#so either SHOW YOUR APPRECIATION TO THE OTHER ARTISTS IN THE CIRCLE OR LEAVE THEIR SPACE

[kerflooey]

i just feel like saying we are all writing publicly on the internet which is vulnerable enough but on top of that we're doing collaborative writing. we depend on others adding on to our views feelings ideas and style. as much of a hobby as it is and as unseriously as you want to take it it's still a form of art, it's innately personal and vulnerable. engage with other people's writing as you would with any art whose author is in front of you. comment and contribute if you feel strongly enough about it but always for the better. you don't have to love or praise or keep interacting with what isn't for you but you do have to respect it.

[budgebuttons]

There's a lot of reasonably frustrated but ultimately misdirected psa-style posting about how viewers NEED to start reblogging things rather than just liking them because that is the primary mode of post circulation on this site. The modern manifestation of this sentiment seems to miss the fact that, if you've been here for ~15 years, were here prior to, during, and after the exodus to the bird app, you already know that likes have always been more common than reblogs, that many people simply don't want to put your art on their blog, and that guilting end-users into using a microblogging site A Specific Way absolutely does not work. If it did, the trend would have shifted a decade ago. Because this conversation really is that old. Regardless, the modern discourse of how difficult it is to be Seen specifically on Tumblr isn't productive because I think it ultimately misses the reason being an artist online feels so Bad, now.

The social media era has funneled Looking At Stuff on the Internet into an economy of engagement that encourages end-users to treat everything we/they see as quick, cheap, and disposable. This is just another fun and flirty way that capitalism devalues art. It's nothing new. Trying to force masses of users to behave in a way that is healthier for the circulation of art isn't going to do anything to solve the discontent we all feel when we hurl something into the void and it is ultimately ignored. I swear up and down: A higher notes number won't feel better, either. Popularity is just as demoralizing as radio silence, but it manifests differently. Instead of 4 likes and maybe 1 reblog from Old Faithful Mutual, you get a horde of people who treat you like a content machine. You keep hoping for an impossibly Bigger Number. The notifs on the first Big Number Post haven't even settled, and people are already asking when the follow-up is coming. You get anons, but most of them are trying to passively convince you to give them More Content.

It's really, really hard to make people care about art. If there was a silver bullet for making the average person appreciate the enormity of human effort behind every beautiful thing they encounter, we would have found it centuries ago.

The best thing creatives can do for their lives online is to be friendly, or at least kind, with other creators. "Big" artists don't form in-groups because they're snobs. They find each other because they casually showed each other support, and their mutual appreciation for that Thing that wound them up in the same tag becomes a foundation for connection, and in many cases, the ever-illusive Bigger Audience as they introduce themselves to each others' circles. We get more eyes on our work by building community with each other.

Where does that leave people who are just here to look at things, not post them? I think the answer is almost identical: COMMENT!! Please, comment! The first step to engaging with art on a more meaningful level is to point out something you particularly enjoy about a given work. It can go in the replies, it can go in the tags, doesn't matter!! If you notice some symbolism or make some connection, there is all likelihood that OP put it there because they desperately wanted somebody to notice it. Let them know why you like it!

Reaching for the nebulous, impossible goal of better post circulation isn't going to make being a creator online in 2023 suck less. Meaningfully connecting with each other can, will, and does. You can make someone's day just by passingly letting them know that their effort is worth more than a number.

[skogjeger]

Connecting and Working with Deities ❁ཻུ۪۪ ━ 

‧₊˚.  : · •.  * • ˚   . · * ✶   : · •  *   ˚ ✵

In a previous post, I opened up about the idea of compiling a list outlining ways to establish a connection and work with deities. So here are some ideas of how you can connect with deities and or worship/work with them. Mind you, these are just suggestions, so there isn't a wrong nor right way on how you want to connect with deities. It is whatever feels comfortable and feels comfortable with the deity you are wanting to have a connection with.

𖤣𖥧˚ Research & Learn

Study Mythology: Study mythological material to understand the particular deity's background and their connections with their circle. Mythology can help understand attributes, symbols, or the history. As a note though, how a deity is predicted in mythology might not even come close to how they actually behave.

Understand Cultural Context: Learn about the cultural and historical context of the deity; how they were worshipped in the past, how others in a particular culture worked with them and showed appreciation and or admiration.

𖤣𖥧˚ Create an Altar or Sacred Space

Set Up an Altar: Create a dedicated space with images, statues, symbols, and offerings related to the deity. And if you're wanting to take a cheap approach, doing a digital altar works too!

Sacred Objects: Include items that are sacred to the deity, such as crystals, herbs, or special artifacts pertaining to that deity.

𖤣𖥧˚ Offerings

Food & Drink: Offer foods and drinks that are favorable and or were common as an offering to the deity. It can range to anything like candy, beer, wine, coffee, hot chocolate, water, meat, fruit, etc.

Incense & Candles: Light incense or candles as offerings. Bonus would be that the scent/colour correlates to the deity, but this is entirely optional.

Flowers & Other Natural Offerings: Place flowers, stones, leaves, or other natural items on your altar.

𖤣𖥧˚ Artistic Creations

Create Art: Draw, paint, sculpt, or engage in any artistic endeavor that honours and or shows appreciation for the deity.

Music & Dance: Sing, play music, make music, or dance in a way that celebrates the deity.

Writing & Poems: Write a short-story, your interactions, and or poems dedicated to that deity.

𖤣𖥧˚ Divination and Signs

Divination Tools: Use tools like tarot cards, runes, scrying, or other forms of divination to seek guidance from the deity. If you are using tarot cards, what helps is looking at the major arcana cards to see which deity it is associated to.

Look for Signs: Be open to receiving signs and messages, and or look out for anything that is consistent but out of the ordinary.

𖤣𖥧˚ Study and Practice Corresponding Disciplines

Learn Related Skills: For example, if the deity is associated with healing, study and practice healing arts. If the deity is related to death, you can do funeral donations to help the bereaved.

𖤣𖥧˚ Rituals and Ceremonies

Seasonal Celebrations: Participate in or create rituals and ceremonies that align with the deity's sacred times, such as solstices, equinoxes, or specific festivals.

Personal Rituals: Develop your own rituals that feel meaningful and appropriate for your connection with the deity.

𖤣𖥧˚ Meditation and Visualization

Meditate: Find a quiet place, clear your mind, and focus on the deity. Visualize their form, symbols, and presence. If silence doesn't do too well, you can play a song that you think would be a good representation to the deity.

Guided Imagery: Use guided meditations specifically designed for connecting with deities.

𖤣𖥧˚ Prayer and Invocation

Pray Regularly or When Needed: Establish a daily or regular practice of prayer. Speak from the heart or use traditional prayers and hymns. You can either keep your prayers formal or casual, whatever feels right and appropriate.

Invoke the Deity: Call upon the deity's presence through chants, mantras, or specific invocations. You can either do this in your mind or call out loud.

𖤣𖥧˚ Join a Community

Find Like-minded People: Join groups or communities that honour and work with the same deity. It can be through Discord, Tumblr, or wherever—online or physical.

Attend Ceremonies: Participate in communal worship, festivals and gatherings.

𖤣𖥧˚ Tips for the Practice

Respect: Always approach with respect and sincerity.

Consistency (or Flexibility): Build a regular practice to deepen your connection, and even if it's not daily, there's always a flexible approach.

Intuition: Trust your intuition and personal experiences.

Adaptability: Be open to changing your methods as you grow and learn more.

Remember, the key is to develop a relationship that feels genuine and meaningful to you in whatever means possible.

[4ce-of-2pades]

I see you're into PJO. If you had to assign yourself and your mutuals a Greek/Roman God/Goddess, who would it be and why?

(Mutuals, don’t feel left out if I… leave you out. This is just who I happened to get ideas for.)

Myself: My instinct is to answer Hephaestus, because he’s really cool and I love steampunk, or Hecate, because magic is awesome, or even Apollo, because I’m both an artist and a singer. But I think I’d be a/be a demigod of a wind god. For starters, my moods often shift quickly and dramatically enough, but I love the wind itself, and will always say so aloud whenever it’s windy. Wind fills me with life, the way touching water energizes Percy. Plus, I really really want to be able to fly, Jason-style. (I had a very vivid dream as a kid that I did fly once, and I believed it for years. Perfect backstory.)

@lexiconic-light: I associate you with Hestia, ‘cause you’ve got that same kind, welcoming personality. If we’re talking demigods though, Hestia doesn’t have kids, so maybe you’d be a plant nymph or a child of Demeter, because you have a lot of plants and take care of them very well. Or maybe a child of Calliope, because of your writing and love of stories.

@many-gay-magpies: Either somebody artsy, or somebody nature-ey. One of the Muses, Demeter, a nymph, a satyr, etc. Though I also get Hecate vibes from you, so maybe her. You’re mysterious and magic-y. And you like birds. And draw/paint really freaking well. Something along those lines. I feel like I’m missing some obvious connection.

@disneyautistic: Maybe it’s just because you were really into Pirates of the Caribbean the last time we saw each other, but I diagnose you with Posideon. You’d decorate everything with shells and bits of sea glass, and paint ocean creatures on your walls, and wear a sea captain’s coat everywhere. Plus, I think you’d enjoy shapeshifting powers, if you could have them (I know it’s rare for Poseidon demigods, but you never know).

@linklog: Based purely on vibes, I assign you Hermes. No solid evidence for that, I just think you have a good personality for a trickster. Or maybe you’d embody the theatrical side of Apollo or Dionysus. Is there a Greek god of fashion and cosplay? Because I’ve always admired the creativity of your outfits.

@whosectype: Both Hecate and something nature-ey, no question. Maybe a satyr that is also a student of Hecate, learning magic like Hazel was? You’d cast dark spells involving bird bones and fungi and lots and lots of teeth, to increase the growth of moss or make something rot faster. You’d draw your spell-circles-on-the-floor™ in fresh mud. You’d enjoy being a little unnerving to the other satyrs, who prefer frolicking in sunlit fields to lurking in the shadowed areas of the forest and watching trees get overtaken by parasitic bugs.

@cupid-shortcake: Between your username and your pastel pink aesthetic, assigning you Cupid or Aphrodite seems like such an easy answer that it can’t possibly be right. I think it actually works though. On one hand, you show a lot of love and kindness to your friends, lifting them up and making them feel supported and appreciated. But you’ve also got that evil streak where you’ll make an endless series of terrible things happen to your characters because it makes a better story (as most writers do). If you applied that evil streak to real people’s lives and relationships, then you’d make an excellent Greek goddess of love.

(Actually, I think assigning the whole @cupheadocscasino crew gods from the Greek pantheon would make a REALLY COOL AU. I just don’t have ideas for all fifteen, and the characters themselves would probably be different gods than their creators would, so even the three here aren’t set in stone.)

[writing-for-life]

Oh man, I feel this is a very unfortunate pairing. @tickldpnk8 and I tried to balance things out while still honouring the fact it shouldn’t matter who illustrated more issues, or what their style is (artists will ultimately come up against each other in the later stages anyway, no matter what).

But these two are so vastly different—it’s like opulence vs scarcity, soft vs harsh, circles vs angles, baroque orientalism vs expressionism or art deco (have a look at some of Midnight Theatre).

Amano awes me, I can appreciate the immense skill, but he never really… moves me (totally my problem). His Morpheus slays though—probably the bitchiest Dream Lord we’ll ever get. And since we’ve just been talking about his work as the inspiration for another piece of art that currently creates some waves, have this one, and a bit of Batman thrown into the mix (I do not dare to put his Final Fantasy stuff on here, but look it up if you’re interested):

Kristiansen’s work, however, will forever live rent-free in my head for the one issue he brought to life (The Kindly Ones #64), and this panel (replicated for a commission, which is just a beautiful piece of art):

And that, for me, is hard to shake, because it still gets to me after decades.

These are still in my queue, but I might as well post them here now before they land separately:

Also: I’ve posted the back of this SkyBox Gold Foil Card in a meta about how Dream experiences love before (yes, I own whole folders of complete sets of Vertigo and Sandman Trading cards, that’s how long I’ve been at this, and I’m not even sorry), and I’d just like to throw this beauty in here:

These 50 words that describe Dream, straight from the horse’s (read: Neil’s) mouth, are the cure for close to two years of fanonisation of Dream. He’s male btw (apparently that’s one of his most defining features) 🤣

Anyway, I know we are voting for the best portrayal of Dream and not the story. I love The Kindly Ones and Dream Hunters equally, for different reasons. Amano will probably walk this one, but I have to give my vote to Kristiansen. Because I look at his Morpheus, and it makes me feel. That is Morpheus to me, even if stylised. I look at Amano’s, and I am awed by his technique, but it leaves me… lukewarm? It’s almost too perfect. And it’s not how I see Morpheus (apart from the bitching gear 🤣).

Art, and the way it does or doesn’t move us, is a wonderful and weird thing. And that’s really my main takeaway: If art makes you feel or not depends on so many things, and skill and style can only ever be a means to an end. And said end is telling the story and communicating it in a way that connects. Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t. And the receiver is as important as the sender, or something along those lines…

So have my vote, Teddy, because your art moves me. As I’m sure Amano’s will move others.

And here are the faces behind the art:

Who’s your favourite? Show them your appreciation via posting what moves you about their art, sharing a favourite panel or even some work that isn’t Sandman-related.

You still have until 6pm/London to cast your vote for either Kristiansen or Amano before the next pairing lands.

Round One/3, Poll

Teddy Kristiansen, artist #64

VS.

Yoshitaka Amano, artist The Dream Hunters (prose version)

Two artists with wildly different styles who have illustrated some of the probably most memorable storylines and created art that most Sandman fans will immediately recognise.

Here are the issues they have illustrated to refresh your memory:

Teddy Kristiansen: The Kindly Ones #64. Also check out Sandman Midnight Theatre (co-written by Neil Gaiman and Matt Wagner)

Yoshitaka Amano: The Dream Hunters (prose version)

And remember, you are voting for your favourite version of Dream, not the particular storyline.

Who is your favourite and why? Let us know in the comments/reblogs. Share your thoughts about their art, your favourite panels from their issues, or even other art they created and help us turn this into an artist appreciation post.

Here’s the poll to vote for your favourite if you want to see them again (you can find the whole bracket and some additional info here, and feel free to check out previous matches via the tag #sandman march mania):

Event organisers: @writing-for-life and @tickldpnk8 (who also designed the logo)

[calpalirwin]

Subconscious Desires

Summary: Even in a half-asleep daze, Ashton can’t keep his hands off you.

A/N: Just in case y’all forgot the man who actually owns my ass/inspires this blog.

Word Count: 1k

Content: unprotected sex in an established relationship, brief fingering mention, brief female receiving oral mention.

And away, and away we go!

__

You were used to Ashton keeping hours vastly different from yours. After all, he was an artist, and you had a more set schedule of a traditional nine-to-fiver. So it wasn’t out of the ordinary for you to turn in to bed either earlier than him, or before he was even home from his day.

Sometimes it was annoying when his schedule got particularly hectic that had him out of the house for large portions of the day. But when his schedule was more laid-back, he put forth his best effort to establish a sense of normalcy with you. Sleepy mornings over shared cups of coffee, and evenings spent curled up on the couch watching crap television.

And regardless of if your schedules lined up or not, Ashton had a way of constantly leaving you feeling desired.

Even if it happened to be one in the morning, and you were both more or less asleep.

You’d been asleep for close to three hours when Ashton rolled over in his sleep, arm splaying across your waist. As sleepy fingers pushed at your shirt, feeling the soft flesh of your stomach, guiding you to roll over, you roused to a half awake state, not remembering hearing him ever come to bed.

His fingers poked at your skin again, a silent question, and you rolled over, your lips finding each other in the dark. Slow, and lazy you hummed your approval against his mouth, before rolling back over and pressing your back flush against his chest.

Sometimes a kiss was enough to satiate his hunger for you as sleep called out to both of you. But tonight, his hand trailed a path up your shirt, lightly massaging your breast, and rolling your nipple in his fingers as it hardened under his touch. His mouth stamped long kisses into the back of your neck.

You sighed in content, your own desire beginning to stir you more awake. When his hand traveled back down, pulling away from you, you were ready to shake him awake if he dared to give in fully to the sleep still fighting to pull you both under. But when his hand skimmed across the waistband of your shorts instead, your breath caught as you waited in anticipation.

Ashton’s movements didn’t halt, the eager hand reaching between your legs which you happily spread, as his middle finger stroked along your clothed core, a spot of your arousal already forming.

You shifted closer into his hold, a soft moan falling from your mouth, encouraging him to keep going. “Please?” you whispered.

As an act of showing he heard your plea, the same finger moved your shorts and panties out of his way, feeling your arousal without a barrier. “Yeah?” his voice rasped in your ear, a husky chuckle of a sound.

“Mhm,” you answered, wiggling against his hand, needing the contact, and impending release. You gasped as his finger pumped into you, shallow and slow. “Mhm, please?” you moaned, twisting your head to find his mouth.

His hand pulled away, and you were about to express your displeasure when he slipped the slick digit in your mouth, allowing you a taste. You hummed in approval, sucking greedily before he pulled the finger free. “Fuck me, please,” you breathed against him.

Ashton’s finger plunged back into your soaked pussy, before drawing lazy circles on your clit as he moved down the bed. When he snapped your waistband, you raised your hips for him to tug off your pajama bottoms and panties, pushing them off the bed. A kiss stamped the inside of your thigh, his teeth nipping at you before his mouth moved more central, replacing his hand.

“Yeeessssss,” you called out, your voice climbing from barely audible to easily heard. You carded your fingers through his hair, bringing him closer as his tongue worked you into a frenzy. “Yes, please. Oooohhhh, fuck me.”

His hands pushed your shirt up, and you thought he was going to fondle your breasts more, but instead he bunched up the fabric in his fist. First, Ashton used it as a grip to pull you even further down onto his mouth, then pushed the shirt into your mouth as your moans started to bounce off the walls.

