#not fully happy with the colors on this one but also it looks WILDLY different on my tablet vs my laptop so

[glacier-shrimp]

Second part of my Avengers paper cutout fanart series! :) I have a feeling by the end of this I'll be better at Shapes lol

Dedicating this to @fotibrit because of course I am ❤️ don't know what I'd do without your angst and letting me throw so. many. songs. at you lmao.

Avengers paper cutout 2/?

[fagboyfriend]

i rlly like ur composition, i wanna know about your process :D

thank uuu !! yeah so like. composing a scene for me generally begins with a vague idea that i want to get down as quickly as possible- and for me that usually starts with finding a setting. I knew that i wanted to draw a) a group of roomates gossiping in a crowded kitchen and i wanted there to be b) one figure in the extreme foreground and c) lots of plants. i do use some tools to figure out perspective, mainly the csp perspective ruler. Usually i start by finding a picture i like similar to the vibe im going for- but instead of referencing anything else- im purely interested in perspective. sorry to anyone who is shocked i dont generate all of my perspective purely by myself- i can draw in perspective fairly well but i struggle to make straight lines and this is easier to make grids with than the line tool lol ^_^ i try to use it kinda more like spellcheck on typos than like something to fully rely on. this is the video i learned this trick from:

i saw the left photo and realllly loved how the cabinets alligned with the wall- so i used my ruler tool to draw out my inital plotted points from the image- basically the linear movements i was most interested in and then i turned off the image layer and worked with those lines and the ruler tool to move on. eventually i had this:

which was enough for me to put my characters in for the inital round. if you notice- i made a looot of further adjustments as i go on. this sketch is not a final layout, its so my characters have somewhere to be! i cannot draw someone standing on a floor if theres no floor, nor leaning on a table that doesnt exist. i can’t draw my characters without a background, but i also cant finish my background without accounting for how my characters can comfortably exist in it!!

this was the like.. very basic start. i knew the positions of two characters- but i needed to change a lot not only to fit them better but to allow for the other two figures i had planned.

okay.. a little better. i widened the kitchen, closed the fridge door.. added a chair and fit in all the figures.. but this is waaay too dramatic. only two figures are actually interacting- and they are at wildly different energy levels!

this is where things started to make a little more sense characterwiss, so i was ready to refine backgrounds and figures and unite the two.

inital base sketch. much better layout.

okay- this is where im getting my footing but things seem.. really really off. You can see me working on my framing here- theres some good linear movement from left to right here- but not vertically. It’s hard to notice the figure in the far back, so i need to redirect the viewers eye to move upwards as well!

this is where i decided to zoom out, add an interesting vertical element to the left of the image and make it clearer whats happening in the foreground. i had to account for some stuff by adjusting the cropping, but i paid attention to that as well.

annnd- thats what a clean sketch looks for me! i have all the elements of my scene accounted for, and things are clean enough to read.

the next step for me would be transfer! essentially- I print the image of my sketch out, resizing and taping pages together so my sketch matches the size of the paper i want to paint on, and then i use a lightboard to transfer my sketch with pencil onto my paper. Then i refine the sketch a few times on paper before stretching my watercolor paper (essentially just prepping for painting) and inking with a brush and colored ink before going in with watercolor, gouache and ink, then usually finishing with marker, colored pencil, pastel and ink. it’s a lengthy process but a lot of fun lol. but sketches for me can be like.. 15 layers of different roughs until im happy with just the sketch. there were more images but im on mobile and theres a 10 image limit 😭😭 im a bit masochistic but i believe that if i dont have a good sketch i dont have a good painting!!

[pomplalamoose]

I fucking love you you’re the only person who talks abt Luke and I need more stuff abt him PLEASE litreally anything will do

Really, this means SO much to me because the only reason this blog exists is an outrageous lack of Luke content, so now I'm making it myself😤

I didn't know what you would like to hear about so here's a random collection of Luke thoughts and ideas I had since August (mostly in collaboration with my girly @little-skywalker )🫶🏻

Also this turned out a little bit more nsfw than what I usually do, I hope you don't mind

• in my mind Luke is very good with children and they like him a lot in return

• so if you have been in a healthy and loving relationship with him for a while, he'll probably ask how you feel about kids of your own

• as someone who wants to avoid pregnancy at all costs I like to think he'd be very understanding about you feeling uncomfortable with giving birth to a child yourself

• because of this he'd be more than happy to adopt too

• especially because he knows what it's like to loose caregivers and grow up without knowledge about your real parents, he'd be so enthusiastic to raise orphans with all the love they deserve

• along with the ones already in his Jedi Academy, you'd have a shit ton of kids around

• related to this I can totally see him giving out fun stickers as rewards

• the children cleaned their rooms? Sticker. They did their house hold chores? Sticker. They did well at school? Sticker. They made him laugh? Sticker.

• he likes to give you some too if that's what you want

• (although for wildly different reasons)

• when he's in a good mood, Luke is a tease

• often about pretty innocent things like a stain of marmelade on your top or when you mispronounce a word lost in thought

• other than that he likes to gently pull your hair while he's sneaking up on you

• or to grab your nape with ice cold fingers after washing them

• he loves hearing you shriek his name and your indignant expression after

• when you're alone though, things quickly take a turn in a whole other direction

• he's never mean of course, but making you blush is one of his favorite activities

• he likes to mock the sounds you make in bed, sometimes even going as far as mimicking them

• he likes to pinch and squeeze your soft thighs, your arms and ass or your breasts until you swat his hands away

• when he discovers something new you like, you won't hear the end of it for the next few weeks

• he has a way of glancing and smiling at you suggestively while others are around that makes you fume

• Luke likes to see you in pretty lingerie, no matter whether you bought it yourself to surprise him or if he gave it to you as a present

• one can argue about his favorite colors in that regard

• my first idea was a nice pastel green to match his lightsaber

• until I realized his lightsaber is neon green

• the ultimate conclusion: Luke likes to see you in neon green lingerie

• (maybe go for black, you can't go wrong with black)

• Luke is ✨well endowed✨ and while not too big, he's still a lot to take

• I like to think you'd need to practice to get him fully inside of you

• he's always patient and careful with you though, and knows how to make it as pleasant as he possibly can

• he doesn't want to hurt you

• that said, sometimes he tends to forget himself while you are going at it

• when at first he was slow and gentle, he sometimes gets a little bit too into it and his thrusts grow rough, almost bruising

• he'll catch himself quickly and apologize, though if you liked it, he may be willing to change up his pace a little bit

• I'd like to add how insanely attractive that man is as well

• everything about him is good looking, even (or especially?) his hands

• they are simply made to be kissed and licked

• (imagine sucking on his fingers)

• also it'd be nice to just be held by them

• your hand would completely disappear in his

• and they are always nicely warm

• I'm sure that Luke is very strong as well

• he didn't train in that swamp on Dagobah for nothing

• we all have noticed his arm muscles

• that combined with his height, he's easily able to manhandle about everyone

• the children love when he picks them up to spin them around or to throw them up in the air as if they weigh next to nothing to him

• you like to be picked up as well, especially if he then pins you to a wall

• or down on his bed

• if he wants to cuddle there is not much you can do about it

• while I'm not necessarily into nicknames or other kinds of endearments, the thought of being called bunny by Luke drives me crazy

• I find it to be fitting in every kind of situation too

• it doesn't matter if it's said in a soothing manner or just casually during the day

• imagine him calling you bunny to admonish you

• OR when you're bouncing up and down on his enormous d-*gunshot noise*

[roseunspindle]

By mid-fifth year harry is very done. With all the nonesense of "keep your head down" while being tortured by umbridge, endure it...and ignored summarily by any adult he had the slightest trust in. So he goes... a bit off. The D.A. is where it starts... but it's a secret thing within the d.a. Luna, Neville and the twins are the first. Then Parvati and Lavander (he's certain that their fashion senses were tingling something fierce.) It's not spoken of at first...but more and more the ones in this group solidify and speak out at umbridge, and start sending in letters to any news agency that will take them of what is going on, and in particularly for harry, what has been going on in the "safe" halls of Hogwarts. (The general public are not pleased about the headmaster using an eleven year old child as bait for the wraith of the dark lord, along with an item that could actually grant him the power to return) equally the arent impressed with fudge arbitrarily deciding to hand out dementors kisses to any felon he catches)( the quibbler is starting to beat the prophet in sales.)

Also this new inner group isn't about education, or it is, but not the way the d.a. is. This group...with first the acquiring of daphne greengrass, starts looking at the things that have been removed from the curriculum, how the history if magic class is a joke, how each year can have wildly different dada teachers and that hagrid's classes aren't even audited.

It' when umbridge storms the d.a. with malfoy and co. That the inner group is fully seen. They are a bit faster, a bit meaner on the defense and nearly everyone gets out.

The next time though, it is at the department of mysteries, and they aren't fooling. Parvati and Lavender have the group outfitted in "deadly stylish combat gear, in a very blatant grey/silver scheme. Plan "let's spring voldy's trap" (amazing what you can learn with the combo luna's obscure knowledge and daphne, blaise, and theo's family libraries) and they are ready, the ride in on thestrals, harry carrying the cloak and death is already taking notice...

The battle goes far differently, and harry and his group do not return to Hogwarts, and harry laughs and laughs at the "revelation" of two dark lords. ... oh well.

- blaise will insist to his dying day the he joined for "aesthetic" reasons.

- Hannah can apparently manage to feed entire groups of runaways in room of requirement supplied magic tents, and any nearby muggle village with ease and poise.

- parvati and lavender may have spent hours upon hours finding the perfect shades of gray robes to go with each member of their group. None of them in the same exact shade and it makes for a good visual. The dragon hide leather trousers are partly for functionality and also because who doesn't look good in dragon hide leather trousers. Both girls also, with Hannah, bring forth the lack of the more aesthetic parts wizarding culture taught in Hogwarts. Such as no home ec spells, no history involving robes and the differing kinds for rituals, holidays, feasts, things that are and intrinsic but overlooked for flashier things.

- snape swore to protect lily's son. If that equally means he doesn't have to stay at hogwarts and teach potions to children or read another sodding essay ever again. (Also a part of him feel.. happy and at peace when he dons his new dark gray robes, and lifts his wand or brews potions to defend muggle, muggleborn, half-blood, pure blood, and creature alike.

- Dobby is resigned to giving up color for various appearances with his great master Harry Potter, at least parvati and lavender manage to get him a pretty swanky grey knit hat.

- dumbledore is very concerned about this. This is not how it is to go. This isn't good vs. Evil...this is... the Greys (or emissaries of death as some call them, when they ride in on thestrals) they have made this more political. And that answers are demanded from each side and... it's just not how this ought to go.

- the twins find themselves harry's... right hand men, they go on the covert missions, the sneaky stuff, while Neville is harry's general, and Susan is their... check as it were. She declares if something is legal or illegal under the current law, andcthen they all decide whether they still ought to do it.

- Aurors and death eaters alike struggle to defend against the children. For one spell may be dark, but another light as sunshine, or sometimes they leave out spells and use muggle methods (with weasley twin and snape produced additives) rubber bullets with a tickle jinx attached? Cow trops that burst into noxious gas when stepped on?

[causeiwanttoandican]

Robert Lacey excerpt

I fully expect them to say William was the one commenting about the baby’s skin color after this. Battle stations! Book excerpt

The Times

Prince William ‘split his household from Prince Harry after Meghan bullying claims’

June 07 2021, 7.00am BST

‘So, are you saying,” asked Oprah Winfrey, talking to Meghan and Harry in their famous interview of March 2021, “that there were hints of jealousy?”

She was inquiring about the Sussexes’s wildly successful tour of Australia and the South Pacific of late October 2018, and the couple shifted uncomfortably in their plush wicker chairs.

“Look,” replied Harry, “I just wish that we would all learn from the past.”

By bringing up “the past”, the prince was venturing into an area that was almost taboo. He was making a sensational comparison between his mother and his wife. Harry was suggesting that Meghan had demonstrated in Australia the same massive star quality as Diana and was now having to face the family envy that went along with that.

“It really changed,” he said, “after the Australia tour, after our South Pacific tour . . . it was . . . the first time that the family got to see how incredible she is at the job. And that brought back memories.”

Memories of what? Again Harry shied away from putting words to the almost unmentionable. But Oprah had prepared and polished this moment, like so many others in the interview, and she had a reference ready to prompt her prince’s revelation. The latest, fourth season of TV’s The Crown had depicted Charles and Diana’s 1983 tour of Australia, showing how Diana had been “bedazzling” in her ability “to connect with people”. Episode six had depicted how the crowds would groan when they realised that Charles, not Diana, was walking down their side of the street — hence the beginnings of the “jealousy” on the family’s part.

“So is that what you’re talking about?” asked Oprah. “It brought back memories of that?”

“Yeah,” Harry finally replied in a fashion that was both dismal and unmistakably aggressive.

What on earth had happened, viewers had to wonder, to the old and once-familiar happy side of Prince Harry?

When trying to define the moment that marked the decisive rift with his brother William — the break-up and actual separation of the joint household they had established together in 2009 — Harry would fix upon his triumphant return with Meghan from their Australian tour at the end of October 2018. But if asked the same question, William would have fixed on a more specific event: the explosive argument he had had with his brother earlier that month.

Both brothers agreed how bitterly they had clashed back in the early days over William’s attempt to slow Harry’s courtship of Meghan — “Don’t feel like you need to rush this . . . ” But both of them had subsequently moved on. Harry’s transparent contentment with Meghan had relaxed the tensions, give or take the odd row over bridesmaids’ dresses. The “no speaks” had eased just a little by the time “best man” William escorted his brother down the aisle in May 2018.

Then five months later came the conclusive and determining rupture — the division that has lasted to the present day — though here the brothers’ retelling of history diverged. As Harry explained it to Oprah, Meghan’s Australian tour success sowed the jealousies that caused feelings to “change”. According to this scenario, William and Kate resented the Diana-like popularity that was generated by Harry’s wife. William had a different recollection.

We now know that Princes William and Harry were no longer on speaking terms before the Sussexes set off for Australia. Feelings had already “changed”, as Harry put it, and drastically so. The brothers had parted on extremely poor terms, with the trouble centring on Meghan’s stringent treatment and alleged bullying of her staff.

Most Kensington Palace courtiers were noted for the comparatively long tenures of their comfortable and prestigious jobs. But it came to look as if employees could not wait to escape service with Harry and Meghan. Those who left formed themselves into an informal fraternity that they titled the “Sussex Survivors’ Club”. They had finally hit back, and their organising agent had been PR man Jason Knauf.

The joint communications secretary for Kensington Palace — who was still, at that date, working on behalf of both of the brothers and their wives — had become concerned by the numerous stories of mistreatment being brought to him by colleagues whom he knew well and trusted.

Texas-born and New Zealand-educated, Knauf, 34, was a popular character in Kensington Palace, widely noted for his friendliness and loyalty towards his colleagues. He had been considered a real “catch” when the brothers snared him from the Royal Bank of Scotland in 2015, and one of his concerns was that professional management practices should be more effectively enforced inside the traditional British palace. Knauf’s American sensibilities caused him to see the Meghan situation as raising principles of human resources management in the palace system that needed to be formally addressed.

