#the petals of my life having some new colours every time

[luetta]

one of the most underrated feelings is when you discover a new song it completely dropkicks the emotional waterslide you were going down and punts you into a new mindset and direction

[yueliie]

🎐.お茶 — playfulness ft shinazugawa sanemi

୨ৎ — ♬ ⌨️ᶻᶻᶻ : yue is typing... ✉! ୨ৎ — ↻ SYNOPSIS : sanemi despite how terrifying he can look tends to hide a softer, kinder side to him. However, its those rare moments with him is why you can't help but... teasing him occasionally. ୨ৎ — ♯ GENRE : fluff, gn reader ୨ৎ — ↠ NOTE : a repost from my old blog! I'm still cringing at myself for that pickup line tho... ୨ৎ — ♪ REMINDER : reblogs & likes are appreciated, its help to motivate me, thanks for your support~ ୨ৎ — ► ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : playfulness ft shinazugawa sanemi...

Summer comes fast, as music turned up to full volume. The sky blazes blue and the sun is a celebration of yellow, free and bright. The trees rise to the occasion, donning their best verdant hues, and everywhere are the flowers, the scattered rainbow that they are.

The flowers are a new masterpiece each day, changing the frameless scenery, gazing upward at the ever-present sky; they are the warmth of the land that give thanks to the warmth of the summer sun.

In the late summer wind are the red flags of the poppy petals, a living masterpiece of nature. Though they grow unnoticed by so many, they are more to your eye than a monet or any artwork that brings their likeness in beautiful strokes of softest bristles.

They are the rainbow that arises from earth and water, yet can be nothing without those golden rays. Each day of these playful months will come in moments, the gift of the present, lived in barefoot dances, wind-tousled hair, laughter and song... the layers of winter left in some forgotten closet.

The forest hums with life all around you as you twirl about, gazing up at the canopy, searching for the birds that sing sweetly. The sun breaks through the cracks, lighting up the dirt path ahead of you, decorated with outgrown roots, wildflowers and fallen leaves that crunch beneath your bare feet.

You trudge on, taking in the fragrance of minty grass and the damp earth. Each breathe is like water, fresh and cleansing, flowing freely into your lungs. Your eyes scanning the beauty of nature as you walked slowly, taking your time to get through the forest.

The forest is the orchestra of the mind, playing one enchanting symphony after another. Her leaves dance to an unheard beat, whispering their songs to the wind. In here, sheltered by the mighty trees, is every kind of life, from the humble beetle to enchanting birds of every colour. You hold your hands up to feel the cascading light, a brilliant white shaft illuminating the path that takes you onward and home.

And with that, you run, feet kissing the land. Perhaps a little while ago, you would have balked at idea of running so far and fast, now that you relish the prospect. These feet were made to travel at speed and as light as the paws of a lioness. Breathing steady, heart strong. It was like you were born to run.

As you ran, like the winter breeze colliding into inanimate objects and crashing waves hitting the shore line. Like eagles soaring across indigo skies and a herd of cheetahs racing through verdant meadows. Your (long/short), (hair's color) locks whipped back and forth behind you like a fiery tale as you flung yourself over sharp rocks and heavy tree trunks.

You didn’t know where you were nor did you know where you were heading. You had no idea what time it was and you had no clue what day. All you knew was you had to keep running forward. Not stopping for anything. After all, you were going to see him again no matter what happens even when you got yourself lost in a forest while thinking of seeing your lover again after a mission.

"Wait for me, Sanemi! I'll be home soon... I hope so..."

"...What the hell were you thinking?"

A fresh milky white bandages were wrapped around your right knee. You laugh awkwardly, scratching your cheek nervously as you were sitting up on the bed after the insect hashira, Shinobu was done wrapping your injured leg.

You waves your hands above your shoulders, trying to explain the situation to your boyfriend who was currently scowled at you defiantly with his sharp eyes "I was only testing... uhh gravity! Yeah that's it..."

But then you saw the look on his face and you immediately knew that you were screwed, you could feel the cold sweat, rolling down across your cheek.