All too soon, Ashton was pulling away, sitting up on his knees and pulling his shorts and boxers down to free his cock. You gasped as he entered you, his cock stretching your pussy in the most pleasurable of ways. “Yeah? Is this what you wanted?” he asked, thrusting into you at a steady but slow pace. “My cock fucking your tight pussy?” Filthy words from an angelic voice.

“Yes,” you nodded your head enthusiastically, your mouth now free of its previous restraint. You reached down to spread yourself more for him, and rubbed fast circles on your clit. Ashton’s pace sped up, and you felt your high creeping up, and then crashing over you. “Ooooohhhhhh, fuck yes!”

You pulled your hand away from your clit, your fingers gripping the bedsheets as Ashton continued to fucked into you at an unrelenting pace, your mouth falling open. “Yes, yes, yes,” you chanted between gasps for air. Your body twisted and tightened in ecstasy as a second high quickly rolled over you, the muscle contractions triggering Ashton’s own release with a long grunted groan. “Fuuuucccck!” you both breathed, hearts racing and chests heaving.

Slowly, he pulled himself free, leaning over you to place a kiss to your forehead. “You good?” he checked.

“So good,” you sighed happily, a blissed out smile on your face.

“Good. Maybe now you’ll let me sleep.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You started this.”

“Did I?” he asked in genuine confusion.

“Yes,” you told him with a laugh. “Subconscious you was horny again.”

“I blame you for that.”

“Me? How is any of this my fault?”

“Look at you! You always make me horny.”

“You say the most romantic things, Ash,” you swooned sarcastically.

“Shut up,” he chuckled, kissing you to silence you. “You love me, and you know it.”

__

Tag List

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[ellsbclls]

you write hurt/comfort so beautifully, it makes me want to have tom comfort me like that ): do u think you could write something where he's taking care of you after a long day at work?? and if it's a little nsfw i wouldn't mind but u dont have to do anything ur not comfortable with. again L O V E ur work!!

thank you so much 🥺 i guess i just try to portray a type of love i think everyone deserves! but also thank you for giving me this idea because my mind went rampant. i also don’t know why the reader is a musician, but just roll with it i guess idk what happened there??? 

i hope this tickles your fancy! nsfw, so extended warnings will be under the cut! please do not interact if you're a minor!!

extended warnings: cue fingering, and some messy, needy sex in the bathtub 🛁✨

The steam rising from the bathtub makes light work of your weary muscles, menthol vapors kissing up your spine, soothing the knots scattered across the length of your back. You were in dire need of this, after the plight of a day you’d endured. A couple of hours in the studio had quickly spiraled into a six hour-session, with nothing to show for it but a lousy sixteen measures of brass ensembles — and by the good grace of your talent and patience, the artist has requested you drop in for their session again.

The thought makes you want to drown.

Instead, you opt to curl into yourself, softly pressing your cheek into your knee, watching the spindles of warmth waft up from your well earned bubble bath. In retrospect, the weight of your day didn’t fall solely on this new client — if you’re being honest, they actually had a lot of potential. You wouldn’t mind having your name tethered to a couple of their hits — but Tom had just returned home from a three month long shoot, and you’ve only been graced the luxury of his presence for less than 24 hours. Any time that isn’t being spent with him feels blasphemous, but since he has yet to return from his unknown whereabouts, you seized the opportunity to flush out as much irritability as possible before he returned.

You didn’t know just how tired you were until you were woken up.

A half an hour passes before you’re tousled from your dreamless slumber by a docile touch, familiar digits scaling the curve of your spine before they take a detour at the nape of your neck, carefully parting stray strands of hair to either side of your frame.

“Tom?” You hum, dulcet tones wafting through the steam akin to a dream as it ebbs from the rim of your subconscious.

“Yes, darling?” He muses, entranced by the frothy remnants of your bath soak as he dips his fingertips into the water.

“I missed you today.” You melt into his touch, allowing your head to fall to the side and survey his attire. His hair is all tousled, chestnut locks sprouting from the bottom of his backwards strewn baseball cap, and those honey-dipped hues you adore so much are creased with concern. You want nothing more than to soothe them away with the pad of your thumb, and so you indulge yourself, reaching over the edge of the tub as you continue to ramble. “I started the day already praying for it to be over with, and somehow, every single inconvenience fathomable decided to fall onto my lap. I mean — who the fuck needs seven different french horn tracks in an overture? A real band barely needs one.” Tom’s nodding along to your ramblings, but you both know that he doesn’t fully under the lengths of your frustration — just as you’ll never truly understand the inner workings of his own career. “The only thing keeping me together was the thought of coming home to you.”

“I’m so sorry, my love,” He coos, and continues to caress your back, working out all of the knots that the steam couldn’t relieve. “If it’s any consolation, I was only running late because I had to stop and buy some pancetta on the way home.”

“Don’t apologize. I assumed you would be back since all your stuff is still here.” You tease, mirroring his bemused smile, letting his world seep into your slowly booting brain. “Pancetta…” Not many people knew this, not even Tom before his first attempt, but the boy could whip up a mean bowl of pasta. You remember floundering across the bed the night before, identical to a little kid throwing a tantrum, moaning over just how badly you were craving carbonara. Silly of you to think that he’d take your melodramatic request in stride. “Are you-“

His enamored gaze is answer enough, but he pairs it with a chaste kiss to your forehead that has you nuzzling into his touch. “Only the best for my lil’ lady.”

You show a mere fraction of your appreciation with a swift, flurry of kisses over his cheekbones, pulling him closer by the downy bundles of his hoodie. Lovedrunk giggles and contented sighs bounce off the tiles before you’re both submerged in a comfortable silence, one that leaves the both of you free to shamelessly examine the other, one clad in their comfy, weatherworn disguise while the other dawns nothing but an enchanted smile. Even with the disparity between your attire, you both end up with flushed cheeks and dopey grins.

Hours, days, years seem to press on until you break the silence with a silly question, one that you ask in hopes of hearing his gentle, candied voice once more — or even better, his laugh. “What would you do if I was as big as a thumbtack? Would you still love me?” You query, a childlike sense of wonderment tinting your sugar-coated sigh.

He takes a second to ponder your questions, taking it into far more consideration than you had in bringing it to fruition. You can’t stifle the tiny puff of air that leaves your lips, the semblance of a chuckle, and Tom, with his wild brow and theatrical ways, whips his head in your direction, sending you a cautionary glare. “I suppose I would…” He starts, only to tap his finger against his bottom lip, drawing the suspense to its boiling point by the time you shove his forearm. “But then again, it doesn’t matter what size you are, there’s no limit to how much I love you.”

“Hmm,” you manage to vocalize. Your heart is now a star, an incandescent ball of fire caged beneath your ribs, and if he hasn’t gathered it by now, then he can bask in the warmth of your smile and know that for him, for him it is the sun.

You have to admit that you got ahead of yourself. One moment, you were binding your lips in a bruising, indulgent union, urging him to bask in the lovelorn rays of light he summoned, but only managing to pull him into the bathtub, fully clothed and unsuspecting. What was once your lukewarm oasis is suddenly a swirling cauldron of spearmint, teatree, and now unmistakable notes of him, sloshing against the edge of the tub as his frame struggles against the latent tide. There’s bound to be one hell of a mess waiting on the bathroom floor, but now that he’s settled in your grasp, you see no reason to fret just yet.

“Y/N.” His voice is deadpan, which can mean one of two things — he’s either overwhelmed with joy, or exhibiting a great deal of restraint in not drowning you right then and there. You choose to cancel out the latter, and offer the best attempt at innocence your babydoll eyes could muster, peering at him through your lashes with a teeth-rotting gleam.

“What?” You ask simply. His eye starts to twitch, and you only double down on your facade. “I just wanted to be closer to you.” Wading through the newly shallow body of water, half of its contents now dispersed across the tile floor, you make light work of his soggy hoodie, sloughing it over his head as he grumbles beneath it, giggling when it catches against that razor-sharp jawline of his.

“Well, you are very close now.” You notice how his voice drops down an octave, and you’re embarrassed to admit just how quickly the coil in your stomach tightens at the sound of it, how it already aches to be pulled taut. 

Tom seems unsuspecting enough when he captures your lips once again, his brims as delicate as baby’s breath against your own, tentative as they glide in a sultry dance. He doesn’t need to coax a confession out of you, the truth is already there, nestled in your urgent, needy pressure, in the whimpers threatening to spill into his lips. He’ll indulge in this little game for a moment longer — where you pretend that you aren’t desperate for his touch, and he pretends that he isn’t just as desperate to provide it — but once you fumble into his lap, clumsily grasping for more, and more, and even more of him, his resolve begins to crumble.

“I need you.” you whisper into the hollow of his mouth, golden-tongued and virtually earnest, coaxing a trembling sigh from the back of his throat.

He hums back, contented, basking in the intoxicating warmth of your silhouette, tracing the curve of your breasts with his knuckles. “Long day, my love?”

“Mhmm,” You demonstrate your point with a wistful sigh,  enveloping his great hands with your smaller ones, coating them in languid kisses until there was no skin left untouched.

You’re just too fucking cute, he muses. He can never say no to you, not even in jest.

Two of his slender digits roam the valley of your stomach, knuckles ghosting over your navel in their listless descent before they venture between your thighs, surveying just how badly you really need him. He dips his middle finger between your folds, tender and slick with your arousal, and emits a husky groan as he traces a steady line between your entrance and the spot just below your clit, ghosting your little bundle of nerves with each taunting caress. “You’re already soaked, my love. This all for me?” He coos, nudging your jaw with the tip of his nose, pressing a wet, open mouthed kiss against the column of your neck.

“All for you,” You sigh, digging your nails into the broad planes of his shoulder. “Please, Tom, please touch me.”

He finally spares you, thumb sloppily circling your clit as he plunges two digits into your opening, welcoming the lithe intrusion with a warm, velvety embrace. You slump into his embrace, nipples straining hard against the soaked fabric of his t-shirt, and raggedly whimper as he starts to work you open. The reminder of your nude form plastered against his clothes, albeit soaking wet, summons another pool of wetness to your core. You’re flooded with thoughts of delectable anguish — of denim kissing your hips, dragging against your bundle of nerves, as he ravages your bare little cunt, proving that you’re so desperate for his cock that you can barely wait for him to undress.

“Is this all you needed, baby? My fingers? You wanted me to stretch this pretty little cunt out?” He can’t stop the filthy words tumbling from his lips, especially not when your tiny mewls of pleasure are flooding his ears — you’re just so soft and pliant under his touch, so eager to be filled to the brim, it’s intoxicating to know that you’ll take anything he has to offer you. “I’ve got you, baby. I’m gonna give you everything you need. Gonna have you spilling all over my fingers and then — fuck! — then i’m gonna fill you up with my cock. How does that sound?

“Y-yeah,” You’re rutting against his palm at this point, grinding down to meet each thrust, to feel impossibly closer, fuller, ambling toward an orgasm that is already barreling toward you. As he finds a new angle, the pads of his fingers nudge against your g-spot, and the heel of his hand careens over your clit with such a delicious pressure that your thighs begin to quake. “‘M so close.” You whine, prompting him to punctuate each thrust with a curl of his fingers, dragging your orgasm from the pit of your stomach.

“Then let go, baby. Let go for me.” You need no further persuasion, your eyes squeezing shut as you teeter off the edge, with nothing but a raspy, desperate string of obscenities, clawing at the slope of his shoulders, and bathing his hand in sultry waves of nectar as it spills from your weepy little hole. His fingers are trapped between your fluttering walls, working you through your climax with nimble, tentative thrusts, stretching each wave of pleasure out until you’re trembling over little ripples.

“That’s it, that’s my girl.” You feel so small beneath his gaze, teeming with endless pools of adoration, like you’re a freshwater clearing and he’s parched. It nearly distracts you from his fingers as they slip from your opening, but each receding wave of bliss is tethered to him, so you groan at the loss of contact. Your walls flutter hopelessly around nothing, chasing the delicious stretch of his digits in their absence, but you’re instantly qualmed by the sound of his zipper being pulled down, no doubt freeing himself from the waterlogged confines of his jeans.

“Can I?” You sink your hands into what little water still remains in the tub, hooking your fingers through the belt loops of his jeans, but he swats your shaky hands away, adamantly shaking his head as a small frown of confusion forms between your brows. “You don’t wanna take ‘em off?”

“This is about you, my love.” He whispers, his free hand smoothing over the small of your back, stroking the patch of dew-ridden skin with his thumb. “And right now, all I wanna do is keep my promise.”

“You’re so good to me,” You whisper just above his lips, leaning back into his touch, peering between your bodies to survey his ministrations. You’re still a bit dazed from your first, earth-shattering orgasm, but the prospect of another has you buzzing with excitement, and Tom knows that look well enough to speed up his course of action.

Pearly veneers sink into the swell of your bottom lip at the mere sight — his cock is beyond compare. Even as its impatiently pulled through the opening of his jeans, it’s put on a mouth-watering display as he leisurely pumps himself, smearing tiny pearls of precum across his flushed, leaky tip with each upstroke. He’s far too enticing, far too pretty with his rosy cheeked, droopy-eyed charm, to resist, and you’re quick to replace his hand with your own, curling your fingers around the base and mimicking a couple teasing pumps before guiding him to your entrance.

Tom spreads his legs a little wider to accommodate you, the sensation of wet denim rubbing against your thighs, knocking your legs farther apart, causes a soft whimper to fall from your lips. It doesn’t take long for you to align the head of his cock with your entrance, teasing him with a couple of lascivious drags through your folds before you sink onto his length, reigniting the remnants of your last orgasm as inch after delicious inch prods your tender walls apart. By the time he bottoms out, you’re nothing but a trembling pile of limbs, and his lips seek out your own just to muffle your staggered breaths with a burning kiss.

You allow yourself a couple of seconds to adjust — no matter how or which way you take him, he still pushes up every crevice of your insides, demanding every square inch of your velvety heat. A wild flurry of crimson blossoms across the high planes of your cheeks as Tom nuzzles his forehead against your own, brushing his nose against yours, coaxing a melodious string of giggles from your chest while you scrunch up your nose. He presses a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips and smiles against the spot. “You look so pretty like this, my love. With that gorgeous smile of yours, and that pretty little pussy squeezing my cock.” You feel like you’ve got whiplash, trying to come to terms with how obscene he can be under such tender movements. “Just wanna turn you over and bury myself inside. See how tight you feel when you’re folded in half.” His hands reach down to rub gentle, circular motions into the small of your back, and you can’t help but pulse around him at the juxtaposition.

Once the uncomfortable stretch of his girth melts into pleasure, you finally start to work yourself over his length, and you swear you can feel every gorgeous ridge and vein of his cock as you rise up to the tip, only to plunge back down with a impish yelp, setting a clumsy, needy pace that certainly gets the job done. You don’t really find your rhythm until Tom helps you out, sinking his fingers into the supple curve of your ass, orchestrating a hard, punishing pace as he drives up into your sopping cunt, meeting you in the middle with each thrust.

All at once, the bathroom is washed in a crude symphony, the combination of your heavy panting and slapping skin intermingles with the shallow splash of water as it laps against the edge of the tub, punctuating the sinful drag of his length, and how the tip pounds against your furthest wall as you impale yourself onto him. You can feel another orgasm start to build, and since Tom has made it his solemn vow to not only study, but master, every little, scrumptious detail of your body, he senses it as well. 

“You got another one for me?” He asks between labored pants. His own orgasm is starting to peak over the horizon, following in the blazing trail you’ve set, you can tell by the way a thin sheen of sweat starts to build against his hairline, and his brows almost meet in the middle, as if the feeling of your pussy pulsing around his cock is unfathomable. He uses the grip he has on your waist to take control, using one hand to scale up the breadth of your back, and as his palms leave a blistering trail up, up, up your sides, he pulls you flush against his chest, attempting to plant his feet against the floor of the bathtub, 

He needs the leverage to piston his hips up into your own, to pound into your greedy hole at an unyielding pace — to keep his promise — and as you start to feel the tell tale edge of your climax cresting over your weary frame, you spoil his shoulder with sweeping, butterfly kisses and flood his mind with sweet, sweet nothings, luring him to the brink with the same dulcet tones you know drive him wild.

His hips stutter into your own, and before the words can even exit your lips, you’re dragged to the edge of bliss with a couple of rough, uncompromising thrusts that have you wildly spasming around his length. He joins you almost immediately, throbbing against your sensitive walls as he fills you to the brim, driving the mixture of your arousal further into you as he fucks you through your orgasm. 

Once he pulls out, he’s quick to wrap you up in a soothing embrace, planting kisses over every acre of skin he can get his lips on, but you’re too focused on the trail of cum leaking down your thighs to really indulge him, curiosity getting the better of you as you gently weave your arm between your bodies and collect the wetness on your thighs. You swear you can feel the rumble of his chest once you pop your fingers into your mouth, humming around the sodden digits, making a spectacle out of the addicting elixir pooling on your tongue, but his glimmer of reinvigorated stamina is put to rest by the sight of your drowsy, half-lidded stare.

“Why don’t we get you dried off? Then I can start dinner.” He hums against your cheek, punctuating his suggestion with yet another chaste kiss. It’s genuinely like he can’t get enough, and neither can you as you sleepily nod.

“Will you wake me up when it’s ready?” You sigh, teetering on the edge of slumber once more.

“Of course, my love.”