Knauf’s first priority was to set down the facts, as he saw them, for the record: “I’m very concerned,” he emailed to William’s private secretary Simon Case, in a document he drafted in October 2018, “that the duchess was able to bully two PAs out of the household in the past year.”

Knauf described Meghan’s treatment of one aide as “totally unacceptable . . . the duchess seems intent”, he wrote, “on always having someone in her sights”. Specifying another staff member, Knauf alleged Meghan had been bullying her as well, “seeking to undermine her confidence”. His office had received “report after report”, he wrote, from people who had witnessed “unacceptable behaviour” by Meghan towards this member of staff.

“Meghan governed by fear,” claimed one courtier. “So many people said it. Nothing was ever good enough for her. [She] humiliated staff in meetings, [would] shout at them, [would] cut them off email chains — and then demand to know why they hadn’t done anything.”

As early as 2017, around the time of the couple’s engagement, according to a subsequent report in The Times, a senior aide had spoken to the couple about the difficulties caused by their treatment of staff. “It’s not my job to coddle people,” Meghan was said to have replied.

“Americans can be much more direct,” wrote the authors Omid Scobie and Carolyn Durand in defence of the duchess, “and that often doesn’t sit well in the much more refined institution of the monarchy.”

A Brit might have raised an eyebrow at Meghan’s alleged behaviour, then looked the other way. The Yank decided to act. Knauf was actually one of Meghan’s most senior advisers — her chief adviser, in fact, when it came to public relations. Earlier that year she had gone to Knauf for help when drafting the disputed letter of severance that she sent to her father. She valued his PR expertise.

Before that, Knauf had helped Harry to word the fierce anti-media statements that he had framed to try to protect Meghan from press harassment, both as his girlfriend and then as his fiancée. The PR man had taken considerable stick from some of his non-royal contacts who criticised him as being overprotective in fighting the newcomer’s corner. Like so many people in all the palaces, Knauf had started off on Meghan’s side.

But as the months went by the American’s feelings became more ambiguous, as numerous colleagues — women whom he greatly respected — continued to bring him stories of what they said they had suffered at Meghan’s hands.

“I can’t stop shaking,” one aide had told a colleague in anticipation of an encounter with Meghan. Another reported that the prospect of confrontation with the duchess had made her “feel sick”. “Emotional cruelty and manipulation”, were the words of a third, “which I guess could also be called bullying.”

The b-word featured prominently in the accounts of several, along with an even more sinister set of initials: PTSD. Post-traumatic stress disorder was a deeply serious condition to allege — flashbacks, nightmares and feelings of deep anxiety — but that was how one complainant said that they had felt.

Several people maintained they had been “humiliated” by the duchess, and that criticism extended to Harry as well.

“I overheard a conversation between Harry and one of his top aides,” recalled one Kensington Palace courtier. “Harry was screaming and screaming down the phone. Team Sussex was a really toxic environment. People shouting and screaming in each other’s faces.”

Shouting and screaming? PTSD? Making people feel sick? Prince William went ballistic when he heard the “dossier of distress” that Knauf had gathered. We do not know whether the communications secretary brought his allegations directly to his boss or submitted them via Simon Case. What we do know is that the prince was astonished and horrified. He was instantly furious at what he heard.

“I remember Christian Jones [William’s press secretary and later private secretary] explaining to me how the Cams [the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge] are paternalistic with their staff,” recalls one royal correspondent. “They copy the Queen in that respect with all her Christmas parties and Christmas presents to her people. They’re proud to treat their staff like family. They recognise that they don’t get paid loads of money, so they are just really nice to them. So this was a very deep clash of philosophies, with Meghan being used to a Hollywood service culture — getting exactly what she wanted whenever she wanted in that famous way that Harry said.”

William personally knew and liked all the individuals whom Knauf had named in his dossier. The prince regarded them as assets to his household — colleagues to be cherished and for whom he was responsible. Human beings. Like Knauf, the prince was appalled that his respected staff may have been put in this position.

For William, Knauf’s allegations also clarified something that the prince had long believed — that Meghan was fundamentally hostile towards the royal system, which she failed to understand as an outsider. William wondered if she had not wanted to leave from the very start — even dreaming, perhaps, that she could whisk Harry back with her to North America.

But Meghan’s lawyers and PR representatives said this was quite the wrong interpretation of their client’s thinking and behaviour in a statement that they issued to The Times early in March 2021. They denied all allegations of bullying as inaccurate and the product of what they described as a “smear campaign”. The duchess wished to fit in and be accepted, they insisted. She had left her life in North America to commit herself to her new role.

I have never met Jason Knauf. What you have just read is based upon the published accusations that Knauf set down on paper — refuted as “defamatory”, it must be stressed again, and “based on misleading and harmful information” in the view of the Duchess of Sussex’s lawyers. It also relies upon William’s personal account of these events to one of his friends who then spoke to this author.

The moment the prince heard the bullying allegations, he related to this friend, he got straight on the phone to talk to Harry — and when Harry flared up in furious defence of his wife, the elder brother persisted. Harry shut off his phone angrily, so William went to speak to him personally. The prince was horrified by what he had just been told about Meghan’s alleged behaviour, and he wanted to hear what Harry had to say.

The showdown between the two siblings was fierce and bitter. William’s pre-engagement questioning of Meghan’s suitability had been quite reasonable, in William’s opinion. His fraternal doubts had been provisional, based upon how the new recruit appeared to be. The elder brother did not really know Meghan in those early days.

But now William had seen enough of his sister-in-law to feel sure that, sadly, he did know her and that many of his reservations linked unhappily with what Knauf’s colleagues had alleged. William believed Meghan was following a plan — “agenda” was the word he used to his friend — and the accusations he had just heard were alarming. Kate, he said, had been wary of her from the start.

Meghan was undermining some precious principles of the monarchy, if she really was treating her staff in this way, and William was upset that she seemed to be stealing his beloved brother away from him. Later courtiers would coin a hashtag — #freeHarry. It was only half a joke.

“Meghan portrayed herself as the victim,” recalled one Kensington Palace staffer, “but she was the bully. People felt run over by her. They didn’t know how to handle this woman. They thought she was a complete narcissist and sociopath — basically unhinged. Which was why the pair of them were drawn to each other in the first place — both damaged goods.”

William felt deeply wounded. “Hurt” and “betrayed” were the two feelings that he described to his friend. The elder brother had always felt so protective. He had seen it as his job to look out for Harry but this was the moment the protection had to stop. At the end of the day the British crown and all it stood for with its ancient traditions, styles and values — the mission of the monarchy — had to matter more to William than his brother did.

Harry, for his part, was equally furious that William should give credence to the accusations against Meghan, and he was fiercely combative in his wife’s defence. Some sources maintain that in the heat of the argument Harry actually accused someone in the family of concepts that were “racist”. But it must be stressed that neither brother has ever confirmed that the hateful r-word was used face to face.

Only William and Harry can know what they said to each other and they have respectfully maintained their silence on that. But Harry made clear to the world in his interview with Oprah that he considered his family’s response to Meghan to have been essentially racist — using the heavily freighted code words “unconscious bias” to provide an intellectual framework for his analysis.

Where could the two brothers go after such painful and damning notions had been thrown into their debate?

We have reached the crux of the drama. What painfully unforgettable and surely unforgivable things have been said? These are not passing differences. They are two core sets of values in conflict — love versus duty — going to the very heart and deriving from the deepest beliefs and loyalties of each man. Two opposing identities butting heads. In the months following the tragic and not-obviously bridgeable rift of October 2018 between William and Harry, the younger brother solidified his belief that his family were suffering from “unconscious bias”.

William, for his part, felt just as strongly about Meghan and the need for her subversive “agenda” to be removed from the operations of the British monarchy, which she did not appear to understand or respect. He certainly wanted Meghan removed, for a start, from the hitherto harmonious joint household that he and his brother had operated together for the best part of a decade. William simply did not want her or Harry around any more.

When accounts of the rift started seeping out through the winter months that followed, it was generally assumed that the volatile Harry must have set the pace in the splitting up of the joint Kensington Palace household. He was the brother who visibly departed, stalking off to set up a new home in Windsor, with offices for himself and Meghan in Buckingham Palace.

But the reverse was the case. It was William who made the decisive move. Following his furious confrontation with his younger brother in the autumn of 2018, the prince instructed Simon Case to start the process of dividing their two households immediately. William wished to be separated from Meghan on a day-to-day basis — and that meant being separated from his brother as well.

“William,” says a friend, “threw Harry out.”

©Robert Lacey 2021 Extracted from Battle of Brothers: William, Harry and the Inside Story of a Family in Tumult by Robert Lacey, to be published by William Collins on June 24 at £9.99

[baekberrie]

Kiss me more

Pairing: Jongin x Reader

Genre: pure fluff!!

Words: 1.1k

Your lips were curled into a permanent smile as you took a deep inhale, closing your eyes and letting the current sensation of your heart swelling sink in. Could your body really feel all these things at once? Happiness, shyness, tingles- was it healthy for your heart to skip so many beats in that short amount of time? Maybe it was the beautiful sky looking like a canvas, gently stroked with delicate colors of pink and yellow, sometimes even violet, that made you feel extremely giddy. Perhaps it was Jongin’s sweater making you feel like he was hugging you. Teeth drilled into your lip at the extremely silly thought. It wasn’t cold, not at all. In fact, despite it being evening, the setting sun still radiated warm and comforting rays that would pleasantly burn on the surface of your skin. But a little white lie had escaped your lips before you could’ve even thought it through, telling the clueless Jongin that you were starting to feel a little cold. And now, you were happily floating on the clouds, basking in the sweet musky scent trapped within Jongin’s hoodie.

The white noise of the amusement park was loud but cheerful, happy. The kind of noise that would elate your mood all the way to the stars beyond the sky, sending excited buzzes in every nerve of your body, making your mind rush and it made you want to do all sorts of things that you also had to control yourself from. Like when you and Jongin had been strolling through the different food stalls in the amusement park, talking about the most insignificant thing. His shy index finger had gently nudged your own, asking for permission to lace his fingers with yours, and your heart had been raging so wildly against your ribcage that all your infatuated mind wanted you to do was to grab his face and stamp your lips together before you would die from abstinence...Although you hadn’t kissed yet, although you were still very shy towards each other, there were so many things you wanted to do. You were frankly, almost a bit scared of your own self. These were emotions you had never felt before, and yet, they were so strong, physically pulling you to act into them.

“Sorry! The line was a bit long,” Your heart nearly jumped into your throat when Jongin’s cheerful voice interrupted your train of thought. Turning around, the first thing your eyes met was his starry gaze that immediately lightened up at the sight of you. The smile on his rosy lips was sweeter than pure honey as he stepped even closer, giving you the cotton candy he had bought for you. It was shaped like a rose and the gesture made a gentle, pink hue travel on your cheeks. But he was no different, embarrassedly scratching the back of his neck because he knew that he had made a special order to get it to be like that. He was troubled, wanting to look away because his emotions were too overwhelming, however, drinking in your reaction felt even more tempting.

Your breath was stolen away from your lungs when you finally met his gaze again, only to find him looking like a literal angel. You had no idea how this date had turned into the most romantic movie, but the sunset was making Jongin glow, his gooey skin seemed to resemble sweet caramel underneath the warm colors of the sun. His hair a bit all over the place because of the many rides the two of you had attended, but even so, he was perfect. The way his eyes seemed to hold every star in the universe whenever he would look at you made you feel so loved. The staring session had gotten a bit too intense, you had barely noticed when the two had fallen into a trance. A giggle was bubbling in your throat, but you quickly bit down on your lip to stop it from happening. The innocent action drew Jongin’s eyes towards your mouth as if magnets, but you didn’t notice.

It seemed like Jongin’s favorite thing was to take you by surprise. Because from one moment to the other, his face was extremely close to yours as he leaned in suddenly and took a bite from the cotton candy in your hand. Cold sweat broke on your skin at the whiff of his perfume touching you like a caress on the cheek. Your jaw dropped, not knowing how to react.

“Jongin!” You whined, “I didn’t even taste it yet-” What did breathing even mean? It was as if the action never existed in his dictionary when Jongin placed his slightly agape mouth on yours, letting you feel the sensation of sugar melting on your lips, the cotton candy slowly disappearing and letting your lips connect into the sweetest kiss. It felt like forever at the moment, but when he leaned away you realized how it had only been a few seconds. He was unfair, so unfair as he slowly leaned a bit back. His eyes droopy and telling you that he wanted nothing but to do it again. You wanted it too, a certain sleepiness washing over you.

“I’m sorry,” He then murmured, voice husky and barely audible, sending chills down your spine. “I should’ve asked for permission.” Jongin sounded a little defeated, but you were quick to shake your head and grab the hem of his shirt in reassurance...and also in a silent request.

“Can I do it again?” 

“Please.”

That was all he needed to gently take the cotton candy from your hand and slide his other arm around your waist so that he could be closer. So that your chests could be flushed against one another. Your heartbeats melted into one as he parted your lips gently with his, placing them between yours into a slow, sticky lip lock. He tasted like sugar and popcorn as his hand sneakily, yet hesitantly wandered a bit lower, tentatively resting on your hip and drawing lazy circles on your body. You were fully clothed but it felt like his touch burned right through every fabric.

He was the only one. 

You knew it from the shy smile of his curling against your teeth as you kissed, from the way he never wanted to let you go of your hand. From the way he wasn’t afraid to let out his hysterical laughter when with you.

From the way he asked you to text him before going to bed so that he would know you were okay. 

The things he did to make sure you knew he was yours.

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

AHH who would’ve thought the next thing i’d post would be a jongin scenario???!! It’s honestly all thanks to my new bestie @sooibian for tagging me in her little ask game and giving me the sweetest ideas and inspiration >//< so this one is for you nia!! and all my fellow erigoms❤❤❤ 

Have a nice day sweethearts, mwuah!

[jockpoetry]

supernatural sees women as a tool for development and strengthening of narratives/motivation and dean sees his body as a tool. is that anything?

When I saw this ask I really made the 🥴in real life. So, yeah anon, I do think there’s something to this.

Quick Disclaimer before I actually launch into my thoughts™: A lot of my read of Dean stems from my experience as both an oldest daughter and a transman. Being the oldest daughter was an experience I lived for many years, but I am also a man. I wasn’t raised as a man, I wasn’t socialized as a man, and even though once I came out upon reflection my masculinity was obviously there. Like I was a man™ before I knew I was a man. Even when I actively tied my identity to femininity for a long time! A lot of my prideful moments were based around statements like: “I was the only girl who (fill in the blank).” 

So I am just putting that out there before I launch into my spiel about Dean/Gender/Tool because they all interlock for me. 

I am also going to apologize in advance because I know this has fully gone off the rails and I’m not even done writing it yet. If this is incomprehensible ! Well, happens to the best of us.

First off, most importantly I guess before we discuss womanhood and Dean and the way both are utilized on the show I need to say that I personally don’t subscribe the whole Dean is female coded thing. 

