#thank you so much for the prompt!! i really appreciate it!!

[always-just-red]

15 for sylus if it inspires you at all👀 i love your work, it is always so playful and in character and the writing itself is lovely

Hiiiii! Thank you, and thanks so much for this prompt-- I laughed so much as soon as I read the words ‘heavenly harmonies’ with Sylus in mind ahaha 💀 Hope you enjoy!

Sylus X Reader 🩸🎄☃️❄️

Prompt #015: out on the streets doing christmas carolling, blessing the streets with the sweet voices of heavenly harmonies.

“You know, I think this is gonna be some kind of record.”

You give your collection basket a shake, enamoured by the hoard within: a sea of coins that clink, clink, clink as you jostle them, strewn with countless loose notes. There’s a watch in there, too.

“I told you, sweetie…” Sylus is using his phone as a mirror, adjusting the ‘scarf’ you fashioned him from a rope of ruby tinsel. “Your taste in music has room for improvement.” 

You’re not sure what tickles you more: the ironically tone-deaf comment, or the way his antlers jingle when he speaks. Of all the things you fished out from the back of your cupboard to dress-up your last-minute carolling partner, those must be your favourite. They’re red, soft— covered in tiny, gold bells. They’ve slipped slightly on his head, and you chew your lip as he reaches to steady them, making them jingle again. 

“Stop staring,” he tuts with a knowing smile, though his eyes never leave his reflection. 

“Stop preening,” you giggle back. “Who are you— Mephisto?” 

There’s a gentle snort as Sylus tucks his phone into his pocket. He crosses his arms, gazing up at the building you’re standing outside of. “We’re hitting this place next, hmm?” 

“Yep!” You rap a gloved hand against the door. “But don’t say it like that.” 

“Like what?”

“Like a mobster from a black and white movie. Capiche?”

You give him a side-eye. He trades you a smirk.

Warm tones of light leak from the house’s windows, and you feel cosy, despite the persistent bite of the snow and the cold. You knock on the door again; someone is clearly home, and this is the one time of year you get to be annoying without consequence. Twelve months of forced smiles and unrelenting politeness. You are the face of the Association, remember? 

But tonight— and just for tonight— that face can be whatever you want it to be. It’s for charity! 

You knock again. And then again. The house’s lights go out, but your face goes darker. You’re not leaving without something, not when Tara’s out on her winter fun-run, and Xavier’s risking civilian lives with a bake sale. You’re going to beat them. You have to beat them. 

… And raise money for the protection of harmless, small Wanderers, of course. 

Time for your secret weapon. You lift a finger from your basket— a conductor, preparing an orchestra for incoming instruction. Sylus knows the drill. You count him in with a: “one, two, three, four…” 

“Dashing through the snow,” he starts. 

“In a one-horse open sleigh!” 

“O’er the fields we go, laughing all the way!” 

Ha ha ha.

“Bells on bobtails ring, making spirits bright!”

Together: “What fun it is to ride and sing a sleighing song tonight, OH—!” 

The door is flung open, stopping both of you in your loud, tuneless tracks. “Here!” exclaims a flustered young man, “here— this is what you want, right? Take it!” 

He fumbles with his wallet for all of a second before emptying it into your basket. He shakes it to dislodge a few, stubborn coins.

“That’s really kind of you, sir. The Association appreciates your—” 

The door slams shut, but you couldn’t care less. You smile down at your little pile of treasure and almost squeal in delight.

“Happy?” Sylus asks. 

“More than happy!” You set the basket down then go up on your tiptoes, clasping his face with both hands. His antlers jingle. “You’re amazing, Sylus.” 

Soft as it is, it’s still an ambush. His eyes are wide, and he… doesn’t know what to say. 

Cold is seeping through your gloves. “Oh, are you warm enough?” you fret. Your hands fall from his cheeks so you can pull on the collar of his coat, drawing it closer around his neck. 

“I’m… fine.” 

“Really?” 

“Really.”

It’s not an argument you can win. You think if Sylus were frozen from the depths of his heart to the tips of his toes, he would still be out carolling with you. 

Selfless idiot. You laugh as you step back from him and stoop to collect your basket. “That’s a shame,” you tease. There’s a bounce in your step as you leave him. “I was gonna say we should go for hot chocolate. Or huddle for warmth, like penguins. Did you know that they—”

Sylus’s arms are around you suddenly, hugging you from behind so you can’t slip away again. His chin meets your shoulder, his face: the crook of your neck. You can feel his breath, warm on your skin where the night air won’t find it. It’s always been yours.

“I am a little cold,” he confesses, weak only with you. For you.

“Home and hot chocolate?” you chuckle. 

He sighs blissfully: “Please.”

[woozinhos]

congrats on your new milestone! i’ve noticed you haven't written for jihoon yet! can i request prompt 15 with woozi soft love making no pressure<33

stop thank you oh my god my first jihoon request I’ve been waiting for this one ahhh I really hope you enjoy <3

Jihoon gently laid you down on the bed, his eyes filled with adoration as he looked down at you.

"You're perfect for me in every way," he whispered, his fingers tracing the curves of your body with a gentle touch.

He leaned down to capture your lips in a tender kiss, his mouth moving against yours with a slow, unhurried pace.

Jihoon took his time exploring your body, his lips and hands worshipping every inch of your skin as he left a trail of soft kisses and gentle touches in his wake. Jihoon moved down your body, his lips and tongue leaving a path of pleasure in their wake. He paid special attention to the sensitive spots he knew drove you wild, his touch gentle but skilled as he brought you to the brink of ecstasy.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. "I can't believe I get to have you all to myself."

Jihoon paused for a moment, his eyes filled with a mixture of guilt and affection.

"I'm sorry I've been away at the studio so much lately," he said softly, his voice filled with remorse. "I know I haven't been giving you the attention you deserve."

Jihoon looked up at you with a determined expression, his eyes burning with desire.

"I want to make it up to you," he said, his voice low and intense. "I want to show you just how much I love and appreciate you."

You spoke, your voice soft and needy.

"Please," you whispered, arching your back as you sought more of his touch. "I need you, Jihoon. I need you to make me feel loved."

Jihoon's eyes darkened with need as he heard your words.

"I need to make love to you," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "I need to feel you, to be inside you, to show you just how much I adore you."

Jihoon positioned himself between your legs, his hands gripping your hips as he looked down at you with a mixture of love and hunger.

"You're so perfect," he whispered, his eyes roaming over your body hungrily. "I can't wait to be inside you, to feel you wrapped around me."

Jihoon slowly pushed himself inside you, his eyes locked on yours as he watched your face for any signs of discomfort.

"You feel so good," he groaned, his grip on your hips tightening as he bottomed out. "You're taking me so well, baby."

As Jihoon began to move inside you, he reached out and intertwined his fingers with yours, holding your hands tightly as he rocked his hips against yours. He held your gaze, his eyes filled with a mix of love and passion as he made love to you slowly and gently. Jihoon's pace was steady and deliberate, his movements deep and powerful as he filled you completely with each thrust.

He brought your intertwined hands up above your head, pinning them down as he continued to make love to you, his body pressed flush against yours. Jihoon's lips found their way to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and love bites along your sensitive skin. He whispered sweet nothings in your ear, his breath hot and ragged as he neared his own climax.

"You're mine," he growled, his voice low and possessive. "All mine, and no one else's."

He quickened his pace slightly, his hips snapping against yours with a bit more force as he chased his release. Jihoon slowed down, realizing that he had gotten caught up in his own pleasure. He looked down at you with a tender expression, his eyes softening as he saw the look of pleasure on your face.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his movements becoming more gentle again. "I just got carried away. I want to make sure you feel good too."