[lovenona]

and i repeat: anthropo-ceramics geto suguru is the type of toxic where he'd take your virginity, make a sculpture about the experience, then smash it on the ground as a metaphor

this ask is my entire life. this ask is my lifeblood. everyone please saddle up for the ride of a lifetime, otherwise known as 1500ish words of toxic geto featuring sukuna being a good fucking friend – please continue at ur own risk this absolutely contains geto being a pretentious toxic fucker and mentions of virginity/first time but yes i guarantee it does have a happy ending (link to the full college! cinematic universe here) 

let’s begin with the basics – why wouldn’t you fuck geto suguru? he has the type of beauty that lingers on the back of your eyelids even after you’ve long since departed from him; it’s the kind of fragrant, lasting beauty that you think sculptors muse over when they coax life from their marble. he’s smooth, like still water, and calming, like the sound of birds rustling and leaves swaying at dawn. he is helen: a beauty that nations would go to war over. 

and sure, he is pretentious, the kind of toxic pretentiousness that festers inside of all pretty boys who call themselves “leftists” but can’t be bothered to call their mothers or to care about their partners. but it’s the way he speaks, the way he looks at you with such fervor and attention in his eyes that you’re utterly willing to let him break your heart. 

and maybe it’s not often that someone looks at you the way geto does: it’s not often that someone looks at you like they want you, body and soul. and it feels nice to be cared about, to be flirted with, even if the figure doing the flirting condescends you in a way that is different, harsher, colder, than the way ryomen sukuna does. 

so geto suguru takes you on dates. after the avant-garde poetry reading, in which you feigned excitement as he recited a poem on global imperialism that you didn’t quite vibe with, he brings you to local bookstores with overpriced yuppie memoirs, farmers’ markets with organic fruit, human rights protests and philosophy meetings where greasy boys bitterly discuss the communist manifesto. he takes you to dinner, too, to vegan restaurants that you can’t help but rave about on yelp later and to bars where they serve your cocktails in mason jars. 

geto suguru, for all his faults, is incredibly lighthearted with you; he makes you feel beautiful and desirable and warm, even when he’s explaining anthropology to you with such intense vigor that you lose track of his meaning. after everything, you’d be lying if you said you regretted your time with him.

after awhile you let geto fuck you – and yes, he was your first time, which you were naturally quite nervous about. but you appreciated him because he waited for you; he never pressured you into behaviors you didn’t want; he never asked you for services you weren’t ready to provide. and so when you slept with him, after an invigorating open-mic night at the fair-trade coffee shop near campus, you felt ready for the intimacy. geto made you feel attractive, comfortable, safe. he praised you the whole night, gave you caresses that lit you up like fireworks, provided such a level of god-tier aftercare you still reminisce about it, even now. 

but that’s the thing about anthropology-ceramics major geto suguru: he’s quietly toxic. he’s a poison that sneaks up on you, infecting your bloodstream when you least expect it. 

you weren’t sure if geto wanted to pursue a relationship, either. you’d fucked, sure, and you went on dates, but he was always the type to avoid long-term commitments. rumors float around campus of the many partners he’s ghosted, of the relationships he exploited for his own “artistic musings.” they aren’t loud rumors, to be sure, but they hang around his aura like a strange, ghostly scent. 

geto is a pretentious little fuck. you’ve known it and agreed to enter his circle anyway. maybe you hoped, perhaps naively, that the rumors would simply not apply to you.

which was a stupid idea. three weeks after the experience, since which you have only spent one-on-one time with geto only a few times, mostly to talk about school, the art department hosts an art show. it’s a regular occurrence, where the art students show off their best works, grad students display their in-progress theses, and outsiders can browse the displays, drink wine, offer to give outstanding students jobs and internships. it’s truly a big fucking deal for the art department; many of the school’s the most successful artists received their first acclaim here. 

you’ve always enjoyed attending, even if the level of talent and expertise sometimes intimidates you, even if you know you’ll never be on this level. you know sukuna’s got a few paintings lined up to be on display – paintings you’ve modeled for, drawings you’ve watched him labor over for hours on end. you reckon that for all your begrudging time together, you might as well show your face in support. 

but what you didn’t count on was geto’s contribution.

at this art show, there are, every now and then, some interactive performances, speeches, explanations on certain works. so it happens that from the back of the auditorium you watch geto take the stage, wheeling a small, white sculpture behind him. from your perspective it could have been a flower – perhaps a lily, but you can’t be certain. 

(geto always did like sculpting precious, dainty flowers.)

he doesn’t call you by name, but he doesn’t have to. he talks at great length in that smooth voice of his about the construct of virginity, the purity culture plaguing the globe, the emotional sensitivity of having your first time. geto seguru tells an avid audience what you felt about fucking for the first time. he recreates the entire night for two hundred listeners: he recalls the foreplay, the insecurity, the orgasms. he doesn’t call you by name. he doesn’t have to. 

he may have asked for your consent the first time. but he certainly did not ask your permission to do this. 

you’re not sure if you should laugh or cry when geto dramatically smashes his own sculpture, citing the “destruction of virginity” and  the need “to demolish a social desire to classify one’s morality based upon their sexual activity” and “the symbolic popping of the cherry” among other phrases that are utter bullshit. you’re watching the fragments dance across the stage and you feel exploited. you feel used in a way that feels utterly worse than anything else geto could have done.

did he ever like you? or were you simply a muse for this moment? 

you’re about to ditch the art show and go wallow in self pity at your apartment when a familiar presence slides in beside you.

“that’s kinda fucked,” sukuna says, hands in his jacket pockets. he’s looking at you out of the corner of his eye. his tone tells you he’s joking. maybe he just doesn’t know. “no one gives a shit about virginity constructs anymore, idiot.” 

“yeah,” you respond, but the energy is gone. you feel strange, like you’re hovering outside of yourself. your head hurts: you’re angry. you decide you’d like to cry when you get home. “what a piece of shit.” it comes out strangled and lost. 

sukuna notices the dejection in your voice, the sag in your shoulders, the way you’re just barely able to hold yourself together. he may be arrogant, not ryomen sukuna is not mean.

a familiar arm around your shoulders, keeping your sanity together. “shit’s lame. let’s get the fuck out of here.” it’s a phrase that captures everything that remains unsaid between you: i’m going to beat the shit out of geto the next time i see him. that’s absolutely unbelievable.

you never explicitly told sukuna about your weird relationship with geto: you didn’t have to. it was always evident to the both of you. it was written in the way you’d look a little bit longer in geto’s direction, in the way you let yourself be strung along and become someone else. you’ve hung around sukuna long enough that you know his body language and that he knows yours. you’ve hung around sukuna enough that there are a lifetime of stories that never need to be told. 

you nod. “yeah.” thank you. i know. 

you’re both uncharacteristically silent when you exit the auditorium, when you collect sukuna’s belongings that are still lounging by his artwork as you prepare to leave. ryomen sukuna is famous for never shutting the fuck up. but as you button your coat, he’s silent, and it’s strange. comfortable.

“thank you,” you say with uncharacteristic softness as he throws a sketchbook back into his backpack and zips it shut. 

“why?”

“for asking my permission,” you say, gesturing to the gallery wall behind him, to the painting of you – “eros” – that you had posed for awhile back. even now, you find that it captures an essence you did not know you possessed. “he didn’t. ask, i mean.” 

ryomen sukuna has always craved your attention. and maybe he’s glad he’s got it back – but it feels sour. he doesn’t understand why he’s so fucking upset for you. he doesn’t understand why he wants so badly for you to be happy again. what he does understand is that he plans for retribution. 

“that’s fucked,” he settles on. “what bastard doesn’t ask for consent?”

you smile – and he does too, one that’s less feral and almost kind. and so you fall back into routine, already, some kind of weight lifting from your shoulders. ryomen sukuna may be a menace, but you can rely on him, trust him: that much you know. 

“you know,” sukuna says offhandedly as you exit the building and enter the parking lot. “i know where geto’s car is, i’m just saying. and i’d be lying if i said i didn’t have an extra precision knife in my backpack right now.”  

[the-travelling-witch]

Holly babe guess who~~ I’m SO SOOOO proud of u for hitting 500, u deserve it and so much more! <333 I’d like- LOVE to join ur event sweetheart hehe

So hi! My name is crown, pronouns are she/her and I’d like a romantic matchup w a guy from Tokyo revengers please

About me hmmmm well

- Im pretty headstrong and confident in who I am, so I try my best to be welcoming and kind to people but at the same time I’m well aware that I can be intimidating, I like that to some degree

- I’m an artist! I love painting drawing and dancing (singing too but I’m not good at- don’t mean I don’t scream at the top of my lungs tho)

- I’m the eldest child and older sister to my sis, I’ve often been told I give off fun vibes but know to get serious when the moment demands it

- I’m hilarious. Like downright hilarious.

- Also very sarcastic (like to the point where I’ve gotten in trouble by the principle whoops)

- Either dress like a princess w jewelry dresses and heels or like a hood rat

Mmmmmm u know me to some degree right doll? Take ur guess at my personality from that too <3

Also Russian roulette number…drum roll plz: 7!

hmmm, who could it be? is it...the loml? (づ ᴗ _ᴗ)づ♡

ahhh, darling, thank you so much!!! i´m also so proud of you, you just reached your own milestone too (i still think it´s absolutely hilarious we had the same idea haha) ♡

i really hope you enjoy your matchup; to shock everyone i matched you with...

RAN HAITANI Bonten Executive

Sighing for the tenth time in the last ten minutes, you looked down at your phone and then around the streets again. You were supposed to meet your friend but Roppongi wasn´t that easy to navigate if you´ve never been there before. And google maps sure wasn´t helping, sending you in circles for half an hour.

As you continued walking, you didn´t look where you were going, focused on the map on your phone. So focused, in fact, you didn´t notice the person coming your way. Colliding with a strong chest, you would´ve hit the ground for sure if it wasn´t for the hands holding you steady by your shoulders.

“Oh my god, I´m so sorry, I didn´t see you there. Are you okay?” Raising your head, your eyes met two lilac ones, crinkling at the corners.

“I noticed. Well, I´m not the one who almost introduced themselves to the floor, so I´m fine.” Glancing down at your phone, the man noticed the open app. “You´re not from around here, are you?”

“Was it that obvious?”

“Yup. What are you searching for anyway?” Turning your phone his way, he studied the map for a second before standing straight again. “The café is just two streets down here and then on the right. Free advice for the cute lady: you should really try their pastries.”

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot.” Before you could thank him, he held your phone in place again, typing away on your screen. “Let me show you around Roppongi some time. Make sure you call me, yeah?”

He shot you a wink and then continued in the direction he was headed in, leaving you to stare down at the contact info displayed on your phone.

“Your knight in shining armour ♡”

Ran thinks he finally found his match in you

He himself is pretty self-assured and confident in who he is, otherwise he wouldn´t have gotten to where he is now

One of the things he appreciates about you is that he can enjoy some playful banter with you without having to walk on eggshells around you

And if you retaliate with a snarky comment of your own, there are practically hearts floating around his head

Especially revels in judging people with you; whenever someone you don´t like does something stupid, he shoots you that look (you know the one)

Absolute power couple, we stan

When you´re going to one of his fancy events, both dressed to the nines, nobody can tear their eyes away

You guys are already stunning on your own, but together? Everybody either wants to be you or be with you

On the flip side, lounging around in hoodies and pjamas, throwing board pieces at each other or annoying Rindou to insanity is also a common occurrence

Ran would be so cocky if you sketch him (“You just can´t get enough of my beauty, right doll?”) but will definitely throw a whiney tantrum if you dare draw someone else

Would poke fun at you if he caught you dancing around the house but will pull you close to join you afterwards

Slow-dancing at night, just the two of you? Is there anything better? (He would definitely dip you a tad too low just to hear you squeal and feel you cling to him tighter)

But he´s the only one who gets to laugh at you, if anyone else even so much as thinks about making fun of you…uhh, well, good luck…

He may not admit it out loud all that often but Ran thanks his lucky stars that you waltzed into his life

Okay, choosing Ran felt like a cop-out, so I hope you also enjoy being matched with...

KEN RYUGUJI Tokyo Manji Gang Vice-President

It was pouring as you exited your college building and you mentally scolded yourself for deciding to not bring an umbrella that day. Cursing to yourself, you already resigned yourself to coming home absolutely drenched.

“Forgot your umbrella?” The deep voice belonged to a tall man, wearing a leather attire and sporting a half-shaved head. Under different circumstances he might have appeared intimidating but you found yourself nodding at his question anyway, his calm tone anything but threating. “Where are you headed?”

“Just the station a few streets from here.”

“I´m going in the same direction, wanna share?” He held up his umbrella and after a few moments of contemplation, you agreed.

During your walk to the station, you found out that is name was Ken Ryuguji and that he owned a motorshop in Tokyo. In fact, he was at your college to deliver a bike to a student there. Despite only just meeting him, you enjoyed talking to him and you found yourself wishing your stop was a few streets farther away still.

“Thank you so much, Ken, you really saved me there. Is there anyway I can pay you back?”

“Hmm, you could let me take you out for coffee someday. How does Friday work for you?”

First things first, Draken is the ultimate gentleman and you can´t convince me otherwise (yes, he held the umbrella for you)

He always places your comfort first and he always makes sure you´re doing okay

Very mature and grounded, Draken is the one person you can rely on no matter what and you can come to him with whatever, it´s guaranteed you´ll leave feeling indefinitely better

It´s a fact that this man is great at giving massages, so if you´re ever feeling stressed or have been sitting for a long time, he´ll offer to work his magic

In return, he enjoys relaxing with you and just letting go for a while

Honoured whenever you draw him and adds it to his wall along with just about every picture you guys take together, whether it´s silly, cute or romantic doesn´t matter, it gets added to the collection, no questions asked

Draken will help you with doing your hair if you want him to, paying close attention to how you do it when you show him

He also let´s you braid his hair, enjoying the way you run your fingers through his hair while he just lays back (has fallen asleep before while you did it)

So supportive!! Dress however you want he can fight he will genuinely compliment you on whatever you chose to wear that day

Loves when you visit him in the shop; you don´t even have to do anything, just having you there lifts his spirits

Your relationship is just so soft and warm and cosy, it´s like curling up in a warm blanket during winter

The support, care and trust you both place in each other is unmatched; people will see you and redefine their opinion on “couple goals”

The question you chose is “Do you have earrings/ piercings/ tattoos/ dyed hair/ other body modifications?”

I still have my natural hair colour and I don´t have any tattoos because my parents would disown me if I did (I once “tattooed” my whole forearm out of boredom and they nearly flipped) but I do have my ears pierced

On my right ear I have one lobe and two helix piercings and on my left ear I have three lobe piercings and one helix but the [redacted] tension between me and a potential conch is almost tangible haha

[nicolezaridze]

how to survive as an introverted digital artist/ designer? 🥺

as a very big introvert + artist myself i think what’s helped the most is:

online friends! online communities! they help you feel less alone and it’s less intimidating to talk to people online than irl

remember to leave the house...just a walk around the block helps. go get a coffee or something, say hi to a cashier. you don't even need to talk to anyone, just feel the sun on your face or do something that helps you connect with the earth in some way.

if you have a friend (even a non-artist friend who’s willing to go with you anywhere) go to shows, go to gatherings and events and comic festivals. if you have nobody to go with, try going anyway. i find it’s easier to go to the larger, busier events where it’s not as awkward to walk around by yourself. even if you don’t like talking to people or you feel very closed off, just going to these events gives you an insight on what’s going on which can be informative and you never know who you’re gonna meet there either

remember that when emailing clients or talking to anyone over a screen….they don’t know who you are lol (unless you’re close or you met them irl) they only know you through emails so don’t take things personally if they come off as dry or have an attitude or you don’t get the job or something

remember that introverts have many qualities that can help them navigate the real world and you can use those qualities and specific charms and quirks to your advantage. listening skills is a huuuuge one. people love when people are good listeners lol and people will genuinely appreciate you when you start using those skills to your advantage. (just don’t let people take advantage of you) know what your strengths are and perfect them for social settings.

always be kind, be yourself, don’t force yourself to entertain anyone, and be charming in whatever way you got that comes most natural to you and doesn’t exhaust tf outta you because we get exhausted easily and absorb a lottttt.

people think that you have to be extroverted and social to get jobs and be in creative circles and sure, it’s true, extroverts can get a lot more opportunities because they put themselves out more but tbh, i think if your work is good, people will gravitate to you. just focus on putting your work out there somehow. there are plenty of "quiet and mysterious" artists who let their work speak for themselves for the most part. but i also think it's important to have one or two connections that can help you connect your craft with others and most importantly, can understand and respect that you are introverted.

also, maybe you can get discovered by an extrovert so they can introduce you to everyone else lmao i have a few extrovert friends that found me like i was some stray cat and then they introduced me to THEIR group of friends. geminis are the reason i have an artist social life lol

lastly, when you DO have those days where you HAVE to socialize a lot, give yourself a special and specific self-care routine at the end of those days where you can chill out and let go of all that chaos lol. really reset at the end of the day instead of carrying that tension and exhaustion to sleep. hope this helps <3

*also forgot to mention, lots of us are introverted. you’re not as alone as you think but OBVIOUSLY none of us want to start a conversation first so we struggle alone lmao

[namjoonchronicles]

closure |nj

↳ pairing namjoon, reader

↳ genre fluff, domestic, established relationship, melodrama

↳ words 3,775k

↳ summary some stories aren't meant to be understood, they're just written to be heard.

↳ warning depression; major death of side character, suicide

↳ song 'feel something' by clairo, 'to love someone else' by avery lynch, 'chernobyl' by alec bailey

Truly, the nights are filled with unspoken stories. When he took your hand in his and looked deep into your eye with those soft concerned gaze, you were home. He cupped your chin, curled a strand of your hair behind your ear and studied your entire face.

“What’s that look?” his voice swam in your semi-consciousness, “I know that look. That look pains me, takes me to the edge, makes me curl my toes, that look…”

Your eyes flutter wondrously at his lashes, his Cupid’s bow and supple lips, along with a stricken smile you asked him quizzically, “I am alright, you have nothing to worry about…”

Namjoon thumbed your cheek and it traced down to your smile line, the curve at the edge of your lips, and you know he felt the trembles as you forced the smile. Namjoon’s eyes trail up to meet yours again, he starts chewing the insides of his cheek, hollowing them.

“You are faking the smile,” and he softens when he sees your eyes gleaming with tears. Upon this, he collected your head into his arms and cushioned by his chest. He passes a long lingering kiss atop of your head, cradling your head while your arms are low on his hip, trying to barely hold on. At the time, he felt like a pillar, holding you together in all your ruins. His stature, the scent of his aftershave, the makings of his shirts and the smell of his skin— it all rushed over your senses like a tsunami. The kind of comfort he was, such a calming presence for a cyclone-bearing human you were.

Rush of emotions. It builds up.

And up.

And up.

And overflows.