His eyebrows were twitching in annoyance at your attempt of covering up your mistake  "Hey... Do I look like a dumbass to you?"

As he murmured this in a low threatening tone, an irritating mark appeared on his forehead as you began to sweat nervously more than before, slowly backing away as if he could explode at any moment...

'What should I do now! He's pretty mad... wait, maybe that could works?' You thought about it for a moment, trying to form the words to say in order to change the situation where you won't died. Well it's not like he would murder you on the spot but he will give you a rough ride to hell though, you took a deep breath in...

"Hey, Sanemi do you have a band-aid?"

"...Huh?"

Glancing around the room to see if there was anyone else in the room, once you were sure that there was no one nearby to witness. Your (eyes' color) orbs met his dark purple ones, a bashful expression plastered onto your face.

"Because I just scraped my leg falling for you" cheeks dusted with light shades of red, placing your hand against your chest as you said this, staring into his eyes.

You weren't lying either, you did rush yourself just to see him after weeks of being separated from each other but it was the first time you caught him off, it was a first that you even saw his rough expression melted. Huh... Its works?

He immediately turned around as you were facing with his back on you, you stared at him in surprise, confused by his sudden silence and it's took you a good minute before its finally clicked in. A wide smug look across your face, approaching him from behind with a skip in your step.

"Aww, Sanemi....are you perhaps embarrassed~?" You teased with a playful tone, wrapping your  arms around him, hugging him from behind.

"S-Shut up!"

"Hehe, I love you"

The sight of his ears turning red at your statement was enough to tell you that he felt the same way in his own way of showing it in silence.

© yueliie 2024. do not steal, copy, repost, edit, translate or use my works.

[pythonees]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ FLOWER POWER — xavier thorpe

REQUESTED: anon

WARNINGS: 18+, aged up characters, fairy reader, sex pollen (dub-con), frottage, fingering (f), unprotected piv sex, requited-unrequited love, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, crying

A/N: anon you are speaking my language! this is my favourite trope omfg. some flower knowledge required if you wanna know exactly what the flower looks like tough it's not necessary

Your favourite place to be is the greenhouse, full of so much colour and life you could barely picture yourself anywhere but there. The love you had for plants and wildlife stems from your fairy genetics, able to control plants and compel animals to your will.

There were some days that you would spend your time in there way into the night, only noticing how much time has passed when a random couple would come by and disturb your fun with their giggling and less than pg noises. Then you'd have to sneak out without disturbing them and making an already awkward situation worse.

On others you would be accompanied by your friend and longtime crush Xavier, who would come to see how things were going and to make sure you got to meals on time. He'd always have to drag you out, forcing you to take a break from your plants and to instead take care of yourself. It was one of the many things you liked about him, they way he took care of you.

Most of the flowers wouldn't get past a seedling, withering up and dying the second the roots started to grow, the combination of flowers too different to grow despite you putting all your magic into it. Those days Xavier knew he'd have to bring food to you, listening in confusion as you rambled to yourself about what went wrong. But that day was not today. Today was a lucky day.

The flower you had created looks... funny. It's small with a few blooms, looking like a mix between a corpse flower and a tulip, but hanging upside down like a lily of the valley. The spadix sticking out from the flower is long and corkscrewed, a pinky purple colour that looks almost like jelly. The spathe goes from green to a deep black not typically seen in naturally occurring flowers. It's enticing to look at, with an odd smell that you can't quite place from where you're standing.

You walk around the flower, looking over it to see Xavier finally sitting down at one of the desks, drawing away. It's hard to stop yourself from watching him when he's in his element, face scrunched up cutely as he concentrates on every stroke of his pencil.

Xavier has been drawing every single flower you make, helping you fill out the journal you made with his art. You however have been staring at it for a few minutes, not knowing where to start in figuring out if it does anything. It's always hard to tell just what type of plant you've made from just a glance. Splicing together flowers is one thing, but infusing your very emotion based magic into the seedlings means that the end result is very... unpredictable.

You don't really remember the mood you were in when you created this, it had been a busy week of tests that had gone by in a study induced haze that you thankfully don't remember. The good news is that even if it's poisonous it won't kill you, it'll just make you violently ill for the next few days. You've only had that happen twice, thankfully, and when you're alone.

