#its just fucking dark no matter what or what

[kingofbodyrolls]

Friendcation (m) | myg | baby special

Yoongi spends time with your daughter 💜

→ Pairing: mechanic!Yoongi x reader (female) → AUs: roadtrip!au, non idol!au, established relationship, mechanic!Yoongi, dad!Yoongi, married!au → Genres: slice of life, humor/crack and so much fucking fluff → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 3.5k → Warnings (explicit): this is just pure fluff, so nothing smutty in this one! But there’s mention of pussy, if that is a warning? I swear, it’s just funny, sweet and lovely 🥹 it's written completely in Yoongi's pov, just because... you'll see 💜 → Author’s note(1): the last extra for friendcation that I’ve planned 🥳 I don’t think I’ll write more for this series/couple so please consider this officially completed (but you never know, lol). But I really don’t know what more I could add to this. I hope you enjoy this one too! 💜 And thank you all so fucking much; thank you for reading, commenting, reviewing, reblogging—everything means so much to me, you truly don’t know. Knowing what you think, and that you like reading my stories matters a lot to me, and essentially that is what keeps me going (especially when I’m struggling). So thank you 🫂 → Read on AO3? [link] ✨

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The gentle patter of tiny feet echoes through his dreams, a soft cadence pulling him from the depths of sleep. Not fully awake, yet not entirely asleep, he hovers on the fragile edge of consciousness. The sound of those footsteps—familiar, beloved—grows louder, closer, until a tender warmth touches his cheek.

“Daddy! Daddy! Wakey, wakey!” Mee-Yon’s voice bursts with joy, her excitement bubbling over as she bounces on the balls of her feet, her laughter a melody that could rouse the sun itself. 

He groans, stretching the stiffness from his body as the couch protests beneath him. Slowly, he opens his eyes, and there she is—his daughter, beaming down at him with a grin so pure it melts away any lingering weariness. How could he be upset when faced with such a sight? That tiny, radiant face is too full of life, too full of love.

“Hm?” he groans again, as Mee-Yon’s tiny fingers press against his cheeks, her eyes wide and insistent, sparkling with the boundless energy only a three-year-old could possess. She bounces still, a little ball of endless enthusiasm, and he marvels at how so much vigor can be contained in such a small body.

“Uncle Minnie is here,” she announces, her voice dropping just slightly, though no less vibrant, as if she’s sharing a grand secret. Her eyes shine with excitement, practically glittering—no, bursting with rainbows, if only this were a cartoon. And in this moment, he thinks, maybe he’s been watching too many cartoons lately, breathing in too much of that magic.

“He is?” he murmurs, running a hand through his dark hair, now cropped shorter than usual—a change he knows you’ll notice. He remembers how you prefer it longer, but for now, this is how it is.

“Mhm,” Mee-Yon confirms with a dramatic little stance, hands on her hips. That flair for the dramatic—definitely not something she got from him. Him, dramatic? Never.

He chuckles, gently patting her head, his fingers tracing through her soft hair that hasn’t yet been tamed into the neat bun she usually wears. Should he tie it up? He hesitates, knowing she’ll just pull it out moments after he’s finished.

Looking up, he sees Jimin standing in the doorway, a soft smile on his face as he watches Mee-Yon with an adoration so profound it almost makes the room glow. Jimin, the ever-dedicated godfather, has taken his role to heart, showering her with a love so abundant it spills over, warming the whole house. He spoils her endlessly, and though he’d never admit it, he’s grateful for it. It’s nice. It’s more than nice. It’s love, in its purest form.

“MINNIE!” Mee-Yon cries out, spinning on her heel to race toward Jimin, arms flung wide. He scoops her up effortlessly, lifting her high into the air, the room filling with the sound of her gleeful giggles and his playful airplane noises. As his arms tire, he lowers her gently to the ground, and she wraps herself around his legs, claiming him with a possessive “Mine.”

Jimin grins, glancing over at him. “I see she’s as possessive as you,” he teases, and Yoongi responds with a playful scoff, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation. But deep down, his heart swells, knowing these moments—these precious, fleeting moments—are what make everything worthwhile.

He rises from the couch, stretching the remnants of sleep from his limbs, and finally, the sweet, intoxicating aroma of dinner weaves its way to him, causing his stomach to rumble in anticipation. The scent is warm, rich, filled with love, and it beckons him forward like a siren’s call.

As he moves past Mee-Yon and Jimin, their laughter like a soft melody in the background, he follows the trail of that delicious fragrance into the kitchen. There you are, immersed in the ritual of cooking, your focus entirely on the simmering pans before you. You’re making dinner—far more than necessary, as always, though tonight it’s just you, Yoongi, Jimin, and little Mee-Yon. But since becoming a mother, you’ve taken to preparing meals that last for days, an act of foresight that saves time and allows for more precious moments together. He loves this about you, this quiet efficiency that carves out more space for family, more time to bask in the warmth of togetherness.

You haven’t noticed him yet, lost in the rhythm of your work, the soft sizzle of the stove and the gentle clatter of utensils. He knows better than to startle you, aware of the way you lose yourself in the dance of cooking. So he deliberately makes his steps audible, the floor creaking underfoot as he approaches. “Smells nice,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble as he slides his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Yoon,” you sigh, your voice dripping with affection as you lean into him, and he presses a tender kiss to the curve of your ear. He can feel you melt under his touch, the way your body instinctively relaxes into his, a soft giggle escaping your lips—music to his ears. He lives for these sounds, the small, intimate noises you make, even the ones in your sleep that pull him from his dreams but awaken something else within him, something that fills him with love and desire.

His fingers trace gentle patterns on your skin, lifting the edge of your blouse to feel the warmth of you beneath his hands. His calloused fingers draw circles, savoring the softness of your flesh. You moan softly, your body swaying slightly as if moved by an invisible melody, a song only the two of you can hear. His hands drift lower, brushing your hip, pausing as if savoring the moment.

“Dinner! Dinner!” Mee-Yon’s excited shout rings out behind you, shattering the tender moment with her boundless energy. He can’t help but chuckle as he turns to see her cradled in Jimin’s arms, her little face glowing with joy.