It’s a read I can absolutely understand. But for me..he’s not. 

He’s a hypermasculine man to the point that when (and because he is written as a punchline, as the stupid™ brother, as the whore™, as the mother/father™, as daddy’s blunt instrument™, etc) Dean deviates from the pre-accepted definition of hypermasculine it’s Wrong. 

It’s Instantly Feminine. 

I think the internet has made the world very black and white, or blue and pink maybe. This point, I think, colors a lot of these discussions. Dean cooks, he cleans and so therefor he’s female coded. When that really just feeds back into the whole toxic masculinity loop. You can’t be masculine and cook and clean and cry. That’s for feminine people only. 

I get the argument! I do, I just think that Dean’s actions are not inherently feminine, it’s just in the vacuum of Female and in the Absence of Traditional Masculinity it makes sense to assign him female coded and move on.

IN FACT the way that Dean is the action hero of the show, the Masculine™ one on the show - but he cries, and he rages, and he cooks (Again and Again) and cleans (Again and Again). The fact he’s macho and confident but he has so little self esteem. Is frankly insane to me. You have this blaze of glory character who is so depressed that they have him kill himself. Twice. In explicitly “I hate myself, I hate hearing all the things I hate about myself, I want to destroy myself” ways. 

On just a regular ol’ network show that is just ungodly bad at times. They let their Male Hero cry - all the time (if I linked every example of this the essay would be...longer than it already is, but just take my word for it). Dean tears up and grieves and shows more than just Angry Horny Violent™ (he shows plenty of that, don’t get me wrong) but he’s Emotional (Again and Again and Again). In many different ways!

I mean, beyond even just tearing up, they make their Male Hero™ face sexual violence in pretty, uniquely horrifying - and queer! - ways.

Let’s make it clear, they did a lot of this unintentionally. 

Or they do it as a joke. 

Off of dean for a moment to say women are plot devices in this show. I could probably count on one hand female characters who have sincere depth to them that have roles outside of progressing plot, filling a filler episode, and who are still alive. Like even characters such as Charlie who are wholly developed, and interesting, are only remembered/mentioned/utilized to progress plots or fill an episode out - and then she dies. For pain™ for plot™ for no other reason than to traumatize a character. 

Which let’s also make it clear Dean’s trauma is also only used as a plot device (as is Sam’s but in a different way, and Cas’ trauma is a whole other barrel of fish we’re not gonna dive into right now). Like wholesale full stop they don’t actually care about what happened to him. Unless it’s relevant in an episode. 

Oh that boys home he was left at when he was 16 for months? Sure we’ll sprinkle that in in the back half of the series. Oh he was covered in bruises and said it was from a hunt (when it’s clear contextually they were from his father but saying the fantastical but true is easier than saying the uncomfortable but true). As Dean says though the story became the story, he was sixteen. He just went along with what John said.

We only see Dean ever truly rage at John, by the way, when either Dean is dead (when he’s between life and death and he rages at John, right before John “apologizes” for traumatizing him, for putting too much on Dean’s shoulders, and fucking dying) or John is dead (the Djinn episode where Dean is straight™ and John is dead™ and he goes to his grave and just yells and rages like he should have to his father in the real world).

Dean’s trauma from being both tortured and torturer in hell? Yeah, we don’t talk about that after it’s Relevant™. Even though it’s clear - especially in the demon!dean, mark of cain era, all those years later - Alastair still has his hooks inside of Dean. I stopped watching originally after s8 ended. I was fed up with the show, and with this whole renaissance I’ve been doing a rewatch and I’m into season twelve now and it really has never come up again. 

Even when he had the mark of cain and he was tasked with questioning and accused of torturing it was “the mark has changed you” and not “you were victim and victimizer in hell for forty years, which is longer than you’ve been alive on earth” (and, was about as long as he wound up living. Which is desperately sad.

Because we talk about Sam’s desire for a “normal” life but, Dean wanted out too. He was tired in the first few seasons of this show, he never had a chance to taste freedom (we don’t count the boys home, because that was a different kind of regimented life, and it was a false freedom) the way that Sam did in Flagstaff with Bones or at Stanford with Jessica. Love for Dean is sacrificing, it’s putting himself/his happiness/his well-being last.

Because Dean only knows love in the context of violence (like all of these fun examples, for starters) is a phrase that I’ve said a lot both in private chats and on here, and I absolutely think it goes to him being a tool (a blunt instrument, a plot device, so both textually and metatextually) instead of a person. Which Cas sees Dean’s shame/guilt and sees that side of Dean because he touched his soul, and saw more than just the Righteous™ man, more than just the tool, he saw A good man, not a machine. 

On the other side though you have how “bad guys” view Dean: Desperate, Sloppy, Needy, Dean’s hole (Again), which is again so wildly counterintuitive to the story of a Macho Man Hero™. You’re using vocabulary that is both queering him and feminizing (and I know this a meme format, but sincerely it is done in a derogatory way it is feminizing. It’s breaking him down to bare parts, to a sloppy hole). 

My whole rewatch I have been absolutely fascinated by how identity and free will is utilized/conceptualized on this show. Castiel has been my main focus, but Dean and how he is framed by himself and others is...fascinating - and frustrating. The writers inconsistency lends itself not only to this unintentionally queer character, but also one that again is incredibly easily read as a non-traditionally masculine character.

As a feminine character.

This show has so few female characters that of course it had to foist the roles/behaviors/plots that a female character might have onto a male character. Which I think is part of why reading Dean as trans (either transmasc, or transfemme) is so easily done like.   

Half of these are shit posts, but you can find trans allegories/textual evidence in this show again, again, again, again, and again. And this is unintentional, they don’t want you to look at Dean and see woman, former future or present. Like a lot of these I’m sure are punchlines for them, because women/queer folk are punchlines to them. 

Sometimes the only women in an episode are random witnesses who get two sentences of dialogue, and then the main guest character is a man. Who flirts with Dean, and Dean is receptive to it. 

They paint themselves into a corner, there are female Rabbi. So easily could Aaron have been a woman instead of a man, but they made the choice to play up the HaHa Dean & Men card. 

Because, again, Dean has filled the slot of Woman™ of Female Lead™ and the flirting would’ve been straight if Dean was a woman. It’s a plot device, they needed to have the guest character be disarming, be cute, make the main character flustered. 

It’s just the main character is a man, because they’re allergic to women. But they still need those female plots, tools of femininity, to move their show forward. I mean I am a big subscriber to transmasc Jo (no idea if anyone else is with me on this one, but let me explain). Jo is in love with Dean (concept) not Dean (actuality). Which, we’ve all had our eggs cracked by someone like that. We were in love with them until we realized we just wanted to be them.

He loved her like a little sister, she loved him like a lost idol. He’s a golden calf and she dies for him, because she believed in him, she was the original character dashed at the altar of the Winchesters. 

I fully believe if she had lived and if this show had a crumb of actual good writing Jo could have been a deeply compelling transmasc character. But I also think she’s a fascinating inversion of Dean. Dean is a Masculine Character who subverts Toxic Masculinity, Jo is a Tomboy™ she’s not your (if you take it straight, literally and metaphorically) average female love interest. She’s angry, she’s not soft at all, all edges and corners and thorns. She isn’t helpless, she’s stubborn but not in a “you’re going to get punished for this” way. She’s right when she’s stubborn. She’s helpful, she’s a martyr. 

I could do a whole other essay just on Jo (and Ellen, and Ash, what a fucking trio!) but needless to say Jo was one of the first...plot device feminine tools sacrificed to this show. She was a regular, she was unique, she was an engaging character, and she still died (to progress the plot? no. for man pain? yeah, for like three episodes maybe, and then it’s forgotten just like the rest of Dean’s trauma, as we mentioned above). 

Dean and Women and Love is a very interesting tool used too because. Boy they sure try to make Dean love women and it fails in small ways, and in big, meaningless, failed het domesticity (again) ways. Not to mention whatever Lust (in the form of a woman) having no effect upon him, when they could have used that moment to assert his Masculinity and Heterosexuality. He behaved normally? And...also...whatever the fuck the Adios thing was!

Like they have these opportunities to make him Traditionally (toxically) Masculine, but make the choice to...not? To soften him. Because it’s a tool. He’s their female lead, textually he had to take on the role of mother(/father) to Sam, but...I mean this is a million miles long already. I know, but we absolutely can’t not talk about his Paternal/Maternal behaviors. (Which appear again and again again and again, outside of his relationship with Sam even/especially). He’s the mother hen, sage, safety net, beacon, home to so many side characters they meet.

I mean in many ways Jody is also a Dean comparison. Lost her family. Found a new family. She is non-traditionally feminine, but easily flustered and Silly™ (let’s just drop the entire sex talk over family dinner scene with Alex and the boys and looking to them for help, even though she was already a mother, and she’s a cop, and a hunter and this confident no nonsense individual.... She’s not). We are meant to see her as this hard ass, but she makes extra food for the boys to take back to the bunker. She’s deadly in a fight, but also still easily overwhelmed and put into damsel mode, and she cares so much even in the face of adversity.

It’s also fun to see how Jo | Jody are reflections of Dean at different points of his life. Younger, cocky | Older, settled.

Even when the text tries to tell us that he’s not.

When it reminds us that he’s violent. That he is his father, even if he says that Sam is more like John (which was reflexive, which was angry because of Adam and how Sam was behaving like Dean in that episode, and yes there are parallels to be drawn between Sam and John, the show barely dives into them). Instead we’re told that Dean is John (Again and  Again and Again and Again). 

So intensely that a fanfictionalized version of the Winchester Gospels makes it an entire fucking musical number. 

And yet, despite the texts insistence to make Dean Macho Man Father Reborn™ We get this Dean who is silly (and directly compared/contrasted to the female character in this scene), soft, in heels, nagging, and... Sully (you know Sam’s imaginary friend who has the same Haircut Dean has, who is a softer, shorter, friendlier, campier, version of Dean who was a replacement For Dean until the real one let Sam back in? That? Sully?) it’s hard to take them seriously. 

Hell, even when he was A DEMON? What did they do? They had him sing off-key drunken karaoke, they had him doing this ! Like that’s your hero, unhinged, free to be as bad as he could be, and you put him in a cowboy hat in a romance with the king of hell. 

The Female Lead, everyone. Who’s biggest betrayal(s) comes at the hands of his love interest (again, a man even though it was an angel who could’ve taken any vessel! who could’ve been recast, who canonically dies admitting his love to Dean - that one), who he tries so hard to be loyal to. 

The contradictions of his character are laughable. He is so emotional, but if he is engaged about his emotions? He shuts down, or he’s exasperated about being asked about them. It really is Female Lead/Only Here For The Plot disease, because everything is more important than him. How’s he doing? Doesn’t matter outside of the context of how x character is doing or that y character is dead. Or his emotions only matter if they’re done in penance. 

They also really do frame him as Pretty Boy™ in a violent way, or in a derogatory manner. They’ll give us homoerotic shots like this or these and never really acknowledge how these are gay shots. Sorry the gun scene is a a straight up sex scene, the beer sip spilling out over his mouth is oral, the scene where Cas fills up Dean’s glass with whisky is also a sex scene, they do this shit on purpose but accidentally queer it up. If Dean was a woman these scenes wouldn’t even matter. They’d be passing moments, but because he is not just a man but A Man™ they’re insane to see.

Not to mention all of these scenes and all the ones I haven’t linked where Dean dresses up. He performs masculinity, but he performs femininity too. He’s a plot device that is slotted in to whatever role they need. He’s Super Straight Butch Man™ but coaches the lesbian on how to successfully flirt with a man. He’s Action Hero™ who sits through a montage with the same lesbian and yays and nays her outfits, and enjoys himself.

Fuck he loves dressing up, he feels better in these costumes because performing a character is easier than being himself. Because who is Dean? He’s a tool, both textually and metatextually. It is exactly how the women and because of the women on the show that Dean is the way that he is. If there was a more steady female presence Dean would not be half as much of a plot device or half as camp/gay/feminine/non-traditionally masculine/queer coded as he is. 

In conclusion....

[romioneficfest]

Right Here, Right Now

Title: Right Here, Right Now

Prompt/Day: Rooftop (Day 10)

Tumblr Name: 

Rating: T

Brief Summary: Ron and Hermione share a tender moment under the stars during the summer following the Battle.

Any possible triggering/warning tags: Mild language

Word Count: 1,229

--

It was a dry, clear summer night and just chilly enough for Hermione to remember to pull on a jumper before she went outside. The jumper itself was thick and cozy, maroon in color, and had a large “R” printed on the front.

She sat with her knees tucked up against her chest, body tilted forward from the precariously steep angle she was sitting. She left the window to her bedroom unlatched, always fearful that she'd unintentionally lock herself out on the roof without her wand in tow. For good measure, she patted the back pocket of her jeans to ensure that her wand was still in place.

Hermione relaxed her muscles and tightened her hold on the wool blanket that was draped around her shoulders. She was grateful that she had conjured up a second blanket to provide a cushion of warmth between her bum and the coarse shingles on the slanted roof.

The sun dipped below the horizon, and the city darkened, taking on a blue hue as the world exploded into a plethora of stars that looked like scattered moondust across the sky.

Hermione basked in the peace and quiet, appreciating that her parents lived far enough out of the city to avoid the massive light pollution.

It had been a little over two weeks since her family had returned from Australia, and she had spent the majority of that time earning their trust back and making up for what they had lost. They worked hard to restore her childhood home to its former glory, removing all traces of destruction from the last year.

She wasn't sure if the restoration would've been possible without Ron.

Ron. Her boyfriend.

"Ron," she whispered aloud.

She couldn't get enough of saying his name, and she closed her eyes, picturing her ginger-haired best friend turned romantic partner with his deep azure eyes and lazy grin that she adored so much.

"Hey, you."

Hermione's eyes snapped open, her head turning sharp in the direction of the familiar voice. Ron was perched on her windowsill, poking his head out through the small opening.

"Ron." There she goes, saying his name again. "What are you — how are you here?"

Ron held up a small device in his hands that resembled a silver cigarette lighter, and comprehension dawned on her.

The deluminator.

"I heard you — your voice. In here.”

Hermione couldn't mask the smile that spread across her lips. "I should’ve known.”

Ron crawled fully onto the roughly arched tile, taking the open spot next to Hermione on the blanket after she scooted over to make room. She held one end of her blanket out for Ron, inviting him into her warmth. Although she wanted him to be comfortable on this cool night, she also wanted him closer for her own selfish reasons.

"Nice jumper," he remarked with a smirk.

Hermione’s cheeks turned a deep shade of red, almost matching said clothing item. In an effort to retain some composure, she kept her eyes trained on the pattern of stars in the unobstructed sky. The distant, glittering sparks spoke to her in different ways over the years, providing a sense of calm during her summers at home in between the chaos of her years at Hogwarts.

Hermione loved stargazing. No singular experience was the same, and this one was the best because she finally got to share it with Ron.

“What were you thinking about when you said my name?”  Ron questioned, tossing the device once into the air and catching it.

Hermione laughed and gave him a funny look. “I would’ve thought that was obvious.”