You are an enigma Namjoon is scrambling to find out. A tough shell of a crab, with walls built high and thick. Like a lost traveler with a single map that’s ever changing in its path, ever evolving— you were that map. The verandah's wooden panel wet from the late afternoon rain, the hammock under the small roof at the edge, lay static in its place until Namjoon put his enormous weight on it. One leg dangling out, arm spread and waiting for you to grab them. He bracketed your waist and lifted you from the floor and into his lap like a child. He has a bottle of soda by the side, its lid snapped open. Laying your back on his hard, defined pectoral chest, feeling the weight of the world on your shoulder somewhat lifted a bit. Namjoon knows, and he knows this without you saying a word— he knows that you had been fighting many battles alone, and with yourself. The battles had wrung you out, strewn you in and silenced you. Constantly, insistently the world is demanding a piece of you to give out. At this place and time, it seemed incredibly impossible to be at complete peace. You could almost give in— tempted to lay in defeat. You gave it your all, and they gave you nothing.

“It’ll hurt for awhile, but it will get better,” you suddenly broke the silence. Namjoon hummed back, either confused or surprised at the sudden remark. You turned sideways and up, to look at the view of his jaw. He tips his head back, drinking down the soda in his left hand. The thin fabrics of his sleeveless tanks, left almost nothing to the imagination. He tutted his tongue in response to what you said.

“That’s a nice saying…” his voice dropped an octave lower when he is relaxing like this with you. You were the few humans in the world he would appreciate silence with. You switched to face him, him between your legs as you sat up with a big gaping smile on your face, disbelieved.

“You’re the one who told me that…” emphasizing on him. You filled the gaps between his legs with your own, sandwiched as you sat opposed to him. Your toes next to his head and him grinning like he kept a secret from the world. After much struggle to get comfortable, you said,

“You told me that when my grandmother passed away that night in January… I remember it clearly, just like it was yesterday…

I was in the elevator with her lifeless body on the casket and not a drop of tears left my eye…

I started wondering if there was something wrong with me…”

Namjoon wrapped his palm over your ankles— the ankles you hated so much because you think they are unappealing, he thumbs the protruding bone affectionately, brought it to his stomach and started massaging it with his free hand. All the while you were reminiscing.

“And you told me that I was so hurt, I couldn’t cry. How I am used to fabricating my pain for the sake of others… that when I was expected to cry, I couldn’t. And wouldn’t. How I took being strong quite literally…” Your voice slowed down, your eyes casted to the view of his fingers, nimbling over your skin.

“And today, the same thing happened… but today, I chose not to be too strong,” you held your breath for a moment, and exhaled shakily. The emotions aren’t all gone; the remnants are still here, clinging on you like a stubborn stain on the wall left by the old frames that were no longer there. Coiling around you like a shadow at every hint of bright light. The guilt was paralyzing you to the point of tears.

“A friend of mine was taken today…” you painted a smile on your face but Namjoon didn’t etch one, one bit. His fingers stopped massaging briefly, before it continued.

“You’ve met him once, if you remembered, his name is Hoseok,” you wiped a single drop of tear, “He was a firm owner, a lawyer. We met at the convention…”

“... back in 2015.” Namjoon finished your sentences.

At the 2015 International Pharmaceutical Convention, 7 years ago...

Flourishing, the crowd of intelligent people came in with a big proud smile, wearing lanyards of their company. Blazers, heels, jewelries, research posters, new pharmaceutical breakthroughs, projects and investors circles. The big pharma are divided in sections.

Walking toward the condiments vendor for a quick refreshment, you were approached by a man. Tall, his face turned away from your view as he was speaking to another colleague. He hijacked your turn to access the vendors, unknowingly, and you weren’t exactly the kind to speak up when a stranger does this to you, so you backed away a little and forced out a smile, gazing down at your toes.

“Hey, I think I know your name…” this mysterious figure suddenly says, “Still letting others go first before you, huh?” In such a friendly tone, your mind began racing to decipher his voice and face when you shot your gaze up to meet his. The same disarming smile, perfectly lined teeth and just the right amount of cologne, wafted around your nose— was a face familiar from the years back.

“Hoseok? Jung Hoseok?” he mentions his name after a long pause from you.

You were tongue-tied, mind-riddled from such a sudden meeting. You were unprepared and it must have shown all over your face the way he hisses away, wearing a lopsided smile and gruffly saying, “Don’t be like that… Do you really not know me? Have I mistook you for someone else?” He suddenly shifted his weight to another foot, crossed his arm and placed his forefinger under his chin, gazing at the corner of the massive hall, thinking.

“Ankles, and that old wristwatch, it’s definitely you…” his pondering face switches to a cheerful smile in a matter of seconds and you could not have been even more right that this was your old friend whom you hadn’t contacted in years. All the way back in college.

“Oh my, it’s you…!” You gasped, trying to recover from the embarrassing delay, “Wow, you look amazing… How are you! How have you been?”

Hoseok exchanged your late recalling with a burst of laughter of his own.

“I own a firm now,” you heard him say. It was the first thing he said, and it showed just how much pride he took in it. Which was fair. Back then he was struggling to find his footing, trying to find a job and getting rejected at interviews— it was you whom he shared those stories with. Over late night coffee, late night conversations and texts; he talks about his days, sharing with you his strange humors. You were glad that he finally found what he liked to do; at least that's what you assumed he liked because you clearly remembered that he had different interests.

“So what about the photography business? Your freelance job?” you hesitantly asked.

You could see how his smile and whole stature faltered briefly at the mention of it. You knew that his family was against it— was against anything that isn’t bringing back money— passion or not, it wasn’t something his family wanted him to do. Besides, his father’s firm needs managing, and what other way to continue the business if not having a son that is doing law as well.

“Folded,” his cheeks puffed and deflated, “Sold everything including the antique camera, the analogues, the films… everything.”

Your heart thudded strangely. You knew just how much he loved photography. It was the reason why you both got close back then. Your passion to everything artistic and his passion to capture everything beautiful. You remember so well, how his face lights up at the mention of photography, how he was so willing to teach you how to use the cameras you’ve never seen, and how he shares all his work with you, including the new one he was currently working on. You had access to all of his digital work and manuscript. And it was unfortunate that all these had to go away, leaving nothing to the memory. Nothing to hold close. It probably killed him as well. But what could he have done?

“How about you?” the conversation now shifts to your side. You twisted the ring around your ring finger and showed it to him.

“Awesome!” He gleams. So delighted.

“He is here somewhere, I don’t know where he went… but he should find me in a few minutes,” you looked around.

“You were getting something from the vendor?” Hoseok asked, but you shook your head. You don’t feel like drinking now.

Hoseok gradually finds out how your life is, where you’ve worked and places you’ve been.

“And you met Namjoon at work?”

“Pretty much, he is in the investors group. We met once, talking about a big pharma project and he was one of the champions supporting the good cause, so I owed him a lot,” you shrugged as to say, the rest is history.

“So he made you marry him to pay up all your emotional debts?” Hoseok jokes.

“Not exactly but… you know how I am. I can be very difficult to convince, especially when I am so comfortable with the lifestyles I already have. I dread to be a housewife so when he understood that, everything else falls into place,” you added and caught a tall figure walking along the hallway, dashing in his slick back hair, lanyards dangling.

Blazers flailing, white dress shirt and slacks make up the shapes of his defined abs and thighs. He walks with his head hanging slightly downwards as if he was trying not to catch anyone’s attention but was failing. Everyone turned their head towards him the moment he stepped inside the hall.

He stopped midway and tugged his left sleeve back. His Patek Phillipe Nautilus shimmering handsomely under the spotlight as he studied the time. He lifts his eyes up to scan the room through his brows and pursed lips, wondering where his wife was at the promised time.

You raised your arm slightly and the smoldering figure of a man twitches a big smile and a small bite on his lower lip, making his way to you. Completely aware about the man that was nearby you as he plants a chaste, enveloping kiss on your lips.

“This is Namjoon, Kim Namjoon…” You placed your hand on the small of his back and he reached out to Hoseok first for a handshake, again, his wristwatch peeking out when he covers the handshake with the left hand.

“Sweetheart, this is Hoseok, Jung Hoseok. He is a lawyer…” you introduced them both and Hoseok handed him his name card. Namjoon waits for you to further elaborate how you seemed so friendly with this man. And you can’t say that Hoseok was in-fact your old best friend whom you cut connections with because you’ve had feelings for him when he was in love with someone else. So you say, “An old friend.”

You sighed in relief when Namjoon didn’t catch the extended pause, but you can’t help thinking that he might question more later in the ride home. But for now, Namjoon’s bright smile seems to captivate the whole room’s attention. Small talks, and brief discussion about the direction of the convention and what he thinks about it, comes naturally. But he makes sure you don’t feel left out by the conversation by constantly adding your pharma company name in the picture.

“Had it not been my darling, the company would have gone downhill with their outdated scheduling methods and utter refusal to accept reformations according to modernization,” Namjoon added, and while he says so, so professionally and with full alluring prospects of a seasoned business man, his hand was trailing down the curve of your ass and gently squeezing them— out of Hoseok’s sight. Had you been a terrible pretender, you would have moaned out of context. You can thank your overflowing control for that. You were also cursing his name in the back of your mind and he will have an earful of it when you get home later.

“She single-handedly save the multi-billionaire company from their biggest downfall from the company’s incompetent leader,” Hoseok added, “Also they had a lot of legal issues at the time. I was in-charge of the corporate files before they shifted to joint-venture with Daehan Pharmaceuticals… it was a mess already. Corruption, bribes and unreliable auditing data.”

“Wait…” you intruded, “You were in the pharma that long? So we could have met?”

Hoseok gave you a lopsided smile and nodded. He further explained how he kept sending his colleagues to do site visits because he wants to avoid seeing you. This is where Namjoon begins to realise that you guys might be more than just friends because he asked,

“Why is that?”

Hoseok began his answer with a shrug of his shoulder and pursing his lips. After a brief thought, he admits, “Because at the time, we weren’t talking anymore. She would know why,” He opens his mouth to say more, but glancing down at your wedding ring, he didn’t.

If Hoseok remembered clearly, he was talking to you about a girl he had been pursuing. It was the first time he ever revealed something like that, all along you knew each other. You were studying for your final year and had been bludgeoned with assignments. There wasn’t a right time to tell you until one day on April 17th, he said he was finally going to ask this girl if she would be his girlfriend. A little info on her was that she was in a toxic relationship she was trying to get out from. She didn’t ask Hoseok to wait, but Hoseok was so in love with her, he didn’t mind how long it would take. She requested for time and space. Another man claimed her as his girlfriend when she didn’t say yes or no. Another two were also after her. Her ex boyfriend returned after months of leaving her. Just at the same time Hoseok was allowing her in his life.

When he shared you that information, you felt so betrayed somehow. He was always preaching about how being single is the best way to live and he turned around and did things like this. Pursuing a relationship. You were stubborn, you had egos you wanted to defend. Everything regarding relationships, you refuse to acknowledge. And any slight differences in your opinions were enough to break a relationship, even a strong friendship like you and Hoseok shared at the time. You once confessed to Hoseok that you liked him and he couldn’t return the same feelings. So you accused him of loving someone else and he denied that. When this happened, you felt like you were lied to. Because Hoseok, at the time that you two knew each other, was already having eyes on someone else, treating you as a placeholder, sharing emotions until the girl was eventually available for him.

Then he dropped you.

Things would have been different if he just told the truth. That he was indeed in love with someone when you confessed to him. Things would be much easier and it wouldn’t have gone deeper than it was. You would have walked away, unhurt and without knowing each other at a depth that you’d have to crawl out from. But Hoseok didn’t want to lose you. For some reason, he kept the friendship despite being unable to return your feelings, fabricating attention and giving hopes that he might one day change his feelings. Had you walked out earlier, you wouldn’t have resorted to deleting all contacts with him. His Instagram account, all his numbers, his pictures, galleries. The assignments he helped you with, the emotional support, the ice cream dates and late night phone calls. You would take it all away.

You deleted him from your life, only for him to tiptoe around the same company as yours— afraid of being known but unsure of what he did wrong. You decided that you would punish him that way. By leaving him with no answers of why you left.

“Will you be joining the closing ceremony dinner at Hyatt?” Namjoon politely asked. Noticing that the conversation had run down.

“Perhaps I will. I have to keep the firm going for the wife and kids to eat,” Hoseok perked up, and it was the first time he ever revealed about his marital status all through the conversation.

“Oh, you married her?” the delight in your voice was sincere, you are so happy for him. But his answers weren’t what you expected.

“No I didn’t. She left me for someone else, she was never honest with me, and I was only hearing the things I wanted to hear,” Hoseok rubs his knuckle and politely excused himself when he saw Namjoon was approached by an entourage of bodyguards that guide you and your husband to the next section of the convention. No numbers were exchanged to insinuate a rekindled relationship. It’s like you both understood that you could never return to what you were before. You both are leading different lives now, with different people and different phases. But you hoped he knew just how much he meant to you back then.

Hoseok walked away with a lightened shoulders. Now that he has seen you face-to-face and sure of what life you’re living, he felt a little at ease and a little envious. In the car you once rode with him, this broken-down Honda Civic, divorce papers were scattered on the front seat. The top-most letter being the child custody granted to his wife. His firm is also on the verge of bankruptcy and he was laid off from his contract with the pharma, this convention being the last one he will ever attend. After you left his life, he was burdened with one bad luck after the other. And he was at his last strand of hope when he came to the building. He saw you gracefully presenting on the stage about the medication you have been working on, like how he always wished to see. You were so cool, so engaging, so intelligent in your presence. Namjoon is the ultimate husband you wished for, and of course, you would concede for a man that was at your level. Knowing you as long as he did, you will not settle for less and that’s final. No discussion.

Life is good for you.

Inserting his car keys inside the keyhole, telling himself that, “That’s the price of breaking a pure heart.”

Empty bottle of soda laying on the wooden panel. Your tear-stained face, sleeping on your side under the starry night sky, while Namjoon watched you intently. He covers you with a blanket and lets you sleep. He walked inside the house, and vanished to his home office. In it, he fetches his phone and turns on his table lamp, making a call that was immediately taken.

“I want you to find the burial information on a lawyer Jung Hoseok and send some condolences bouquet,” he instructed with a low voice. The short voice call felt heavy but necessary. Hoseok’s passing was detrimental to his wife’s mental and emotional health— it was important for him and her to get the closure they both needed.

Judging from her frail figure, she won’t be able to attend the funeral. Cremation was planned as requested by Hoseok. His children will not be attending, neither is his wife. The last thing Hoseok wanted was his funeral attended by the people that was the reason for his passing. For years, he had been battling depression and anxiety. It has been a long, lonely fight.

Namjoon watches the silhouette of you, standing against the setting sun, in your all-black attire and hair tied in a bun, hugging yourself. Wind blowing the strands of your hair back at every strike. Your diamond ring twinkling at the light it reflects. The sound of traffic in the distance, honks and vehicles throttling far away.

“The funeral ended gracefully…” Namjoon broke the silence.

You dropped your head and tutted your tongue, smiling weakly.

“It’s not your fault, darling…” your husband’s footsteps padded through the wooden floors to where you were.

“Then why does it hurt so bad? Why does it still hurt so Goddamn much?!” you shrieked.

Namjoon collected you in his arms, so you would rest your head on his sturdy chest, and he whispered, barely audibly heard by you,

“Because when you love, you love with everything you have. I know that much.”

It was then he realized that one is only allowed the closure they deserved;

And, no closure is also a closure.

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copyright © january 4th, 2021 namjoonchronicles do not repost, and thank you for reading <3

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↳ author’s note it's been awhile, i feel like i've been waiting for my personal life to overflow before i could write something. this is just an excuse to use 'that' picture of namjoon for the banner of a story. how are you? i've recently cut contacts with someone i hold dearly in my life. upon the break, it gave me back the emotions i used to have when i am writing. all this while, i have wasted my feeling, my elaborated word choices on someone who hardly appreciate it. with him gone, i started to think clearer and see things for what they are. i am no longer shrouded by dark grey clouds of uncertainty as i was with him. it was a difficult shift, but i feel better now that he is gone from my life. i dropped a tear or two not because of the love i used to feel for him, but because i felt incapable of being loved the way i yearned. this is the second day after i broke all connection with the said man/boy/creature. i feel liberated after the whole story was written. i needed him killed in my mind. so i wrote it just that. i've returned to where i was before, and i feel absolutely fine.

[captainkurosolaire]

I challenge you to pick five Tumblrs in your social circle and tell them something you admire about their blog!

Only 5? I could probably do 500. However, that's determined by what's considered my social circle. I'm often in my head being incredibly social continuously is really a challenge of mine. I'm always actively marching to something, my flame of passion when I have it, I can do some crazy stuff but it diminishes relatively quickly, so I try to cling. But I'll up your thing and list 25 of my fave people. Ask me this same thing in a Month, I'll keep doing 25, until I do all the people. How about that? (If anyone wants to be taken off mention let me know.)

@eligos-venator

- Has one of the most intelligent and sophisticated minds, I've had the pleasure to know. Literally admire all his aesthetics, work, head-cannons, ideas. It's only a benefit that the dude shares some OC characteristics to my own (Winning features). I really enjoyed the short-thread we did. It was incomplete, mainly because of my faults. I want to actually be better to give him a proper delivery and RP worth his time, but he's incredibly worth the investment of eyes.

@mischiefandmystics

- If there was a Mount Rushmoore of writers who kept me in this endeavor, encouraged me. Sun'ra is one of them. His characterization skills, writing, the delivery and how believable his character is, they're masterful acts.

@mishivymendi

- I wouldn't be nearly tamed or as creatively freed if it wasn't for this gem. She broke my shell, I really didn't at a time ever see myself being anything really beyond a smut writer, but Mishi not only saw potential in me, but brought it out. Her stories and world's she brings to life are so majestically colorful.

@asymphonyofash

- My go-to. He's another pillar individual who saw things in me past just the obvious perception, (Probably second longest XIV RPer I know.) Taught me a lot of the lore, I shot him up and he's sort of become my stapled rock. He's right aside Sun'ra met them about the same, both took me under their wing's as I quietly observed and absorbed.