“You know she can walk, right?” he teases, grinning at the pair of them.

“Yeah, but this is more fun,” Jimin replies, bouncing her gently, drawing out another round of her infectious laughter.

“You’re spoiling her too much,” you chide playfully, turning off the stove and casting Jimin a mock death stare, your eyes twinkling with mischief.

“I have to stay her favorite uncle,” Jimin retorts with a carefree shrug, his smile widening as he carries Mee-Yon over to the table, already set and waiting. Mee-Yon giggles, sticking her tongue out at you, and in that moment, the room is filled with warmth—a perfect snapshot of love, laughter, and family.

Yoongi can’t help but smile, knowing that none of your other friends stand a chance at becoming Mee-Yon’s favorite—not with the way Jimin spoils her, showering her with endless affection. There’s something special between them, an unspoken bond that binds them closer than the rest. Mee-Yon seems to naturally gravitate toward Jimin, drawn to his playful spirit and gentle heart.

Of course, she enjoys the company of the others too. She adores playing with Seokjin’s kids and his wife, their home a haven of laughter and warmth. Jungkook, with his eternal boyishness, is always ready to dive into whatever adventure Mee-Yon dreams up, his energy a perfect match for her wild imagination. She lights up when Namjoon reads her stories, his deep voice weaving tales that captivate her young mind. Once, when Namjoon’s girlfriend was over, her belly round with the promise of new life, Mee-Yon innocently asked how babies were made. Yoongi was relieved not to be on the receiving end of that question, watching with a mix of amusement and sympathy as Namjoon fumbled for the right words—balancing truth with tact.

Then there’s Taehyung, who spoils her with gifts from his travels as a photographer, bringing the world to her in the form of exotic trinkets and stories that transport her to far-off lands. Each friend brings something unique into Mee-Yon’s life, and while they all have their place in her heart, it’s Jimin who holds the brightest spot.

“Dinner’s ready,” you call out, wiping the sheen of sweat from your brow, a testament to the steam rising from the pots on the stove. The meal is a labor of love, and as you all gather around the table, it’s no surprise that Mee-Yon instinctively takes her place next to Jimin.

The first bite is met with murmurs of approval. “It’s so good,” Jimin exclaims, and Yoongi nods in agreement, his eyes catching the soft blush that spreads across your cheeks. He knows how you are with compliments, especially about cooking—something you usually leave to him. But tonight, you’ve outdone yourself, and it’s clear that your efforts have not gone unnoticed.

Then, out of nowhere, Mee-Yon’s small voice cuts through the comfortable silence like a bolt of lightning. “Vagina!” she shouts, slamming her tiny hands on the table for emphasis. “Vagina!” 

All eyes snap to her in stunned disbelief, the room frozen in a moment that feels suspended in time. Yoongi isn’t sure if he heard his daughter correctly, but as she repeats the word with gleeful abandon, there’s no mistaking it. Your gaze darts frantically between Jimin and Yoongi, as if deciding who to unleash your wrath upon. Fortunately, Jimin ends up as the target.

“What the fuck did you teach my daughter?” you demand, your voice trembling with incredulity and a hint of anger. Yoongi, relieved not to be in the line of fire, watches as Jimin blinks back at you, utterly bewildered.

“What?” Jimin stammers, shaking his head in denial. “I didn’t teach her that! She must have picked it up at daycare,” he says, his tone calm but defensive, trying to deflect the blame.

Yoongi, ever the realist, can’t help but let a remark slip, one that’s more truth than tact. “Just be glad she didn’t say pussy.”

You sigh, a mix of exasperation and reluctant acceptance, realizing that he has a point. Better to let it go, not to give Mee-Yon’s newfound vocabulary too much attention. After all, the more focus you put on it, the more she’ll repeat it, and there’s no need to make a spectacle out of a word that, to her, is just another part of the world she’s discovering.

“Pussy! Pussy! Pussy!” Mee-Yon’s voice rings out with glee, her innocent delight filling the room as she proudly chants the forbidden word. Your stern gaze snaps to Yoongi, and in that instant, he knows he’s made fucked up. The realization hits him like a wave, and the weight of it is evident in his sheepish expression. “You taught her to say pussy. Why would you do that, Yoon?” you groan, frustration lacing your voice, a trace of self-doubt creeping in as you wonder if this makes you a bad mother. But Yoongi knows better—shit happens, and he reckons this isn’t the worst thing she could have picked up. After all, with the amount of time she spends with Jimin and Jungkook, he’s surprised this is the first explicit word to slip out.

“Peeing from my pussy!” she sing-songs with abandon, and you all groan in unison, only for the tension to break as laughter bubbles up, impossible to hold back. It’s bad, he knows it, but it’s also undeniably funny and, in a way, just a little bit cute. 

Mee-Yon soon loses interest in the word, her attention drifting as she begins to babble a stream of playful nonsense, her laughter joining yours in a chorus that fills the house with warmth. As the evening settles into a comfortable rhythm, Yoongi helps clean up while Jimin entertains Mee-Yon in the living room, the sound of their laughter echoing through the walls. He silently hopes Jimin isn’t teaching her any new vocabulary, knowing full well that the daycare likely isn’t to blame for this latest outburst.

Later, Jimin takes on the task of putting Mee-Yon to bed—a routine she seems to prefer whenever he’s around. Neither you nor Yoongi mind, as it offers you a rare moment of peace, a chance to sit together in quiet companionship while Jimin’s gentle voice carries through the door, reading her a bedtime story. When he emerges, his face softened by a tender smile, he bids you both goodnight and slips away into the night. It’s late, and Yoongi can’t help but curse the fatigue that overtook him earlier, leaving him to doze off on the couch. 

He’s been working more than usual lately, picking up the slack as you scale back your hours, determined to keep your finances steady. He doesn’t mind, knowing this is just a season of life, a phase that will pass. There may come a time when you’ll work more hours again, and he can step back. What he truly appreciates is the flexibility you both have in your work—his garage at home, a sanctuary where he can manage his own time, and your ability to work from home, offering you a reprieve from the relentless stress of your marketing job and the demands of your boss.