You've never had Xavier in the green house with you when you're trying to figure out if a new plant does anything, but you had been sick for a few days and hadn't been able to check on it, and he had missed hanging out with you. So you let him tag along. Now you're not so sure about your decision.

You carefully put yourself between the flower and Xavier, grabbing the bucket full of worms to start some tests. You use a stick to scoop one out, holding the wriggling worm up to one of the flowers to see if it reacts. After a few seconds of nothing happening, you gently nudge the worm against the petal. It starts to move, but not in the way your expecting a carnivorous plant to.

All of the hanging flowers lift up to face you, the inside of the flower a fleshy looking pink. The flowers start to shake just slightly, and you lean closer to try and get a closer look. That's when a haze of white pollen shoots out from the flower, hitting you right in the face. In your surprise you inhale sharply, sucking in a lungful of the mysterious pollen that stings your eyes and burns your throat. You drop the stick in a rush to wave away the plume of pollen, stumbling away from the plant.

Your name is called from behind you, but you're too busy rubbing your sleeve against your closed eyes, trying to get it off. You feel hands grip your shoulders and spin you around, pushing your sleeve away to dab gently around your face with his own sleeve. All you can smell is the familiar scent of sandalwood, weak but enticing and somehow able to overwhelm your senses until all you want is to get closer to wherever it's coming from.

When Xavier stops cleaning your face you slowly open your eyes, finding your gaze hazy and your head fuzzy. Xavier takes a deep breath through his nose, sniffing at the pollen that transferred from your face and onto his sleeve.

"Whatever that shit was smells good," he says, going back in for another sniff. You find yourself leaning in towards him, wanting, no, needing to be closer to him. You move so fast you stumble over your feet, Xavier barely grabbing your upper arms in time to keep you upright, "Woah there, you alright?"

You nod your head lazily, taking the last step needed to press your face into his chest. You wrap your arms tightly around his waist as you rub your face against him. Xavier huffs out a laugh, wrapping his arms around you to rerun the impromptu hug.

"You could have just told me you wanted a hug you know," Xavier laughs, and you can feel it against your face from where your pressed into him.

You tighten you grip, turning your face just enough so that you can mumble out, "You smell really good."

"Thank you? It's the same cologne I always use," Xavier laughs, a hand absently rubbing up and down your back. It leaves a hot trail on your skin that instantly spreads, until it seems to burn. Your skin is tingling and you can feel the tell tale wetness of arousal in you panties and that's when you know you've fucked up letting Xavier come in here with you. You know what type of flower you made.

You open your mouth to warn him about what you know is going on, when he dips down to sniff at your neck, nose pressed to your skin, "you smell good too, like vanilla and lavender."

With him standing so close and nosing at your neck, you can't hold back to quiet moan at feeling that tiny bit of skin to skin contact. It makes the burning you feel under your skin start to feel good, thighs pressed tightly together for some sort of friction.

Tucking your arms in between you, you slide them up until you can cup his face, pulling him away from where he's been smelling at your neck so that he can face you.

"What's wrong—" you cut him off with a kiss, desperate and needy as you moan against his lips. He kisses back almost immediately, the hand that was rubbing up and down your back going up to cup the back of your neck. His big hands feel great against your skin, more contact to stop the seemingly insatiable burn.

His tongue swipes tentatively against you lip, and your eagerly licking your way into his mouth before you can even think about it. Xavier's hands tighten at the back of your neck, holding you in place as he forcefully slows the kiss down. You whine impatiently, but let him do as he wants as you let your hands drop from his face and to his chest.

The buttons of his white shirt are annoyingly small for your rushing fringes, roughly pulling at the fabric as you undo the buttons. You get about half way down before Xavier seems to realize what it is your doing, hand quickly gripping your wrists to keep you in place as he pulls away from the kiss.

"Wanna touch you," you whine before he can say anything, leaning foreword again. You've got his arms trapped between your bodies, making sure to press your chest up against his for good measure. He swallows roughly, and you watch the bob of his adams apple as he stares down at you, pupils blown wide, "Please, Xavier. Wanna get my hands all over you."