@lavender-hemlock

- We're always up and front with each other, never feeling like I couldn't say anything around, extremely rare to share that these days. Her gif's are legendary, something on my own terms I want to soar in quality. The writing she does is astounding. Character has so many mysterious pages that are quite addictive to want to explore and learn them. (Encore 20 below-cut)

@under-the-blood-moonlight - Her sweetness and artwork and overall is just a friendly presence to be around. I cherish them so much. One I can jive with more darker undertones with. She's one the most hardworking and ambitiously creative people. I'd mail them infinite hugs if could. Thanks for being you! @roxinova - I owe a lot of credit to her. She's constantly OOC and everything was nudging me too be more inclusive to things and involved heavenly. It's rare for me. I'm really horrible about that my autism sets me back socially, I constantly will be drowned by the next day and be reverted back to better off alone, that's my major crux and weakness. But her thoughtfulness, these things, aren't ever foreign to me, I do pay attention probably better than any would ever give me credit. She's a beacon model to have as a friend. @corpse-dancer - Haven't ran into many words with them, but her character, screenshot game, expressiveness, they're all a marvel to constantly see, alongside her attitude and bringing life character. I do think if I were better, we would click quite splendidly. They've recently reminded and motivated me to pick-up my daily-practice, or try too. Keep being a rockstar. @fair-fae - Few who wouldn't know who she is in this community. She's been in my opinion a huge core. I'm certain she's inspired many who weren't even RPers too try it by seeing her at the Quicksands or elsewhere, a tyme ago. Making no exception, I was even one of those. I used to be in QS every-single day and was often doing my shameless stuff. Though her presence first did show me there's a lot more. I admire her in all fields. Also appreciate her adopting me to the FC and her always thinking of others and giving events, or her aesthetics and portrayal, its the epitome of swan elegance. @thorcat - One of my most treasured friends. Been RPing with them for a longtime. There's never anything complicated between us or a rift of drama, it's just let's go and have fun. We really mesh well, I've welcomed nearly ever character and got the privilege to RP with nearly all them. They always open up envelope and help me, settle on back and just laugh. Whether used to be waking up to their characters humping my afk one or use randomly having a hardcore banter between Ufah and Captain and capturing them as a voidal pet. Memories with them isn't something I'd ever want to lose. I love ya! Never stop enjoying life for anything. @lukawarrioroflight - I get in the gutter find myself lacking motivation or writing, discouraged even... But I never have felt, I could ever do any wrong with this person, they bring the light out of me. So no matter what, how many hospital-beds I yearly visit, it's because of this rare nature, that I come back, even if they're the only one's ever to read my stuff. I would do it for them alone. @scholarlybreadbun - I've only been back recently and they've so much warmth. Their presence is the sun of inviting. The couple and posing all the shipping that stuff makes me even melt. I'm not particularly talented in regards to posing couples, but I took notice of them along time ago and set on quietly improving. Really like them for them, wouldn't ever want them to change that. Ideally look forward to be in their orbit longer so I can bask in them. @seascrapes - Been mutual with them for a while. Their aesthetics and character is all S+ level. I appreciate throwing back tagged prompts with them, one of many people I really think would be enjoyable to collab with any other seafarers. The artwork and pieces of Tal Brook, are breathtaking as ever exceptionally too, not to mention. Love your stuff matey, you're a king. @mai-takeda - Is a myth. Her absolutely sheer friendliness and her attitude, are so positive influencing, I was so thrilled to be welcomed with her and boosted by them early on. I couldn't see myself, wanting to exist where they didn't have happiness like the same she always delivers by just doing so many soft-things. Not to mention her writing... She's a whole world to throw yourself gazes

under. @zhauric - It doesn't go far either without the same breath of Mai, I could say about Zhauric. He's someone worthy to look-up and also recognize they're passionate and inviting, hoisting up literally everything. Could easily find any of their characters comrades with my own, or jiving alongside. Not to mention last XIVWrite, they slaughtered it. So enjoyable to read them all. I like how organized their blog is too, motivated me recently to redux my entire thing. @cadrenebula - They have so many diverse characters and their entire roster is vibrant and is imbued with a massive flux of life. They are able to encapsulate so many character's voices and portray them so effectively too, I really admire that greatly. They've made me think bigger and try myself recently at actually undertaking a huge roster of characters too. I've taken many breaks, but I always am so graciously returned often with them close-by and that's so incredibly sacred. I've seen a lot of people get discouraged or quit, leave, departure, etc. But they always seem to have a bigger house then they had last I took a break and I enjoy peaking in. @silvernsteel - Her artist and gif-work are awe-aspiring, there's little unrecognizable by her photo-sets and edits. They helped me even tip-toe into uncharted with giving me the recipes to try incorporating gifs into my arsenal. Plus so delightfully pleasant to actually talk with and just chill. I want nothing less in life, than the beauty they give, to be returned to them for eternity in all their glorious air. If ever needed anything of me, they've got me. @spotofmummery - We talk about passion or friendliness or overall a person to even remotely try to be, I got to include them. Their web-series and writing, screen-work, everything they do is fantastic. And that's furthered back nearly any I've met showcase or immortalize how just genuine of stellar person they are. I wish them always the energy to create and sparks. @snow-covered-moon - They've never been anything less but absolutely a diamond to know. I enjoy their character, their almost always abundant of energy that's very rub inducing. Their WoL character stories, writing, screen-shots, everyday they open up a new pandora box of joy, there's no mistaken love behind their character and that's infectiously easy to also enjoy something when the author does too. Always healthy to be around, I never feel short of vitality when they're close-by. @letheofthelost - Always cheerful or least encapsulates with me, they're a carnival ride. Just pure epic story-telling and engaging equally as passionate, constantly writing characters, not looking for anything outside of RP or anything really just being their selves, they fade all others. I love their presence, them as a person. Enjoy any character they'll ever come and throw under me, or a change of pace. Always feels easily understandable between one another. @crow-iv - Together we're an unfiltered, unstoppable wake of pure passionate writers and art. But I would say they're far ahead of me, in every regard. Already able to portray multiple characters in a scene and do such in-depth thinking, alongside even sketch or draw right afterwards or a scene. They're so talented, huge reason I set-out on giving them a Crew of cast and actual stories to-tell when I'm actually caught up and if they interested and we both have the room, I really think if further myself, I can be better and supply more for them to draw and I want to see them soar. I want to give them all my improvements and effectiveness. @trishelle - They've such a reinforcing personality and aura around them that easily bolsters anything that dares thinking they're about to be depleted so energizing. Aesthetics, characters, all them are so lively that further compliment their own mun's great welcoming presence. Worth hundreds of smiles and stars, keep high. Wish I had more time to dedicate to learning you! But I do notice and appreciate you. @fracturedfantasia - One of my people, I like to retreat and just talk my full

head-cannons with or learn, share insightful and inquisitive thoughts about philosophies and multi-culture things. Or plotting and in-general, they're a well of information and brimming ideas, they are every making of what makes a quality friend. When you can generally be open-about-all that's a real one right there. Their characters and tarot readings, I always would implore if they're offering. Thanks for giving me any-time. You're truly a treasure. @violet-warder - Never have even came to words with them yet unfortunately but didn't mean as a mutual, I haven't admired all their screenies, writing, or the aesthetics they bring of their character. Glamours is real end-game, I like all what you've done and put together. I care strictly about what represent and give, I don't want to see them ever think anyone want's them gone, they are abundantly so talented and possess things only they can deliver. I think recently came back too, and I'm glad to share, hopefully, overtime I can build you better up. Or eventually even talk, but I'm certain you are a busy-body person too, so we're relatable. @layla-grey - I have a lot of underline issues that set me back as a flawed person, but I've never not been anything but someone who's open, it's why I always do include my f-list in anything or etc. I'm not here to present this facade, and really don't care to be an image crafted by another. No one as of recently or now, am I close with as an RP partner or friend with then this stunning masterpiece. I never let-up on story-telling or anything so I can eventually use my Crew or other Characters, to give them anytime a master entertaining day, they push me to not be short-changed. IC and OOC I would devote my full attention too cause they've never shed from me. Didn't ever matter how much silence or anything, they're always around. And don't expect anything out of me or pressure. Just accept me and I equally share that sentiment, I want you to have everything in this world has to offer. ----- This is just a fraction of people, I've paid attention, noticed or know. I've been around in this Community for many years. There's a lot of things I could say about it, more probably then anyone else. But what matters to me, is recognizing the people who are here, that work hard, build others up, support, constantly are a beam. I don't need to interact with everyone, to know when someone is generally out for good. Or they're out for bad I've learned inquisitiveness longtime ago, I had to survive and remain afloat. I just go out and be me, and along the way, I get to find people like these, who help bring out the best me. I am nothing without these people, creators, writers, artist. I'm a terrible friend, horrible person, I don't have the energy to interact NEARLY with as much as I'd like with you all, If I could clone myself, or if things were different, I would drop it all to be in your orbits more if could. But, do know I appreciate you. And even if you ever do depart from this whole community or anything, know that anything you share, or give, that stuff does matter, somewhere, someone was aspired, if nothing else, by me. ONLY you can give the worlds you see and I am thankful. Do love yourself.

[jiejie-eonni-onee-sama]

Mystery Girl

For the cute @multifandomfix 💝🌹​

Hope you will like this gift!

"No, Gil! Don't tell me you agreed to this!"

"Sorry, Malcolm, but those are the orders of the hierarchy. Besides, having backup can't hurt you!"

The profiler shook his head, annoyed: he didn't need this!

Bright repeated to anyone who would listen that he preferred to profile criminals alone. Why pair him up with a stranger?

Grumbling, the young man nervously ran a hand through his hair. The police didn't want to let him work properly.

JT, one of his friends, patted him on the shoulder and said jokingly:

"Congratulations, Malcolm. You're about to discover an unknown concept: teamwork!

"Very funny, JT."

Dani, his colleague and best friend, tried to make him smile.

"Don't worry: I'm sure you'll be fine. You might even get along with your new partner!"

Malcolm rolled his eyes.

"I think you're very optimistic, Dani. They're going to send me some pimply, snooty kid from the best police academy who's more likely to get in my way than help me!  So, sorry, but I'm not enthusiastic!"

"What do you know? You've never met them!"

At the same time, Gil joined them.

"Bright, your new partner is waiting for you in the office! Try to hide your bad mood!"

Letting out a long sigh of annoyance, Malcolm headed for the room, ranting in anticipation of this unwelcome partner.

"I hope Malcolm doesn't get upset!" muttered JT.

"The way he's in a bad mood, it's not looking good!" whispered Dani.

"Don't worry, both of you. When Malcolm meets our new profiler, I bet he will be different!"

Meanwhile, Bright walked into the room, expecting to run into an arrogant young graduate who would have already criticized his work to no avail without knowing a single detail about the case. Instead, he came across a lovely young woman who was reading the report of the initial investigations.

Forgetting his sour mood, Bright tried to make a good impression on the newcomer. 

Quickly combing his hair and checking his breath, he cleared his throat, attracting the attention of the lady who looked up from her reading.

"Hello," she replied.

Malcolm noticed that she had a lovely voice. Charming must have been her middle name.

Smiling kindly, he introduced himself:

"Hello, you must be the new profiler. I'm..."

The young woman interrupted him with an amused smile.

"I know who you are, Malcolm Bright. I've heard a lot about you."

"Yes, I suppose you've heard that I'm crazy, insufferable, dangerous, and the spawn of a terrible serial killer. Don't bother with that: I hear it all day long!"

Placing the file back on the table, the young woman continued:

"Yes, I've heard that, but those aren't the only things I've heard. I understand that you are intelligent, perceptive, cultured, observant, and stubborn! All in all, an interesting person to work with!"

Bright was surprised!

"Wait, does that mean you asked your superiors to come and work with me?"

"Yes, I did. And from what I can see, you fit the description well: your clothing shows a comfortable lifestyle. I would say that you are very well off financially. 

On the other hand, the paleness of your complexion and the dark circles appearing under your beautiful brown eyes indicate a poor sleep pattern, which can lead to one of two things. 

Either you are an incorrigible party animal, or you are a man whose mind is always racing and troubled by traumatic memories. In your case, I'd go for the second hypothesis. You are a more complex person than most people want to believe."

Crossing her arms, she asked defiantly, a smile on her face:

"Now, Mr Bright, your turn: what can you deduce about me? Apart from the fact that I'm not a pimply little pretentious graduate!"

Malcolm winced: she had heard him!

"I assure you I had no idea who you were. Otherwise, I would never have allowed myself to say such things!"

"Judging without even knowing the people? Big mistake for a brilliant profiler like you, Malcolm!" laughed the young woman.

"Even the best make mistakes."

"If you can give me as much correct information as possible, I'll give you my name. If not, I'll let you search all day. Are you up to the challenge?"

"Challenge accepted. Well, let's see: who are you, mysterious miss?"

He circled the young woman, looking for the slightest detail that might give him information.

After a few minutes of observation, he gave his conclusions:

"From the look of your clothing, you are in a decent financial position. You are not a multi-millionaire, but you make a good living. You like simple, comfortable styles, probably because you like to look elegant and efficient at the same time.

Your posture and stature tell me that you are an athlete. I'd say you've done quite a bit of dancing, but your muscularity shows that you're a martial artist. Am I right?"

"I have a black belt in karate and judo, and I practice taekwondo, as well as ju-jitsu and Muay Thai. And I did a lot of dancing when I was younger."

"Haha! I was right. Well, as for the rest, I'd say you have an excellent photographic memory: you put that file down exactly where you took it. You are also a brilliant observer because you have deduced details of my life just by looking at me. 

I suppose you are an artist in your spare time. I saw in your bag a sketchbook and a box of pencils. Both are well placed, which betrays your meticulous side. 

Finally, I would say that you are a hard-working, kind and mischievous person. Your superiors must appreciate you enough to accept your request to come here. So, what do you say?"

Amused, the young woman clapped slowly.

"Well done, Malcolm Bright. You've lived up to your reputation. Everything you have deduced is correct."

"You will find me delighted. And now, to finish the introductions properly, may I know your name?"

"Of course: my name is (Y/N) (L/N), a certified FBI profiler."

"Pleased to meet you, Miss (Y/N) (L/N). Something tells me we'll work well together."

"That's what I hope."

Hiding behind the door, Gil, JT and Dani were relieved to see that Malcolm and (Y/N) seemed to be getting along well. Now, let's hope that this duo can be effective against the criminals that have New Yorkers on edge.

A few months later.

Sitting on a bench, Malcolm and (Y/N) enjoyed a hot chocolate while enjoying a beautiful autumn day. The two profilers wanted to have a quiet moment, away from the eyes of their colleagues and Malcolm's family! 

"Are you going to tell them the truth about us, or are you going to let them stew for a while longer?" the young woman asked.

The profiler smiled mischievously.

"I think I'll let them work their brains out for a few days before I tell them everything. Just for the fun of seeing their faces when they learn the truth!"

"I didn't know you were such a tease!" joked (Y/N).

For all answers, Malcolm took the young woman's hand in his and placed a kiss on it.

"I'm a man full of surprises, my dear. Just like you!"

"You sure didn't expect me to kiss you first!"

Malcolm pretended to be offended.

"But I thought of it first!"

"Oh, did you?"

"Certainly. Let me prove it!"

The profiler leaned over and kissed his girlfriend on the lips. 

Unfortunately, this sweet moment was interrupted by a ringing mobile phone.

"I think you should pick up the phone!" the young woman pointed out.

Grumbling, Malcolm picked up his mobile phone and picked it up:

"Hello?"

**"Hello, big brother!"**

"Good afternoon, Ainsley. To what do I owe this call?" the profiler asked.

**"I just wanted to let you know that Mum's inviting us to dinner at the house tonight. She's counting on your presence. Is that so?"** asked the reporter.

"I'll be there. It's not like I have a choice!" quipped Malcolm.

**"I'll take that as a yes... Oh, by the way, she'd like you to invite your mystery girlfriend!"**

At these words, the two lovers looked at each other in amazement: would Jessica know?

Controlling his stress, Malcolm replied:

"I don't know what she means, but I don't have a girlfriend!"

**"Oh yeah? Well then, you can tell me who the pretty lady you just kissed lovingly is!"**

Looking around him, the profiler spotted his little sister standing at the other end of the park and waving at him, a smirk on her face.

A little annoyed, Malcolm asked:

"Is your favourite pastime spying on me?"

"I admit it's very distracting. But I promise I won't tell Mum. I'll leave the great honour of making the introductions to you."

"I'm sure you'll be glad to, dear little sister."

"See you tonight, big brother. And give my regards to your lady of heart!" 

When the conversation was over, (Y/N) smiled:

"It seems that someone has found out..."

"And unfortunately, it is my sister."

(Y/N) kissed her boyfriend on the cheek.

"Honey, I can't be your mystery girl forever anyway. They're going to have to know that!"

Malcolm smiled.

"I have to admit, you're right. In any case, my love for you will never be a mystery again."

Now that their secret love affair gets revealed, Malcolm and (Y/N) will have more time to unsolve differents mysteries...

Thanks for reading! 

I hope you enjoyed the story!

Please don’t hesitate to request me a story and see you soon!

Take care! 😍🥰😘

[clearlynotjanus]

Loceit Appreciation Week: Day Two, Crook/Aftermath

READ ON AO3

Chapter Summary: As the aftermath of choosing to attend Lee & Mary-Lee's wedding over Thomas' big acting break approaches, Janus extends Logan an unprecedented olive branch that results in the pair inadvertently working together.

CW: Drinking mention, very brief religion mention, philosophy Word Count: 3703 Genre: Gen, Hurt/comfort Rating: Gen Ships: Slowburn Loceit, pre-established Dukeceit, pre-established Intrulogical, slowburn intruloceit

taglist: @sanderssidesangsttrash​ @catalinaacosta​ @whatishappeningrightnow​ @anxiousbean4404​ @vexelore​ @the-dead-and-the-decaying​ @serpentinesomebody​ @poptartsaysurloved​ @robertdownerjr​ @dangitsbrightinhere​ @iamuncomffy​ @sanderdarksides​ @evertriedsoywithyourpopcorn​ @dragonfander @virgilstarantula​ @a-rudethude @indubitably-emo @gay-artist-626​ @cosplayhanna​ @edupunkn00b​ @wouldntyou-liketoknow​ @awesomerandomgirl1 @rizzyluke @loceitweek2021

To support my writing, consider subscribing to my Patreon or checking out my Ko-fi.