Tonight, though, you’re both too exhausted to stay up, even though the allure of a new K-drama tugs at your thoughts. Yoongi knows better—you’ll both likely fall asleep on the couch, and while it’s sleep, it’s not the restful kind. Better to retreat to the comfort of your bed, where real rest awaits.

So that’s what you do, slipping into a simple nighttime routine, brushing teeth, and taking care of your skin before crawling under the covers. Yoongi loves these moments, spooning you for the warmth and comfort it brings, not just for the obvious reasons but for the pure joy of being close to you. He nestles into your neck, breathing in your natural, sweet, and earthy scent—a fragrance that grounds him, that makes everything else fade away.

He doesn’t know how much time passes before he’s jolted awake by Mee-Yon’s piercing scream. His heart races, the familiar surge of fear gripping him—always worried that something terrible has happened. But as he listens, he realizes it’s likely another night terror. With swift, practiced movements, he’s out of bed and crossing the short distance to her room, just opposite yours. 

The room is bathed in the soft glow of a unicorn night lamp, casting gentle shadows on the walls. The rest is cloaked in darkness, except for the faint hum of white noise playing in the background, a melody that usually soothes her into sleep and keeps her there through the night. But not tonight. Her screams persist, shrill and heart-wrenching, as he approaches her bed. She’s calling for you, her mother, her small body trembling in the dim light.

“Mom! Mom! Mommy!” Mee-Yon’s cries pierce the quiet night, her voice tinged with distress as her tiny body thrashes beneath the sheets. Her eyes remain tightly shut, yet it’s as if she’s caught in a battle with unseen phantoms, lost in the throes of a bad dream. Yoongi’s heart aches at the sight, a deep, primal need to protect his daughter surging within him. 

“Mee-Yon,” he whispers, his voice soft as a lullaby, “it’s okay, sweetheart.” But his words are like echoes in a canyon, powerless against the storm of her nightmare. She continues to scream, panic tightening her small frame, and Yoongi feels a pang of helplessness. He hates seeing her like this, hates that there’s nothing he can do but wait it out, knowing it’s just a part of her growth, an inevitable phase that will pass. Yet that knowledge doesn’t ease the knot in his chest.

He places a gentle hand on her stomach, feeling the rapid rise and fall of her frantic breaths. “Mee-Yon,” he calls out again, a bit more urgently, but she’s still far away, lost in the dark corners of her dream. Then, suddenly, she stirs, her tiny body moving in fits and starts until she sits up, her eyes still closed, arms reaching skyward as if begging to be held. 

“Mommy,” she whimpers, her voice a broken cry, and Yoongi’s heart twists in response. “It’s Dad,” he says softly, reaching for her, lifting her delicate frame into his arms. “I’m here. It’s okay.” 

“Daddy,” she murmurs, still caught between sleep and waking, her small arms wrapping tightly around his neck. For a moment, Yoongi just stands there, holding her close, unsure of what to do but knowing he can’t leave her alone. He knows the experts say it’s not ideal for her to sleep in their bed, but sometimes, practicality takes a back seat to love and the desperate need for rest. Nothing has ever gone wrong before, but there’s always a flicker of fear that lingers in the back of his mind, the thought that one of them might roll over her in their sleep. Thankfully, that has never happened, and they are super careful.

With gentle care, he carries her into your bedroom, placing her tenderly between the two of you. He tucks the duvet around her, ensuring she’s warm and secure, then arranges her favorite bunny plushie—Jungkook��s sweet gift—beside her. The tension in her small body slowly ebbs away, replaced by the soft, rhythmic sounds of her breathing as she finally begins to relax. Mee-Yon snuggles closer to him, her little form instinctively seeking his warmth, and Yoongi wraps an arm around her, holding her protectively, careful not to press too hard. Her heartbeat, still quick but steadying, pulses against his chest, and with that comforting rhythm, he drifts into sleep.

His dreams are light and whimsical—cotton candy clouds, pink skies, and the sensation of soaring on the back of a white and blue pegasus. But his slumber is interrupted by the sharp prod of a tiny foot to his face. With a groan, he tries to nudge the offending limb away, slowly opening his eyes to find Mee-Yon sprawled across the bed, her feet in his face and her small hands clutching your waist. Despite the rude awakening, Yoongi can’t be mad—how could he be, when his daughter is so undeniably adorable?

You catch his gaze, your hand gently caressing Mee-Yon’s back, and without a word, you communicate a world of emotion. Words aren’t needed between the two of you anymore; the years have woven a deep understanding, a silent language spoken through glances and touches. He reads you like a well-loved book, its spine softened by countless readings, and in your eyes, he sees the depth of your love for him and your daughter, the way you cherish these fleeting moments of family life.

As Mee-Yon stirs awake, she wraps her arms around both of you, pressing soft kisses to your cheeks. Yoongi’s heart swells with joy, savoring this precious moment he wishes could last forever. Life with a three-year-old is a rollercoaster, equal parts delightful and exhausting. Yoongi’s patience, his temper, and his love are tested daily, but he wouldn’t trade this for anything. Mee-Yon has a knack for pushing his limits, as all children do, keeping him on his toes with her boundless energy and curiosity.

But it’s these moments he treasures the most—the time spent together as a family, whether on picnics, trips to the zoo, or simple walks in nature. Teaching Mee-Yon to ride a bike, watching her little legs pedal with determination, fills him with pride. He loves witnessing her growth, her wit, and her ever-present cuteness. There’s never enough time to soak it all in.

On a crisp autumn day, Yoongi finds himself in the garage, working on a customer’s car, with Mee-Yon by his side. She loves being there with him, her curiosity as vast as the sky, her eyes wide with wonder at the sight of tools and car parts. He explains everything to her, pointing out the coils, tubes, and wheels that make the car run. His hands are stained with oil, but Mee-Yon doesn’t mind; she grabs his hand, her own tiny fingers getting smudged as she points at something.

“What’s this, Dad?” she asks, her voice full of earnest curiosity.

He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s the battery,” he explains, “the heart that keeps the car alive.”

