it grow" are exactly the same, in case you didn't notice.

And if none of this convinces you: you can always use Boulevard Of Broken Dreams by Green Day and carve in your casket "I never thought being obnoxious would get me where I am today" which is a quote by Billie Joe Armstrong. Or just play Another One Bites the Dust by Queen, or The Office's intro, whatever.

I know if you read to the end you liked the idea, didn't you, sweetheart? So remember that you are too hot and sexy to die, don't do it. Ever. Be immortal like Castiel. Or Godzilla, your choice.

[genderqueerdykes]

Wow. Talk about having a shit experience. Why is people explicitly keep saying not to tag their aro or ace post as aroace.

Why why why am I not valid anymore? Can I really not be aro and ace anymore? Can I not open the tag and say "ahh aroace me is so related with this post" anymore? What is it??

It feels fucking shitty seeing community that barely get mention in big queer space like this. Gatekeeping their post and experience to the "right" identity only.

If you someone that do this please stop. I just want to see positive post about my aroace identity. Heck anything about Loveless Aplatonic Afamilial barely get talk about and they don't gatekeep their post from aroaces because what's the point?

this is a great ask, i really appreciate you taking the time to stop by & share your experience, anon. this is something i've noticed within the past few years and i've wanted to talk about it, so thank you for giving me a chance to do so

i've seen 2 excuses for this behavior and they're both terrible and only hurt other people and serve as a method to control strangers.

the first way people try to excuse this behavior is by saying "well I'M not aroace, therefore the post isn't for aroaces!!!!! it's ONLY for JUST aromantics or JUST asexuals not both!!!!!" i have gotten yelled at this before as well. like, profusely. over tags. i feel like people should NOT take a stranger's tags personally. even if they tagged it something you don't agree with or don't like... that's kinda not really your business. this particular behavior stems from people who neurotically check their reblogs/interactions, and it's not healthy.

if you find yourself scrutinizing every single interaction and reblog you get on this website, it might be a good idea to reduce the amount of time you spend on social media, because you quite literally cannot control what people do with a post once you post it. you're at the mercy of god at that point. like i cannot stress this enough: You CANNOT control what strangers do with a post once it's published. these are PUBLIC FORUMS. tumblr is not a private club where only the people you like interact with you. it's a public space. you gotta learn to cope with the fact that other people will interact with your posts in ways you don't like. i don't like it when rad fems interact with my posts, but i also can't stop them from doing so unless i already have them blocked, because they also have free will and a tumblr account.

the second excuse for this behavior i have seen is definitely the worse of the two. people will say that "aroaces get TOO much representation!" or things like "everyone ASSUMES you have to be aro if you're ace/ace if you're aro which isn't true and i take very personally which gives me an excuse to bully aroaces!!!!!!!!" like it legit comes from people thinking that somehow, aroaces are "over represented". the behavior stems from the OP feeling literally attacked by aroaces existing and feeling like they're somehow talking over aromantic people who experience sexual attraction, or like they're somehow talking over asexual people who experience romantic attraction.

people seem to have forgotten that aroace people are STILL ARO. THEY'RE STILL ACE. you can't sit here and go "well i'm mad that 'too many' people know about aroace people so i'm going to harrass aroace people like they're the ones making my life harder and not cisheternormative society." also it's disgusting because a lot of asexuals quite literally believe that aromanticism doesn't exist, and that the term came about to "rip off" asexuals. it's the "transandrophobia doesn't exist because it threatens trans women" argument but with aspectrum identities.

it legitimately causes you NO HARM if your post about just asexuality or just aromancitism is tagged as aroace. they are not saying YOU are aroace! they're tagging it that way for themselves, because they are aroace!!!!!!!!!!!! aroace people are aromantic! aroace people are asexual! stop with this weird gatekeeping and acting like posts tagged just aromantic or just asexual are for people who are ONLY aro or ONLY ace. this shit is hurting people. like i cannot get over the fact that aroace people are. aro. and. ace. and somehow people freak the ever loving fuck out about a mean nasty aroace making them feel bad for.... also being aromantic and asexual ?

like your experience matters. you don't deserve to be told that you can't interact with posts about aromanticism or asexuality because you're both of those things and somehow that's threatening aromantics and asexuals who aren't both. you are still aromantic. you are still asexual. you aren't hurting or threatening anyone. you deserve to be seen and heard, and you shouldn't have to specifically stick to JUST the "aroace" tag and nothing else. i DON'T understand this behavior.

honestly a lot of it smacks of arophobia on the behalf of asexuals and acephobia on the behalf of aromantics. it blows. it's not cool or cute or funny it's hurting people.

this attitude sucks. as the anon said, please stop this. it's unnecessary and petty infighting for no reason. aroace people are not a threat to other aromantic and asexual people. stop treating other people like shit for no reason other than you are insecure and angry about it. nobody is saying YOU are aroace if they tag your post about aromanticism or asexuality with "aroace". they're doing it for themselves. knock it off.