April 13th was rapidly approaching and with each passing hour, Thomas sank deeper into denial. Indecision welled as he went back and forth on the subject matter; callback or wedding, callback or wedding, the opportunity of a lifetime or a petty social engagement -- ugh. There was nothing resolute about his choice, about Roman’s choice. It was impulsive, fueled by the short lived desire to be seen as a good person. The kicker was that, even though Thomas was beginning to see this much, it didn’t matter. He would continue burying the realization under mounds of repression while justifying his discontent every way he could manage, grasping at every straw and still coming up short. 

And Janus was supposed to help him, obviously. Repression may have been Patton’s speciality at times, but lying was his jurisdiction; even and especially when those lies were told to himself -- Thomas’ self. He was expected to disregard the resentment in his heart and perform his function. Well, if Thomas could make questionable decisions, then so could Janus, and he decided that they would all find it very difficult to cope when Thomas suddenly found himself incapable of lying on the wretched day. Maybe then Janus’ argument would be taken seriously -- but that was assuming Thomas would even notice.

Stewing in these thoughts, Janus shifted in his seat. Remus, used to his malcontented fidgeting, never spared a glance, however Logan seemed to finally have had enough.

“Are you alright, Janus?” Logan asked from his position, diagonal from the other. His tone was more annoyed and straightforward than concerned. He had genuinely been interested in the show Remus had put on but found it impossible to concentrate with Janus’ excessive sighing and movement.

“I suppose,” Janus lamented, resuming his contemplative silence. Perturbed, Logan adjusted his glasses and resigned himself to sitting back.

“Well, if there’s anything to be done,” Logan offered mindlessly, allowing his sentence to trail off as his focus resumed on the television.

“Well there is one thing,” Janus seized the opportunity after a brief pause, leaning forward with a hushed tone. Logan blinked at the sudden intensity of Janus’ charm.

“And that would be?” He responded dubiously, glancing almost nervously at Remus who seemed utterly absorbed by the show, sparing no attention to either of them. Similarly, Janus opened his mouth to begin speaking, but then inhaled as he registered the fact of Remus in the room still.

“Join me in the kitchen for a moment?” Janus stood fluidly, “I think we could use a drink,” he excused the thinly veiled shift before turning and exiting for the kitchen.

Confused, Logan sat up, only then realizing how much he had leaned towards Janus in the moment. The back of his neck itched with a familiar heat and he cleared his throat.

“I guess I’ll be--” Logan started to explain but Remus quickly waved a hand and shhhh’d him aggressively. With a small smile, Logan pressed a brief kiss to his boyfriend’s cheek, earning a soft sound of appreciation before standing and following after Janus.

Logan entered as Janus finished pouring a second glass of wine. Assuming the other already filled was for him, Logan accepted and rested a hip against the counter. He crossed an arm under his elbow and watched Janus cap the wine with expectation in his raised chin, but Janus didn’t start speaking until he brought the glass to his lips.

“Something’s coming, you do realize,” he said while meeting Logan’s eyes carefully, his voice low and smooth like a secret. Janus followed his sentence with a slow sip. Logan took the pause to formulate his answer.

“That depends entirely on what you mean by ‘something,’” Logan replied hesitantly, but with a loosely concealed air of knowing. 

The date of Lee and Mary-Lee’s wedding was of little importance to him, though the ramifications on Thomas’ stress levels were vexing. The two were connected, obviously, Logan wasn’t so ignorant as to pretend otherwise; however, he couldn’t empathize nor sympathize with Thomas’ decision -- or Roman’s decision, rather. If providing support for his friends was truly paramount, then why was Thomas stressed? He was unable to sleep soundly despite understanding Remus’ behavior now. Similarly unable to concentrate on work, thoughtlessly picking at his food, distracted by persistent and troubling thoughts of guilt, remorse, and failure.

“But yes,” Logan shook his head, conceding. “Something is coming and we’re all bound to talk in circles again.” He sighed and took a sip that quickly turned into a gulp from his glass.

“They never do listen to you,” Janus pointed out sympathetically and Logan frowned, looking away. “That isn’t your fault, of course,” he quickly soothed the burning truth but Logan remained silent for several long moments. Before he spoke again, he brought his glass up for another long drink.

“It is true though,” Logan admitted with a sigh. It was Janus’ turn to frown. They were all so ignorant to ignore Logic of all sides. How Logan had kept his patience for this long was beyond him. 

“I don’t know how to make them listen,” Logan whispered, stare unfocused across the room. “Sometimes they do but,” his shoulders deflated and he rolled his eyes back up to Janus’ face, his lips lined in resigned disappointment. “More frequently they take my lessons in the opposite direction and come up with some alternative and pointless meaning,” Exasperation leaked into his tone. Janus exhaled in the following silence.

“Well, my favor,” he started after a moment and Logan blinked up, suddenly remembering what this conversation was supposed to be about, “with that in mind, is less for me than it is for you.”

Logan’s brows creased as his eyes narrowed, not in suspicion but in confusion. He opened his mouth, intending to ask how that could possibly be, but his breath was quickly stolen by Janus’ delicate hand on his shoulder as he began to leave.

“When the time comes,” Janus whispered almost directly into Logan’s ear as he leaned in. Goosebumps raised along his arms and his stomach knotted in a way he was beginning to associate with Janus specifically. “Rely on me.”

- - - - -

Another debate spent as an observer, reduced to an annoying popup ad not even most of the audience bothered to pause for; too enthralled with the meaningless, cyclical conversation enduring above. At least Logan could console himself with the idea that some people were reading what he had to say. Thomas, at the very least, already knew everything he was saying. Logic wasn’t a feeling after all but something deeply embedded. A fact that only added fuel to the fire of frustration but that wasn’t something he was concentrating on currently.

Then Patton finally asked for his input directly. Logan already knew that Patton wouldn’t like what he had to say, but it was what Thomas needed to hear; the reality that’s been lying underneath every decision they’ve ever made. It was something Patton actively avoided thinking about. The fact was that his view and use of empathy was far more akin to pity, a feeling that only thinly veiled the nihilistic complex Morality had gotten entangled with in Thomas’ youth. “God,” “fate,” and “nothingness;” were all just terms for relinquishing control of one’s life. A habit that was clearly getting Thomas into situations that weighed on him heavily.

Logan began with reciting the source material: pity runs counter to the instincts that preserve and enhance the value of life. Friedrich Nietzche’s The Anti-Christ. A fantastic read about Nietzsche's claim that Christianity is a poisoner of western culture with its inherent apathy central to westernization. That wasn’t the first sentence nor was it the opening statement of the section he was referring to, but it was a perfectly adequate summary. However Logan didn’t even finish half of his following sentence explaining Nietzche’s philosophy before a yellow and black button appeared on his textbox. Skip all -- click. No hesitation. 

No second thought.

Well, Logan did say that he was making his facts optional this time. 

Something hard suddenly wrapped around his throat and the next thing Logan knew, he was being violently torn away from the scene.

Upright on his feet, he landed in a familiar place. Blinking around the shadowy corners of the Dark Side living room, Logan cleared his throat and adjusted his tie with tense hands. How unnecessarily brutal, he thought.

“Oh hey, Lolo!” Remus greeted from the couch, suddenly realizing his forced entrance. “De -- I mean Jan just left!” A pause. “Wait,” he said slowly like he suspected them of something, but when he continued, he sounded humored again. “Did he send you to babysit me while he went and fucked with the Light Sides?”

Logan sighed, shoulders deflating. “It seems that way,” He conceded, piecing different puzzle pieces together but still getting the same result as Remus. “What are you doing, then,” Logan asked in a rather flat and tired tone as he sat down next to his boyfriend, who proceeded to gush about the diagram he had been sketching for a new building in his Duchy.

Logan guessed Janus had sent him here, in proximity and obligation to Remus, rather than stewing by himself in his room in case he found himself disagreeing with how this had been handled. Which he did, but only with the execution, and not enough to stop Janus at this point. Rely on me, Janus had said a few days ago now and at the time Logan had clammed up from the situation. Janus’ lips pressed against his ear, a hand on his shoulder, wine coursing through his blood; his mind had raced with possibilities and it wasn’t until now that Logan realized what a brilliant set up it had been. 

Hopefully Janus got through to the others easier than him. Historically that hadn’t been the case yet but there was a severe lack of data to infer from. Logan had many chances to convince the others of various rationale at this point. Janus had only the opportunity twice. It was only fair that Logan would rely on him then, and try not to be bitter about it. They had been getting nowhere when he was involved and the only Side Logan could blame was Patton.

Minutes ticked by before Logan detected an opening for further input. Janus struggled with his metaphor, faltered and Logic appeared. Not that any of you care, he began speaking only really to Patton and Roman, but I am unharmed. Janus reacted negatively, perhaps assuming Logan was upset with him for the intrusion -- And I don’t want to talk about it. He wasn’t upset. At least not with Janus.

His explanation ensued and in a rare occurrence, everyone listened. Whether that was due to Janus having gotten their attention focused on the issue at hand or Logan finally having a convincing argument, in the moment he wasn’t sure. However nothing really spoke to the fact that Janus was an emotionally inclined Side more than the way he reacted to Logan putting a legitimate name to his stance; Effective Altruism. His expression was full of clear fascination at being taught something, intrigue to know more, attentive listening; it was Janus’ debut discussion on the stage all over again. The first time Logan had been so explicitly asked for frequent contributions in what had felt like forever. Logan easily fell back into the comforting feeling of being heard -- before sinking out and preventing himself from witnessing anymore absurd contradictions.

After leaving of his own volition to his room, Logan fell back on his bed with a sigh and removed his glasses. Everything was very difficult, he thought, pinching the bridge of his nose; and it would always be difficult as long as Patton continued to be so frustratingly obtuse. Well, at least Janus got it, but seeing that he had an easier time getting through to the others felt bitter. It really did boil down to some … fallacy of Logic, didn’t it.

Logan lost track of time in the mire of his thoughts, at some point having opened his eyes to stare blindly at the ceiling. Everything had calmed down in the living room it seemed. Thomas was now preoccupied with his friends and the Sides were released to continue with their day. Only Logan wasn’t sure what it was he should be doing. A familiar question floated through his mind like an astringently sweet memory; was he even necessary?

“Well don’t you look comfy.”

“Janus,” Logan sat up and rushed to shove his glasses on.

“Oh sorry,” Janus whispered, gesturing with a limp wrist. “Was I interrupting? Were you experiencing an emotion? Should I leave?” Janus teased with drama in his soft voice. Logan cleared his throat.

“Considering you’re already here, no,” He stood and adjusted his tie. “Why are you here? I thought everything was taken care of.”

“It is,” Janus reassured smugly but then slowly crossed the room towards Logan, his eyes and fingertips indulgently dragging along the books lining the wall. “Are you saying I can’t visit?” He paused in front of Logan with pouting lips and a hurt expression. Standing a few inches too close, he reached a gloved hand to smooth the back of Logan’s mussed bed hair. “Check up on you?”

“I didn’t say that.” Heat overtook his face as he quickly looked away, dislodging the hand in his hair with the movement. “You can. I just wasn’t expecting you.” Janus frowned.

“I don’t know why,” he replied, quietly astounded. Didn’t they have an agreement? Why wouldn’t he come to...debrief or whatever after all that? Janus’ lips pursed in a wounded expression as he watched Logan take steps away, looking everywhere but up at him. “That’s beside the point however.” He huffed a soft sigh and tilted his head, attempting to meet Logan’s eyes. “You’re very angry, aren’t you?” He guessed. For once Logan wasn’t denying any of his emotions which was both progress and rather troublesome. The misguided assumption prompted Logan to finally acknowledge his gaze again at least. Janus thought his face was rather unreadable.

“No,” Logan shook his head, giving his own heavy sigh. “Frustrated,” he admitted like Janus was pulling his teeth.

Janus hummed with understanding, raising his chin with a nod. “Well I apologize,” He offered seriously, lifting half of his mouth in a genuine expression. “Perhaps I should’ve been a tad more explicit beforehand,” Janus shrugged shallowly, willing to admit his fault. “It did work however, so I thank you for relying on me. As ... difficult as that may have been.” Janus finished, all too aware of how manipulated Logan might feel; how artificial the moments of closeness they had together lately must suddenly seem -- and while Janus wouldn’t put that sort of thing past himself, it wasn’t true in this case.

“No,” Logan shook his head, blinking at Janus’ seriousness. “I’m not frustrated with you,” he explained slowly, diverted from his frustration for a moment in the misunderstanding.

“You’re not?” Confusion mixed with intrigue on Janus’ face. “Well, what are you frustrated with then?”

Logan rapped knuckles against his desk in thought, looking away from Janus again and down at the action. It was with pride that he regarded himself as Thomas’ language center. Words came easily to him, most of the time. Struggling to phrase things wasn’t an obstacle he faced frequently. However, more often than not, Janus made this part of his job difficult. At the same time, it wasn’t something he’d blame Janus for. It wasn’t Janus’ fault Logan thought he was captivating, distracting. Beautiful.

Logan’s knuckles went still on the desk. “As usual, I find myself frustrated with emotions.” Janus’ brow twitched; was it not just frustration he was feeling? Was there something more he couldn’t articulate? “More specifically,” Logan continued and rolled his eyes back up at Janus, “I’m frustrated with Patton, which is nothing new.”

“Ahh,” Janus breathed, the sound turning into a gentle chuckle. If he had been worried, the concern began to melt away. “Yes,” he nodded slowly, “I can easily imagine that.” Janus thought on their own interaction before his arrival here, in Logan’s room. It was ... very awkward. Patton seemed unwilling to discuss the matter further, or perhaps Janus had just been trying to beat a dead horse. “He’s very naive and difficult to communicate with.” Janus scrunched his nose. 

Historically, he had an easy enough time understanding Patton. He was soft, liked to see the best in people even when he had very clear evidence not to. Patton was emotional and stubborn. There wasn’t anything too complicated about him that Janus didn’t get. It was when he attempted to employ the reverse of Patton understanding him where tragedy struck. For someone who boasted about empathy, Morality had an awful time seeing where Janus came from.

“Yes, precisely. He’s so stubborn,” Logan agreed enthusiastically. As he continued, he began to gesture wildly, speaking with his hands as much as his words to convey his growing level of frustration. “It’s incredible that you’re able to get through to him so effectively when I have been trying to do the same for years now. I mean, stubborn is a kind word for him at this point and he continues to prove that at every moral junction we come to. No, not even just moral junctions; daily undertakings and productivity suffer constantly because of his unreliability! It’s just,” Logan sputtered a humorless laugh, his hands falling hard against his thighs. “Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.”

Janus paused after Logan’s rant came to an end, cocking his head thoughtfully. In the silence Logan caught his breath with a heavy sigh.

“Sorry, I … didn’t mean to blow up on you like that,” Logan apologized, dismissively shaking his head as embarrassment knotted his stomach.

“Oh no, it’s quite alright. Actually I appreciate it,” Janus quickly snuffed out Logan’s self consciousness. The words felt genuine enough and Logan took a deep breath in an attempt to quell the rising self resentment that predictably followed his emotional expression. “I was just contemplating your words, is all,” Janus continued reassuringly, and the sentiment took Logan by surprise. Why had he assumed Janus’ silence meant dismissal of his admission? “I suppose it simply comes down to a matter of communication methods,” Janus glanced to the side in a reflective pause. “You’re a teacher,” He continued after a moment, a gentle smile on his lips as he met Logan’s eyes again. “But Patton doesn’t take very well to being told things.” Logan snorted a knowing and arid laugh, but then thought on how Janus had communicated with Patton in the past.

“You also tell him things,” Logan’s brows furrowed. “He just seems to readily listen to you.”

“Ah, there’s a difference though,” Janus wagged a flimsy finger. “I don’t tell him anything he doesn’t already know at that point in the conversation. Patton’s like … a horse that desperately needs to drink, but refuses to, even when you bring the water to him directly. In such a case, you need to lead the horse to the water. But how do you get him there? Well, in Patton’s case, asking him questions that in turn make him question his own motives tends to work.”

“Ah, the Socratic method,” Logan interrupted as Janus paused.

“Exactly,” He nodded before continuing, “But more importantly, I hear his justifications. I try to see where he’s coming from so I can...clear a path, so to say, from his point A to wherever my point is.” Logan hummed thoughtfully and marveled at the amount of consideration Janus put into his communication with Patton. 

It was admirable and Logan found himself agreeing, once again, with the many flattering adjectives Remus has used for his partner in the past. Graceful, patient, and ridiculously smart. His current explanation made a lot of sense, and Logan felt a bit stupid. He chuckled dryly and looked down, adjusting his glasses. Janus cocked his head, expression perplexed with raised brows.

“Did I say something funny?”

“No,” Logan sighed, “The opposite. You made a great point and I was wondering how I had never thought of that myself.” He admitted with an impressive amount of vulnerability. While the compliment felt nice, mostly Janus was now smiling with pride in Logan’s new found understanding and the handful of walls he had dropped in the process.

“Sometimes,” Janus sighed with a smile, approaching Logan as he had earlier; with steps that placed him just a little too close. “You just need some perspective.” He reached up with both hands and flattened Logan’s collar affectionately, the unexpected gesture making him inhale briskly. “I mean, we all do,” Janus continued, resting his fingers gently against Logan’s collar bones. “Not just you, of course.” 

“Of course,” Logan repeated in a whisper that was more breath than words. Having Janus this close, he suddenly felt whatever intelligible response he may have had evaporate on his tongue as a heat quickly consumed his neck all the way to his cheeks. 

Janus’ smile twitched wider as he lingered, mischievous amusement sparkling in his eyes. Logan was so easy to rile up; even with a foot between them right now, Janus could feel the attraction rolling off him like heat off concrete in the summer. If he continued to stand here, what would Logan do?