Jihoon adjusted his angle slightly, searching for that spot inside you that would drive you wild. When he found it, he began to hit it with each slow, deliberate thrust, watching your face carefully for any signs of pleasure.

"Is that good, baby?" he asked, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own orgasm.

"Yes," you gasped, arching your back and clenching around him. "Oh god, yes. Right there, Jihoon. Don't stop."

Jihoon groaned at your response, his eyes rolling back in his head at the feeling of your walls clenching around him. He increased the pace of his thrusts, hitting that spot inside you with every stroke as he chased both of your releases.

"I love you," he panted, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. "I love you so much."

Your body began to tense, your breath coming in short gasps as you neared your peak. Jihoon could feel it too, the way your walls were fluttering around him, signaling your impending orgasm.

"Come for me, baby," he growled, his voice low and commanding. "I want to feel you come around me."

Jihoon's words sent you over the edge, and you came with a cry of his name, your body shaking with pleasure. He continued to thrust into you, riding out your orgasm and chasing his own release.

With a few more powerful thrusts, he buried himself deep inside you and came with a guttural moan, spilling himself inside you as he reached his peak. Jihoon collapsed on top of you, his body spent and sated. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as he caught his breath.

"God, I love you," he murmured, his lips brushing against your sweaty forehead. "You're incredible."

[megalony]

Hello! I really enjoyed your Emperor Geta fic, thank you so much for writing it. You’re a really talented writer :)

The way you described his wife reminded me of Helaena Targaryen (since she also has such a soft heart and is more sensitive to sounds). It got me thinking of what the beginning of their relationship looked like and how Geta found himself adjusting to her needs. Like they’re newly weds and some of the senators take advantage of his wife’s timid personality and try to make her feel insecure in their relationship. Geta overhears this convo and shuts the senator down. He takes his wife to their rooms to comfort her and talks to her about skipping out on those meetings. I got this thought when you wrote a little of the backstory in the previous fic and would love to read something similar to this prompt or whatever you have in mind!

I did notice you have quite a bit of requests so it’s totally understandable if you’d like to pass. Either way I really appreciate your work and I’m excited to read more. Thank you so much for taking the time to share your talent with us :)

Hello!

Thank you so much for sending in this idea I am starting to obsess over writing for Geta at the moment and it was so nice to have another request for him.

I hope you like what I came up with for this and that it's what you were hoping for.

If you have any other Geta ideas please please send them in!

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

A Hindrance

[zee-143]

♡Confess I loved you from the start♡

A/N: After pure procrastination, I finally wrote something. Now I have to get to the other members smh😭😭 idk I'll probably do Sunoo next. Also should I have a tag list? If so, tell me if you wanna be added!! Happy reading<33

Warnings: swearing lmao

Fluff☁⭐

Jake x Fem!Reader

If you see a mistake, no you didn't 🙂

ENHYPEN's Playlist

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

You loved Jake. More than you'd ever like to admit

Having known each other for so long, he was always your happy place. Almost everyone at uni believed your souls were bounded together. And others assumed you must be partners, right? Considering how Jake himself drapes his arms around you ever so casually or often gives you forehead kisses. You wouldn't call them wrong.This has been a thing for years. Although, it's only now you question why seeing his face makes your heart rate spike.

Jake rambles on about something that happened the previous day. You took a sip of your drink, slouching into the booth of your favorite little diner. You and Jake would always come here throughout high school. It was practically a second home. Most of the staff knew you both quite well too. The 80s inspired diner brought nothing but delicious meals and heartwarming memories. You couldn't really come here much due to university. So all these little moments meant the world.

"I need to ask you something" His words change the conversation completely. Now, you're actually paying attention. Not just admiring his face while his words only translated into 'blah blah blah's. "Something?" Your eyebrows raise. Jake's fingers tap against the table, his lips pressing together in thought. His mouth opened to speak but not a word came out.

"Take your time" You say. Your heart raced and a million thoughts jumped into your brain. Could he be confessing? Could he actually like me? Shit, is this even happening? You took another sip of your drink, trying to disguise your smile. Jake caught your gaze and sighed. "I-I want to ask Lexie to be my girlfriend" Jake blurts out.

"What? " your voice cracks

"Lexie. I want to ask her out" he repeats

You held back any sound that might indicate you're fucking hurt. Sure, you knew Jake liked Lexie. He's liked her ever since the first year of university. She's apart of the friend group and she's an absolute sweet heart. She has this natural beauty to her. Lexie is a close friend of yours but you still envy that she stole Jake's attention so easily.

"I know this is sudden" Jake said "But I really need your advice. Please? " He intertwined his fingers with yours and pouts. You don't say anything. You don't know what to say. The fact that he came to you for advice warmed your crushed heart. You tell him everything you believe Lexie would appreciate. You give him things to say or think about. You say this all with an aching soul. You wanted him to be happy, even if it wasn't with you

And just before you both leave the diner and go your seperate ways, Jake hugs you. He pulls you into the warmest hug you've ever felt. With joy, you hug him back. "You're the best, y/n" Jake pulls away, keeping his eyes on yours. "Thanks for always being so supportive"

You might be crazy but the way his eyes softened. His smile making an appearance more than usual. That pink dusted across his face─that you might as well be imagining. Delusional feelings only prompt you to think he feels exactly what you feel. Although, it can't be the case. Jake often talks about Lexie like she's the only girl on planet earth. You really can't let irrational thoughts take over like this. "No problem, Jake. I'm always happy to help" You respond, forcing a grin

♡

Your dorm room is a load of silence. Not even the sound of a bug could be heard. You lay on the sofa while looking up at the ceiling. Every thought seemed to be about Jake. You desperately tried to think of anything else. Food, laundry or cats? No point though as your heart continues to drag back to that special friend who would always stay a friend.

You couldn't just sit here and feel bad for yourself. You had to let Jake know. It's a secret you've been hiding for him. You both promised not to keep secrets like this. Especially for so long. It only felt right to go tell him. Let him know you're so in love with him it hurts.

You jump off your couch and rush towards the door. You lock the dorm room and storm out of the dorm building. For some odd reason, you forgot it was raining outside. Light rain though. Nothing to absolutely kill you. You think about going back to get an umbrella but you're already outside anyway. You don't have a car either as Jake always drives you around. Fuck it, we dash, you thought

And upon arriving at his place, you're basically drenched. That was the least of your problems though. You knocked on Jake's door then hear rustling from inside. A few moments pass before Jake pulls the door open, staring down at you. "Y/N? What are yo-"

You push yourself inside, hurriedly cutting him off. Jake shuts the front door with an eyebrow raise. "Aww. You didn't miss me already, did you? " He teased. You give him a vulnerable look before pouring out everything. "Jake. I know you like Lexie and you both would make an amazing couple. I-I just wanted to say that I love you! But if you wanna be with- uh- Lexie, then that's fine by me-"

"Woah. Calm down" Jake chuckles, pulling you into a warm embrace, simply ignoring how wet you are from the rain.