She hums thoughtfully, turning her hand over to inspect the oily smudges. “Dirty,” she declares, but there’s no disgust, only fascination.

“Yeah, that’s oil,” he says, reaching for an old rag to wipe her hands, though it doesn’t do much to clean them. Maybe it’s time for some new rags in the garage.

“Like paint,” she giggles, her fingers now exploring every surface under the hood, leaving tiny handprints on every rube and rusty surface.

Yoongi chuckles, unable to resist her infectious joy. “Daddy?” she calls, looking up at him with a bright, mischievous smile.

He kneels down to her level, ruffling her hair with a fond laugh. She giggles and cups his cheeks with her small, oily hands. “Love you, Daddy. You my best friend.”

He doesn’t care that his face is now smudged with oil; he just pulls her into a warm embrace, holding her close. “I love you too, Mee-Yon,” he murmurs, his heart full to bursting.

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for joining me on this wild ride that friendcation has been! And can you believe it’s been over a year since I first published this??? It’s so crazy. I’m so happy that so many people love it, and still read it. Truly, it means the world to me 🫂✨

[rebeltigera]

Haiii!! I got question:

Do you have any head-canons for mk? Mac? Wuk?

And what is your personal opinion on season 5?

I am responding second time because the first one didn't send :'D

Pls end me.

I don't remember the headcanons I've mustered out the first time damnit -

*sigh*

Those are general ones , I use the design of the character most of the time to show headcanons

For MK

-He's wasted after one beer.

-his tail subconsciously curl against legs of his friends or person he trust

-he chirp subconsciously

-he don't like bitter things like dark chocolate

For Wukong

- he got thick , strong curly fur . When fluffed up texture it reminds of the dust brush

- his body temperature is much higher due to the furnace punishment

-gets headaches due to the circlet (phantom pain)

-he speak and read fluently ancient Chinese , however he got problems with modern language

-he usually sleeps with lil monkeys around

-he can't get drunk.

-monkeys take care of his fur

For Mac

- his ears are too delicate for piercings. They would hurt.

- thin , straight/wavy fur like smoke . He can't stand cold

- he can always hear past and present but future is randomly whispering to him

- he got lower body temperature (due to the shadow nature)

- when drunk he looks like a beast but he's a snuggly wuggly teddy bear

-he takes care of his fur regularly himself

For Mei (because it's lacking in other categories and I don't remember more :'D)

- When she fights she tunes into imaginary music in the background. Like Gwen from spiderverse 2

About S5

*sigh* Vent warning. not directed at anyone in particular

I am unable to put up presentable opinion on this season

Also warning to everyone that will read it

If you are here to defend/ you are touchy on subject of S5 please avert your eyes.

The season was mid at best. , script was rushed, the core of it was S3 with meek antagonist, the most evil character there was a bug demon with many eyes, and SACRIFICE was basically word for this season.

Other things I remember from it is a burnt dumpling and Nezha's mech. Oh and Wukong being useless, Mac carrying season on his back , MK being even more stupid than usual. A random guy with a pagoda and a Twink snake. Nothing else .

Let's put my opinion about the animation now :D

Flying Bark got sacrificed just like MK in this season lol

The animation was a pure nightmare, it's like Seven deadly sins Incident

And if you guys think it will get much better from that in one year (let's say for example they will produce another season next year) you live high on copium and delulu.

Our juicy yummy frame by frame animation was taken away and they gave us RAGDOLL animation.

What does it mean? -AND HERE TUMBLR DECIDED TO CRASH ON ME AND IM WRITING IT 3rd TIME :D- you know how hieroglyphs are animated? Ye, that's basically it with extra steps! HOW FUN. NOW WE HAVE PUPPETS 2D. A FREAKING GACHA FROM YT IF YOU MUST. THOSE IN SOME CASES ARE EVEN BETTER ANIMATED THAN OUR SHOW ITSELF BTW. This has it's perks! I guess. It's cheaper and easier to make episodes! :D the cons are we will no longer see good battles in the show. yay "But we saw Wukong vs MK! And snippet of Wukong vs Mac fight!" please, spare me. If you are telling me those were good fights , that is half assed animation they have no idea how works and two dots clashing with eachother you should go rewatch other seasons. the fucking disgrace and audacity.

But no matter. That i can live off, that i can gulp down.

YOU KNOW WHAT I CAN'T? THE SHEER AMOUNT OF MISTAKES ON BASIC LVL IN ART. I am sitting here looking at those colors, those lines this fucking scenography and ask- what a fucking newbie did this .

YOU CAN'T EVEN GET COLOR RIGHT

AND BEFORE ANY OF U F NERDS WILL COME TO ME AND SAY "UUU ACTUALLY ITS LIGHTING FAULT-" NO ITS FUCKING NOT.

THEY CAN'T EVEN USE SAME COLORS AS IN THE PRIOR SHOT , THEY CANT EVEN SAMPLE IT PROPERLY . BETWEEN THOSE SHOTS NOTHING CHANGE THEREFORE THE LIGHTING IS THE FUCKING SAME

IF YOU DON'T DRAW , AND HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE WHAT YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT , JUST -

we have a shiny wukong here

What is this scene , please someone can explain to me the scenography of this

Why this perspective is wrong, the shading, the lack of lighting

Here characters don't even stand properly

WHAT IS WITH THIS AWKWARD SCENOGRAPHY ?

WHY THEY ALL LOOK OUT OF PLACE. AND IM NOT EVEN TALKING ABOUT THIS SHADING BECAUSE ITS SHIT.

HAVE THEY MISSED LIKE ALL BASIC LESSONS IN ART SCHOOLS? OR SOMETHING? LIKE THIS IS A JOKE. NO WONDER PEOPLE THOUGHT TRAILER WAS FAN MADE.

Now this- this is just hillarious.

Just add to it some dramatic intense sound effect and we have another nightmare.