He nudged his shoulder with hers. “Doesn’t mean I still don’t want to hear it from you.”

Her eyes gleamed up at him, his own shining with the ambient sky glow, before leaning her head against his shoulder. She felt him wrap the blanket tighter around their connected bodies. "I was thinking about how much I wished you were here with me right now."

"How come you never mentioned that you liked to, quite literally, live on the edge out here?" Ron teased.

"You didn't ask."

"It's hard to ask about something you didn't know existed."

After all of these years of knowing each other, it was amazing that they still had things to learn about each other.

"I don't think you have any idea what this spot has meant to me over the years.”

In the next moment, Ron hooked a finger under her chin and lifted her head. His eyes flickered at her with a different emotion, and a serious expression crossed his face. "Do you have any idea how much you mean to me?"

Happiness streaked through Hermione like a shooting star, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. "If it's anywhere near as much as you mean to me, then...yeah. I do."

He leaned closer, almost so close that she could taste his lips. "Can you promise me something?"

Hermione’s eyelids were already fluttering closed. "Anything.”

"Next time you feel the urge to whisper my name, send me a Patronus, yeah? I'll be here faster than a Firebolt."

Hermione barely had time to nod before pressing her lips against his, surrendering herself to bliss. His hands were sliding up her shoulders, cupping her cheeks, before finally tangling in her mass of curls. He felt so warm and gentle, and this moment was perfect. It was as if all of the previous moments she spent out here on this rooftop had served a greater purpose — to allow her to unearth a joy unlike any she had ever known.

Right here, right now.

When Hermione pulled back from his embrace, a set of words escaped her lips, with so much ease that she wasn’t quite sure why she had never said them before. "I love you, Ron."

The look of pure adoration he sent back to her was enough to make her heart melt. His eyes glistened with tears, and she could see him visibly gulp as he processed her words.

Ron furiously wiped his tear-stained cheeks, ducking his head before speaking roughly. "Fuck, I don't know why I'm crying."

"Ron Weasley..." she quipped, astounded by the vulnerability she was witnessing.  

"Oh, shut it."

Hermione only grinned in response, her eyes once again finding the awe-inspiring constellations, soothed by the silence that surrounded them.

"Hey." Ron’s whispered voice diverted her attention back to her ginger-haired man.

He brushed a single curl from her face, his mouth curving up into a brilliant smile. "I love you too, you know."

A thrill of joy rippled through her, and she made an incredulous ask before she could stop herself. "Really?"

Ron harrumphed, looking mildly dissatisfied with her response. "Always the tone of surprise."

To avoid Ron seeing her flushed cheeks, Hermione flattened her palm against the back of his neck and crashed her lips to his, allowing nothing but happiness to consume them.

When they broke apart for a second time, Ron chuckled with a candid smile. "Do you realize how mental we are? We spent how much time not doing this?"

Hermione giggled, only snuggling closer to him as they settled in for a night under the stars, sharing mutual moon-kissed faces.

Nothing meant more to her than sitting on a rooftop with her best friend, her lover, her forever.

[pwarkluv]

❝ what is love? - l.mk ❞

lee mark x reader | fluff | 2k words

WARNINGS | lowercase is intended, idol au, love at first sight au, 6thmemberofitzy!reader, shy!mark and shy!reader, fluff bc that’s what i’m best at LOL, another request :), just enjoy <3

REQUEST | “hii i read ur electric love fic w jisung and i really loved it :DD could you do the same for mark ? still as the 6th member of itzy ofc :D” - my lovely anon <3

SUMMARY | he wonders what is love, but finds the answer in you.

AUTHOR’S NOTE | inspired by the song “what is love” by twice (english lyrics by genius translations)! ANOTHER REQUEST HDSFKLDSJHF IM SO SO SO SO EXCITED! i wanted to change up the setting so it’s still 6th member itzy, but not in weekly idol :P ALSO this was inspired by when nct dream, itzy, and stray kids sat next to each each other in that one award show so yeah lolol. IM SO SORRY I LOST THE MESSAGE WHERE MY ANON ASKED FOR IT BUT I STILL WROTE IT FOR YOU! I LOVE YOU, THANK YOU, NEVER BE SHY TO DM ME ;)

what is love?

mark knew the general idea of it; the sappy moments movies show, the “butterflies in your stomach” feeling books portray, the pain and hardships songs make you feel. 

but he’s never been in love, at least not like this.

❝ how could it be as sweet as candy? ❞

training at such a young age molded mark into the perfect idol, and with that he was fully aware dating would look bad to the public. he accepted the fact that he might never find love, all to help achieve his dream. 

but as cheesy as it sounds, the canadian wished to be loved. 

yes he was loved by his members, his family, his friends, his fans; but the type of love he longed for was something none of them could give him. 

mark wanted to feel the sweetness of being in love, the giddiness you’d feel whenever you talk to them, the pounding of your heart whenever they’re near. he wanted to experience the overwhelming need to be with that person, like if they’re gone for too long it’s like you can’t breathe.

was being in love like making a song for the very first time? or was it like eating watermelon all the time?

so many questions with no answers, the boy left to wander in his own thoughts. 

❝ how it’s like flying in the sky? ❞

he smiled bittersweetly as the newly wed couple danced around in confetti, the sound of laughter and cheers resonating around the room. one of nct’s managers that had been with them since the beginning invited them to her wedding, to which the team obviously accepted. 

all 23 of them were happy for their noona who found her happy ending. mark could only watch in awe at the sight of the two lovebirds, the love and adoration for the other evident in the way they looked at each other.

his heart tugged a bit knowing he wanted something like that too. 

“being in love is like flying in the sky.” his manager explained to the boy as a makeup artist experimentally brushed strokes on her face. it was a couple hours before the ceremony when mark knocked on her hotel door, wanting to visit his favorite noona before she finally said ‘i do’. 

his question left his mouth before mark could fully register what he was about to say, the poor boy flushing a bit as the woman laughed at him. 

“are you in love mark? is that why you’re asking me how i knew i was in love?” she teased as mark stutterd, denying her accusation.

“n-no i swear!” he said as his manager continued laughing, the makeup artist having to pause a bit to let her get it all out. “i’m just curious.” mark said quietly trying to stop the heat from rushing up to his cheeks. 

“well being in love is a magical feeling.” the woman said, turning a bit serious. mark sat up straight as he listened intently. “when you realize you love someone, it can be a scary thing. love isn’t perfect mark, and i want you to know that. there are moments where you want to scream and rip your hair out, or cry to let it all out.”

the boy nodded in understanding, having a bit of knowledge from all the good breakup songs taylor swift writes about. 

“but it can also change your whole world.” she continued on. “it’s like seeing the world again for the very first time and the colors are more vibrant. it’s like having a permanent reason to be happy, and a reason to stay.” she explained as the mark sat quietly trying to comprehend it all. 

❝ i wanna know know know know, what is love? ❞

the poor boy’s head couldn’t wrap around the thought of you. 

his heart hammered in his chest as he secretly glanced at you, desperately trying to avoid suspicion from fans and his members. you were just too breathtaking, having the canadian looking back for more. 

the moment he first laid eyes on you, it was like an epiphany. you were the answer to all his questions.

so this is what it feels like, mark thinks to himself as he looks back on all the things he’s heard about love. 

the butterflies, the pounding of your heart, the “seeing the world in a whole new perspective”, mark felt everything and as much as he felt excited, he was scared.

as harmless as it sounds, award shows were a risky thing for idols. being surrounded by fans of different groups as well as said groups themselves always seemed to cause a bit of a stir between fans.

between dating rumors and rumors about beef between two idols, anything could happen.

but usually mark would be okay. he’s been doing this for a long time and knew how to behave.

however what he didn’t expect was to see you, the tiny rookie idol from the newly debuted girl group ‘itzy’. 

nct 127’s table was right next to yours which let mark have a clear view of your pretty eye smile as you laughed at something lia had whispered into your ear. your laugh was bubbly and contagious, the boy having to physically stop himself from wanting to laugh too. 

he was panicking, but mark couldn’t tell if it was in a good or bad way. 

❝ what does love feel like? ❞

your breath hitched as you saw the boy sneak glances at you from the corner of your eye.

the mark lee was looking at you, your heart racing as you tried to deny the fact that he was staring you down. there was no way the dude you’ve looked up to your entire trainee life is noticing you, no way at all.  

everyone has heard of mark lee even if you weren’t into kpop. he was just that iconic. 

you’ve been an nctzen since the very beginning, being there for nct u’s debut stage. in fact, nct was the very reason you decided to audition to become an idol in the first place. you looked up to the team but more importantly you looked up to a certain canadian in the group.

originally doyoung was your bias in nct when nct u first came out. but as the years passed by you found yourself more and more intrigued by mark, having him absolutely wreck your bias list.

since then you’ve been a loyal mark stan, even rapping his part in cherry bomb for your audition tape which ultimately led you to become an idol yourself. 

you refused to believe you were in love with the dude, not knowing a single thing about him. there was no way you could love him, not if you’ve never even met the boy.

but your heart seemed to prove you wrong as it beat wildly knowing mark was sitting right there on the table next to you. 

“you okay bubs?” lia asked in a worried tone, leaning in to whisper into your ear. she saw the way your leg bounced in a fast rhythm, knowing you only did that when you were nervous. 

you forced a smile as you hesitantly looked her way, knowing that she could take one look into your eyes and know you were lying. “i'm fine unnie, don’t worry about me.” you replied as sweetly as you could, wishing the elder wouldn’t notice a thing. 

though you two and yeji were the eldest in the group, all being born in the year 2000, you were the baby of the unnie line. lia and yeji knew you the best, having grown up with you after all. 

the girl only gave you a look before taking your hand in hers to give a soft squeeze. “i know you’re lying but i won’t push you. also mark lee from nct 127 is totally checking you out.” lia said, whispering a bit on the last part. she winked as you flushed, looking away in horror. 

-

johnny nudged the boy next to him with a small smirk, clearly seeing the heart eyes he was giving the girl in the table next to them. mark jumped a bit at the feeling, looking at his hyung with confusion.

“so y/n of itzy?” johnny said with a small smile as the younger immediately sat up straight. 

“is it that obvious?” mark whispered back with a hint of fear in his eyes.

if any of the fans were to get a hold of this… the boy could only shiver at the thought. 

johnny’s playful smile dropped a bit at mark’s worried look knowing how he must feel. they were idols after all.

“don’t worry, i only noticed because she was looking back at you too.” he said, mark flushing at the revelation.

“really?” he asked a little out of it. 

“i say talk to her after this?” the elder said, laughing a bit when mark jumped in his seat, immediately saying no. 

❝ will love come to me someday? ❞

“unnie why are you making me stay in the dressing room~” you whined as the end of the award show came along.

you just wanted to go home, your body worn out. not from all the dancing but from the way it viciously pounded in your chest whenever you ever thought about mark. 

lia only smirked in retaliation as she brought a hand up to squish your cheeks. “trust me, you’ll thank me later.” she said as she walked out of the dressing room, bumping into a 6 foot tall boy with a smaller boy behind him. 

“oops sorry.” she said a little playfully, as lia gave a wink to johnny knowing their plan was going accordingly. johnny only gave her a small smile, but if you looked closely you could see the mischief in his eyes. 

“hyung where are we going?” mark asked, a little weirded out by the two’s interaction. johnny only ignored the boy, dragging him by his arm as they walked down the hallway. 

“hyung i swear if this is a prank i’ll-” mark’s words were cut off as the two entered a door, only to see your confused face staring back at him. 

“oh shit.” he cursed under his breath, a little taken aback from how beautiful you were. one whole award show later and you were still as gorgeous as when he first saw you sitting down in the table next to his. 

your confused face quickly turned to an embarrassed one as you noticed the boy, turning another shade of red when you noticed he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

“hi y/n, my name is johnny and this is my band mate mark.” the taller boy said, holding his hand out in a handshake. 

“h-hi i’m y/n.” you stuttered, not expecting to see the boy you’ve been daydreaming about for the past two hours to be right in front of you. 

mark gawked at the sight of you, his mind malfunctioning as the words seemed to get stuck at the tip of his tongue.

“markie right here has something he wants to ask you.” johnny said, pushing the younger in front of him with a grunt. 

this seemed to knock him right out of his trance, a hand coming up to the back of his neck as he stared down at the floor with pink cheeks.

“do you maybe wanna-”

“yes.” you blurted out, a hand covering your mouth in shock. “i-if you were gonna ask if i wanted to hang out sometime, the answer is yes.” you said a little shyly as the boy smiled. 

all this time mark thought he was gonna find love, but maybe love found him instead. 

“i’ll pick you up at 6 tomorrow evening.” mark said with a sweet smile as he took a step back only to be pushed back up again by johnny.

“you don’t even have her number you dumbass.” the elder scolded, disappointed at how dumb the boy was. 

your laughter caught both of the boy’s attention as you put your hand out with a small smile. “you want my number or nah?”

[bella-caecilia]

For your color drabble prompt: Fluffy yellow and purple, please!

Hey, dear! Thank you for prompting me :) The purple prompt can be found here (x). And now finally, here comes the yellow colour drabble. I decided to make it pre-canon (hope you’re alright with this). The idea for this prompt came to me as I thought about the fact that it’s confirmed the first thing Robert does every morning is giving his wife a kiss. Hope you enjoy this young Cobert fluff!

Yellow – Happiness

1891

First, she thought sunlight kissed her awake. Tickling her nose, warming her cheeks. But then Cora remembered that the thick drapes in the Mercia bedroom and the deep winter months made an early greeting by the sun itself highly unlikely. And then there it was again. A warm sensation brushing her face.

She tried to turn in her sheets but something held her back. She groaned against the unwanted resistance in the early morning and made an attempt at pulling the sheets over her head instead.

“Hey…” sounded a soft-spoken hum.

It still confused Cora to wake up and not be alone in her bed. It was a sweet dream to finally come true. But it was so different from how life had been before, that in her especially sleepy state in the early hours of the day she always needed still some minutes to adjust to reality.

But now, she remembered Robert lying next to her in the sheets. Her heart skipped a beat at the realisation, and she was a whole deal less sleepy instantly. She ceased her fidgeting, abandoning the intention to return to the land of dreams, and tried to take in the sensations around and inside her in detail instead, her eyes still closed. That she was not yet ready for, looking into the eye of another freezing day of wintery hustle and bustle when all she wanted to do was to stay cuddled up in soft blankets.