"Shit, yeah, okay." Xavier lets go of your hands, and the second you're free they're back to their previous task, pulling and tugging at his shirt until it's hanging open. His tie is yanked open and off, thrown to the side without a care in the world. You splay your hands out, running them up and down his chest as you watch them with awe. Every bit of skin you feel against you makes the burning go away, makes the haze of your brain laser focused to Xavier and his skin and getting it all over you as soon as possible.

You trail your hands up his chest to loop them around his neck, tugging him in for another kiss. This time it's Xavier's hands that are roaming, gliding up and down your sides, stopping to fiddle with the hem of your shirt before repeating the pattern over and over.

"Please," you whisper against his lips, going right back to kissing him with a burning need that rivals the burning of your skin. Instead of taking your shirt off like you thought he was, he lets his hands roam further down, giving your ass a quick squeeze as he goes by before he's hiking one of your legs up, wrapping it around his waist. You quickly do the same with the other, moaning as he lifts you up against his body.

You're quickly turned around and deposited on a nearby empty table, Xavier leaning over you as he deepens the kiss. You keep your legs wrapped tight around his waist, using it for leverage to roll your hips up into his. You both moan, Xavier's hips stuttering against yours at the sensation.

When he pulls away you let out another needy whine, trying to pull him back to you. He does come back to press a quick peck to your lips, but then pulls away again. His hands go to the top of your blouse, fingering at the top button.

"Can I?" He asks, a flustered smile overtaking his face when you nod enthusiastically. Your tie is removed first, with a lot more care than his was, placing it on the table next to you guys. He takes his time undoing the buttons of your shirt, eyes roaming over each new inch of revealed skin like you're a work of art. It has your heart pounding, eyes wide as you watch him watch your body become more and more revealed.

When the last button is undone he slowly pushes your shirt open, exposing you to him. One hand braces him on the table while the other settles low on your stomach, slowly roaming up your body, over a bra covered breast and along your neck before he's cupping your cheek, leaning down to press a quick, searing kiss to your lips.

"God you look beautiful," he says, staring down at you in awe. You wriggle under him, holding your arms out for him. He laughs with a shake of his head, but leans down to meet you in a kiss. You roll your hips again, swallowing the moan Xavier let's out eagerly. When your hips keeps rolling up against his he meets you thrust for thrust, the constant pressure against you clit making you see stars.

Xavier's hand leaves you face to place roaming kisses down your body, stopping at you skirt to flip it up to reveal the grinding of your bodies. You know there must be wet spot on your panties from how soaked they feel, and by the way Xavier stares do at them with wide, hungry eyes.

"Wanna touch you, can I?" Xavier says, fingers running along the band of your panties. You nod eagerly, unwrapping your legs from around his waist so that he can take them of. He's not as slow about taking the panties off as he was with opening your shirt, wide eyes never leaving your exposed cunt as he drags them off and drops them on the floor, leaving you in just hiked up skirt.

His hands smooth up your legs and over plush thighs before he's using his hands to force your legs up and open, staring down at your glistening wetness. You place your feet up on the table as you let your legs fall open, like you're a fine art display for him to enjoy. He slowly runs a finger up through your folds, and it sends a heavenly shock of arousal through your body. He gently rubs his finger against your clit, making tiny, agonizingly slow circles.

"Xavier!" You whine, rolling your hips up against his hand, "please."

"So needy," he laughs, but does as you asks, sliding his finger down through your folds and slipping a finger into you. There's no resistance, walls soaked with arousal as your body greedily sucks his finger in. He gives a few experimental thrusts before he's adding a second, the satisfying stretch of his thick fingers making your eyes roll back.

You buck down against his fingers, urging him to go faster. The burning is easing up even more with his fingers inside you, and you're desperate to make it stop so you can think again instead of being controlled by your pussy and the pollen.

"More, need more," you whine, fucking yourself onto his fingers. You feel a third slip in with the others, and you let out a satisfied moan at the feeling of being filled.