The voice acting was great tho

[hiraethwa]

one summer day

17 light. where you claw your way back to the light after walking away from the sun

<< 16 chasm. | >> 18 (coming soon)

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x reader word count: 1.5k warnings: angst, healing, lots of heartbreak </3

“i may think of you softly from time to time, but i will cut off my hand before i ever reach for you again”

you knew classes were going to be tough, but you are struggling to keep up with the demands of your performances, of your professors, and you can’t help but feel like you are hitting a hard wall that you cannot break through. 

especially when your professor requested that you see him after the ensemble to talk about your recent performance. you are not deaf, you hear the difference in your sound, but you didn’t realize the extent of the damage. 

“you sounded different back when you auditioned.” he speaks slowly, conscious of your developing fluency in his native tongue. 

you patiently wait for him to explain, trembling fingers folded over your lap. you have to get over this block, no matter what you have to do. your entire program depends on your scholarship which in turn depends on your performance. 

there is no backup plan. you stand on a cliff with only raging seas behind you, a drop of hundreds of feet onto jagged rocks, so the only way is forward.

“back then, your sound was hopeful and light, like a bird with freedom soaring across the seas and the mountains with nothing but the winds at your heels. now it is stifled. choked. like someone snuffed the light out.”

the worst part is that he is right. the songbird in you is gone. in your anger and pain, you had stifled it, cut off its oxygen, because it reminded you of him. everything about this reminded you of him. there is not one waking moment where you don’t question the reality you live in, the consequences of your actions that brought you here. 

your only saving grace is moving to france. at the very least the people and the buildings are nothing like home. everything has changed. and yet, the anger you carry that pushes you forward when you have nothing to fall back on is failing you now. 

“you have to let the anger go. you carry too much in your heart, i hear the heaviness in your music.”

“i cannot.” the words come out choked. 

because letting that anger go meant accepting the truth. and the truth is that he didn’t feel the same way, despite all the words and actions that said differently. that he promised to walk with you back towards the light, but he abandoned you in the darkness. and you do not know your way home. 

“you have to. there is no room for anything else otherwise.” he pats your shoulder, allowing you to ponder his words, leaving you alone with your own thoughts and their violent and destructive whispers. 

the door clicks shut behind him.

forty-six seconds. 

for forty-six seconds you managed to hold yourself together, your emotions pushing at the seams, just until your professor left the room and you shut down completely. seconds that felt like eternity, the cogs that spin in slow motion forcing you to face your predicament.

because letting that anger go meant accepting that he is no longer in your life by your choices. and that he is no longer home. that you don’t have a home, not anymore. because you are lost and your anger is the only lifeline keeping you from drowning in your sorrows. 

and despite that, you still love him, with every fiber of your being. 

no one told you that love can hurt this much. like your chest is being cleaved open, bleeding with love. even if you are the one who tore it open, desperate to prove your love, and he still didn’t want it in the end. it hasn’t healed since, the wound still gaping open, oozing tears and blood and pain. fuck, it hurt.

worse, you convinced yourself that you had a shot, that he loved you too. funny, leaving your bloody and beating heart offered up by your own two hands bleeding did not seem like the actions of someone who loves you. 

you had been using anger to deflect the pain, in denial of reality. you didn’t want to remember him this way, but you didn’t want to forget him either. you didn’t want to forget the smiles he brought to your face, and times he walked by your side. the times when your heart was whole and alive. the times when you loved him so much and knew nothing of the pain he would cause you.

in time you will heal, and grieve, and learn to carry the weight of your love. 

the grief will stay, your constant companion during the college years, but the pain lessens. you learn how to live with it. the memories and the friends you make reminds you there is more to life than what your world is up until this point. that with time, this will fade. 

the grief will scab over, and leave a scar behind. it will itch when the rain falls just right or the heat pack against your back feels almost like him again, and you will scratch at it, missing the safety of his almost love. 

on rare nights, you will dream of another reality where he loved you back, where you promised each other forever, and you will wake up – not in a sweat, but feeling warm and full. that is more cruel than anything, the few minutes shortly after as reality sinks in, and you remember that this is the universe where everything went wrong. 

the stitches in your chest rips open, as if it never healed right, it never did. you fall through the skies, right into the stormy ocean that resides within you. all you can do is hold your breath as the currents pull you under, plunging you into the icy cold depths of your forgotten love. 

when the tides recede, spitting you out on the shores of your memories, you find that even though the pain felt so real, your heart is beating away in the confines of your ribcage, safe and sound. there is no wound on yourself, only the ugly scar stretches across your sternum, its outline committed to memory from sleepless nights of tracing over it. 

but it is alright, because you will build a new home for yourself in your own body, right on the cliff that overlooks the ocean. it is alright because this home is yours, even if the very bricks that you build it with contain traces of him in them. no one can take it away from you this time, so you paint the walls in splashes of sage and lavender, shades that bring you joy, masking the imprint of him on your very soul. 

you will try to get out of your comfort zone, making new memories with strangers turned friends, traveling across europe by yourself. drink a cup of afternoon tea overlooking the seine. enjoy the bustle of amsterdam on a bicycle. forcefully ripping out the flowers he planted in your heart by the stem and replacing them with varieties you just discovered, only to find your hands bleeding raw. 

of course it doesn’t feel the same, you will tell yourself, these are foreign flowers, unfamiliar sights. with time, you will come to love them just like you learn to love yourself. 

in time you will learn to live without him. and yet, your heart will still be his. only his. how could you ever unlearn loving him when it was written in the very fiber of your being?

but right now, in this moment, the dam breaks, memories of him flooding your being, and you allow yourself to drown in the heartache of your own making.

your home on the cliff is sturdy, having weathered severe storms and relentless sun beating down on the roof you clobbered together, the patches where you repaired throughout the years a few shades darker than the older roof tiles. 

the sea below is calm most days, its surface shimmering and dancing under the sun, shifting between shades of aquamarine and teal and emerald as the waves lap gently, its peaks bobbing like tiny boats. occasionally a great wave rolls along, crashing into the cliff face, reminding you of the might that lies dormant beneath its surface. 

in the five years that you have been here, paris has been kind to you, providing shelter from your troubles and a shoulder to cry on, music and art for when you were ready to take on the world again. a stage for you to share the journey of healing your broken soul, of smoothing the jagged edges that once left your fingers bleeding, of pouring gold between pieces of your heart, welding it firm once more. of anxious held breaths as you set it free between your rib cage once more and trusting it to take flight and bring you back to life. 