“How are you feeling now?” Janus asked after a silent moment. Under his hands, he could feel Logan’s heart rate pick up.

“Fine,” Logan answered automatically, the word cracking indecently. He cleared his throat which marginally brought his senses back. “Fine,” He repeated, shaking his head with a small smile. Janus thought the expression seemed a little forced. 

“Good,” Janus nodded shallowly and paused for another beat before turning away, leaving the air around Logan significantly easier to breathe. “Well, if you need anything else,” Janus’ voice trailed off as he twisted the doorknob with one hand and raised another to delicately wave his fingers goodbye.

When his door clicked shut, Logan fell heavily back on his bed again with a groan that ended in a sigh.

Chapter One || Chapter Three

[seasonofthewicth]

kings and queens

a smutty rowaelin halloween oneshot

(if smut isn’t your thing you can still read, just finish when Aelin says ‘you’)

my masterlist

------ 

The clear gems on her crown shone in the dim, evening light. She had found the crown a week ago in a thrift store and the moment Aelin had seen it she knew it was perfect. It rose up from her golden waves to reach three peaks, the middle slightly taller than the two either side, and they were each topped with shimmering imitation diamonds. A far better find than any useless piece of trash she could have found in a costume store.

Aelin didn’t do costumes by half. The dress she wore was a deep red velvet, with a corset style top that helped to give her chest a boost and a gold lace trim that she knew would draw the eye. It had a short but flowing skirt that hit mid-thigh, showing a peek of the border of her thigh high stockings. She had painted her lips a bold red to match the dress and her eyes were lined with heavy black.

Dressing up as a queen for Halloween didn’t mean she had to be a maiden.

Aelin always went all out for Halloween, but her costumes were never gimmicky. She could find a way to make the dorkiest of ideas sexy to make sure she felt good and more importantly, looked hot.

“You ready?” She heard her roommate and best friend Lysandra call. “Aedion just texted asking where we are.”

Aelin grabbed her small shoulder bag off her bed, her only out of character item for the evening, and left her room to meet Lysandra in the hallway between their rooms. They shared a small two bedroom apartment off campus, it was far from luxury, but it was their space and she loved it. Since meeting Lysandra in her first year of college she hadn’t lived with anyone else.

Lysandra was leaning against the wall, fully dressed in her own costume. She wore a dress with a tight green bodice and a short but full skirt that flowed as she moved. Her hair was piled atop her head in a messy bun and her make-up was peachy and subtle. Tinkerbell.

Aedion had invited them to the party he was hosting in his own house off campus that he shared with a few roommates. Aelin had spent most of her first and second years at college tucked away in that house spending time with her cousin and his friends, she loved his friend Fenrys who shared her appreciation for all things devilish and she had been close with his other housemate Dorian. She and Dorian had shared a mutual attraction but had quickly moved past it to become as thick as thieves and he had been one of her best friends.

The time she spent there had plummeted in her third year when Dorian moved out after his graduation and Rowan Whitethorn moved in, filling the spare room. Aelin hated Rowan Whitethorn with a burning passion. He was arrogant, hot-headed and spiteful, all traits she despised.

The first time they had met she had thought they could have been friends, he got along well with Aedion as did she, but he had opened his mouth to let her know his thoughts on the opinions she had shared in a political theory class she hadn’t even known he was in, and that had been it.

Since that day she noted his presence in the same class, and they would share verbal barbs and taunts every week. She knew it made the other attendees of the class uncomfortable and even the professor leading the sessions seemed at a loss with the sparring students. Aelin couldn’t even understand why they would argue, no matter whether or not she agreed with his point the sound of his voice, the rich and swirling Wendlyn accent would set her off.

Aedion had tried to bridge the gap somewhat, playing moderator to their fights whenever they crossed paths, but ultimately even her easy-going cousin couldn’t fight the fire Rowan made her burn.

She knew he would be there tonight, but she wouldn’t let him ruin what was predicted to turn into a great night, especially not on Halloween when she looked so good. Aedion’s teammates from the football team would likely be there, and it wouldn’t take her long to find someone to distract her from Rowan’s presence.

------

The music at the party could be heard from down the road, and as they walked up the path she took in the decorations in the front yard. Someone had strung spider webs through the branches of the twisting tree in the corner and there were fluorescent lights shining orange and green in all directions. There were people in all kinds of costumes spilling into the street as she and Lysandra battled their way into the front door.

They edged their way into the kitchen, pushing past groups of already intoxicated revellers to fix themselves a drink.

Once in the kitchen a loud cry caught their attention.

“Ladies!” Fenrys shouted to them, his voice booming over the music. He reached them and tugged them each under an arm, pulling them into an extravagantly painted but otherwise bare chest.

“What are you?” She yelled.

“I’m your dreams come true,” He gave her shoulders a squeeze as she and Lysandra both rolled their eyes at his proclamation. Fenrys was an ass but they loved him for it.

“Have you seen Aedion?” Lysandra yelled in his ear as she twisted to search for a cup and a drink.

“So desperate to leave me when you’ve only just arrived?” He raised a hand to his chest in mock offense but released them and turned to find them each a drink.

“The vision of you is burning my eyes so bad I’m desperate to get away,” Lysandra told him as they accepted the drinks he handed to them. Fenrys only stuck his tongue out at her, seemingly too drunk to bother trying to come up with a better response.

“I think he was in the main room with Rowan and Lorcan.” He told them before saluting them and venturing back into the throng of moving bodies.

Aelin raised her glass in a toast to Lysandra before taking her first sip and tugging Lysandra to find her cousin.

It only took a minute to spot her cousin, his golden hair spilling out of a small brown cap tucked onto the top of his head. She took in the green tights and tunic before sending a sharp glance at Lysandra. She hadn’t known they had planned a couple’s costume, but one look at Aedion told her he was clearly the Peter Pan to Lysandra’s Tinkerbell.

She took in the two males stood next to her cousin, opposites in their exterior, light and dark, Rowan and Lorcan. Lorcan had made the safe choice, a black mask pushed up onto his forehead the only part of his Batman costume that was out of place.

The sight of Rowan Whitethorn had her blood boiling. He wore a deep green velvet cape and a glowing golden crown atop his silver locks. She was going to kill him, how dare he come as a King to the same party she was dressed as a Queen.

She was vaguely aware of Lysandra slipping up to Aedion and Lorcan’s brief greeting and dismissal as he sought out his crush, Elide, before she was marching up to Whitethorn and hissing in his face.

“What are you wearing?” Her voice was tight.

“Hello to you too, Princess,” He drawled, tipping his chin down to look her directly in the eye.

“I’m not a princess,” She snapped, feeling her anger bubble in her throat. “I’m a Queen.”

“You look like a princess to me,” His voice was as smug as the smirk that spread across his face, showing rows of straight white teeth, canines flashing in the light. He reached a hand up to poke at her crown. “Especially with your little tiara.”

She slapped his hand away. “It is a crown!”

“Sure it is, Princess.” He was making her blood pound in her ears, the sounds of the party fading into the background and she stepped closer to him again, trying to crowd into his space, no matter the fact that he towered over her. She took a deep breath in, readying herself for the barrage of insults she could throw at him when a voice behind her pulled her out of the spell.

“Aelin, hi!”

Aelin turned her head to the side and spotted the source of the voice. Feyre Archeron. She and Aelin had shared an art class in the previous year and Feyre had been a natural, painting with smooth strokes of her brush where Aelin was all pointed jabs.

Failure in her artistic endeavour aside, Aelin liked Feyre, and she knew Aedion ran in the same circles as her boyfriend Rhys.

“Oh hey,” She smiled at Feyre with a small wave. Feyre seemed to take a moment before approaching, glancing between Rowan and Aelin.

It was then that Aelin noticed their proximity. Her body was fully pressed against the length of Rowan’s where she had managed to back him against the wall. The hard planes of his body sending an aura of warmth into her. Their faces were close enough to share a breath as she leaned up and he down. An outsider could easily assume they were lovers, and to Aelin’s horror it seemed an outsider did.

“I didn’t know you guys were together!” Feyre exclaimed and Aelin’s mouth dropped open. “And a King and Queen costume? Gods, such a great idea, I’ll have to tell Rhys for next year.”

Aelin couldn’t find the words. Her and Rowan? Her eyes flicked to his face and he seemed in a similar state of shock, pink lips slightly parted as he stared at Feyre.

When neither of them spoke Feyre blushed and before Aelin could find words she had disappeared into the crown. Aelin immediately took a step back, putting space between herself and Rowan, trying to ignore the way her body moaned at the lack of contact. It was Rowan rutting Whitethorn for Gods’ sake.

He seemed in a similar state to herself, arms frozen where they hovered at his sides, and she glanced around desperately seeking Lysandra but her and Aedion were gone.

“Fuck you,” She spat at Rowan and turned on her heel, pushing through the crowd, putting some much needed space between them and ignoring the way she desperately wanted to turn back.

------

She spent most of the party slipping between groups of people she knew, refilling her drink each time her cup emptied. She didn’t see Rowan again and spent at least an hour catching up with Yrene Towers and Manon Blackbeak in a toilet.

She shook her head, laughing at the unusual combinations alcohol and loud music could bring out in people. She was still yet to see Lysandra and Aedion again, poking her head into each room and looking for her best friend.

Once back at the kitchen, having searched each room she resolved to take a look outside, musing that as long as she spoke before she arrived she’d be unlikely to stumble upon anything she wished she wouldn’t have to witness between her cousin and best friend.

“Lysandra?” She called, wrapping her arms around her body as the chilled October air bit at her skin.

There was no response from her best friend, but a male voice reached her as she tucked the door shut behind herself.

“Unlucky for you, Princess, I’m the only one out here.”

Just her rutting luck. Rowan Whitethorn leaned back against the wall of the house, the butt of a mostly burned cigarette dangling between his fingertips. He threw it to the side as she took a step closer to him.

“Stop calling me princess,” She snapped, crossing her arms across her chest. She didn’t miss the way his eyes darted down to her chest, lingering a second before dragging themselves back up to her face.

“Why would I do that,” He pushed off from the wall taking a single step closer to her, “When it suits you so well?”

She rolled her eyes. “Suits me how?”

“Well, I think most people would probably describe princesses as spoiled and entitled.”

Despite his close proximity she unwrapped her arms from her chest and flashed him her middle finger. His own hand came up as fast as a flash of lightening, to grab her hand and wrap her fingers up in his own as he tugged slightly, knocking her off balance and she stumbled into him slightly.

“I’m not spoiled or entitled.” She mumbled, unable to draw her eyes away from his lips, now close enough that his warm breaths washed across her face.

“I’d beg to differ, Princess. Seems to me like you always get what you want.”

Her breathing had quickened, coming in short pants and gasps where he had her pressed against the cold wall of the house. His hand still wrapped around her own, burning her skin where he touched.

“I don’t always get what I want.” She whispered as he leant into her even further, bracing his free hand against the wall by her head. He cocked his head at her words.

“What could you possibly want that you haven’t got?” His voice was a seductive caress against her neck where he tilted his head down.

She didn’t let herself break eye-contact, her unyielding gaze staring him down.

“What I want,” She began, voice weak.

“Mhmm,” He hummed, the sound sending vibrations through her own chest.

“What I want is for you to take that damned costume off. I’m the Queen.”

He laughed; a dark sound filled with promise.

“Princess,” He drawled. “If you wanted me to take my clothes off you only had to ask. Don’t pretend it’s about some dumb costume.”

She gasped, frustrated to no end that he always managed to rile her so. Always left her speechless, her mind swimming with rage. Her body drowning in arousal at his closeness. Fuck.

She stared him down, his body now pressed along every inch of her own as he blocked her into the wall. His eyes flashed to her lips and she couldn’t hold herself back from doing the same. He seemed to be warring with himself, his expression pained as he stared into her eyes.

She took a breath, begging herself to do something, anything, but she was frozen.

A beat passed, and then he crashed his lips to hers.

He kissed her as furiously as he argued, his hand grasping her face hard and plunging his tongue into her mouth. She gasped and twisted her fingers into his hair in response, holding his face to her own, and she registered the clunk of his crown hitting the floor. Good.  

A fire spread through her veins as he kissed her, taking control and owning her completely. She allowed him, opening her mouth to him greedily as he nipped at her lips. She knew they would already be swollen.

He kissed her as if she was a prize to be won, as if he needed to or he would shatter. The desperation spreading through his hands as they roamed her body, slipping down her sides and back up to lightly brush the undersides of her breasts with his thumbs and back down again to tug her hips against his own.

He slid a thigh between her legs, and she writhed against the pressure, letting out a small cry as the sensation sent a jolt through her entire body, finishing with a flood of heat below her bellybutton.

He drew back with a gasp, panting. He only got as far as she let him, her fingers still twisted through his silver strands as he pressed his forehead against her own.

“Fuck.” He growled, tucking his chin to bury his face in her neck. She tugged at his hair, begging for him to do more than just press his lips gently against the soft skin of her throat. “What is it that you want, Princess?” He asked again.

She tugged his face back to meet her gaze, vaguely aware of her crown slipping from her head as she looked up at him.

“You.”

------

Back at her apartment he crowded her against the door, his heat behind her and a delightful pressure against her lower back had her fumbling with her keys in the lock. She had managed to shoot Lysandra a quick text letting her know she was leaving, knowing her best friend would be safe with Aedion when Aelin left.

When Aelin left with Rowan Whitethorn. Shit.

He had been a storm she hadn’t seen coming, kissing her with a passion that burned all the way to the soles of her feet. He pressed her back against the door once they were inside, leaning down to kiss her hard and fast. His tongue lavishing sweeping strokes that lit a fire inside of her.

He pressed his knee between her legs and this time she didn’t hold herself back from rocking against it, letting out a breathy moan as she pulled back, tilting her head back until it hit the door with a thud.

He pressed hot and wet kisses down her jaw until he reached her neck, nipping and sucking his way down. The sensation sent her wild, drawing short gasps from her lips with every press of his tongue and scrape of his teeth.

His hands burned a path down her side, not stopping with a brush against her chest this time, instead wrapping her breast in one of his large hands and squeezing sharply. She bucked her hips against his thigh as he rubbed a thumb across her nipple. Rowan let out a dark rumble of laughter at her reaction and did it again, timing it perfectly with a swipe of his tongue up the side of her neck.

He bent down slightly, sliding a hand down her thigh until he reached the crook of her knee and straightened, wrapping her leg around his waist and pressing his hips firmly into the gap he had created.

She let out a moan, slamming her head into the door again as he pressed his lips to hers again. The pressure of his hips was firm, burning against her core, and his lips were relentless as he licked into her mouth aggressively as she fisted her hand in his cape.

She pulled back, panting.

“You need to take this off.” She yanked even harder on the cape and he grinned, hands leaving her leg and chest to loosen the clasp at his neck. He didn’t stop there, reaching down to the hem of his shirt and pulling it off his body in one sharp motion.

Her mouth went dry at the expanse of tanned skin now exposed. His chest was covered in firm muscle and down his left arm swept a swirling and intricate tattoo. She traced a line across his shoulder with a finger, transfixed by the beauty of his body.

His hand flashed out to grab her by the chin, tilting her face up to look at him.

“You too, Princess.”

His fingers left her chin, trailing a torturously slow path down her neck and across her chest to rest at the knot at the top of her corset top. The sheer possession in his touch had her grinding her hips against him, desperate for any kind of relief.

Undeterred, he slowly wound one of the laces around a finger and bit his lip as he took in her heaving chest.  Her skin was flushed as her heart pounded beneath.

Torturously slow he pulled the string, unravelling the only closure of her top. His deft fingers loosened the ties as the red fabric slid away to reveal her heaving chest and full breasts. His dark eyes devoured the exposed skin and his tongue darted out to moisten his lower lip.

His head ducked down as he slowly wrapped his lips around a peaked nipple, tongue swirling around the sensitive flesh. Her head fell back to the door again as she moaned and her hand flew behind her, trying to find any purchase on the flat surface.

He hummed against her skin, the vibration sending sparks down to her core. His thumb found her other breast, flicking her nipple hard. She groaned, pressing her hips into his own, becoming desperate.

She laced her hands through his hair as he looked up at her, lips still around her, and she groaned pulling his head up.

“Bedroom, now,” She said breathlessly as she pushed him away from herself and pressed away from the door, dropping the rest of her dress to pool around her feet. Rowan was silent as he took her in, his eyes trailing a burning path from her face to the tips of her toes.

At the sight she trailed a feather-light touch across the front of his trousers where they strained against his hardness. He groaned at the touch, his head tipping back and the vein in the side of his neck straining.

“Bedroom,” He growled and grabbed her by the waist.

------

Rowan laid her down on her bed, having lost his trousers along the way. She lay bare for him, only a thin pair of black panties prevented her from being exposed entirely.

His head tilted as his predatory stare assessed her.

“You look so good like this Princess,” his voice was raw as he crawled up the bed between her legs, resting his weight against her body and pressing her into the mattress. “We really should find you that tiara again.”

She rolled her eyes but tugged his face to hers. Pressing her lips against his firmly, his short stubble scratching against her cheeks in the most delicious way. He braced a hand by her head, supporting his weight, and the other brushed down her body, starting at the base of her throat until his index finger pressed gently against her centre.

He let out a moan at the dampness of the dark fabric and he swiped a long stroke over the line of her folds. Aelin bit her lip, trying to hold in the moan that his electric touch elicited. Her hips shifted at his teasing, raising them to try and press further into his touch, but he only laughed against her lips.

He nipped her lower lip, the pressure almost painful, but it sent another wave of arousal through her.

Slowly he slid his finger beneath the fabric, pressing a finger into her and the heavy pressure had her fisting her hands in the sheets. His tongue swept into her mouth again as he pumped his finger inside her, slipping a second in a moment later. His thumb came up to press against the apex of her thighs, the friction sending sparks through her entire body as he swirled his thumb against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

She broke away from the kiss to moan, twisting her face to the side, unable to focus on anything other than the sensations he was creating. The delightful pleasure his fingers were creating as his mouth pressed hot, open mouthed kisses down her throat.