"Lex and I weren't going to work out anyway. She's kinda already taken" you hear him sigh. You silently thank your ancestors for that. Her already being taken makes things slightly more easier. Or maybe not because you did blatantly say you love him. Love. What a strong word. "Oh. That's unfortunate"

"Yeah" Jake rests his head on top of yours

"Glad to know you love me, baby"

You slap his arm and roll your eyes. Jake pulls away with a laugh. "Your confession, not mine! " He states. You try not to laugh while giving him a stern look. "I was just saying things" You shrug. Jake intertwined his hand with yours, pulling you close again. "To be honest with you" He takes a moment to pause before continuing "I don't really like Lexie. I only forced myself to like her because of you" His confession caught you off guard. You mask your shock with a smile. "Well, you had me convinced"

"Did I? " He frowns "I must have hurt you, huh? I-I wasn't sure if you'd ever feel the same. You're my best friend and I didn't want our relationship to feel uncomfortable because of some stupid crush-"

You cut him off, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. As you pull away, you notice how red his ears are. Jake blinks for a few moments before speaking again. "Y/N? " He smiles

"Jake?" you smile back

"Can I be your boyfriend? "

"Only if you let me be your girlfriend"

"Deal" Jake wraps his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss against your forehead. It was only then he realized how drenched you were. "Let's get you out of those clothes, yeah? " He suggests. You gasp before punching his arm. "That's so forward, Sim"

Jake winced, shaking his head. "Not like that! Your clothes are wet, dumbass. Don't want you catching a cold" He removes his arms from your waist, stepping back. You then realize what he meant, letting out an awkward chuckle. "Ah, sorry"

"Pervert" He jokes, pulling you towards his room. You were about to respond but thought against it. "I love you too by the way" Jake says with an affectionate tone. "Love you more" You replied

Despite this not being how you wanted your confession with him to go, you're glad it did. Knowing that Jake has loved you from the start. He loved you just as long as you loved him. It sparked a chain of happiness. You were ready to spend all your seconds with him. Each and every one<3

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

[supermarine-silvally]

💜 Yara

Thank you very much for the prompt, dear Anon!! <3 I hope you enjoy it!

💜 surprise kiss / impulsive kiss

This fucking Marine would not leave her alone. 

“And so there I was, surrounded by forty of the nastiest, ugliest pirates in all of the South Blue! They were pointing their weapons at me, creeping closer and yelling curses far too crude to repeat in front of a lady. Bunch of disgusting savages.” The man took a swig of alcohol, pounding his mug against the counter.

Yara’s teeth gritted, staring down at the bottom of her glass as if it had gold in it. If it wasn’t for this ridiculously overpriced beverage-- some kind of pomegranate-flavoured thing that didn’t taste half as good as it looked on the menu board-- she would’ve been out of this shithole bar ages ago. 

It was the first day that the Moby Dick had made shore in almost a month, and she had somehow managed to spend far too long of it stuck next to this loser who had just spent the last hour bragging about his impending promotion to Captain of the 453rd Branch or whatever. The shit-eating smirk on his face told her that women were usually fawning over him by this point, and the fact that she wasn’t apparently meant that she needed a little more persuading. 

The Marine leaned closer to her, his breath reeking of cheap liquor. “So you know what I did next?”

“I couldn’t care le--”

“I grabbed hold of the steering wheel and swung the ship around! The bastards were so surprised, they didn’t even have time to grab hold of anything, so they all ended up tumbling into the ocean!!” He roared with laughter. “Can you believe that? See, the thing about pirates is that they’re all so hopelessly stupid.”

“Are they now?” Yara said flatly. She was increasingly tempted to push the edge of her dress back, fully revealing the tattoo that adorned her left leg. The only reason why she hadn’t so far was because she was loath to make the man think she was trying to entice him. 

“You better believe it, sweetcheeks.” He winked. “And if you want my opinion, Gold Roger was the stupidest one of all. Some ‘King of the Pirates’ he was. I heard there wasn’t even much of a fight to bring the brute down.” Swallowing another gulp of his beverage, he turned to face her. “Now, enough about me. What’s a pretty little gal like you doing all alone in this part of town?”

“Who said she was alone?” a familiar voice spoke from behind them. 

Yara’s heart leapt, a small smile creeping onto her lips as she finally glanced up from her half-empty glass. 

Ace flashed the both of them one of his usual cocky grins before draping an arm over Yara’s shoulders. “There you are. I was looking everywhere for you.”

The Marine’s expression soured. He shuffled closer to Yara, his tone dropping. “What do you say we get out of here? A man of my rank can get a room at any hotel you fancy.”

Ace tsked. “Whispering isn’t polite, y’know. And there’s a big problem with your plan.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

A devilish grin spread across the young pirate’s face. He withdrew his arm and reached forwards, fingers brushing gently under Yara’s jaw as he tilted her chin up ever so slightly. “She’s mine.” 

Without a moment’s hesitation, he leaned in, his lips colliding with hers. Yara’s eyes widened, surprised by the sudden burst of affection, but they quickly fluttered shut. Ace’s hands had found her waist, pulling her in closer, the taste of pomegranate lingering between them as he deepened the kiss. Finally, he pulled away with a gentle nip to her bottom lip, leaving her breathless. Keeping one arm wrapped firmly around her midsection, he shot the Marine the most satisfied smirk Yara had ever seen.

The man’s lip curled as he slid off the bar stool and took a step towards Ace, trying to look menacing. “Oh, yeah? Who do you think you--” He stopped, his eyes landing on the ASCE tattoo on Ace’s arm. All the colour instantly drained from his face. “W-Wait a minute… I know you… You’re… You’re Fire Fist!!”

Ace tipped his hat at him. “That I am. Pleasure to meet ya.”

“But… that means…” His gaze slowly shifted over to Yara, finally noticing the tattoo poking out from under the hem of her dress. He gulped. “H-Hellcat Yara… It’s-- It’s the Whitebeard Pirates!!”

“And you say we’re the stupid ones,” Yara said disdainfully, watching as the man’s shaking hand reached for the sword strapped to his belt. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

His hand stilled for a second before grabbing the sword and whipping it out. “I’ll… I’ll capture you both! You have a combined bounty of almost one billion Berry, right?! I’ll be rich-- and a hero!!”

Ace and Yara looked at each other, then back at the quivering Marine. Yara let out a sigh, lifting up her glass.

Thunk!!

Before the man could move, she brought it down over his head. He slumped over, his sword clattering to the ground. The rest of the pomegranate-flavoured beverage splashed from the glass, dripping down his blank face.

“Wow.” Ace looked impressed. “That’s one way to solve it.”

Yara shrugged. “I’ve been wanting to do that for over an hour now. Besides, his flirting game sucked anyways.” She placed the glass down on the bar’s counter, sliding it over to the bartender who had apparently seen enough brawls to be completely unbothered by the situation. 

Side by side, the two young pirates left the bar, stepping out onto the sunny street. 

Ace’s stomach growled as they walked, making him chuckle. “All that excitement and I’m completely famished. Now whaddaya say I take you out for dinner? My treat.”

She laughed. “You say ‘treat’ as if you haven’t skipped the bill on every single date you’ve ever taken me on.” 

“That’s true,” he conceded, grinning sheepishly.

 Yara looped her arm around his, twining their fingers together. “I would love dinner. And to spend time with you as long as you’ll have me.”

Ace pretended to ponder it. “Well, if that’s the case, then… How about forever?”

Smiling, she leaned down and pressed a kiss against the crossed-out ‘S’ of his tattoo. “Forever sounds nice.”

tagging: @auxiliarydetective @oneirataxia-girl @daughter-of-melpomene

[unforth]

Gentle reminder that very little fandom labor is automated, because I think people forget that a lot.

That blog with a tagging system you love? A person curates those tags by hand.

That rec blog with a great organization scheme and pretty graphics? Someone designed and implemented that organization scheme and made those graphics.

That network that posts a cool variety of stuff? People track down all that variety and queue it by hand, and other people made all the individual pieces.

That post with umpteen links to helpful resources, and information about them? Someone gathered those links, researched the sources, wrote up the information about them.