it is with those same nervous puffs of air that you accept the music director’s glowing recommendation for your entry to the international competition held at the home of the philharmonic orchestra you once wanted to play for, in a city where you once called home.

semi had kept his end of the deal, now it’s time for you to uphold yours. 

a/n: my heart hurt editing this chapter </3 tags: @lemurzsquad @daisy-room @integers @brokenscaredakira @whosmarjj @nansfyy @illuzminate @httpshoyo @manyuyuu @hatsukeii @bakery-anon

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[patolemus]

Not Wednesday Wip

posting this little thing because the wonderful @novasillies tagged me (guys guys go read her fic please please please please please it’s SO GOOD) as well as the lovely @gege-wondering-around (I am so so sorry i’m always so late for these things life has been so busy). here’s something else from my time travel au (also called the rewrite the lines au)

By the time he reaches the Nemeton, dawn is breaking on the horizon. Soon, the world will wake up, and Stiles plans to be long gone by then, least the Hales hear him.

The Nemeton’s energy is strong today, overpowering the Nogitsune’s rage and cruel persuasion. It hums inside Stiles’s whole being, and Stiles lets it wash over him before sending it back, like a feedback loop. It’s a learned behavior, allowing its energy to flow through him. Before, he’d been way too scared of it, of what it could do, of what it had already done. Now, Stiles knows he’s way more powerful than anything else that’s ever touched this tree. There’s no need to be afraid of what has made him what he is today, for no matter how monstrous, Stiles will always be worse.

Without hesitating, he presses his palm flat against the top of the tree stump. He doesn’t push any of his magic in it, simply letting it flow freely. It’s intense, though not hurtful. It recognizes Stiles as its friend, not its foe, no matter what Stiles may feel towards it.

As he lets the Nemeton’s magic flood his senses, Stiles idly wonders when it became such a normal thing for him to refer to a tree as a sentient being. It’s not as if the Nemeton talks to him, it simply… conveys its energy. And the call is more of a pull than an outright calling, if he’s getting specific about it. Yet Stiles knows without a doubt that it is sentient, even if it doesn’t have things such as feelings or emotions.

He keeps his hand on the tree stump for as long as he can, holding steady through the endless stream of information being imputed straight into his head by his semi-symbiotic relationship with the Nemeton even though his head starts to pound and his breathe starts coming out in heavy, loud puffs of air. In fact, Stiles only pulls away when the cold, nauseatingly familiar feel of dark energy, of chaos and pain and strife starts creeping in. Even though Stiles knows it can’t be true, that it must be his mind playing tricks on him again, he can’t help but startle when he hears voices in the wind, a whispered let me in that has his heart beating erratically and his eyes jumping from shadow to shadow. In the lazy light of the still rising sun, he can almost swear he sees a firefly.

Stiles leaves without looking back. Maybe if he ignores this problem, it will finally fucking go away.

If not… well. That’s a problem for future Stiles to take care of.

just a little something about stiles trying to deal with one of the million problems he has. it's going... well. it's not really going. no-pressure tagging @dontcallpanic @oldefashioned @salty-fryingpan @hedwig221b @dear-massacre @endwersed @novasillies @gege-wondering-around and of course anyone else who wants to do it!

[2neaky]

⟡⋆｡˚⊹ Patience♡ ۫࿔.

𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𖦹 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 |-> dirty talk, c୨ৎck warming, p in v p୨ৎnetration, ୨ৎdging, h୨ৎndjob (fem. receiving), m୨ৎsturbation, d୨ৎm/s୨ৎb dynamics, teasing, descriptive language, oc/nameless characters (“he” & “she” prns only used) abrupt ending (if I ever feel up to it, I’ll add a real ending)

It keeps him entranced, watching her climb over his lap and settles on his thighs softly. 

Like a butterfly coming to rest on its flower.

She’s open for him.

“Look so pretty,” he mumbles, dazed. Not a full second passes before he presses his mouth to her cushiony bottom lip.

In the kiss, her lips spread into a smile and a giggle slips through.

“Thank you.” 

A velvety hum leaves him as he licks at her, coaxing her tongue out. He sucks on it.

She tastes like the finest dessert.

His warm, big hands rub down her bare back, pressing her closer to him. 

Her breath skips as her stiff nipples graze his hot chest. She can feel the energy thrumming throughout his body.

His hands bear down, pressing deeper into the slopes of her waist and the curves of hips. They come around to the meatiest part of her body—her ass. Fingers spread to pull at and sink into dimpled, loose fat.

She mewls.

“Perfect,” he whispers against her lips as he pulls apart her bubbly cheeks. 

He sits up straighter, just to peer over her shoulder and down at her little holes. 

“Look at that.”

Her asshole winks back at him and her pussy clenches repeatedly, from the tension. He spots the slimy, deep pinkness hidden between fat, puffy lips.

One hand lets go of a cheek, only to smack it. Before his hand settles against the skin, he tightly grips the fat.

Her breath hitches. “Fuck,” she whispers, capturing her bottom lip between her teeth.

A soft chuckle leaves him, amused as he jiggles her cheek.

She’s too sweet, hiding her face deep in his neck. Always been so easy to embarrass, getting all shy whenever they’re intimate—it’s cute.

Above all, she always waits patiently for what he’s to do next.

Such a good girl.

It’s true, she is. But … how much of one is she?

How long can he push her until she breaks bad? What would be her last straw?

He desperately wants to know.

“Are you a good girl?”

The question’s got her pulling her head out of his neck. Big brown eyes stare back at him for a split second. Then, she’s nodding, curls flopping along with the movement. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

The barest hint of a whine in her voice makes his dick twitch. Unintentionally, the tip barely taps her naked lips.

She tries to stifle her excitement, keeping her hips still to stop from bearing down on him.

Just like he thought—a good girl.

“Want you to show me.” 

His eyes bounce around her face, studying her features—seeing the way her eyes widen just a smidge and her lips part by less than an inch.

“Show me how patient you could be.”

His voice rasps with the excitement of his thoughts.

“How?”