Xavier doesn't even have to move his hand, keeping them still as you roll your hips, watching as you desperately chase your high. But it doesn't come, even though you can feel it constantly at the back of you head, lingering.

You lift your foot off of the table to toe at his jeans, pushing at them until he gets the hint to take them the hell off. He gives your cunt a few more thrusts before he's pulling his fingers out of you, undoing he belt before dropping his pants and boxers in on go, letting them pool around his ankles.

His cock is beautifully thick as it sits between his legs, tip flushed and shiny with pre. He wraps the hand still covered in your arousal around his cock, giving himself a few thrusts before he rubbing the tip up through your folds. That touch alone brought you close to the brink, a long moan escaping you as the head of his cock brushes up against your clit.

You're in limbo as he continues to tease you, tip just barely pushing into your waiting hole before he's pulling out and gliding it up to your clit again. Slowly you lay back on the table, the surface ice cold against your over heated skin.

"Xavier please fuck me. Please, please please." You beg, tears forming in the corner of your eyes as you desperately roll up into him just as his tip teases at your hole again.

The little bit he slips in has you both moaning loud and long, Xavier resting both hands on the table as he lets his head hand between his shoulders. His cock continues to slowly slide into you in a way that makes you think it's never going to end, just filling and filling until you swear you can feel him in your stomach. But then he bottoms out, hips pressed flush against yours as he pants above you.

Your walls flutter around him, gripping and trying to pull him in deeper. Xavier groans above you, hips jerking slightly at the sensation. He stays there in you for a moment, still as a rock as he slowly starts to catch his breath. When his breathing is back to normal and he's no longer on the brink of spilling into you, he slowly pulls out, hands gripping the edge of the table by your head tightly.

His thrusts are slow and deep as he splits you open over and over. At first it's great, just being able to feel him in you to soothe the burn. But just like everything else, it's not enough, you want, no, you need more. You can't roll your hips with how close your bodies are pressed together and you choke back a sob of disappointment as you wrap your arms around him.

"More," you whimper, still trying and failing to roll your hips in the tight space between your bodies. You can feel your eyes watering again, staring up at Xavier as he pushes up from your body to stare down at your face, "Please Xavi, need more. Please please please—"

"Hey, shhhh. I'm gonna take care of you, okay pretty girl? Gonna make you feel me in you for days." Xavier whispers right in your ear, voice husky and deep from arousal. The table scrapes across the floor as his hips snap forewords, slamming into you hard enough to have you wailing, head thrown back in pleasure.

Xavier mouths at your exposed neck, hips jackhammering into you at a brutal pace. The wet sound of you dripping pussy fills the room, and through the slowly lifting haze of your arousal, you wonder if there's a student close enough to hear the obscene sounds coming from the greenhouse. But you don't care, mewling in pleasure as Xavier bites at your neck, soothing the abused spot over with his tongue.

Slipping your fingers into his hair, you hold him against your neck as he sucks hickey after hickey into your skin. The overwhelming sensations going on has your walls fluttering around him, choking on a moan as you come harder and quicker than you have in your whole life. Your legs are shaking, head thrown back as you feel the pollen induced haze finally start to lift, the burning heat dissipating.

Xavier gently slides out of you, ignoring your whine of disappointment as he takes himself in hand, furiously jerking himself off as he stares down at you with half lidded eyes. You slowly push yourself up on shaking arms, wrapping an arm around his neck to pull him into a kiss. Your other hand drops down to wrap around the one still jerking himself off, and the brief touch against his sticky erection is all it takes before he's spilling between you, hot cum coating your stomach and breasts.

You're both panting, the sweat on your bodies rapidly cooling in the night air. You shiver, breaking the kiss to wrap your arms around his waist and snuggle into his chest, chasing the warmth of his body.

"Not that I'm complaining," Xavier says, out of breath as a hand soothes up and down your back, "but where did that come from?"

"Flower," you mumble sleepily, a small smile on your face as you tighten your arms around him. Xavier's entire body goes tense in your arms, and the hands that were soothing up and down your back are now gripping your wrists, forcing you to let go of him as he holds them between your bodies, taking a step back.