[dannielricciardo]

hijacking this post to remind everyone how that announcement went and the absolute insanity that was the lead up to the announcement.

in the lead up to the hiatus, fall out boy has been pronounced washed, folie was the worst album of all time, people would literally boo songs from it on the tour and at one point if i recall correctly, alex from all time low had to make a speech at one of the stops that booing your headliner is not cool and brings the vibes down monumentally (also on that tour, and i am not joking, was metro station). with this farewell, fall out boy call it a day, seemingly absolutely dejected, and embark on various solo projects like the damndest things, soul punk and a pop duo with bebe rexha (yes that one).

then patrick posts "we liked you better fat", a devastating piece on how he can never live up to who he was in fall out boy - "there’s no amount of money that makes you feel better when people think of you as a joke or a hack or a failure or ugly or stupid or morally empty.[...] I’m a touring artist and I feel I’ve become incapable of touring anymore with any act. [...] there will still be 10-20 percent of the audience there to tell me how shitty whatever it is I’m doing is and how much better the thing I used to do was. Not only that, but that 10-20 percent combined with whatever notoriety Fall Out Boy used to have prevents me from having the ability to start over from the bottom again. I can’t even go back to playing basement shows. As the saying goes: I couldn’t get booked at the opening of a letter." (source. yes, this is on tumblr. pete and patrick were on tumblr answering asks.)

brutally depressing. the public finally realizes that wait a damn minute! these people who were boo'd, ridiculed and made a joke, were actually not some paper dolls but humans with feelings. there's a public outcry of support. here's a reblog of the original post, you can scroll down and see the replies. we hear nothing after that. pete is best man at patrick's wedding. we hear nothing after that.

and then. on 25th january 2013, a then prolific bandom blog, property of zack breaks an exclusive that fall out boy reunion is imminent. that is right, the news that fall out boy is coming back appeared on tumblr first. you would not believe the pull this website used to have.

immediately, the entirety of bandom loses their minds. this is still a time when AbsolutePunk is the place to be when it comes to discussing all things pop punk.

now, if you think likes/replies on insta/tiktok/tw**ter are cool interactions with your fave, you havent been on absolutepunk, solely because this is the only forum where you could find pete wentz randomly quote replying to you in a long ass chain that would inevitably end up with you being banned for being sassy to jason tate. absolutepunk was where EVERYONE went. you found the new bands on absolute punk, you saw mark hoppus comment on a jimmy eat world review, you posted how TTTYG is the only good thing fall out boy has produced.

of course, since nothing every happens™️, absolutepunk declares that zack is pulling shit out of his ass for clicks, zack is in the comments fighting for his live saying "mf just you wait", jason tate is being iffy about it but maybe believes zack? and the general vibe is "yea. sure. reunion. that same band that keeps saying they aren't broken up. w/e man". joe denies it on tw***er almost immediately. if i recall correctly, pete also denied it on the absolutepunk thread.

two weeks later, a message appears on falloutboyrock.com (yes. the website back then was this. since as far back as i can remember):

A MESSAGE FROM PETE, PATRICK, ANDY & JOE

when we were kids the only thing that got us through most days was music. its why we started fall out boy in the first place. this isn't a reunion because we never broke up. we needed to plug back in and make some music that matters to us.

the future of fall out boy starts now.

save rock and roll...-

people were losing their minds. pop up shows sold out in minutes. i've never seen such hysterics in bandom before. you all know the rest. those 10 days between PoZ leaking and the real announcement were the longest 10 days ever. 10 years later, they are still a band. much to think about.

you can take a breath now. happy return day!

[roseverdict]

i kinda wanna know what kinds of insane unholy discourse sprouted up in ninjago over the idea of writing prime empire fanfiction when prime empire is a whole entire person and also a bunch of other whole entire people

#rosie babbles #ninjago

0 notes

🥋 i-am-okino-no-really

It has come to my attention that there are individuals writing fantastical tales describing adventures that I and others from within Prime Empire could potentially embark upon. While I would not request that these individuals cease in their actions, as several of these tales are genuinely quite entertaining, I do insist that people refrain from sending me any more of their…evocative…fiction detailing myself and my friends "getting it on freaky-style."

Unagami has also expressed distaste for the fiction depicting him as he was before he reunited with his creator, though especially when it is used for the purposes of depicting him "getting it on freaky-style." To be entirely honest, such purposes unnerve him regardless of the form used. If you simply must write such tales, please do not label them in such a way that a "Borgle" "Search" will immediately bring them up.

Please.