She blamed her rapidly growing desire for comfort and warmth on her physical state. Mama and also her lady’s maid didn’t think it unusual for her to develop stronger desires and aversions here and there since the doctor had confirmed the glorious news of the growing offspring blossoming under her heart. The more so as Cora’s urges weren’t particularly unpleasant or concerning in any way. Mama said her ‘pregnancy laziness’ was maybe a little unpractical regarding the teaching for becoming a worthy successor and that it had a snobbish touch to it, but Mama meant she could deal with that and the elaborate lessons would be resumed even more resolute after the birth of the little joy. The thought made Cora a little restless because her lessons as they were called (it was actually just her days being spent closely with Mama who picked up every little opportunity to teach Cora a lesson about the proper aristocratic life), got dangerously close. The birth of her baby was a few more weeks away, two months at the most the doctor said, and Cora couldn’t imagine returning to daily life in Mama’s presence as exhausting and testing as it had been before her long-awaited pregnancy, probably even more so. She would have her lovely little baby, and she wouldn’t want to do anything but devote herself to her child. Hers and Robert’s. Oh, it gave her nearly more thrills to think about that than when she first found out she indeed was with child. Back then, everyone had been pleased and especially relieved to find her capable of bearing their family’s future. But the news hadn’t been connected to the mutual joy between her and her husband as Cora had dreamt of in her most daring dreams. They hadn’t been the loving couple overjoyed by the blessed proof of their love. Robert had been pleased and happy and had then been able to divert parts of his attention to other things. Cora had been filled with her new purpose and had been set to start this journey on her own merits. Her joy had been damped by the rapid decrease of Robert’s visits at night. But after a few weeks, she had pulled herself together and had tried to fulfil her role as a joyful expecting mother as best as she could. It wasn’t a role unsuited to her, and that made it easier to stick to her determined decision of making her success in her new role independent from the state of her marriage.

But something had changed during her pregnancy. Something inside of Robert, and Cora couldn’t pinpoint it to a specific event. But suddenly, he was there. With her. And now, he sought her company and welcomed it if she sought his. He came to her room more often and he even stayed the nights. And recently, he took up to sleeping in her bed just to be at her side. Cora considered that perhaps his own bed was just terribly uncomfortable, but the way he stroked her cheek before he turned to lay on his side to fall asleep told her otherwise. The explanation Cora didn’t dare to consider on her own came after some weeks. His love confession had been a little bit rambled and had been characterised by the red tip of his ears and the nervous wringing of his hands as she had confronted him one night with the question of what he did in her room again after they hadn’t even slept with each other just next to each other the last couple of nights. In retrospect, that had been a move too fiery for Cora’s own liking but the repeated kicking in her abdomen resulted in her portraying more of a quick tongue than was typical for her. And it turned out all just great. He loved her; he really did.

Cora couldn’t comprehend how they got closer with every day. She hadn’t imagined it possible. They loved each other, and Cora thought this was it. They were to love each other now, and things would be sweet, and romantic, and, golly, easier! But her marriage with Robert got more exciting with every day that passed and more familiar at the same time. Cora didn’t know how this worked but she couldn’t care less as long as she saw Robert’s adoring face every day.

Nearly every morning now, she was greeted by his softly-gazing face. He had taken up the habit of kissing her awake with a small peck on her cheek or forehead. And with a “good morning, my dear” he slipped carefully and quietly out of the bed to don his dressing gown and leave for his room next doors to ring for his valet. Cora was usually left in a sleepy and blissful haze.

“Hey… it’s just me,” Robert now whispered, and Cora felt his palm gently stroking the curls loosely adorning her temple. His hand followed the track of her probably wildly flowing mess of hair, only barely held together by an amber ribbon. “Please relax,” his voice was velvety soft. A tiny sigh escaped Cora’s lips.

Just as she thought how distinctively she sensed Robert’s warmth at her left, she felt the distant pressure of his other hand on the blankets covering her belly. She opened her eyes for the first time this day, and after blinking a few times, she took in her husband lounging next to her, slightly propped up on his elbow and following the tentative movements of his own hand on the protruding abdomen of hers, hidden and veiled by light covers. The whole room was set in a warm honey light. The marigold curtains in Cora’s room were suffused by the first rays of the morning sun, and it reminded her of the few walks with Robert at golden hour. She had always rested her hand a little more firmly in the crook of his arm and had imagined how they made the exact same walk but with Robert blissfully telling her about the beauty of nature and of his darling wife. Maybe, she contemplated, they could take a walk like this sometime. Maybe it wasn’t a dream so far away anymore.

But with Robert’s beatific serenity, this moment was perhaps even better than these walks at golden hour. It seemed he hadn’t yet noticed that she had finally opened her eyes, and maybe he had even forgotten that she was awake because his caresses on her belly became a bit more present while his gaze got dreamier.

“Good morning, Robert,” she said softly.

…

She looked at him with smiling eyes, her light blue eyes shining nearly golden in the morning light.

Robert didn’t understand how she made him happier with every day. It didn’t matter really what she did, but just being her sunny self lightened his mood considerably. And even though, she had already received her good morning kiss Robert had to lean forward once again.

His lips cupped the round of her cheek gently. It was the first time he realised fully what the expression apple cheeks meant. It wasn’t mainly about the red colour for him that characterised a young lady’s apple cheeks. It was about the full form highlighting the sweet cut of her cheekbones. Maybe it was also a lot about the colour he pondered but he didn’t care because Cora’s cheeks were apple cheeks nonetheless even if they had only a slightly rosy hue to them most of the time. Her cheeks felt so soft and tender against his lips. He hadn’t anticipated the pleasure of kissing someone’s cheeks before his marriage. But it was a great pleasure, and he decided to take his time for this today. Cora laid serenely beneath, and he once felt her fluttering eyelashes tickling his cheek. A strong urge to protect her struck him, and he held a securing hand around her shoulder.

After some time, he pulled back slowly and his eyes instinctively sought her happy smile again.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

“Oh, my lady’s maid,” Cora whispered, her wide eyes locking his eyes with a look of great intensity only Cora mastered. Robert remembered that Turner, Cora's lady's maid, was tasked by his mother with waking Cora at the right hour for the impending events of the day. Apparently, this started rather early today.

“What are we to do?” he whispered back unsurely. He wasn’t used to this. Usually, he got up and rang for his valet before Cora’s maid turned up. They seemed to have lost track of time today.

Cora shuffled back fully beneath the blankets. “Pretend to be asleep,” she breathed.

“What?” he mouthed silently as the doorknob moved with quiet noises.

“Trust me,” she responded. When Robert’s head hit the pillow and his eyes closed, he felt the rush of cold air indicating the maid’s entrance. The dull thumping of her heels on the carpet filled the bedroom. After a few steps, there was a sudden quiet except for an audible intake of breath. Robert knew it was the moment the maid had noticed him. He dearly hoped she didn’t saw the light colouring rising up his chest and neck in embarrassment. He really liked sleeping in his wife’s room but he didn’t think it would be the best to be found there in the mornings. It should at least appear he had a little bit of propriety. The servant made a beeline for the windows on the other side of the room swiftly. Apparently, she had decided to open the curtains and send the couple a silent message thereby. Then, there was movement next to Robert in the sheets.

“Turner?” his wife’s clear voice spoke softly after the first curtain was pulled aside. “Would you mind letting the drapes closed? Lord Downton and I still need some minutes to rest I think,” she whispered, her voice more groggily than seconds before.

The maid’s response was breathed in passing. Something between “Of course, milady,” and “Excuse me, milady,” and Robert tried to stay ‘asleep’ as best as possible all the while. The door closed silently behind Turner.

“Cora!” he hissed when the air was clear. “They will talk!” The look on Cora’s face was not a single bit concerned. How could she be so unbothered by things like this? “Mama won’t take resting in the mornings, in your room, as an acceptable occupation for the viscount and viscountess,” he clarified.

“Be that as it may,” she stated with calm resolution. “I think these little steps into uncustomary terrains are worth it, Robert.” His name rolled from her tongue so very American. That was probably why she didn’t bother with social standards. It was as Mama said so often. Her American way of thinking made it so very hard for her to adopt the English way of living. But Robert realised that it was actually just when it was the two of them that Cora really didn’t care for social standards. Otherwise, she was so very eager to do things right the way Mama proclaimed. She was willing to internalise aristocratic propriety so much she already was a lady.

“Worth it what for?” he inquired carefully, not quite knowing if this was the right way to go, but desperately needing for her to say it. He just wanted to stay by her side, enveloped by her warmth right now. Maybe her explanation would help him ignore propriety and Mama’s expectations for a moment.

“For us, it’s worth it, Robert. For us,” she said patiently as if it was the clearest thing there was, and with the gentle tone of a loving mother, explaining her child the same simple thing over and over again. She would be just perfect with their child. She was already perfect.

Robert responded to her brave conquest of a prolonged morning for the two of them with a firm and eager kiss on her lips.

[tobias-hankel]

Our Shirt

Summary: Emily and Penelope try hiding their relationship from the team, that is until a shirt outs them. Rating G 

Pairing: Emily Prentiss/Penelope Garcia

Prompt: Fluff #1 - “Is that my shirt?” “You mean our shirt?” with Penemily for 700 follower drabble.

Word Count: 797

--

It was no secret that Emily and Penelope had wildly different tastes in fashion. Emily preferred darker clothes, like an adult version of her gothic high school days while Penelope preferred clothes that embraced her bubbly and happy personality.

This wasn’t a problem for either woman. They liked that they were different. That is until Emily forgot to bring a spare shirt when she was spending the night at Penelope’s. They were supposed to have the following day off but Hotch called bright and early telling them that they needed to be in as soon as possible.

“Shit..” Emily said as she hung up the phone with Hotch and started to climb out of bed.

“Case?” Penelope asked, sitting up herself.

“Of course, because we can never get a day off. Hotch will probably be calling you next.” Emily said and as if on cue, Penelope’s phone rang. “See.” She said with a laugh, heading to the restroom to get ready for work.

Emily came back out five minutes later. Her hair was brushed, face washed, and she was wearing a new pair of pants but only a black under shirt.

Penelope, who was in the middle of slipping on one of her dresses, smiled at the sight, “You know I love seeing you princess, but you are kinda forgetting something for work.”

Emily went behind Penelope to zip her dress up, something she was used to doing, “I forgot to pack a different shirt.”

Penelope shrugged, “Just wear the same one and change when you get your go bad from the office.”

“And let a group of profilers see me come into work wearing the same shirt as the day before? No thanks.” Emily said with a laugh.

Even though Emily and Penelope had been dating for months, the team still didn’t know, and they wanted to keep it that way for the time being.

Penelope walked over to her closet, “I might have something you can wear.”

“Baby, if I wore anything you wear the team would know right away.”

Penelope looked anyway, pulling out several shirts that Emily shot down before pulling out a grey tunic shirt with a few black and white flowers at the bottom and the tag still attached to the collar. “Here!”

Emily looked the shirt over. It was the perfect size to fit Emily’s frame without being baggy and to fit Penelope’s fuller figure without being too snug. It also fit both of the woman’s styles with the flowers being perfect for Penelope and the colors being perfect for Emily.

“You are a miracle worker, for sure.” Emily said with a bright smile.

--

Emily wore the shirt without issue and didn’t think about it again until the same thing happened to Penelope a month later. The only difference was that Penelope spilled wine on her shirt while at Emily’s place and needed something to wear back to her place.

Emily gave Penelope the shirt back and she even wore it to work the next day without thinking. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice.

It wasn’t until three months later when it happened to Emily again. She accidentally fell asleep at Penelope’s forgetting she didn’t have a go bag in her car and forgetting to set her alarm. She woke up the next morning in a rush. She needed to be at a meeting with Strauss in 30 minutes.

Emily went into Penelope’s closet and grabbed the grey tunic, slipping it on and hoping no one would notice. She then gave Penelope a kiss on the cheek before leaving, not bothering to wake up Penelope as she still had time to sleep in.

--

Later that day the team filed into the conference room for their morning meeting and a few eyebrows shot up at Emily’s shirt. Emily sighed at the looks she was getting; she knew they knew. They most likely knew when Penelope wore it too, but still no one said anything.

No one but Penelope. She walked into the room, a few files in hand, and stopped when she saw Emily, “Is that my shirt?” The question fell out of her mouth before she could stop it.  Throwing her hand over her mouth when Derek gave her a look.

Emily laughed, “You mean our shirt?” She said, walking over to Penelope and giving her a hug. There was no point in hiding it.

Spencer put his file down, “Does this mean we can stop pretending we don’t know about them dating?”

Penelope took a moment to fully understand what was going on. She studied Emily’s face and saw that it held no regrets. So, she answered Spencer by turning to face her love and kissing her in front of the team. No other explanation was needed.

--

@m0thg1rl I hope you like it! Thank you! 😁

[mochiusagifanficchaos]

Sherlock xMute!Reader •Part 6•

You turned around in your sleep, trying to not lose the cool dream you just had and to dream on.

But something was off and kept you from drifting off into your wonderful dream world again.

It smelled different, nasty, like iron and dirt and your hand hurt.

There was something cold around your wrist.

Startled you opened your heavy eyelids and tried to sit up but a sudden wave of pain rushed in your head and made you feel dizzy.

You narrowed your eyes to make the dizzy feeling go away before you opened them again.

It was pitch black around you, you couldn't even see your own hand before your face and something around your left hand stopped you from getting up from the mattress you were sitting on.

Scared you felt for the thing around your wrist.

It was a handcuff. You are handcuffed to something.

Panicking you wildly yanked at the handcuff, trying to get it off.

But it was no use. You just hurt yourself by bruising your wrist even more.

              ------- 1 week ago ------

"Waiter!", someone from the other side of the cafe shouted, holding his hand in the air and waving widely.

Sighing you grabbed your big black wallet from the counter and the sales check, knowing that he probably wanted to pay. As you walked over you heard the bells of the door and from the corner of your eye, you saw a tall man in a long coat entering the cafe. You first mistook him for Sherlock but quickly realized that it wasn't him as the man pulled down the wet hood from his head, ruffling through his messy black hair to get the raindrops out of it.

He flashed you a bright smile as he noticed you staring at him.

Blushing slightly you returned the smile before turning back to the customer, handing him out the sales check.

He tipped you and left the cafe with the women who had set with him on the table.

Swiftly you cleaned the table and brought the two cups back to the kitchen.

While washing the cups, your thoughts drifted off to Sherlock again. You thought about him often but lately he never really got the time to visit you at work. He jumped head over heels from case to case and when he was at your cafe, he barely noticed you, being too caught up in a case he was working on.

Right now he was in Germany, he followed the trace of a "big fish", as Watson called it, and you haven't seen or heard from him for two months.

Hopefully, you checked your phone. Your screen lit up and showed the picture, which Watson did some month ago, of you and Sherlock cuddling. But there was no message from Sherlock.

Sighing again you pushed your phone back in your pocket.

You felt silly. You fell in love with a man who was known for not having any kind of sentimental feelings.

The thought that he probably didn't even care about you as much as you cared for him got stuck in your head and pulled your mood down for weeks.

"Is everything okay?", a deep voice suddenly asked and you flinched.

You looked at the man beside you startled after being pulled out of your thoughts before nodding a few times.

The man was the person you had first mistaken for Sherlock some minutes ago, he smiled warmly at you and had his hands in the pockets of his coat.

Now, fully back, in reality, you noticed that he was standing in the kitchen, the place where no customer should be so you quickly pushed him out.

He looked at you a little confused but chuckled: "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you."

You waved your hand slightly to show him that it's okay, but he just looked at you even more confused.

'I can't talk', you wrote on a side of the little notebook you always had with you and showed it to him.

"Oh! I'm sorry.", the man apologized kindly. "Uhm, I just wanted to get you because some customers have shouted for you and you have been back there for over 20 minutes so..."