That graphic about fandom statistics? Someone compiled those statistics, analyzed them, organized them, figured out a useful way to convey the information to others, and made the post.

That event that you think looks neat? Someone wrote the rules, created the blogs and Discords, designed the graphics, did their best to promo the event so it'd succeed.

None of this was done automatically. None of it just appears whole out of the internet ether.

I think everyone realizes that fic writing and fanart creation are work, and at least some folks have got it through their heads that gif creation and graphics and moodboards take effort, and meta is usually respected for the effort that goes into it, at least as far as I've seen, but I feel like a lot of people don't really get how much labor goes into curation, too.

If people are creating resources, curating content, organizing the creations of others, gathering information, and doing other fandom activities that aren't necessarily the direct action of creation, they're doing a lot of fandom labor, and it's often largely unrecognized.

Celebrate fan work!

To folks doing this kind of labor: I see you, and I thank you. You are the backbones of our fandoms and I love you.

[sequencefairy]

do you have the extra scratch to bleach your pretty little asshole?

[ now available on ao3 ]

~~~

It's the second time that Shane goes blond that really does Ryan in. He'd been affected the first time, but who hadn't been? What a change! His friend, usually so conservative about his appearance even with the wild shirts and strange colour combinations, making such a change? Not something Ryan would have anticipated at all.

And then. And then Shane did it again. Went to the salon, asked for and received a colour treatment and Ryan just--well. He's lost the plot. He's not to be blamed for any of what happened after that, he's not. He can't be. Anyone would have done the same when faced with Shane and his blond hair and the attitude adjustment it came with.

So. Anyway. Not his fault, is what Ryan means. Definitely the ammonia fumes in Shane's hair colouring. Or something. Ryan doesn't know.

He should really stop thinking about this here, where he is balls deep in the hot clutch of Shane's body, his bare hand pressed against Shane's bare spine while Shane writhes under him, asking without asking for Ryan to move, to do something, to do anything. Ryan's not moving. He's already told Shane he won't. This is a non-negotiable part of the scene. Shane's gotta ask for it. He's gotta look back over his shoulders, pretty eyes wide, eyelashes clumped together, and open his mouth and ask for what he wants.

That's the deal.

Shane shifts and Ryan presses in, like he's not already all the way sheathed. The air goes out of Shane's lungs in a high wheeze, but he's nodding into the pillow so Ryan leans down further, covering Shane with his body, so he can put his mouth right next to Shane's ear.

"You want it, baby?" Ryan husks. "You know how to get it. You know all you gotta do is just tell me what you want. I can wait here all day, Shaney-boy, you and I both know it--"

Shane whines and squeezes his eyes shut tight. He clenches around Ryan, his body a ripple of sensation that makes Ryan have to bite his own lip and breathe through.

"Ry--" Shane starts, and stops.

"Come on," Ryan cajoles, sing song, "or I'll think you're holding out on me. Is that what you're doing? Getting off on the denial? Think you can come just like this? Keeping my dick warm in your pretty little asshole?"

Shane mutters something under his breath, but he hisses as Ryan shifts his knees. "Please," Shane says, finally, and it sounds like he's dragged it out from the soles of his feet. "Ryan--Da--" Shane stops himself and Ryan grins, wolfish.

"Who's gonna take care of you, baby?" Ryan asks. "Who makes sure you have the money for your hair appointments?" Ryan runs his hand down Shane's flank. Shane squirms both into and way from the touch. "Who gives you that extra scratch to keep your pretty little asshole bleached?"

Shane groans. "Fuck. Please, Ryan--fucking move, daddy, I need it."

"Good boy," Ryan says, leaning up and back and before snapping his hips. "Come on your daddy's cock, Shane."

And Shane does. Almost immediately.

[ratinayellowbandana]

Prompt: “I feel terrible.” And/or “I want you to kiss me right now.”

I love your fics 🥹 just yesterday I was thinking of your name while perusing ao3 and was wishing for another Imodna fic of yours

hi!! thank you so much for your kind words. it always shocks me when people, like, want to read my writing? so it really means a lot. i'm sorry this took me a little longer. i ended up combining your first one with another prompt and part of my wip so when i eventually publish a fic with an extremely similar scene from imogen's perspective.. dw about it.

anyway, here's some post-resurrection hurt/comfort. we're gonna all pretend they stayed in the castle for a couple days and sorted their shit out.

cw for feelings of helplessness and self-loathing

length: ~1.7k

some prompt lists if you're so inclined || my ao3

~~~

It’s been three days since they got her back. 

Three days since she woke on the worn wooden floors of Pike’s home to a small crowd of friends and strangers. 

Three days since she set foot in Whitestone again, a place she never hoped to return. 

And three days since everyone began treating Laudna as if she's going to shatter. 

The worst part is she feels as if she might. 

The world is too vibrant. Loud. The birds chirping outside the too-large castle window grate on her ears. The silky sheets on the too-soft four-poster bed cling to her in all the wrong ways. Her skin crawls and her bones grind and she can feel her teeth. 

The gnome who revived her said this is normal. She’d been dead, after all. The body would need time to recalibrate. Time they do not have if they want to have any hope of intervening on the solstice. 

Imogen dotes the best way she knows how. With soup and kind words and glares that warn the others to keep back if they don’t want a zap to the forehead. She offers furs from the trunk at the foot of the bed and cool cloths that do little to ease the ache of Laudna’s fragile joints. She brings pillows and keeps watch in the window seat as Laudna sleeps. 

It’s sickeningly sweet and thoughtful and lovely, and Laudna hates it just a little bit because Imogen has spent far too much time fretting over Laudna as of late when she should be anywhere but a stuffy old castle spooning broth to a dead lady whose hands won’t stop shaking. 

Laudna is fine. 

She’s fine. 

She is. 

Delilah is gone, they assure her. Imogen herself sent a bolt of lightning through the bitch’s strange conjured tree trunk in the twisting nether realm that left the smell of iron and marrow lingering in Laudna’s nose. Her limbs still sting with phantom wounds where she had thrashed against Delilah’s cage. 

Helpless. Weak. 

The others were there, too. At least, for much of the fight and everything that preceded. They had seen Laudna’s memories, as Fresh Cut Grass informed her. Learned the name she had taken care to hide all these years. Buried deep enough, even Imogen, brilliant as she is, would have to dig to uncover it. Delilah, it seemed, only cared for secrets when they were hers to keep. 

When her friends visit her chambers, their vivacity is dulled. They are tense, anxious, and trying and failing to hide the restlessness that they are all feeling. 

Orym regards her with new wariness, searching for lies and cracks, though he is kind as ever. It’s understandable, Laudna reasons. In this place, where the Briarwood reign harmed innumerable lives, she is a liability. A threat to be guarded against.

Fearne is delicate with her hugs, moves cautiously through Laudna’s space. She hasn’t even stolen any of the silver soup spoons or fine teacups, which might be most concerning of all. 

Ashton hovers in the doorway. They return her awkward waves with a nod and flick of their wrist. 

Chetney and Fresh Cut Grass seem the most unbothered. Chetney in a plush bathrobe that appears to have been hastily cropped to suit his stature, and F.C.G. chattering on about the importance of rest to the healing process. 

And Laudna hates them just a little bit because she cares for them all so deeply, but mostly, she just hates herself. Hates Delilah. Hates Otohan Thull. 

They’re losing time and they’ve already lost so much. Imogen has already lost so much. Her mother’s trail is growing colder by the day, and there is nothing Laudna can do but lay in this godsforsaken luxurious bed and wait until her body recovers. 