#prime empire

6.4K notes

🏎️ 7ace7-sevens-stee7ing-wheel

guys what do i do my url doesn't reflect blazey's name anymore but "blazey-h-speeds-stee7ing-wheel" is already taken 😭😭😭😭😭

24 notes

🌩️ jaybird-64

so apparently i still have my avatar from the game and idk how to feel about being able to make myself look like a dude whenever i want. i sure hope this doesnt awaken anything in m

WAIT STOP EVERYTHING I STILL HAVE AN ACTIVE CREDITS WALLET

IM BOUTTA DO SMTH WHOLLY UNWISE

#j64 chirps

314 notes

❄️ detectiveninja

Many, many thanks to @.bike-tones for the lovely drawing of myself and Pixal dressed as private investigators! I will be posting the art shortly, of course, but I just want to hoard it to myself for just a bit longer! 🤍

#my posts #re: #submissions #and #fanart

576 notes

🚲 the-purple-ninja

why did i just see somebody celebrating in the middle of the street

i nearly ran them over with my bike >0< i feel so bad

3 notes

🏎️ blazey-hype7-speeds-stee7ing-wheel

absolute galaxy brain idea hit me just now so OBVIOUSLY i went with it immediately no regerts

#heheheheheh

20 notes

🥋 i-am-okino-no-really

What is an "R.P.F." and why do people keep replying to me by mentioning it?

❄️ detectiveninja

I say this from the bottom of my heart: please do not ask. Only Kai dares venture to those corners of the internet with regard to ourselves and our adventures; the rest of us stay away for our own sanity.

⛈️ beta-jay-137

Why would you specify "with regard to [y]ourselves and [y]our adventures"? 🤨 /lh

⚡super-star-rockin-j

cmon @.detective-ninja leave my ninjaball run rpf alone!!!!! 😭

❄️ detectiveninja

Ah, so is that why I just heard you run face-first into the monastery wall?

🥋 i-am-okino-no-really

Now this is what I call entertainment. :)

#not prime empire

413K notes

🌩️ jaybird-64

ive got good news and wack news.

wack news: nearly got bowled over by a paperboy but like. i was in the middle of the road because of the good news so thats kinda on me

good news: SO, TURNS OUT IM A GUY-

#j64 chirps #all hail prime empire #free and instant top surgeey #*sugery #*SURGEU #*SURGERY #FSM #AAAAAAAAAAA

254 notes

😨 roseverdict

idk i just think ninjago's version of tumblr would be wild :D

[makeyoumine69]

Hello dear people in my beloved American Psycho fandom! I couldn't force myself to write this post because I didn't know how to do it, but I think now is the right time. I promised myself not to bring personal stuff into my writing, but since one thing affects another, I think I should finally speak up.

This year started pretty bad for me, I was suffering from a huge apathy and my mental health was probably in the worst state in the last few years. I had to cut ties with a lot of people and distance myself, and I'm really sorry for doing that, but I had no choice because I was literally dying from the inside. When I came back to Tumblr in 2022, I was absolutely alone and I had no friends, no followers and in some ways I felt calm and peaceful. I always thought and probably still think that I should be alone and isolated from everyone, like a soulless writing machine just producing fanfictions for people to consume. Maybe this is not a bad thing, because interacting with people always carries the risk of getting bruised?

Anyway, the thing that broke me completely was the news I received in the last days of January that I would be fired in February because my company decided to close the project I was working on due to the high inflation and bad economic situation in Russia. So now I have to find a job within February because I have a lot of financial responsobilities like paying for the medical treatment my family is getting. My grandmother was diagnosed with kidney cancer and her surgery was paid for by me and my fiancé, but the medicine costs a lot, so… after I told my mom about my news, she blamed me for everything. I was not really surprised though, considering that I have been having fights with my whole family for the past few months over different topics, but mostly they hate me for my political opinions. Whenever I say that I am tired of the war, sanctions and all the other stuff that 2022 has brought, they call me a fucking traitor. My family is ready to cancel me just because I told them I was tired of living in isolation, that I had even forgotten what my life was like before the war. My fiancé is literally the only person in my family who supports me, and even though I'm going to lose my job, he told me he would do anything for me, for us, but I don't want to be a burden. I'm really scared about the future, I think I really am now.

So, I'm sorry for not finishing the Christmas fics I promised to post, I'll try to finish them soon. Also, I'm sorry for not being active with fulfilling the requests and replying to your asks. I'm really sorry. And I know some of you might think that why I keep writing new series and working on different stuff while I have WIPs I need to finish—I'm just trying to follow my muse and I can say that it's really unstable these days, but I'm really trying to do my best and deliver something good for all of you!

I also want to thank all of you who have supported me with your donations! It means the world to me! Unfortunately, my account on the platform I was using for donations has been suspended because of… DOLLARS! They think I'm a scammer or something because the dollar is such a cursed currency in Russia right now, so I don't know if they'll unban my account, I hope they will.

Okay, that was longer than I thought it would be. To end this crazy rant, I just want to thank you guys for sticking with me no matter how fucked up I might be! I believe that one day I will find my way back to myself so that I can come back strong and refreshed!