Over 20 minutes? You could have sworn that it has only been a couple of minutes. Puzzled you looked at the clock on the wall above you. He was right.

The man laid his hand on your shoulder and bend down to you a little: "Are you sure that everything is alright?"

You slowly nodded your head again, even though you were clearly not okay.

Smiling widely at him you tried to overact the fact how worked out and emotionally drained you were.

Taking a deep breath you walked over to the few customers, taking their orders and collecting the money.

It was 19 o clock and about time to close the cafe. All the customers had already left, beside the man in the coat. He was still sitting on the table on which Sherlock used to sit and sipped on his third coffee.

With a smile, you placed the sales check on his table and pointed to the clock to tell him that he needed to go.

"Oh, sorry.", he laughed nervously and gave you the money plus a big tip "Thank you for the coffee".

The man grabbed his coat from the chair and waved you goodbye before leaving the cafe.

Panting you placed the broom back in the storeroom, grabbed your jacket and donned it.

The cold air crawled under the thin fabric of your clothes as you stepped outside and closed the door of the cafe, locking it.

Shivering you pulled the scarf closer to your face.

"Hey-", a voice next to you suddenly said and you jumped in shock, letting the key from your hand fall to the ground.

The man in front of you knelt down to pick the key up and placed it back in your hand.

"I'm so sorry!", he apologized. It was the man from before with the coat again.

Disappointment grew inside of you, your heart ached for Sherlock and you saw him in every person who looked similar.

You tried to smile at the man and gulped the feeling down.

"I think I forgot my phone at your cafe, so I ran back in the hope that you would still be there.", he explained and scratched his head, laughing embarrassed.

Huffing amused you opened the door again and gestured him to follow you.

Quickly you got two phones you found today out of the little safe and showed them to him.

He picked the black one and checked if it was still working.

"Thank you so much, you just saved me.", he said laughing and put his phone in the pocket of his coat.

"My name is Jonathan by the way."

Smiling you shook his hand and pulled your notebook out to write your name on it.

"(Y/n), beautiful name.", Jonathan complimented. "May I take you home? It's already pretty late and I think it's safer for you if I accompany you."

You had agreed to him taking you home, and he did, talking a lot to you about everything he could think of.

Jonathan came often from now on, nearly every day he sat there, drank a coffee or two and talked to you whenever you had time for him before walking you home in the evening again.

You both exchanged numbers and wrote for hours in the night.

He made you happy and brought this warm feeling back.

He made you forget about Sherlock.

The doorbell rang while you were humming your favorite song inside your head.

You looked up to see who just entered the cafe and nearly dropped the empty glass in your hand.

His wild brown locks hang on his face.

His grey coat all wet from the rain outside.

And his blue-green eyes searched for something in the room.

As they met yours, they stopped searching and a small smile appeared on his lips.

Tears swell up in your eyes. Tears of happiness and tears of anger.

You couldn't decide if you wanted to slap him for not having heard a word of him for 3 months or if you wanted to hug him.

"Is everything okay?", Jonathan next to you suddenly asked and laid his hand on your shoulder, worried.

Sherlock narrowed his eyebrows, he eyed Jonathan up and down and instantly had a bad feeling about him. He didn't know what it was, but he didn't like that guy.

Without thinking Sherlock grabbed your hand and pulled you into a tight hug, pressing you against his chest.

You couldn't see it but Jonathan stared with poor evil in his eyes into Sherlock's.

He looked mad, really mad and only Sherlock saw it.

The doorbell rang again and you peeled yourself out of Sherlock's warm embrace, even though you wanted to stay like this for the next couple of days.

Watson had entered the cafe and smiled at you warmly, giving you a quick and tight hug as a greeting.

You turned around to Sherlock again and saw how Jonathan held his hand out but Sherlock didn't shake it, he just stared at him blankly with his hands in the pockets of his coat.

"I think he's jealous.", Watson whispered into your ear and you giggled.

It really looked like this from your point of view, but in reality, Sherlock was just analyzing Jonathan. He tried to read him.

And he could. Easily. Too easily.

It was as if someone had placed the right hints at the right places, it wasn't natural.

Middle-aged man.

Lives alone, his shirt and trousers are crumbled.

Likes coffee, a coffee stain on his shirt.

Not much money, his coat is old, the color washed out and the sleeves are fringe.

He's a smoker, yellowing of the teeth and between the index and middle finger.

Annoyed Sherlock looked away. Jonathan was too easy to read and too friendly to you.

A little forcefully he pulled you out of the cafe, Watson following you both, wondering about what was going on.

"He's dangerous.", Sherlock told you while holding you by your shoulders. "Something about him isn't right. He tries too hard to make you like him, with all this perfume and the outfit, trying to look like me. You should stay away from him."

Watson laughed at Sherlock's words and you joined him, your shoulders shaking in amusement.

"Are you jealous, Sherlock?", Watson asked mockingly and got an angry look from him.

"I mean it, Watson! Something is off, he's too easy to read and-"

Smiling you ruffled through Sherlock's hair and kissed him on the cheek, to show him that he doesn't need to worry before you walked inside the cafe again.

"(Y/n)!", Sherlock shouted after you but you had already closed the door behind you.

Angry and frustrated he ran his hand over his face and into his hair.

Watson patted him on the shoulder: "I knew that you are also just human."

He left him alone in front of the cafe and walked down the street to their apartment.

Worried Sherlock bit his underlip and gulped his frustration down.

He felt helpless.

You didn't take Sherlock's "warning" seriously and let Jonathan walk you home again.

He was too nice to be a bad guy, Sherlock was probably just jealous or maybe just a little paranoid after all those cases and everything that had happened to you.

Jonathan wished you a good night as he dropped you off at your home and you hurried to get in your bed, under your warm blanket since you were exhausted.

Cuddling into your blanket you slowly drifted off into a deep sleep with a smile on your face, thinking of Sherlock.

You turned around in your sleep, trying to not lose the cool dream you just had and to dream on.

But something was off and kept you from drifting off into your wonderful dream world again.

It smelled different, nasty, like iron and dirt and your hand hurt.

There was something cold around your wrist.

Startled you opened your heavy eyelids and tried to sit up but a sudden wave of pain rushed in your head and made you feel dizzy.

You narrowed your eyes to make the dizzy feeling go away before you opened them again.

It was pitch black around you, you couldn't even see your own hand before your face and something around your left hand stopped you from getting up from the mattress you were sitting on.

Scared you felt for the thing around your wrist.

It was a handcuff. You were handcuffed to something.

Panicking you wildly yanked at the handcuff, trying to get it off.

But it was no use. You just hurt yourself by bruising your wrist even more.

New chapter will be up next weekend!

Hope you liked this one and thank you for reading 🥰

My Wattpad: @/lilakudo

Tag list ❤️ @misselsbells06 @fictionalhoomanofnowhere @a-paper-cut

[pedropascalunofficial]

My Cousin, Pedro Pascal

Ximena Riquelme

16 NOV 2017 12:53 PM

Before being the protagonist of Narcos or filming with Colin Firth, José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal (42) was a child whom I knew very well because we are from the same family. A man who today looks with nostalgia and some perplexity at his place of origin and his history and who still does not answer what would have happened if he had stayed here.

The first memory I have of Pedro is in the arms of my mother during his baptism, in the garden of my house. She was a weeping bus and had huge black eyes. I was 9 years old. It was cloudy. Years later I learned that the priest was Gerardo Whelan, the legendary rector of Saint George's College. Pedro's parents were not at his baptism: my uncle, José Balmaceda, my mother's only male brother, and his wife Verónica Pascal were asylees at the Venezuelan embassy, which was on Bustos street, near my house. Pepe, as we used to say to my uncle, who years later would become a famous gynecologist, an expert in fertilization, was then a 27-year-old young doctor, in those days wanted by Dina. Some time before they had hidden Andrés Pascal Allende, Mirista and his wife's uncle. One day they came to take him to the José Joaquín Aguirre Hospital and he managed to escape by jumping through the roofs. It was October 1975.

Like most of the Chilean families, there were supporters of both sides in mine: for and against Pinochet. Trying to help Pedro's parents, my dad called a relative who held a high position in the Army. "Tell the children to get asylum, because I cannot guarantee their lives or that nothing happens to Veronica," was his reply. She was 22 years old. Then began the journey of my uncles and with them that of my cousin José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal. Pepe and Verónica had to start living secretly in different houses. Pedro, who was only 6 months old at the time, and his 3-year-old sister Javiera were left in charge of my mother's older sister, "Aunt Juani."

The second memory I have of Pedro is when I accompanied my parents, who carried him and his sister in their arms, to stand on the sidewalk in front of the Venezuelan embassy so that their parents could see them through the window.

My uncles left the Venezuelan embassy for the airport in January 1976, Pedro was 9 months old and obviously does not remember anything. I just remember that they didn't let me go. Pedro could not record the image, which I could not see, of his grandfather Luis Pascal Vigil - a very prominent lawyer - singing the National Anthem on the balcony of Pudahuel. A memory that is not mine but that I adopted, for cute.

As the people of the International Red Cross advised our family on time, Pedro and his sister did not leave the embassy with their parents, but arrived directly at the airport: this allowed their passports not to be stamped with the "L" for " limited to circulate "that stamped on the exiles who left. Therefore, the years that Pedro and Javiera came could come to Chile without problems. And for that reason, the choclón of cousins, we were able to share long summers in Pucón and some winters in Santiago.

The Balmaceda Pascal first arrived in Aarhus, Denmark, in October 1976. A year later they left for San Antonio, Texas, where Pedro's father was able to continue improving himself thanks to a grant from the Rockefeller Foundation. Veronica earned a PhD in Child Psychology.

________________________________________

"But Denmark is invisible to me," Pedro writes me by email. A while ago I proposed to interview him at a distance to travel a little about his history, and here we are, in front of the computer, sharing memories. "It is invisible to me, like everything that happened before. Although once, after telling him about my childhood, a doctor told me that the temporary separation with my mother was trapped in the memory of my body and that I could remember it through the senses".

My cousin, far away

The third memory I have of Pedro is a summer in Pucón. It must have been in 1978. "Pepelo", as we said, was no longer a guagua but a restless, very blond boy, who was so impacted by poverty in Chile that when he went out on the street with his gringo accent, he asked any person: "Are you poor?" He took food out of the pantry and gave it away. With my cousins we rented a warm wooden house, colorful, with the door frames out of square. It was summers with trips to those black sand beaches that burned the feet and picnics in Caburgua with lamb on the stick. They took us to mass and Pedro sang very inspired.

"This is where the memories become more vivid, like dreams," he writes. "I remember so many details: my older cousins, children my age who were like family. The beach seemed endless. I also remember running down the hallways and stairs of Aunt Juani's house looking for Santa Claus at Christmas."

XR: What was it like leaving your parents in the United States?

PP: "I think the trauma was going back to the States, although I obviously wanted to be with my parents. But childhood in Chile, with the Balmaceda and Pascal, was a dream, a world where nothing was missing, pure adventure and love."

Now that he tells me that, I remember that image of Pedro hanging on the neck of our aunt Juani, crying in Pudahuel because she did not want to return. At that time going to the airport was a panorama: we were going en masse to leave him and his sister, who traveled in charge of the stewardesses.

In 1981 I went with my parents and my two sisters to see the Balmaceda Pascal in Texas. I remember an eternal road trip from Miami, I remember Pedro's house, in a middle-class neighborhood, comfortable, beautiful, lovingly arranged by his mother. I remember the tears of my mother and Pedro's mother when we said goodbye to return to Chile. We still didn't know when they could return. Although Pedro never fully returned.

In December 1983, Pepe and Verónica were able to enter Chile. The whole family was packed on the terrace of Pudahuel, waiting for them. I remember the Balmaceda Pascal walking from the stairs of the plane to the International Police. I remember them happy, triumphant. Pedro was 8 years old and chose to stay in my house, in love with my girl sister.

We all went to Quintero, to the house of our grandfather Pepe, a great smoker, tennis player, and fanatic fanatic who took us to the town cinema to see double Tora! Programs, Tora !, Tora! More Bridges on the River Kwai and other old movies. Surely Pedro had to see several. Since he was a boy he said he wanted to be a "director". He liked horror movies and was a big movie consumer, like his dad.

PP: "I remember going to the movies with the cousins and the grandfather to see anything with Clint Eastwood, Sylvester Stallone. They leased me VHS movies to see alone and happy."

XR: You once recited Hamlet on the beach with Grandpa.

PP: "No, it was Death of a Salesman, by Arthur Miller. I was about 14 years old. I videotaped it and lost the fucking camera on the trip back to the United States."

After that summer, Pedro began to come more sporadically. He was already grown up, at school and then at university. They had moved to Newport Beach, California. His father was doing very well. But Pedro, not so much.

PP: "I think that the way the family supported me in Chile was the opposite of what I experienced in Newport Beach. I started well in California but at 13 years old, very involved in the cinema, reading plays, books, TV, TV, TV, obsessed with these things, I had the bad luck to find few like me. It was a world very attached to conservatism and its privileges where not fitting was punished. There was a group of shitty goats who were my friends the first year and became my terrors thereafter. I don't enjoy remembering that time, but there are deep connections from back then. Friends of my parents who are like parents until today."

Pedro's mom soon found a performance arts program at a high school in another district. A more inclusive school compared to Corona del Mar, the neighborhood where they lived in Newport.

PP: "My mom and my driver's license were my salvation. There I was able to unleash my appetite for movies and theater without limits."

As time went by Pedro became a fun, provocative teenager with character. He said he was "lazy", but he went to study Theater at NYU in 1993 and he loved it. I started to see it less. When he came to Chile he went out with his friends, I was already married and having children.

XR: Did you find that our way of life was very boring?

PP: "Bored, no. But overwhelming regarding life's permanent decisions. I didn't have the Catholic structure, and I felt there was no room for a young guy like me. Like suddenly, from one trip of mine to another, you had lives that included marriages and children, and pleasing the visits of the gringo cousin was no longer an option for all of you. I had to duel, because I was jealous of his inattention."

XR: Do you find us very conservative?

PP: "Yes, but it is a major contradiction for me. I come from the perspective that no one can decide how someone else should live their life. And well, in our family there are social rules that are very firm. I think that a person has the right to live his life conservatively or wildly as long as he does not negatively impact anyone or tries to embarrass others by his lifestyle. I don't touch these issues very much with our family for fear of hearing their perspective, but what I do know is that if I ever needed help I could ask any member of our family by the name of Balmaceda, and I would get it."

In 1995, Pedro's parents returned to Chile with their two youngest children, Nicolás and Lucas, who had been born in California. Javiera also came for a couple of years. Pedro stayed in the United States.

PP: "It was a very scary period. I grew up with my family in the United States and from one day to the next there was no home to return to. Suddenly the idea of the safe nest was gone. It was shocking because in previous years I took for granted the privileged life we had in California. I never thought that this could change as suddenly as happened to my parents when they became exiles. Everything felt fragile. Also, I knew that my parents' marriage was wrong and that the tension of those circumstances was hardly going to end. My mother's life felt in danger and the line between needing her, being there for her and finishing my studies and pursuing a career was a horrible conflict. I knew that my mom wanted me to continue doing mine, she never would have wanted me to sacrifice it."