It’s all she can do not to break into a thousand pieces that she would scatter to the nooks and crannies so she wouldn’t have to see the pitying looks on her friends’ faces when Imogen has to help her up. 

She turns on her side and buries her face in an obnoxiously soft down pillow to muffle the sob that wells within her and wracks her body. 

She does a piss-poor job of that, too. 

“Laudna?” Imogen calls sleepily, roused from a sun-dappled doze. Then, alert, “Hey, hey–” 

She’s standing, Laudna can hear, and now she’s gone and disturbed Imogen. Bare feet pad across the cool stone floor, and the far side of the bed dips, ever considerate. She will not come closer, Laudna knows, unless given explicit consent because Imogen is wonderful and caring and lovely.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” 

Laudna shudders. “I feel terrible.” 

“Oh,” Imogen says, and Laudna can feel the flash of guilt and concern that radiates off of her. “Can I bring you anything? Is it your head?” She shifts her weight. “Do you need water? I can go get a pitcher. Or food, maybe?”

“Stop. Please, stop,” Laudna croaks. Imogen flinches, and gods, Laudna could be sick.

Imogen retreats. “Sorry, I’ll just– sorry,” she murmurs, sounding so small. 

Laudna lifts her head and darts a trembling hand to catch her wrist. “No!” she says. Her body betrays her, the word coming out as more of a roar than she ever could have meant. “No,” she repeats, softer, “stay. Please,” because if she frightens Imogen off, she fears what will crawl into the hole left behind. 

Imogen hesitates, glances down at the ink-tipped fingers clasped around her arm, and sits again. She doesn’t speak, leaving the path clear for Laudna to lead the way, and oh, Laudna could melt. 

Laudna sighs shakily, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…it’s not you.” 

Not Imogen. Never Imogen. 

The silence hangs heavy between them until Laudna can bring herself to speak again. 

“This is my fault, I’m afraid,” she states flatly, refusing to meet Imogen’s gaze. Refusing to see whatever reaction she may find there. Anguish. Frustration. Irritation.

“What?” 

Confusion.  

Laudna looks up, gestures vaguely to their surroundings. “This. All of us being… trapped here.” 

“Laud, what’re you talkin’ about?” 

Imogen’s hand comes to stroke the back of Laudna’s knuckles where they wrap around her other wrist. Her fingers are calloused and work-worn, the rough patches of them catching on the imperfect parts of Laudna. 

“You should be off tracking down your mother or finding out what you can about the moon, and instead,” Laudna’s voice catches in her throat, “you’re here.”

Imogen shakes her head, exhales. “Where I should be is for me to decide.” She says it gently. It is not meant to be a reprimand. It still feels like one. “And where I should be,” she continues, “is wherever you are.” 

Laudna’s eyes flit anywhere but Imogen’s face. 

“If you want me there, of course.”

Laudna’s response is instant. “Always.” 

She finally meets Imogen’s eyes and is met with a somewhat furrowed brow. She wants to ask something, Laudna can tell. Imogen’s head is tilted curiously, her lips slightly parted. Her jaw works subtly, muscles tensing. 

“It’s not your fault,” she settles on at last. “None of it, okay?”

Laudna opens her mouth to respond.

Imogen is steely calm. “You were gone, Laudna. And I couldn’t reach you, and…and you’re here now. You’re back, and that’s all that matters.” 

Laudna shrinks into the pillows, takes her hand back beneath the sheet, fist clenching and unclenching. “I feel like such a nuisance,” she confesses quietly. “I should have tried harder to break her hold on me. I should have–”

“No. Gods,” Imogen snaps, lacking any real bite. She inhales. “Laudna, you…you were dead. And I hate sayin’ it; I hate thinkin’ about it. You couldn’t’ve done anythin’ more than what you did.” She softens, throat tightening with emotion. “You did so much. And I’m so proud of you. And… I’m so grateful you chose to come back.” 

“It wasn’t much of a choice,” Laudna whispers, “I couldn’t very well leave you, darling.” 

“You could’ve.” Imogen bites her lip, ducks her head, fiddles with the hem of her vest. “We, um, I know F.C.G. told you, but we… saw some of your memories. And, and I didn’t really wanna bring it up? So I’m real sorry, but we only saw a couple moments, and we don’t have to talk about it, but,” she looks back to Laudna, “you’re so brave. I don’t think you get told that enough. You’re so strong, Laud, and so good, and I missed you. So much.” She takes a sharp breath.

It bursts out as though holding it in any longer might suffocate her, and Laudna’s hands cease their twitching. She hesitates. Imogen’s affection has split her open, and it’s odd, she thinks, to feel so vulnerable and so safe. That those two sensations can coexist as a tingling in her chest that extends into her tendons and ligaments to warm her all over. She can sense the discolored blush rising in her cheeks. 

She does not feel brave. Strength has always been foreign and abstract. That Imogen can see her that way is… incongruous. Absurd, even. 

“You’re very kind.”

Imogen looks as if she might protest but seems to think better of it. She sighs, a slight, sad smile crossing her lips. She moves to stand again, to cross the room back to her seat, and suddenly, the thought of Imogen being so far away is unbearable. 

“Stay, please?” Laudna shuffles, lifting a corner of the quilt. “This bed is plenty big enough for two, and I dread to think of the state of your neck curled up in the window.”

“You’re sure?” Imogen asks, faint hope coloring her words. 

“Come here.” 

The bed dips again as Imogen clambers in, pressing herself against Laudna, who lets out an oomph as Imogen wraps around her and intertwines their fingers. 

“Sorry!” Imogen says with a relieved exhale, “Sorry, I just–I know I said it before, but… I really missed you.” 

“I missed you, too,” Laudna assures gently, taking in the oaty smell of Imogen. The smell of home. “Rest well, darling.” 

Imogen squeezes their hands in response and burrows closer. 

Laudna relaxes into the embrace.

[good-beanswrites]

Happy Valentine's Day @artsy-azure ! Here's your gift for the @milgram-valentines-exchange 💖

Fuuta x Minato (oc) ~ The first section takes place right after his T2 interrogation, and then skips ahead to a tiny post-milgram scene :3 I hope you enjoy!

Fuuta thought he would drown. Not sink into water or anything like that; he was worried the voices filling his mind would completely suffocate him. There were too many of them. Too many people, all of them knowing every dark corner of his mind, and shouting into it. It should have been impossible for one voice – one softer than all the rest – to reach him.

Then again, everything about that voice should have been impossible.

“Fuuta… Hey, Fuuta… Are you alright?”

He blinked. He scrambled over to the nearest wall. There were no visible openings in the cell, not a single imperfection across any of the surfaces, yet Milgram’s intercom system functioned just fine. Most days it would just deliver the ear-rattling bell to tell him the time. On bad days, it carried Es’ summons to the interrogation room for his extraction. On worse days, it carried Es’ summons to the courtroom for his verdict.

On the very best days, it would bring him the voice of Hoshizawa Minato.

(Though, seeing as he had just returned from a catastrophic extraction, he wasn’t sure what type of day it was yet.)

He tore his attention away from the chorus of judgements and insults. He pressed his shoulder against the wall, still unsure where the sound was coming from, but knowing it was nearby.

“I’m here,” he said, hushed. More than anything he wanted to yell and scream, but he would never risk it, now. Minato had gone through a hell of a lot to break into Milgram’s systems, and he wouldn’t let his big mouth ruin all that. It had already ruined just about everything else.

“How are you holding up?”

Fuuta pressed his lips together. “Any news on getting us out of here?” was all he said.