“Please,” She gasped, and she felt his lips against her neck curve into a smile.

“Please what?” His voice was playful as he teased her, pulling his hand back leaving her clenching around air.

“You know what. Dick.” She snapped, tugging his head up to look at her.

“Now, now, princess,” He carded his fingers through her hair, twisting them into the strands at the base of her head before pulling hard. “Remember to use your manners.”

She gasped again, back arching off the bed to press her body against his. He ground his hips against her own, the hard length of him catching against the spot she needed most.

He nipped at the skin on her neck before pulling back, tugging her panties down her legs, wasting no time before shucking off his own briefs revealing the full length of him to her. Her eyes rolled back at the sight.

He tucked himself back between her legs, pressing the tip lightly at her entrance. Her hips bucked up as he grabbed a hold of her chin.

“Condom?” He asked, his voice low.

“I’m on the pill.” She breathed, rolling her hips, urging him to hurry.

He groaned, lining himself up and pressing into her as he crashed his lips to hers.

Her mind cleared at the sensation, thinking only of where he filled and stretched her. The brief flash of pain sinking into a burning pleasure. He paused his hips, allowing her to adjust, but still pressed his lips to hers. His togue sweeping into her mouth.

She sank her nails into the skin of his broad shoulders, urging him to move and he eagerly obliged, snapping his hips into hers with a force so strong the bed crashed against the wall, rhythmic thuds in time with his thrusts.

Her skin was on fire as he pounded into her, drawing breathy moans from her throat as she clung to him in desperation. Rowan’s hands tightened on her hips, owning her with his touch as he moaned low in her ear and nipped her lobe with his teeth.

Rowan tugged one of her legs up to tuck it over his hip, changing the pace and thrusting into her wildly. Aelin clung to him, fingernails pressing crescent moons into his shoulders as his hands dug into the flesh of her thighs.

His pace became frantic as he brought one hand around between their bodies, swirling his thumb over her clit. Her breath hitched in her throat as he growled.

“Come on, Princess.”

His words sent her over the edge, shattering around him with a cry. She felt him increase his pace and he bit sharply into her shoulder as he came sending another wave of pleasure through her.

He ghosted his lips over hers a final time as he pulled out gently before lying next to her on the bed and pulling her into his side, wrapping a broad arm around her shoulders. She pressed her face to his chest, hiding her satisfied smile.

“I still think you’re a dick,” She muttered eventually, interrupting the easy silence.

His laughter rumbled through her, shaking the bed they lay on.

“That’s okay,” He said squeezing her hip. “I still think you’re a princess.”

[yyxgin]

skeletons & ramen 🎃 

-> pairing: lee minho x reader

-> genre: fluff, halloween au, college au

-> words: 3k (prologue included)

-> happy halloween folks !! this is a part of the @districtninewriters​ halloween collaboration !! check out the prologue and other amazing artists who also participated <3

-> warnings: mentions of alcohol and drinking, swearing and i think that is it :’) 

“No effin’ way did I spend all this time doing your makeup for you to stay at this party for ten minutes. Get your ass out there and at least talk to someone.”

BamBam’s words replayed in your head as you glanced around the party. It was impressive; you’d give him that. Your best friend was known for the ragers he threw, and his annual Halloween party was no exception. With loud music, expensive decorations ranging from a 12-foot-skeleton on the lawn to fog machines, and costumes required – “and none of that ‘just throwing on a witch’s hat’ either, that shit’s weak” – it won party of the year before it even occurred. 

And you didn’t want to come. It wasn’t that you didn’t like his parties. On the contrary, you really enjoyed them. But this year, the party was on Halloween night, which just so happened to be a Saturday. Your first midterm of the semester? Bright and early Monday morning at 8 a.m. sharp. 

“You have to come!” BamBam had said when you first mentioned skipping the party. You could already tell he was dangerously close to pulling out his puppy-dog eyes, as you called them, and if he did that, you were a goner.

You sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to, Bam. It’s just that my first midterm is super early Monday morning, and I really, really need to study for it,” you said.

“So study on Sunday!” he argued. “You know I can’t have a party without my best friend there. Not to mention, I’ve already put so much thought into how I would do your makeup for your skeleton costume. Don’t make me have done research in vain. Please?”

That’s how you had ended up at the party. Your plan had initially been to stay for half an hour, but when you went to tell BamBam, he wasn’t having it. That’s when he had dropped the line about how much effort he had put into your makeup, shoving you out of the kitchen and into the lounge. 

As you looked around the room, you figured it wouldn’t kill you to talk to someone for a few minutes. But who?

You see a drunk guy from your literature class, Changbin, and his friend that has attended the party in a horse mask for the third year in a row, Jisung, in the corner of the spacious room. You know what, maybe they are not the best people to talk to at this college party.

Your classmate Lia and her friends that dressed up as power rangers are sitting on the sofa with a senior very well known as the friendly guy Chan dressed up as a cowboy, downing shots of tequila and singing loudly at the top of their lungs. You contemplate the choice for a moment, but decide against it when they turn to sing Into the unknown for the thirtieth time tonight, scrunching up your face in pure horror. 

Another choice are the party animals Hyunjin and Felix dressed up as peanut butter and jelly, dancing to whatever song comes out of the loud speakers. Yeah, you could never keep up with them.

The last few people in your sight are in a circle, laughing loudly, bottles of beer, soju and various other alcohol secured in their hands. You see your classmates Jeongin and Seungmin in there, but you don’t know any other people there, so you decide to just let them be.

Maybe you have no other choice, then to leave.

“Yah! We’re matching!” you hear a voice from beside you call, looking at the person and frowning in confusion. What on the earth is he talking about?

But then it hits you. The guy has skeleton makeup on his face, an all-black outfit fitting his body and a huge, obnoxious grin on his face. You really are matching, well, apart from the optimistic expression on his face very much different from yours, on the other hand, disgusted from the whole situation.

“Oh. You’re right. My friend BamBam actually did the makeup, so it’s not really my fault, though.” you smirk, watching the boy growing closer to you and inspecting the makeup on your face.

“Looks like him and Han Jisung watched the same youtube tutorial,” he mutters, making you burst out in laughter.

“Jisung? You mean to tell me that the guy who attends in a horse mask every year did your makeup today?” you ask in disbelief, rewarded by his adorable giggle.

“Yeah, well, I told him I wasn’t going to the party, because I didn’t have a costume, so he told me he was just going to turn me into a skeleton to force me to go with him.” he explains. 

“Looks like he did a much better job than BamBam did, anyway,” you point out, examining the work on his face. At this point, you’re going to go to Jisung to do your makeup for your cousin’s wedding you’re attending next month, because his skills are really good, to be honest.

“I appreciate the rhinestones on yours, though. A pretty detail,” he laughs, making you roll your eyes. 

“Yeah, BamBam likes finishing touches.” you smile.

You’re kind of getting flustered under his gaze, so you quickly turn to look to the ground in response. The fact that you didn’t even drink tonight wasn’t helping you get loose a tiny bit, your shy side showing right after there was a silence in the conversation.

“Wait, you’re telling me you’re friends with BamBam and we somehow still don’t know each other?” asks the friendly stranger, making you look up at his face again.

“Umm, yeah.” you nod.

“And you know Jisung as well.” he points out.

“Yeah, well, everybody knows Jisung, so…” you say.

“Yeah, but we have so many mutual friends, yet we still don’t know each other… that’s strange. Well, anyways, I’m Minho.” he smiles, putting a hand to you to shake it. 

“Nice to meet you, Minho. I’m y/n.” you smile at him and take his hand to shake it. His grip is firm, but not painful, the presence of his skin on yours making you slightly excited.

You were never that good with meeting new people, so to have a stranger introduce themselves to you unprohibited, it felt good. Well, maybe BamBam was right about going to the party. Maybe you’ll even have a new friend after this, and god knows you need some new friends, because you’re certain hanging out with BamBam constantly kind of makes some of your brain cells disappear.

“Wanna get something to drink?” smiles the skeleton boy, on which you nod and follow him back to the kitchen where you’ve come from, seeing that it was now pretty much empty apart from the couple wearing matching costumes of Joker and Harley Quinn making out on the kitchen counter. 

You take a bottle of peach soju and see Minho do the same, cringing at the smacking noises and quickly pulling you away from the kitchen by the elbow, rolling his eyes in the process. “Can’t they just leave it for when they come home?” 

“I’m so sorry for BamBam, I swear if he has to clean the kitchen counter from sperm again this year, he’s going to seriously lose it-”

"Again?"

“Yeah, people get real wild out here.” you nod and try to erase the flashbacks coming back into your head from seeing your terrified and disgusted best friend cleaning the place with kitchen towels and some Clorox.

“Ew. See? This is why I didn’t even want to come in the first place.” says Minho with a disgusted expression on his face.

“You too?”

“Yeah, I hate parties!” exclaims the boy, throwing his arms in the air to gesture to the packed lounge.

“I know, right? I was actually supposed to be studying at the moment, but BamBam insisted on me coming, so I kinda had to, you know.” you blurb out, taking a sip from the soju in your hand.

“Studying. On a Saturday evening.” he gazes onto you, making you feel kind of stupid for sounding like the biggest nerd in the world. Yeah, you cared about your grades, but you weren’t as crazy as it sounded in the first place.

“Yeah, well, I have a midterm on Monday, so-”

“Oh. I got you.” he nods, licking his lips and taking his first sip of the peach alcohol in his hand, making you just awkwardly stare at his face in the process.

“Well, y/n,” starts Minho as he finishes drinking, “not to sound creepy or something, but do you wanna get out of here? Since we both kind of hate parties and our best friends got what they wanted…” he says, almost looking nervous at his question, making you just shyly nod.

“Yeah, sure.” you agree. You’re pretty sure BamBam won’t notice if you leave now, and if he does, well, you spoke to someone. That means you did what he wanted you to do. He can’t be mad now.

“Okay. I’ll be taking this with me.” laughs Minho as he shows you the half-empty bottle of soju in his hand, making you giggle as you show him yours and nod in response, telling him you’ll be doing the same as the two of you go to the front door. You were wearing your black coat through the whole evening and from the looks of his black leather jacket, it looked like he was too, so there was no reason for the two of you to stay at the party longer and look for your things.

“Let’s go!” you muse, going out of the house with Minho by your side, the chilly breeze and silence hitting you in the face in a weird, but comforting way.

“And where are we even going?” asks Minho, making you stop in your tracks and giggle.

“I don’t know.” you shrug, watching his amused smirk only grow wider.

“Let’s just… walk around for a while, I guess?” you say, receiving a nod from him in return as you start walking side by side in the neighbourhood. 

You both keep talking to each other and getting to know each other, learning that Minho is studying dance and not business like most of your mutual friends, and you, do, which is probably why you’d never met before. You manage to make him show you some of his dance moves, both of you slightly tipsy now, giggling at his silly dance in the middle of the street. It was easy, talking to Minho.

“Let’s go trick or treating!” he cheers, making you laugh.

“We’re 21, Minho, nobody will give us any treats.” you say, refusing to get yourself through that kind of embarrassing dumbassery on this wonderful Saturday evening.

“Nobody can see we’re too old for it through this makeup,” pouts Minho, making you laugh even harder. You’re not even sure if it’s the alcohol in your veins that makes everything he says and does so funny to you, but you just know his presence makes you giggle quite a lot.

“They can definetly see, Minho, they’re not dumb.” you say, patting him on his shoulder.

“Hmm,” he pouts, but only for a minute before he manages to change the topic with a sudden information, “I’m in a mood for some ramen.”

“Yeah, same. I haven’t had ramen in so long, dude,” you muse, your mouth already full of saliva only at the thought of the food coming in your sight.

“Let’s have ramen, then,” shrugs Minho and paces quickly in a different direction.

“Yah, where are you going?”

“To the supermarket for some ramen! And then, we’re going to my place and we’re going to eat some ramen.” he explains, not even letting you a moment to disagree with his statement as you jog to catch up with him. Perhaps he notices your alarmed expression on your face, making him quickly reassure you and your noisy thoughts.

“Don’t worry, y/n, I’m not gonna kill you. You can come over, I swear.” he says, but after he sees you still biting on your lower lip in nerves, he stops in his tracks and gazes into your eyes to comfort you.

“Really. You can trust me. We even have mutual friends, remember?” his expression is soft, dreamy, almost, making you instantly relax and nod.

“Okay.” you say, clearly missing what stranger danger means, but you feel like you can trust Minho. Right?

“Okay. Let’s go.” he nods, cheeringly going in the direction of the supermarket again, with you by his side, singing a popular song under his breath in the process.

After an enormous amount of laughter and one argument over which ramen you two should buy, you two finally reach the cashier that looked rather uninterested until she saw you, smiling and giggling under her breath. You place the two packs of ramen onto the counter, waiting for the girl to check you up and give you your delicious food into your hands.

“What a lovely couple you two are.” she smiles at the two of you after reaching out her hands in front of you with the ramen in her hold.

“We are not a couple, actually…” you mumble, feeling quite shy at her comment.

“Oh, but the matching costume…”

“That was a coincidence, really,” you laugh awkwardly, wanting to be finally on your way to Minho’s apartment, when Minho smirks behind you.

“We’re not a couple yet, but you know, perhaps this was all destiny,” he jokes, making you turn around and playfully elbow him in the ribs, a joyful giggle followed by your skeleton companion.

“I’m just joking, chill,” he says, thanking the cashier and taking the ramen into his hands, escaping the supermarket and leading you into his apartment. 

The journey there is comfortable, but the atmosphere quickly changes as you reach his place, taking off your shoes to not dirty his, surprisingly, clean apartment, taking off your jacket and looking at Minho standing in the doorway and watching you. “Well, here we are. Welcome.”

“Thanks.” you shyly respond, not really knowing what to do at this point.

“Come on in, don’t just stand there,” scoffs Minho, leading you into the kitchen to cook the ramen with you right after him, watching your every step and looking around in the dark apartment, silently appreciating his choice of interior design. 

“Meow!” you hear from the dark room, making you jump.

“Wow!” you jolt out, making Minho turn around to laugh at your shocked face, dropping the packs of ramen to the table and picking up his cat from under it to show it to you.

“Yeah, I kinda forgot to tell you… I have three cats, this is Soonie. Say hello, Soonie,” smiles Minho and takes the cat’s pow into his hand to make it wave to you, finally calming down your racing heart.

“Oh my god, that scared me.” you giggle, petting the cat’s head. “She’s adorable.” you mumble.

“I know, right? You should see your face,” giggles Minho, “and this is Doongie and Dori.” he says pointing at the two cats that were, very much not to your knowledge, following you to the kitchen. You shyly wave at them and mumble a quiet “Hi” to the creatures, watching them take their respectful seats under the table again.

The conversation flows freely right after, the slight scare that Minho’s cats brought you making the atmosphere much less awkward, seating yourself at his kitchen table and watching him take his role in the kitchen and cooking the ramen you’ve just bought, appreciating the way he moves through the room and still manages to keep you entertained in the conversation.

“Here you go.” smiles Minho as he places the plate with the finished food on the table in front of you, a proud grin plastered on his skeleton face. 

“Thanks!” you muse, diving right in to the steaming food, slurping and enjoying every single bite of it. You know ramen is not exactly that hard to prepare, but damn did it taste amazing in the late hours of the night, hitting every nerve. 

“It tastes so fucking good.” you mumble, your mouth still full of noodles.

“Chef Lee right at your service,” bows Minho, making you giggle.

In the process of eating, though, you feel a rhinestone fall off your face on the table. You frown, examining it, making another one fall down, realising that it was the steam from the ramen that made the eyelash glue BamBam put on your face dissolve and ruin your beautiful makeup.

“Wanna take it off? It’s late and it’s coming off by itself, anyway,”  he asks, making you nod without a hesitation, following him into the bathroom without even washing the dishes.

Minho takes some moisturizer and a tissue from his cupboard, making you silently curse yourself for not taking makeup wipes with you and having to turn to this poor alternative, seeing how he carefully applies the cream to the fabric and moves it to your face. 

“Can I?” he asks, suddenly, taking you by surprise.

“I mean… sure?”

You take a seat on the bathroom sink, watching his every move as he stands close to you and starts taking your makeup off. The action is quite relaxing as you close your eyes and let him carefully do his work, wondering how you even ended up in here. The moment feels intimate, yet you’ve only known Minho for a few hours, but you feel strangely safe in his presence as he takes care of you. You yawn a little after a few minutes, suddenly sleepy from the relaxing motions of his hand.

“Tired?” he muses, his voice low in the quiet.

You only hum in return, opening your eyes once he’s finished, finding him gazing at you with an unexplainable expression on his face.

“What?”

“Nothing.” he shakes his head and moves further away from your body, “I’ll take mine off and then I can walk you home if you’re feeling sleepy.” he says, making you nod.

Yeah, you feel kind of sad that your night with your new friend is coming to an end, but you can’t stay with him until the morning, right? And it’s getting quite late, anyway. Besides, something inside of you is telling you that this is not the last time you’re meeting the guy you’ve accidentally matched with on BamBam’s halloween party.

So you opt to wait for him in his living room, sitting at the comfortable blue sofa, surrounded by his three cats that take their seats close to you.

You don’t even know when you fall asleep when a handsome face wakes you up from your slumber, whispering into your ear as he gently picks you up from the sofa.

“I’ll let you sleep in my bed tonight. You don’t have to worry, I’ll take the couch.” he smiles when he sees your eyes open and gaze onto his face.

His features look mesmerizing, eye catching, even, without the heavy makeup that managed to hide them quite well. It was hard to make up his face behind the makeup, but when you fianally see it for the first time, you can’t help but find him really pretty. You feel kind of silly for thinking the thought and mentally slap yourself when doing so, but you just can’t stop thinking about how you find him just so beautiful. Maybe it’s the sleep taking over you, who knows?

“Sweet dreams, y/n. I’ll walk you home tomorrow, then.” he whispers into your ear, smiling at you when he drops you onto his bed.

“Sweet dreams, Minho.”

Yeah, it’s silly. 

But you definitely fell asleep that night with your new friend on your mind.

Perhaps the matching costumes really were a destiny.