XR: Did you really resent the failure of your parents' marriage?

PP: "For me it was the hardest time. I have not been able, and I do not know if someday I will be able to reconcile completely how my parents separated and the tragedy that came after that separation. The circumstances of my mother's death made it very hard for us to keep her memory of who she was. It hurts so much ... Sometimes I feel distressed and try to face it in the best possible way, because I know that my mother would not like me to do it in any other way."

Pedro lost his mother when he was 24 years old.

PP: "It's hard to say what I remember most about her. You met her, so it is easy for you to understand that she was the love of my life. I think of her every day. Since I don't pray, I can't say that I have a practice to feel her close, but I live for her even though she's gone, and that makes sense to me."

From Alexander to Pedro

XR: Do you believe that pain makes us stronger or does it seem like a horrible clich��?

PP: "I don't think it's a terrible cliche but a profound reality. In some way, losing the most important person in your life, discovering that something like this is possible and that what you fear most in life can happen is an identifiable and permanent moment. There is a before and after after his death. I think, yes, that old age would not have been for my mother, there would have been no footwear with her. Of course, no one wants to grow old, but others can handle it better. I would not have liked to see my mom struggling with it, but at the same time, I wish I had her every day still with me."

It may have been the summer of 2012. Pedro said to our aunt Juani: "I am 37 years old and I still can't get what I want. And it's the only thing I know how to do." It had been a long time since the death of his mother in the summer of 2000 that Pedro had changed his name. From Pedro Balmaceda to Pedro Pascal. He had been searching for years, years of casting where, by being called Pedro Balmaceda in the studios, they hoped to find a Latin or classic Mexican phenotype. He had only made minor appearances in some series.

XR: Although you did not regret it, you did wear Alexander at some point. Why?

PP: "That was a desperate period and directly related to having lost my mother. I was desperate to work, to fill my days with something more to suffer. To eliminate the confusion that casting directors had with this guy named Pedro with European or Caucasian traits, I changed my first name to Alexander and took my mom's last name, Pascal. That only lasted a year, until I was able to find a job and be selected for an Ibsen theatrical classic. But it was too late for people to identify me as "Alex". Also, my mom named me Pedro. So the decision was to call me Pedro Pascal, a name that fits with me more than any other."

Soon after that came Brothers and Sisters, other small roles, and later more important ones in The Good Wife, The Law and Order, The Mentalist, until Game of Thrones, Narcos in 2015 and now, filming Muralla china with Matt Damon and William Dafoe - last year we all went to see his cousins together - and then Kingsman 2 with Colin Firth, Julianne Moore, Jeff Bridges, Halle Berry and Channing Tatum.

XR : Have you ever been excited acting with such powerful actors?

PP: "I have been thrilled with everyone."

With fame have come the new meetings of the cousins with Pedro Pascal. We all want to see him, take pictures of us, we ask him for greetings-chub for friends, we inflate ourselves by saying that he is our cousin. That Peña, the protagonist of Narcos and the sexiest guy in the world, is my cousin-brother. He laughs and humorously calls us "scoundrels" because now we remember him. In fact, that's what our cousin chat on Whastapp is called.

But there is also the modesty to disturb him. Know that you are busy. That while I'm sending you these questions, you're filming in Boston with Denzel Washington. And to feel that there is always a lack of time to speak to him calmly, a space to ask him questions like the ones that occur to me now:

XR: Exile changed your life. Can you imagine growing up in Chile?

PP: "I don't know, because I haven't thought much about it. I have been asked this question all my life and have never been able to come up with an answer. Perhaps my life would have been more complete and solid. What I am used to is that the past disappears as if it had been lived by someone else, in another time."

XR: Do you miss something from when you were Pedro Balmaceda?

PP: "You know? There is very little difference between Pedro Balmaceda and Pedro Pascal. As it is all part of José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal, I feel the same person. But with back problems and more money."

XR: Would you like to start a family?

PP: "Being a dad? I don't know. I have no fucking idea. I love being an uncle. It may just end there. But anything is possible."

XR: Marialy Rivas said something very nice about you on Saturday: that when you play a character, you pretend that this character brought a whole previous story, much bigger than what they are telling. And it's true: you carry a bigger story than you tell it.

PP: "I don't know, cousin. I am very confused trying to organize the past and see what turns out. It helps me understand the pain or be grateful for what I have. Sometimes I feel like I'm a fraud, living between waiting for fame and attention and completely embarrassed by these wishes.

In reference to what Marialy said, I think she means that I put all my confusion, joy and sorrow, ambivalence, hostility, rage, love, lust, greed, compassion, ignorance, knowledge either to indicate a map with the finger on Narcos, throwing an arrow in Game of Thrones, lashing out at Kingsman. Cool! But I think my experience in theater taught me that."

XR: Would you someday like your life to be a script?

PP: "No way." (in english)

XR: Do you still want to be a "director", as you used to say when you were a kid?

PP: "Yes! That will be my way of being a father. Father of a production."

XR: Is dreaming about an Oscar the dream of every actor, even if you don't confess it?

PP: "I confess that possibly… yes."

[bleachanimefan1]

The Song of the Titan

Chapter Fourteen,

Hunter moaned and tossed and turned as sweat began to drip from his face as he was having a sleep inducing hallucination. In his dream, he saw a man and a woman sitting underneath of a tree together. Hunter saw that the man looked a lot like him, but he was a human, seeing that his ears were rounded, not pointed like a witch's. He had short blond hair, and he was wearing very strange clothes that looked like from a different time period. The man's eyes were also a different color. Instead, a pinkish red, like Hunter's, they were dark blue.

The woman sitting next to him, had long lime green hair tied in a braided pony tail, dark tan skin, she was wearing a long white robe with dark blue linings, and white witch's hat. Hunter eyes widened when he noticed that her eyes were an familiar color. They were emerald green, like Azara's. The woman was making a crown made out of flowers with plant magic. As she finished, she placed the crown on the man's head, but he didn't seem to notice it as his attention was elsewhere.

As Hunter approached, getting closer to them, he saw that the man had something in his lap as he was writing something down. Hunter looked closer and saw that it was a book. A journal perhaps? Hunter wondered as he watched the two. The woman let out a bored sigh and turned her head towards the man, who was not paying her any mind.

"When are you going to put that down?" Hunter heard the woman asked. The man didn't look at her, his eyes still glued to the book as he wrote in it.

"I have to record everything in this strange world as a guide for my brother and I, and anyone who come across this and read this." he told her. The woman pouted, puffing her cheeks out, getting annoyed. Then she decided enough was enough and reached over and plucked the book right out of his hands.

"Azura!" the man shouted as he tried to grab it back from her. Hunter's eyes widened in shock. Azura? As in the good witch Azura?! Why was he having a dream about her? And what did she have to do with this man? He watched as he saw Azura held the book away as she pushed him back, placing her hand on his chest, while he tried to grab it. "Give it back!"

"You need to take a break," Azura told him. "You've been writing in this thing day and night ever since you and your brother came here."

"I've gotten plenty of sleep, thank you very much," the man denied. He practically had dark circles underneath of his eyes from the lack of sleep.

"You liar." Azura frowned, dismissing him. "You're still not getting this back."

Suddenly, the man lunged forward, grabbing the book, and two fell backwards, as they lost their balance. Azura laid on the ground on her back, while the man hovered over her, looking down at her. The two stared at each other with shocked looks, their faces turned completely red, blushing. The man quickly got off of her and Azura sat up.

"That was unexpected," she replied. "Very bold coming from you."

"I'm sorry," The man stammered, nervously, still embarrassed. Azura laughed, making the man blush even more and let out a frustrated growl.

"How cute," Azura teased. "I didn't know that humans can turn this red."

"Well, who's fault was that!?" The man sputtered.

"Well, you wouldn't listen," Azura argued. "I had to get your attention somehow." The man said nothing and she continued. "Can you at least take a five minute breather? It wouldn't hurt you. Please, for me?" She asked. The man stared at her for a few seconds before giving in and sighed.

"Fine," He replied. "But, only for five minutes." Azura reached out and pulled him down so that he was now lying down with his head on her lap. He then began to close his eyes while Azura began to run her fingers through his hair then soon enough a fell asleep.

"You're such a weirdo." Azura smiled softly, watching him as he slept and snored.

Suddenly, Hunter stirred as he felt something brushing through his hair, softly. He groaned and slowly opened his eyes to see emerald green eyes staring back down at his.

"Welcome back," Azara said, smiling. Hunter noticed that he was lying down in her lap and blushed, his cheeks and the tips of his ears turned red. He quickly sat up only to instantly regret it when he felt a sharp pain in the middle of his back. He looked around and saw that he was lying on a bed. He noticed the portal key was sitting on a small desk next to the bed. Okay, he hadn't lost the portal key. That's good! Much to his embarrassment, Hunter also saw that he was half naked, seeing that his shirt was gone and there was a large bandage wrapped around his torso, but he still had his pants on, his boots were sitting in a corner near the door.

"Where am I?" He asked.

"The owl house," Azara answered him.

"The owl lady's house?" Hunter murmured to himself. The last thing that he remembered was getting away from Belos then he was flying with Orion. His eyes widened. Orion! Hunter quickly began to look around wildly for the little palisman until he heard a small chirp and looked down to see Lil rascal at his foot.

"Your little bird has been by your side the entire time since you were brought here." Azara explained. Hunter sighed in relief seeing that the palisman was alright and picked it up, cradling it in his hands.

"You're okay," Hunter said, happy to see the red cardinal. Lil Rascal chirped in response, it sounded a little angry.

"You scared me, passing out like that! I didn't know what to do!" Then the little bird decided to pull on Hunter's long strand of hair as revenge.

"I'm sorry," Hunter stammered before smiling sadly. "Seems like all I ever do is cause you trouble." Lil Rascal stared at Hunter for a minute before flying up to his shoulder and nuzzling against his scarred cheek.

"Wait, you can understand him?" Azara asked. Hunter nodded.

"Yes, when a witch bonds with a palisman they can talk with them and understand them," Hunter explained. Azara hummed, interested. She began to grow excited thinking about it more as she wondered if she would get a palisman of her own one day. A cute little friend to sit around, have adventures, and talk to all day. Hunter looked outside the window seeing that the sun was going down, it was in the afternoon. "How long was I out?" Hunter asked.

"A year," Azara told him.

"A year?!" Hunter exclaimed. Azara chuckled, seeing his cute reaction.

"I'm kidding!" she reassured him. "You've only been out for two days."

"What happened to you?" Hunter frowned looking down at the floor, silently.

Hunter looked down at the sheets, thinking. Two days...That's a long time that he's been away from the castle, since ever. His uncle probably had sent some scouts to retrieve and capture him. He never wanted to go back there again. For the first time, Hunter was completely lost. He didn't know what to do.

"I'm guessing that you found out the truth," Azara pointed out. "What was he going to do to you?"

"He was going to use me as a new body for himself, which is failing," Hunter told her. "He's slowly dying." Hunter sighed. "I just can't believe that he would do this to me! I dedicated my entire life to him! I know that I should be angry at him but, I can't. He's the only thing that I have that's close to family. Without him, I'm nothing."

"Hunter your not-"

"What am I going to do now?" Hunter interrupted her. Azara stared at him as he continued. "I have no where else to go. I don't even know who I am!"

"Don't be silly. You know who you are, you're Hunter," Azara answered him.

"I know that!" Hunter replied, frustrated. "But, what am I? Who am I a clone of? That's who I want to know. Why was they so important for me for Belos for to make me a clone of them? Why he did he hate them so much?"

"Well, when the time comes and when you find your answers," Azara answered him, placing her hand on top of his. "I'll help you." Lil Rascal made a chirp making Azara and Hunter look down to see the cardinal staring at them. "We'll help you." Azara smiled. "You're not alone in this."

"I'd like that." Hunter made a small smile. Suddenly, the door swung open, bashing against the wall, hard. Hunter and Azara both jumped, startled, and turned their heads to see Luz, Eda, King and John standing at the door.

"Oh, good you're up!" Luz smiled. "How are you feeling?" Eda walked over to the two, but her eyes were focused on Hunter. Hunter could feel his heart pounding with each step that she took. What was she going to do to him? Interrogate and beat him for answers? Curse him with wild magic like it did with his uncle? Hunter began to panic as he saw the owl lady was now right at his side. She placed her hand on top of Hunter's head, making him look at her, then she bent down her face leveled with his.

"Now, I can get some answers from you."

"We're you listening in on us the entire time?!" Azara shouted a little angry and annoyed. Eda ignored her still looking at Hunter.

"I don't fully trust you since you were one of the emperor's stooges," she said. "You're going to have to prove it to us that you completely left them." She stepped back, releasing Hunter, crossing her arms.

"What do I have to do?" Hunter asked. "I'll do anything!" Eda had a determined look in her eyes.

"Where's Raine?"

[yanderecandystore]

may i please get a small fic about the loveshrooms?

I didn't expect anyone to like the idea, but I'm so glad you did!

I was going to bring a Yan Bakugou into the mix but- I felt like I could end up disappointing you in a way so I'll just leave it as a ambiguous character, what do you think?

Also, love shrooms is actually a really good name lol!

TW/Tags: loss of sanity and mentions of depressive thoughts // fungal contamination and mentions of diseases (and quarantine) // none gender specific (neither the reader or the character mentioned have their gender assigned) // touch starving // victim blaming mentality.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

In need of help [Yandere!Virus/Fungus x Reader - Short Fanfiction]:

They were laying in their bed, wondering what the hell was happening with their body. It's been a week since they started to feel this way, endless headaches, hot burning skin temperature yet a feeling of always being cold dominated them, as if they were naked in the middle of a blizzard.

One day they started feeling dizzy while they were at work, so their boss has told them to go back home and rest, and they haven't gone back to their jobs in a full week because of some random sickness they got!

That's what they thought back then, they thought that this was all just a little flu that had ruined their days, but no, it turned out to be something completely more different than that.

They have heard about some sort of disease outbreak happening in their town, something that was still fairly new and mysterious to even the highest of doctors and world leaders. It was so sudden, out of nowhere people started to show symptoms of some sort of new illness, something that develops slowly yet quietly.

The contaminated would feel all that they were feeling right now, if not worse, since a lot of contaminated have shown some weird aggressive behavior randomly. Those that were contaminated were told to limit their contact with other people, some were privileged enough to be able to stay in hospitals receiving professional care, but they couldn't do that, they didn't want to believe that they were contaminated by some stupid looking fungus.

They just… Really, really didn't want to see a doctor, even if the symptoms are getting worse and worse, something forced them to keep their mouth shut. They didn't want to go to a hospital, they didn't want any doctors or scientists experimenting on them, they didn't want to be trapped inside that pearly white hell.

They heard rumours about servers experiments being done inside each hospital available, which caused the contaminated to get even more desperate to get out of there.

The thing is, no one knows if the contaminated were the ones who had decided that they didn't want to stay there, or if something else was dictating that decision.