Hundreds of miles away (or perhaps next door – neither of them could really know), Minato’s fingers adjusted his headset.

“I’m still working on it. These things take time.” 

“I’m definitely gonna need it after today.” 

“Your interrogation… I know.”

Fuuta pulled his hood down tighter, tufts of ginger hair ruffling underneath. “How much did you see?” 

Minato’s eyes flicked over to another monitor. It displayed the files he’d gained access to a few hours prior. It would crush Fuuta to hear about yet another person peeking into his personal moments, so he opted for a non-answer.

“I don’t have cameras. I don’t see much at all.”

“Tch, I’m not a damn idiot, I know that! I meant, how much did you hear?”

“...Everything.” 

Fuuta squeezed his eye shut. He bit a curse back. There came silence.

Minato actually double checked some of his monitors, making sure they hadn’t been disconnected.

“So then, you know,” Fuuta said at last. “There’s no fucking way I’m getting forgiven this time around.”

“You can’t be so sure. The–”

“No one in their right mind would forgive me after that.” He winced, remembering his harsh cries at the end of the interrogation. What kind of accused murderer shouted “I’ll kill you” as their plea of innocence? When he wasn’t running his mouth with threats, he’d been pleading with Es like some kind of coward. And Minato has heard all of it. Fuuta could only imagine the horrors that the extraction held. Who could forgive him after they saw his anger, or worse, his pleasure? Who could ever look kindly on someone like that?

“I would.”

Fuuta’s eyes widened. He let himself sink further into the wall. A strangled laugh escaped him. He let his head hang down. No matter how much he wanted to protest, Minato was as honest as they come. If he said he forgave Fuuta, he meant it. 

“Yeah, like I said, no one in their right mind.”

Minato cracked a smile. 

“You don’t think I’m in my right mind?”

Fuuta scoffed. “You post pictures of clothes for a living. And in your free time, you plan impossible jailbreaks for murderers. Doesn’t sound quite sane to me.”

“Aw, come on. Do you think it’s impossible?” 

Minato was still smirking, ready for some more of their typical back and forth. Fuuta surprised him by pausing. 

“Well, it should be impossible. But…”

They’d been speaking for some time now. Whether it was quick comments when Es wasn’t around or long conversations into the night. Fuuta had seen many sides of him, and knew that he had what it took. He wasn’t like the vast majority of internet personalities – weak or needy or inexperienced. He’d proved himself time and time again. If anyone could pull this off, it would be Minato. 

“If it’s you… there’s a chance.”

“You’ve got that right. You can count on me, alright?”

Fuuta took a deep breath. The tightness of the uniform and the bandages seemed to lessen.

“Although,” Minato put on a falsely serious voice, “we’re gonna have a long talk when you get out… about that yellow jacket you own.”

“Haaah? What’s wrong with my jacket?’

“There are a hundred stylish ways to wear it and that was not one.”

“The fuck does that mean?” 

“You’ll be grateful when someone who ‘posts pictures of clothes for a living’ helps with your wardrobe.” 

Fuuta could feel his chest release even more. Minato spoke so easily about the future, as if it were something real and waiting for him. 

“As if I’d let you touch any of my outfits.”

“As if you could stop me!”

He took another breath. He smiled. No drowning today.

---

After checking the clock fourteen times, Fuuta thought once more couldn’t hurt. It was still two minutes to noon, just like the last few times he’d checked. His frequent checking hadn’t brought the train to the station any faster.

Minato had told him that he was safe. He’d said this meeting wasn’t that big of a risk. The dust had settled. He just had to relax. 

The announcement overhead signaled the next stop was his. It screeched into the station, a slight murmur rising as the doors opened onto a platform of moving people. 

Fuuta lowered his head. His eyepatch would surely draw attention to himself, so he kept his hood down and his mask up. He just needed to make it to the station entrance. 

He made his way around stiff businessmen and sticky children. He tried to shuffle around a young man, but he seemed to step further into Fuuta’s path. Giving the stranger a quick glance, he started to mumble something to squeeze past. 

“Fuuta,” the man said, gaping in surprise. “It’s me.”

He inhaled sharply.

It was only three words, but it was enough to recognize his voice from a thousand conversations. 

Fuuta’s eye widened as he took Minato in. It was strange to finally see his face. Finally, here was the person he’d spent hours talking to. The person he’d spent days passing the time with. The person he’d spent nights falling for. Here was the one who had saved his life, in more ways than he could count.

His first observation was, fuck, this guy is way outta my league. His next was, he’s shorter than I was expecting. Then, gah, I’m probably shorter than he was expecting. He was in the middle of realizing, he has the nicest smile I think I’ve ever seen, when Minato crushed him in a hug.

Fuuta returned the embrace. His arms tightened around Minato. He was real. He was here. Fuuta’s hands grasped at his clothes and his hair. He was unable to control a laugh bubbling up inside of him. 

“You did it. My god, you did it.”

He breathed into Minato’s shoulder. His chest shook with some laughter, some tears. 

For a moment wondered if people would notice the heartfelt reunion outside of the train, then he realized he didn’t care in the slightest. 

Minato was laughing along with him in that beautiful, familiar voice of his. No more crackling speakers or hidden intercoms – he spoke right into his ear, hair tickling his cheek. Fuuta could have stayed forever in his arms, just like that. All that mattered was he felt safe. At last, he felt happy.

Talk about impossible. 

[allylikethecat]

⋆˚࿔ october prompts 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

AHHHH only two more prompts to go after this one! Thank you so much to everyone who has followed along and been so supportive of these, and my writing in general. I know I write things that aren't for everyone, and I'm so grateful that there is space for everyone in the fandom!

²⁹⁾ the seventh highest floor in a skyscraper

Matty’s stomach lurched, his palms sweating and he found himself feeling light headed as he backed away from the window. He hadn’t realized he had such an issue with heights, until he found himself standing in a glass floored corner, and looked down from the seventh highest floor in a skyscraper. He knew that one could argue he was fine with heights, he climbed up on the roof of house on tour nearly ever night for months. But there was something different about being not nearly a full story off the ground, wearing a harness in a controlled setting, and standing, looking down at the city rushing below him. It was a tourist attraction, there were hundreds of people milling about. Did they not realize how much danger they were in?! Matty thought hysterically. Glass broke easily and here they were just standing on it. It was like they were asking to die. Matty didn’t want to die. 

George was smiling, taking pictures through the glass of the skyline that they had become part of. Matty wasn’t sure if he was going to pass out or throw up or both. He pressed himself against the wall in the center of the building, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to ground himself. He didn’t want to ruin George’s fun, he was so happy looking out from the near top of the sky scraper. Matty hadn’t even actually processed which one they were visiting, his anxiety growing when he realized that George intended to go to the top. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, stars dancing behind his eyelids as saliva filled his mouth. He tried to quickly swallow it down. He refused to ruin George’s fun. But it was seeming more and more likely that he was going to puke and then end up unconscious face down in it. The worst part is that he was sober at the moment as well. He wondered if being inebriated would make him feel better or worse about standing further off the ground that humans had any right to be. It was like they were playing God building these giant metal monstrocities and Matty didn’t even believe in God! 

Being so close to the top of the sky scraper was even worse than flying Matty thought, growing more and more frantic. He needed to leave, he needed to not be so high off the ground, but he wasn’t entire sture where the elevator was, and he was too afraid to open his eyes to try and find it. 

“Matty?” George asked, and Matty forced himself to open his eyes, feeling George’s hands on his shoulders. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” he croaked, squeezing his eyes shut again just as quickly as he had opened them. He could see the city skyline over George’s shoulder, which was a huge nope. 