She’s already wet, but that she keeps quiet about. He’ll find out soon enough.

“Lean up,” he whispers.

Bruised knees sink into the mattress on either side of his hips. Body raised high, her boobs hang in his face. Heavy and full. 

He’s tempted to stick his tongue out and swipe it against one of her large, dark brown nipples.

One hand hooked on her hip, he takes his dick in hand.

Her body tingles with excitement. She’s too eager to take him. Because she loves taking his dick. It doesn’t matter to her how debauched it sounds.

All the right spots he knows how to hit, and just at the perfect time. He didn’t need much time to learn her body.

Whether that’s from experience with other women, she doesn’t like to think about. It makes her a tad bit green with envy.

However, it’s easy to forget all of that when he’s balls deep in her. Filling her tummy so nicely, stretching her cunt wide open and pushing her body’s bounds.

He drives her crazy, turns her brain to mush.

Sometimes, she’s finds herself having to keep from shouting out how badly she wants him to finish in her. The only thing keeping her from doing so is the possibility that he might deny her that dream.

She’s knocked from her daze as the heavy crown of his dick knocks against her clit. He feels around for her opening, rubbing and prodding between her lips.

He knows where to put it—finds it with ease every time. If he really wanted to, he’d slip right in. But, more than anything, he just loves to tease—that she knows. 

So, she keeps her whining and complaints to herself, just thankful that he’s touching her.

“Mmh … so warm.”

His tip throbs, circling her hardened clit. He holds himself so that it slips perfectly against the slit of his crown. 

“O-oh,” she whimpers softly. 

Her strong thighs flex as she tries to keep still for him.

His breathing heavies as he continues to rub himself against her. There’s the swooping feeling in his lower stomach.

“Oh … fuck,” he whispers.

Precum beads out of the thick head, immediately wiped against her clit. He spreads it gracelessly over her lips, glossing them up.

Short acrylics sink into the skin of his shoulders as she grips tighter. Her jaw clenches, even.

He teases at her entrance, dipping into her honey pot and getting his head just a bit messy.  

“So creamy,” he groans quietly. 

Shallowly, he pushes his dick just past her opening and strokes softly. The sound of her body tempts him. Soft squishes whisper to him, telling him to push deeper.

He almost listens.

Letting go of himself, his dick slips from between her. A thin string of her essence barely stretches before it breaks, disconnecting them.

As stiff as his dick is, it bobs weakly before standing in its erect position. Looking down between them, he notes how a sticky glaze covers his tip.

“So patient for me.” His hand at her hip slides to the crux of her ass cheek, rubbing it gently.

“M-mhm.”

She nods weakly, prompting the gentle sway of her boobs in his face. He wants to put his mouth on them bad.

“Mmh—c-can I … sit?”

He can imagine the cute wrinkle between her brows as she wonders just how much longer he’ll be.

“Since you asked so nicely.” He lightly smacks her ass. “Sit on your dick.”

She makes haste, grabbing him at the base and angling him just right. A moan of equal parts relief and arousal leave her as she slowly sinks down.

He only grunts as he steadily fills her up. It always feels so good going in her, like her pussy is a perfect home for his dick. 

Broken whimpers float from her as that slight burn comes with his dick bullying its way into her walls. 

The feel of it is one thing, but the sight gets him like no other: how her hole is pulled taut around him, trying to accommodate his size. Her body has no other choice but to take him.

He can fucking break her.

The thought makes him twitch inside, pulling a soft mewl out of her.

Minutes pass before she’s able get all ten inches of him in. In his lap her body quivers, ass cheeks clenching as she tries to relax around him.

“Always squeezing me so good,” he mumbles, burying his face into her neck as he rubs on her ass and back.

“M’so full,” she moans.

The soothing motions of his hands come to a halt as his arms encircle her small waist tight. They bear down and lock around her. If she wanted to move, she can’t.

Kisses are flowered across her neck and chest. She smells so sweet, like vanilla and cinnamon rolls.

“Such a good girl … so good to me—”

A weak, half-thrust on his part makes her whimper. She grips the undersides of his biceps.

“Love stuffing you like this … filling you with all this dick,” he rasps.

She clenches around him. He resists thrusting up into her again. However, he’s sure she can feel him pulsing inside of her.

Her back barely arches, pushing her breasts up higher into his face. The wide, dark areolas fit her so perfectly, he’s obsessed.

Without a word or even so much as a second thought, he takes one of her stiff nipples into his mouth. His eyes fall closed as he indulges himself.

His tongue laves at it, toying with the sensitive bud. She bears down on him, pussy gripping him so tight it almost makes his head spin.

She tries to lift her hips, but can’t budge. “Uh—babe … wanna move.”

He releases her nipple. It shines with spit and stands at attention. “Hol’on.” He didn’t even make eye contact with her, too focused on her chest. 

Eager to give the other side just as much attention, he takes her into his mouth again. But he doesn’t leave the first bud idle. 

He unwraps an arm from her waist, just to toy with it. With a feather light touch, he rubs the pad of his thumb against the wet skin.

He moans around her nipple, too content with sucking on her while her walls massage his dick. It slowly pushes him towards his own climax.

“Baby—“ she whimpers.

His thumb circles it. He releases her from his mouth again, leaving her chest free.

“Pretty ass nipples. Love that shit.”

He gropes her with both hands, thumbs flicking and pressing on her nipples like they were buttons.

“Please,” she exhales, trying to keep the cry out of her voice. Her hands snake up from his arms and shoulders to scratch at the nape of his neck.

“Please what?”

“Move—I wanna move.”

“Thought you wanted to show me how patient you was?”

Her face falls.

“Hm? What happened to that?” His brows pull together, creating a soft wrinkle between them. “Thought you was a good girl?”

She keeps quiet, unsure of what to say.

“Hm?” He delivers a quick smack to her ass, making her back straighten. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” she inhales. “Yes, I-I am.”

“So be patient.”

She swallows, breath shuddering.

Carefully, he shifts to sit on his knees. She tries to keep quiet as the movement teases her. It gives her a taste of what she’s used to—his dick mixing her guts.

“Lay back.”