Apparently, the cause of such distress was a little mushroom species that have only been discovered after the first incident happened. An incident where the first contaminated to fully develop the parasite had attacked someone in the streets (well, allegedly attacked, since there is no proof of the guy actually hurting someone, but it doesn't matter now since he was eliminated before he could attack someone). After that the contamination had spread wildly, it was as if the existence of such a dangerous thing had just been announced and out of nowhere, the damn thing had taken a hold of people's lives.

In one second everything was fine, and then in the next they were stuck at home, feeling hopeless. At least they don't have to be the lab rat of some crazy doctor and scientist. Until now, it has been pretty easy to hide the fact they were contaminated, key words being "until now", guess what happened?

"- Fucking- itchy fungus." They yelled as they continued to scratch their itchy arms, there were visible pink and red blotches around them, and on top of that they were now hurting because of how much force they were using on their itchy arms.

They have learned that it takes too many weeks for it to develop marks around the contaminated bodies, and that the mushrooms spread and thrive in cold habitats.

And guess who was the idiot that has come back from hiking in a snowy forest about two weeks ago? Yeah that 's right! This imbecile right here!

"- Ugh, what the hell do you want from me?" It's been three days since they started talking with the fungus growing inside them, since they noticed that indeed, the fucking thing comprehends human communication somehow.

Or maybe they were just insane.

This was basically an everyday routine, the mushroom would get agitated, they would ask it what it wanted, and in a brilliant moment of concentration they would remember exactly what the mushroom wanted.

"- Pizza again? Come on, you're going to make me spend all of my savings on some lackluster pizza?" They said while looking at their colorful arms, they needed to cover them if they wanted to see anyone else soon.

You see, ever since they started to stay inside their house to not spread the contamination, they have been ordering pizza at a very terrible place that sold only the most boring pizza they could have ever eaten. No flavor at a cheap prize!

It seemed like the stupid fungus had taken a liking to the terrible taste of nothingness, so they had decided to obliged with the fungus wishes.

"- Stupid parasite, you're lucky I can't beat you for making me waste so much in daily deliveries." They continued to be grumpy about it as they put some clothes on, normally they love to spend their time alone naked, and apparently the fungus also agreed with the decision. What? It's their apartment, they can be naked if they want.

They took their phone and typed the number to the pizzeria, well, at least they never take too long to deliver their mediocre pizza.

"- Hi, it's Anthony's Pizzeria, how can I help you?" They heard a familiar voice come from the other side of the call.

Oh.

"- What-!" They yelped, almost causing the call to accidentally end right there and then.

It's you, it's your voice! They know it it's, they are sure of it!

"- … Uhn, hey, are you okay-"

"- I'm f-fine, sorry!" They have interrupted your question, they were so caught up about your voice that they forgot to order the pizza.

Oh but your voice! Your voice was so different in the call than in real life, it's so… Interesting! Yeah, that's surely the word they were looking for!

They have called so many times yet this was the first time you were the one to pick up! They guess that because of the contamination and quarantine stuff going on, they were low on staff and you were the one receiving the orders.

After all, you were the only person that worked there that would deliver their pizza every single time. It became such a normal thing that you two even know each other's names!

[Y/N], it's such a beautiful name, it fits the owner. Although they think you're pretty unlucky to have to work at a terrible place and also do deliveries to an unwelcoming neighborhood.

That's the reason why you're the one to always bring their pizza, it's because you're the only worker that they are willing to risk in such a terrible place. Fortunately, their only client around this area is them.

When they were about to finish their order, they asked if you were the one that was going to bring the pizza.

"- Yeah, it is me. You know, low on staff and all, why do you ask?" You ask them with that welcoming voice of yours. A hint of happiness graced your tone, you were happy that it was them ordering again.

Although you still think that their obsession with mediocre pizza is a little concerning, you ended up forming some sort of friendship with them. An odd one for sure, but you're still happy about it.

When you first met them, they would always give you some really scary vibes. They were so, well, cold and closed off. Never smiling, never giving tips, always in a terrible mood, etc.

But recently, they started to treat you with so much respect, even joking about your job with you. The first time you saw them smile, you thought you were seeing a completely different person.

You're still glad you found this new version of them. They look happier and you felt good for them. Maybe they have found their own happiness.

To hear your confirmation was the most exciting thing they could have heard all day! They were sulking in this disgusting room all day, yet hearing that you're coming makes them feel alive!

They can't even hide their excitement, you can hear them being happy and giggly over the idea of you coming over. Even if technically you're only coming there to deliver them their order and all.

When the call ends, they soon are brought back to reality. When they were talking to you, they felt like they were in the best place on Earth, yet when they looked around their apartment they could only observe the clues of a disgusting creature living in this dirty ass place without ever cleaning it, not even once.

It's a depressing sight, yet they have learned to deal with it. It was normal for them to be lazy and an absolute pig, although they are aware that even pigs are a lot cleaner than them.

They should at least take a shower before you come in.

And just as the idea of you being anywhere near them came into their mind, their personality had switched again, from a grumpy depressed loser to… to…

To whatever the hell they are right now!

Seriously, they were feeling like shit all day, yet at the moment the opportunity to see you comes up, they feel like their day it's already 100 times better!

They feel their heart pounding at an incredible passing, the water of the shower hitting their skin helping their temperature to cook down. They don't even feel so cold anymore, they feel- Powerful!

They feel better than the last time they saw you, which was yesterday, so it doesn't even make sense for them to miss your presence the way that they do, but still!

Apparently even the fungus seemed to be happier about this situation, as their arms weren't itchy at all and the headache they were feeling seemed to have stopped.

They thought the thing was only awaiting its meal, as all living creatures do when faced with the opportunity to get food without any efforts put into it.

It was as if the motive to actually fix a little bit of this place had suddenly appeared at the mention of your arrival! It was uncommon for them to do such a thing, even for a guest, and their neighbors can testify.

Not that they would want to be involved in their life either way, their neighbors know how unpleasant they can be, even to those that live near them.

To think your presence has such an impact on them and their life, even though they never experienced anything like this before, their sudden change in mood never really crossed their minds as being bad or unconventional. It just… Happens.

And- It doesn't feel bad at all.

Maybe this lonely loser is finally understanding the importance of healthy social interactions! Good for them?!

After getting out of the shower and putting their clothes back on, they straight up jump out of the bathroom to complete their next task, which was making their apartment seem a little more *pleasant", at least for someone that was looking at it from the other side of their door.

But before they could do much, their apartment bell rang and you called them from the other side of the door. You did something, however, that would soon be proven to be a bad decision.

You have decided to call them by their name instead of the usual "your pizza is here" or whatever the hell you used to scream so the customers could hear. You thought that you had spent enough time with them to be able to use their name in a friendly manner, which was nothing wrong with that, dearest! Is just that-

They haven't been able to hear people say their name in such a friendly way in a long, long time. It's both refreshing and terrifying how they craved that form of attention.

And what is just as terrifying is how fast they throw their body towards the door, like a desperate addicted trying to reach their dose of dopamine. But that comparison it's absurd, right? It has nothing to do with the current situation.

Oh no, wait-

"- [Y-Y/N]!? You came in e-earlier than I thought! How is everything going??" They would welcome you in, but the truth is that they haven't been able to finish all of the cleaning. Basically, they took all of the garbage that was in front of the door's view and put it deeper in their apartment.

Just like sweeping dirt under the rug, you were only able to see a moderately good looking apartment behind them, yet in reality, all of the dirty dishes and clothes that were previously laying around there, were now shoved under some tables in a desperate need to impress you.

Even if a little bit.

Because of how suddenly they opened the door and came into view, you got yourself a little spooked by the taller figure in front of you. They always looked pretty scary in your eyes, yet recently you started to notice that they have a softer side.

You can't help but associate them with big scary dogs, you guess that they only put some sort of facade to keep themselves appearing to be tough and strong and "scary". You can't lie that they got you pretty good the first time you met.

You answer them, telling how hard it has been to work in an awful pizzeria while the world is burning and a weird disease suddenly has been discovered out of nowhere. They tried their best to continue the small talk, yet it seemed like they didn't need to do much because soon enough you were babbling about your life.

They loved it, you were always so talkative, even to a complete stranger. They wanted to pay close attention to you and what you were saying yet they simply couldn't! Your presence was so overbearingly sweet that they thought they would have a heart attack!

I'm being serious though, their heart started to accelerate out of nowhere and a weird feeling started to arise inside their hearts. They felt so weird and uncomfortable because of the sudden sensations yet- It felt so good in a way.

They felt alive for once, they felt- They felt like they were capable of anything!

Yet they still felt like they needed something more than just… This, whatever the hell is giving them such a wonderful feeling. Could it really be you, the cause of such wonderful emotions to bloom?

Your skin looked so soft, your smile was so gentle even when you were focused on giving them their order, you looked like you cared for them so much that when you noticed their odd behavior you put your hand in their shoulder.

This one, simple little contact managed to get a hold of them and their thoughts, their breathing now way faster and frantic than before.

How long have they been without a human touch? They are pretty sure it wasn't long, yet they still feel… Shamefully needy.

They can't tell what's worse, trying to convince you that they were okay, or trying to convince themselves to not do something stupid. They didn't know what it was, but there was a suspicious feeling crawling up their spine, the feeling that if they didn't control themselves something bad could happen.

They lied of course, saying they were just- Dizzy and a little tired, that they were doing everything on auto pilot, and even if you end up believing them, the moment you take your hand away us the moment they regret not giving in to whatever odd urge they were having a couple of seconds ago.

You were soon about to leave, they didn't even notice that they were holding the pizza box and almost let it fall from their loose grip.

"- H-Hey, wait! [Y/N] I-" they sounded absolutely pathetic, they sounded desperate for your attention but at least it seemed like you didn't mind or simply didn't notice their tone of voice.

You were causing so much frustration yet you remained oblivious to their suffering.

"- Do you… Perhaps, want to hangout later? I-If you're not busy, of course…." They sounded like a teenager who just confessed their crush on someone, well, if they were trying in that situation, normally the other person would at least be aware of their feelings.

But no, of course they aren't and of course you only see their offer as a way to call you for a friendly date.

People sweet and naive like you used to get on their nerves, they used to ignore your type of person yet-

Here they are! Being pathetic and stuttering, the only good thing to come out of this interaction was that you accepted their offer.

At least you're kind enough to accept to meet this poor thing again in a more private scenario. Not in your daily "customer and worker" type of interaction.

And as your form goes away at each step you take, the intrusive thoughts start to come in again. Those thoughts, those pains from earlier, everything was starting to get back.

It really does seem like you're the cause for their problems. Their headaches, their low self-esteem thoughts, the stupid fungus itching their skin, all of that was your fault… Somehow.

In someway or another you were the one that would always show up in their dreams, in their intrusive thoughts. They closed the door to their apartment while slowly placing the pizza on their coffee table, since now their mind was starting to come up with the solution to their daily pains.

This is not about pizza, this is about you! About how you consume their mind, even when you aren't present.

Although, every time you're near them, they feel so much better, like all of their issues have gone away.

That 's it! You're not only the source of their problems, but also the solution! Oh, that 's perfect! They know exactly what they need to do to make sure you cure them.

Yeah… YEAH! YES! They won't need to suffer every day waiting for the next time to see you, they can simply have you by their side, right??!

Please, please tell them, please tell this mad person that you'll cure them of the same thing you contaminated them with!!

Please… They feel so, so cold and lonely. Their only company is a parasite who seems to agree with this person's mad, delusional thoughts.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

[gardeninthevoid]

on gray asexuality

the gray ace community is so scattered that there's not really such a thing as 'gray ace culture', and i would argue that our experience and the general ace experience have almost as many differences as they do similarities. plus a lot of even well meaning people misunderstand gray asexuality and don't fully believe it's real.

also, it's ace awareness week! 💜☁️♠️ and i want some awareness! so i'm gonna do this myself i guess! even if i'm kinda scared to open up like that!

here are some gray asexual things. i arranged them into a numbered list. the numbers don't mean anything - it's just easier to digest that way, and if you want to reference something in a response, you can just put the number. if you're not gray asexual, i hope you learn something. if you're gray asexual but you don't relate, that's fine! we're all still different and we're both valid. but if you do relate, please tell me so i feel less crazy. and if you're questioning, maybe this'll be of help in figuring it out! (also keep in mind i'm alloromantic and that colors my experience)

wildly fluctuating between sex repulsed, sex favorable, and sex indifferent

some crushes, even super intense ones, are fully asexual. others aren't. some start out one way and end up another. you might have asexual crushes on aces and sexual crushes on allos. or you might not. everything is different all the time and it's weird.

saying you're ace without the gray part so people don't assume they have a chance with you because let's be real, they probably don't

not saying you're ace at all because you feel like you'd be lying or that it's tmi to bring it up (internalized aphobia hello)

when you do feel sexual attraction it absolutely destroys you because of the contrast with the total absense of it that you feel most of the time. you just never really get used to it. your brain crashes

liking highly stylized or dramatized sex scenes in movies or books but not getting the appeal of porn

as a matter of fact, the buildup/tension is usually more fun than the action

being uncomfortable with the concept of sex in general but much more cool with a few specific acts/kinks

trying to be horny but quickly getting super sidetracked (literally what i'm doing rn! i was in the middle of reading smut when i decided to write this post. now i don't think i'll come back to it)

you heard of asexuality pretty early on, but assumed it couldn't possibly apply to you and continued feeling broken and alienated

saying "they're hot" without really knowing what you mean

being romantically interested in someone and realizing you'd have sex with them while not being sexually attracted to them

being sexually attracted to someone and thinking about them in sexual ways but you can't imagine having sex with them

genuinely having no idea if you're sexually attracted to someone

being freaked out and uncomfy when other people are sexually attracted to you

when you talk about sex you talk about it as if it's something that doesn't at all concern you

you'd be comfy dating a sex repulsed ace person, even if you feel like you might miss out on something

on the other hand, you're scared to date allos because what if you can't keep up with them?

you don't actually know what or who you're into. there are some patterns, but mostly there's not enough info for a decent analysis. maybe you'll figure it out eventually. right now, when you get asked the question, you just gesture vaguely and hope they have the gift of telepathy

seriously you have no idea

it seems so fucking random

being more attracted to clothed people. esp people with a good sense of fashion

some of ya'll can really look at a still image of a naked person and say if you're attracted to them? b- but you haven't gaged the Vibe!

the sexual melds and becomes one with something else to the point where you can easily substitute it (an example for me is certain types of music)

if you did have sex you would probably do it in the dark, speaking in hushed tones, not just for insecurity reasons, though that might also be a factor. the real reason is, bright lights and loud noises might break your desire

it's so fragile, any wrong word or action or thought might break it. you're far easier to turn off than you are to turn on.

not feeling like you fully belong on either side

having the power of invisibility

it took you so long to get here

you really wish people would leave you alone and stop questioning you

to aphobes/exclusionists/anti micro labels: don't even fucking breathe on this post. i will engage in combat with you 🗡️

to my label siblings, happy ace week! remember: the gray stripe is ours.