“You’re really pale,” said George slowly as he pieced it together. “Oh, Love,” he said softly, “are you afraid of heights?” 

Matty nodded, giving up, and hoping that if admitting it would get him back to ground level faster. 

Day: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 |

[lattesqueeze]

🗣️WIP RANT WIP RANT🗣️

I’d love to hear anything about your favorite WIP, or you can answer some of these prompts:

1. What’s the main ship and/or dynamic?

2. What inspired you? Convo with a mutual, music, etc.

3. How long have you been working on this project?

4. What’s your favorite line you’ve written/planned so far?

5. What concept came to you first, the plot or the characters?

6. What are you finding challenging about this WIP?

THANK YOU OML 🫶🏻

My current favourite wip is very little more than a concept at the moment, which is a Lestappen fic (no surprises lol) that I think was inspired by a tweet or a tumblr post. The secondary inspiration that solidified the concept/plot was the recent press conference when our Charlie was high out of his mind on painkillers and kept giggling and chatting with Max.

It stems from them being much younger and still karting, and one thing leads to another and they kiss. And promptly never speak of it again. Buuuut they both think of it all the time. As they grow up, they encounter some deja vu and find themselves kissing again and, shock!, it’s just as good as they remembered and more.

(Answering about this actually helped me formulate a lot of the background plot so thank you!!)

HOWEVER I also want an excuse to post this excerpt from a separate Landoscar wip, just bc I like it :’) I’ll put it under a cut so it doesn’t clog anyone’s dash!

Ten!

Shit. Lando shoved his way out of the kitchen he had found himself in, scanning every face for the soft cheekbones or warm brown eyes he had come to recognise.

Nine!

A girl Lando had definitely hooked up with before caught his arm, and tried to pull him in another direction, but he brushed her off.

Eight! Seven! Six!

Lando set his half-finished drink down and rubbed at his eyes. He was determined not to let Oscar go into 2023 alone among strangers. He just had to find him first.

Five!

Oscar wasn’t in the bathroom, or the one bedroom Lando hazarded a peek into.

Four!

One job, Lando. One job. Keep Oscar safe while showing him a good time. And, somehow, he had managed to lose him at the most crucial time of the party.

Three!

Lando burst out of the apartment and onto the balcony, where only a few partygoers were stood. The night was cool, but not unbearable, though Lando shivered a little as he stepped outside.

Two!

There he was. Thank God. Lando spied the sandy blond wave of hair and crisp white shirt, stood right by the railing, gazing out over the city. He rushed over to Oscar, and put his hand on his arm, making Oscar jump.

One!

The crowd around them erupted into cheers, popping open champagne and kissing their other halves. Without thinking twice, Lando grabbed Oscar by the back of the neck and kissed him, hard. He felt Oscar tense up for just a moment - just long enough for him to panic and regret the risky manoeuvre. But, milliseconds later, Oscar’s hands found their way to Lando’s waist, and he was kissing him back. The fireworks exploding across the city around them echoed the fireworks in Lando’s mind. When they finally broke apart to breathe, Lando grinned dopily at Oscar.

“Happy New Year, new teamie.” Lando said, almost into Oscar’s mouth, before kissing him again.

[poisonedfate]

54 with pretty much anyone you like and Morgana romantic or not

okay. so. here's the thing. i struggled with this one a little bit, wasn't quite sure where i wanted to go with it and somehow landed on inner turmoil rather than conflict/exchange? there's still a sort of conversation happening, but i guess it's more my interpretation of morgana's thoughts, feelings. sorry if it's not what you wanted, though i still hope you'll like it,

54. “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. That’s the problem.” (merlin and morgana/no explicit romance)

send me prompts!

The two of them had gone back and forth for a while, never quite mentioning anything out loud, though it was clear that Merlin knew what was becoming of her, as much as Morgana knew - at least partly - what was becoming of him. It was bound to come to a breaking point, so it wasn't really a surprise when Merlin followed her as she snuck through the castle, as she left, as she headed for the woods. Once they were far enough Morgana stopped, waiting only a moment before speaking: "What do you want, Merlin?" she kept her tone steady, quiet.

Merlin approached slowly, though she could not call it hesitation - caution, perhaps. "Just wanted to make sure you don't do anything stupid." She closed her eyes, something of a storm behind her eyelids with its dark clouds, furious thunder, and waves crashing against the shore. Morgana was never quite sure what to hope for - that her anger would take over completely, making her blind to those she could never deem evil on her own accord, or that the blood-red sharpness in her head would let up just a bit, allowing her the reminder of love, of what she once thought was most important, permitting her to seek out those dear to her again, hoping to make them understand. The thoughts of it never seemed to last long enough to reach a conclusion, however. Something in her would build until there was almost a tangible voice, awful close to her own, telling her that she should not be hoping for utter misery or senseless weakness. There was no use dwelling on it, and yet: "I don't expect you to understand, but I am asking you not to stand in my way," she said, careful not to let it sound like a plead. "Morgana-," "No. No, I don't want to hear it. I cannot let this continue, Merlin, I can't, why won't you see that?" she stepped closer to him, skin tingling. "And you think this is the way to do it? Do you honestly think fighting fire with fire will make things better? Like your hate isn't going to burn the same as-," Merlin stopped himself, though it was clear what he was insinuating, Morgana's eyes growing wider. It wasn't anything she hadn't considered before - her anger, the way it reminded her of flames, bright and hot and quick to spread once they started. As much as Morgana understood why it had to be this way, why her anger was so important, the idea of comparing it to fire made her sick - so she tried to think of it as water instead - a flood, a wave, drowning, pulling. And yet. "It is not the same," she snarled. There was something almost sad about the way Merlin looked at her. "Yeah? Then why do you carry such hatred for people you used to love? People who have not had a hand in the things Uther has done." Morgana could only stare back at him. "I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. That’s the problem.” Merlin did not seem to have a response to that. She wished she could ask him if he knew what she meant. If he could understand the two sides, if he could honestly tell her which one was better. Merlin was always someone who knew more than was assumed of him, she had come to learn that. Maybe if the situation had been different. Maybe if she could bear to be honest for a little while longer, she could ask - is it better to live with the hurt or to not feel anything at all?

[phiixomath]

🎉🦄

Keith clutched the present bag to his chest. He wiped a sweaty palm on his lap and shifted — unfortunately unable to get very comfortable in the car when it was full of five other people — as a knot twisted in his stomach. The bright blue gift wrap was quite distracting, though, and he glanced down at it, worrying at his bottom lip and smoothing down his suit jacket. 

Lance had insisted his ten-year-old niece would love anything since she frequently jumped from interest to interest, but Keith really wanted to get her something special. Something she’d cherish. He wracked his brain for days then, miraculously, managed to overhear from Lance's mother that she had recently gotten into art and was saving up to buy paintbrushes. 

Now, this Keith knew. 

He’d been painting for years, had gone through the painstaking, bank-breaking process of graduating from whatever he could scrounge to, eventually, professional-grade materials. Lance’s niece was young so he didn’t want to overwhelm her, but he went ahead and purchased a nice assortment of painting tools and wrote a small guide on his best tips to getting started to go with it.

He’d felt confident, but as they neared Lance’s house he couldn’t help the nagging doubt that he’d bought something left something out or it just wasn’t what she would want any more. 

He took a deep breath and settled back against the seat as much as he could. Hunk sat next to him and smiled reassuringly, bringing his arm around the headrest so Keith could lean back fully. Keith returned the smile and took another grounding breath. 

Just then — the clip-clop of hooves against the asphalt. 