Slowly, she lays back until she’s against the mattress. Her lower body slopes upward, still on his lap, dick still plugging her up.

Her breasts pool on her chest, the fat spreading in a way that only arouses him further.

She’s perfect like this.

He stares down at her with eyes blown full of lust. It almost makes him regret doing all of this.

“Touch yourself.”

Hesitantly, she reaches downward. She feels around, finding the point at which they connect. She runs her fingers over her stretched lips before skating them over her clit.

She weakly jolts.

“C’mon,” he grunts, shifting on his knees.

Her eyes blink slowly, brain lagging as she tries to focus on his commands. Shyly, she begins a circle over her sensitive pearl. Round and round her fingers go, caressing it.

Every couple of seconds her pussy clamps down on him. But the more she rubs, the smaller the time in between each clench gets.

Her fingers pick up the pace, slipping and sliding too fast to even do full circles. Her chest bounces faster and faster with each hurried breath. Her eyes begin to roll back.

“Mmh … mmmh—“

She licks her lips, eyes falling closed. One of her knees lift below his arm as her toes press into the mattress.

“Fuck … fuck.”

Her voice is tiny and gentle, like a whisper in the wind. Hand movements grow sloppier as her pussy chokes around his dick.

“Stop.”

Her hand stutters before coming to a slow stop. Those big, brown eyes flutter open. There’s a hint of a frown on her lips.

“Spread yourself.”

Weak fingers further pull her lips apart. It doesn’t change his view of her, seeing as he’s already stretching her to capacity. But, he does gain more access to her clit.

His balls tighten.

“Got this pussy wide open.” He reaches forward to rub at the small pearl.

Her legs twitch as they try to close around him. To ensure they don’t, his other hand keeps one leg down as he rubs lazy circles against her. 

“Shit, you so pretty like this. Don’t even need me to fuck you … just gotta sit on my dick.”

“F-fuck—“

Her eyes almost cross before they fall closed again.

“Keep it warm.”

“Baby.” Her brows pull together as her mouth opens.

It’s a warning.

“Hold it.” Pursing his lips, he leans forward and spits right on her clit. He rubs it in before it slides down to his dick. “Hold that nut.”

She whimpers, her held down leg pushing against his hand. And her body only tightens around him.

“I can’t—“

Holding his breath, he quickly, but carefully, pulls out.

“Augh, fuck—“

His dick weakly twitches as he grips the base tightly. Precum only drips from the tip as he successfully halts his climax, landing right on her pussy. It slides through her folds, getting lost in her.

He’s a mess, his dick covered in her creamy frosting. However, all of this has come without the relief of a release—on both ends.

When he looks up, he finds devastation written all over her face. 

“Why’d you stop?”

“Gotta be patient.”

Staring up at him, her eyes say everything her mouth doesn’t. They had gone from being big and pleading, to glaring.

She didn’t have any more patience left in her.

[summerloveandsayingus]

ahhh im trying to study but i dont even know what should i be learning

[tothesolarium]

how did my professor recommend me The Color of Outer Space

and I found the whole ass wrong book

its about a farm??? I was reading space travel what did I do

[scalproie]

Sektor and Bi-Han are fucking

I just witnessed Heihachi having the most bullshit biased looney tune-esque plot armory contrived excuse for a return you cant just say that to me

[sluckythewizard]

The Altered Beast[FULL SUITE] COULD be arthur bennett or adjacent to whatever hes got going on in tha finale. if ur brave enough. IF UR BRAVE ENOUGH [tldr its just about Things eating Things and becoming New Terrible Things. it also fucking jams]

[hauntingblue]

I don't know what to say... everyone got a happy ending except the people who actually wanted a real revolution and had a cause for it... but it's not like we had much of their opinions on this I guess... also no final lez sex scene... tragic

[spacedlexi]

i Need to draw more clemviminnie shit but how am i supposed to do that when minnie only exists alongside them for 2 episodes then dies

[blackvahana]

Oh god. Rip to getting sleep properly tonight.

Memory of Grey's of getting locked (locking himself) in the Library itself for.... Uh. A very very very long time, probably bent time, I don't think he went missing per se for the time he was in there but he fucking came out the other side changed, that's for sure. Locking yourself in your own creation... body... extension... second (third? Fourth? Etc?) brain...

I'm nothing if not -

I was going to say, I don't know, tenacious, dedicated, willing to put myself through my experimentation to put my money where my mouth is but I am nothing but tomorrow, tomorrow, then I

[iiboronii]

I'M BACK

[citrus-sours]

If your a fiction doesn't effect reality person, then here's a fictional tale for you, how about we lived in a beautiful world where u kys'd 🤗🤗

[sleevebuscemii]

was listening to an interview with some guy who was an advisor on arab-israeli negotiations for three administrations in the US and he started talking about how he was in jerusalem october 6th 1973 and saw ‘an israeli society that was traumatized’ and how israel has overcome trauma before blah blah blah like BITCH!!!!!! you mean THE 6th of October, when Egypt defeated the Israeli army and forced them to retreat out of the Sinai Peninsula WHICH THEY WERE OCCUPYING???

just absolutely baffling that israel’s CONSISTENT playbook is to start a war and then cry when they have to suffer the consequences of said war. how are YOU gonna be traumatized from stealing someone else’s house and then them taking it back??!!??!!!! fake ass country i swear to god

whats even funnier is that he then went on to talk about how egypt and israel signed a peace treaty six years as in like ‘look see arabs and israel can find peace’ AS IF egypt didn’t face extreme backlash for decades for signing that treaty, as if it wasn’t one of the most controversial actions in arab-israeli relations in history, so much controversy and backlash that the president of egypt who signed it was assassinated for signing it.

[ladyofthelake]

Things I spend hours creating whether it's gifs or fanfic etc and I literally etch a piece of my soul into: 🤡5 notes 1 reblog 4 likes / 2 kudos🤡

Things I spend five minutes on eg shitty gifs that go too fast (for me Crowley) are dark as fuck like that terrible GOT episode and literally basic af ie just a dialogue scene no song lyrics or html edit to make the post look pretty: ✨2500 notes ✨