What?

Everyone in the car sat up, leaned, or manoeuvred in some way to look out the window, see Lance absolutely speed past them on a pristine white horse clad in a long cape and unicorn horn. 

“Huh — Lance?” Hunk called, the first to gain the ability to speak while Keith was sure his jaw was grazing his lap. Shiro slowed the car and Hunk called out again. “Lance!” 

Through the rear view mirror, Keith saw Lance's form come to a stop. He was more quite far, but Keith could make out the horse’s hind legs raise before lowering and swiftly turning to make their way over to the car. The clip-clopping grew closer until Lance was just a few feet away and dismounted. He walking up to their car with an easy smile. 

“Hey, guys!” Lance stuck his head through Keith's window and Keith immediately flattened against his seat, heart beating embarrassingly fast. “Hey, Keith.” 

“Hey.”

“Looking good, man.” What. Oh, right, he was wearing a suit. (Lance’s niece wanted to host a themed party and went for fairy tales, which made the unicorn horn make sense. Albeit interesting and creative, the theme left him stumped but he ultimately settled on a typical suit and hoped it would pass as a prince or something).

“Thanks,” Keith replied, feeling his face heat. Lance grinned. 

“What are you doing out here?” Pidge asked, but not before casting Keith a knowing look. Keith ignored it in favour of hearing Lance explain. 

“There was a mix-up with the bakery, so I’m just gonna go pick something else up real quick.”

“With…”

Lance tilted his head in confusion then brightened. “Oh! This is Macy!” He tugged gently on the horse’s reins until her face appeared alongside his outside the window. She whinnied, shaking her mane, and Keith startled when the rough hairs struck his nose. Lance laughed, sudden and loud, and carded a hand through her mane as he sent Keith a sympathetic grimace. 

“Sorry." Keith gave him a look but the edge of his mouth still quirked up. "Really, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Keith said, unable to hold back a smile when he reached out to stroke Macy’s muzzle. She leaned into him and Lance softened. 

“Aw, she’s happy to see you," He cooed. 

Keith feigned a scowl at the change in his voice and Lance feigned a pout. He broke character and chuckled, when his eye caught on the bag in Keith’s hands. 

“Is that —"

“— Uh.”

“Oh my God, Keith! That’s — that’s amazing! Holy shit." He gasped, eyes searching what contents of the bag he could. "This is exactly the type of stuff she’s looking for!” 

Keith breathed a sigh, half at the lost surprise and half in relief. “I’m glad. I really hope she’ll like it.”

“She’ll love it, are you joking?” Lance pulled on Macy’s reins again as he backed up from the car. “When we open presents before cake, you’ll see. She’s gonna love you.” He punctuated each word and held Keith's eye before turning to smile at everyone. “I’ll see you guys at the party!” Everyone voiced a similar sentiment and he smiled.

Keith turned his face as far as he could out the window, half to see Lance easily pull himself up on Macy and half to hide his smile from the others. 

[ofgentleresolve]

@thegreenswillcome sent in: “Mana.” He looks a tad serious, brows knitted together. “This is your fault.” Jay says as a matter-of-factly, with head slightly inclined to the side and his eyes focused elsewhere as if in deep thought. “The other day, someone called a friend lover boy and guess what I did.. I jumped in the conversation thinking it was about me. As if I have started thinking that I claim that title.” he finally looks over at his friend with a baffled look before letting out a laughter out of disbelief. “I mean...” (TA-DA! Dropping by your inbox just because :D have a good night/day ferre!!! I enjoyed talking to u lots these days! )

“Is it really my fault though?” She takes a sip from her steaming coffee mug ( which in reality only has hot water…it’s not like a paper cup would hold its shape in that temperature ) and unimpressed, stares at Jay over the rim. “You’re the one who reacted to the nickname- I know for a fact I’m probably the only one who called you ‘lover boy’…wouldn’t you be able to recognize my voice from anyone else’s. You’re the musician.” And musicians are supposed to have GOOD EARS…perfect pitch in some cases too? She sets her mug down; the steam keeps rising into the air. “I don’t know- it looks you actually enjoy the nickname? Are you sure that doesn’t make you a masochist?”

And then standing up, she hands Jay a book- War & Peace. Does she expect him to read the entire thing like she does with Tai? …Maybe. Okay, well if he does, she’ll be impressed. “Want to get over it? Read this- maybe you can like your new title unironically too.”

[kingsofeverything]

…

[the-ellia-west]

HOW TO WRITE ROMANTIC ATTRACTION FOR DUMMIES

For anyone who wants to learn, (especially aro/ACE, aspec, ect.)

Requested by the lovely @darkandstormydolls

Alrighty! Welcome back or welcome to my blog! I'm dipping my toes back into the category of posts that gained me my exposure!

So if you're here, you want to know how to write romantic attraction/romance!

Strap in and let's begin!

(Pls spread this to people you think would benefit from seeing it, or anyone who requested it bc I forgot, ANY ASPECS)

Step one -

Your characters must admire one another at the beginning, Romantic feelings usually do not present themselves as obvious until you really think them through, meaning your characters may not notice they have a crush until it's too late

These are general statistics and light stereotypes. So feel free to not use this tip:

Male characters usually tend to notice physical things first, like body shape, hair, skin, clothing, the way their lover moves, ect

And Female Characters Generally tend to notice more small things and personality-based traits first, like their lover's humor, speaking mannerisms, shifts in expression, ways they fidget, emotion in their voice, ect.

And someone who is in love will generally show more interest in this particular person's movements, actions, words, and anything in general.

Step 2 -

The character will show more interest in sharing their love language with their lover/crush

Physical touch - People with physical touch love languages may want to hold hands, cuddle, hug, or just lean on their crush whenever they are close to them moreso than they want to with others

Gift giving - Gift givers will want to get more gifts more often for their crush, probably thinking of them whenever they see little trinkets or wanting to get them big gifts for special occasions or signs of appreciation

Acts of Service - Acts of service people will offer to do extra favors and a bunch of extra stuff they don't have to do twice as much as normal

Words of Affirmation - Flattery, they will generally flood their crush with kind words and compliments

Quality time - Quality time people will want to spend time with their crush at almost every turn, and when they want company, will turn to their crush first

Step 3 -

After a while, these urges while become very prominent and more noticeable to the person having them

They may find themselves fantasizing about their crush or having them show up in their thoughts more and more, feeling nicer and happier when they're around, or when they're thinking about them

Smiling when they think about them, cutsey little fluff thingies like that

A crush is essentially: I want to date that, I want to be near that always, I want to marry that, I want that to snuggle me (or other love languages)

Or in simpler terms: if that asked me out, I would say yes (or at least want to say yes if your character is in denial)

Step 4 -

The character's urges to be close to this person grows strong enough that they do smth about it, whether prompted by another character. Or they just don't know I how to not anymore (like when you wanna eat candy and you don't want to, but you do anyway bc I JUST NEED THE CHOCOLATE OKAY?)

(Or for Aro/Ace, garlic bread)

People who are in love are generally very prone to be all dreamy and poetic and VERY EXTREMELY BIASED towards their crush

Then Yada Yada they kiss & shit

You're welcome, BYEEEEEEEE 👋

Happy writing!

Love you! Thanks for reading, And Ghost Tumblr Mother says go drink some water and have a snack, you've earned it, and you are beautiful <333

Have a good day! :]

@blue-kyber @thisisntrocket @cosmolumine @i-do-anything-but-write @paeliae-occasionally

@supercimi @the-letterbox-archives @sunglasses-in-the-bentley @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @artsandstoriesandstuff

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