"Flower, what do you mean..?" He looks back over his shoulder, staring at the new plant you created before his head whips back around, staring at you with wide, horrified eyes, "The pollen. That's the only reason why you— why this happened?"

He lets go of your wrists as if they're burning, quickly pulling his pants and boxers up. His hands fumble with the belt, and you slowly push yourself off of the table and onto unsteady legs.

"Xavier," you call, but he just shakes his head, turning away from you as he buttons up his shirt. He's walking towards the door at the same time, abandoning his things so that he can just get out. Get away from you.

Your wings flutter out, flying you across the room and in front of him faster than your unsteady legs could. He ducks his head when you get in front of him, turning away from your half naked form, "Move."

"No, Xavier. Not until you listen to me," he doesn't try to move again, but he keeps his face stubbornly hidden behind his hair. When your sure he won't try to bolt you take a steadying breath, reaching out to hold his hand in two of yours. His hand stays limp in your grip, but he doesn't pull away.

"This is all I've ever wanted," Xavier scoffs, trying to pull his hand free so he can leave again, but you're quicker, holding onto him tightly so he can't leave, "It is! Not like this, with one of my weird experiments blowing up in my face, but like, after a few dates. I always pictured our first kiss to be after some cute date, on one of those late night walks you like to force me on. Or maybe in your shed where you always look the most comfortable, face all scrunched up when your concentrating and I just can't help but kiss you. I just— this doesn't have to change anything if you don't want it to, but I'm not lying when I say that this was a dream come true."

Your left flying in front of him in silence, waiting desperately for the words to sink in. It takes so long you start to feel your throat close up, thinking the worst, but then he's slowly lifting his head to look up at you, and you can't help but gasp. His eyes are red and haunted, tears streaming down his face and dripping off his chin.

"I didn't..?" Xavier trails over, getting choked up as a fresh set of tears roll down his face, "I didn't take advantage— you actually want me?"

Your heart drops to your stomach, and you quickly let go of his hand to cup his face, wiping the tears away as gently as possible, "No, no no no. I love you, okay? So much. I might have been a bit out of it but I wanted you. Still want you, okay? You did nothing wrong."

He stares up at you, still crying, but instead of that fearful look in his eyes they're filled with hope, a small smile taking over his face. His hands are shaky as the land on your bare waist, barely even touching you at all, "You love me?"

"So much," you say without even a moments hesitation. Your thumbs are still gently rubbing over his cheeks, even as his tears have dried. The smile you get is blinding, his grip tightening on you as he pulls you closer for a kiss that makes your toes curl.

When he pulls back he looks happier than he's ever looked in a long time, hand reaching up to cup your cheek. You lean into it, a probably dopey smile on your face as you stare down at him.

"Love you too. Didn't think I could have this. Have you," Xavier confesses, pulling your flying body closer to his. He presses a quick kiss the the top of you breasts that your bra doesn't cover, right over your pounding heart.

"You have me, for as long as you want." You reply, carding your fingers through his hair. You stay like that for a while, his face pressed into your chest as he breathes you in while you soothe your hands over whatever part of him you can reach.

"Want you forever," he mumbles into you skin, and you can't help the wide grin that takes over your face. You cup his cheeks, tilting his head up so he can face you. You press kisses all over his face, smothering him with all your love before you give in to his huffing and press your lips together.

"Forever sounds perfect."

©︎ pythonees — do not, under any circumstance, repost, plagiarize, modify or translate my work.

[lightasthesun]

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look after you by piqu3d

Oneshot | 2.2K | Obi-Wan/Cody & Luke & Leia

He’s sitting in his chair, legs turned irreparably inwards leading to knobby knees covered by a loose blanket. The cannula in his nostrils is slightly crooked on its way to the tank attached to his chair. There are pale purple circles under his eyes, and wrinkles wear at his skin around his eyes and his nose. His hair, stringy with sweat, drapes against his pale forehead. His lopsided smile rests on chapped lips, and his hands are lightly trembling where they hover over his lap.

He’s the most beautiful person Cody’s ever seen.

if it's quite alright by piqu3d

Oneshot | 2.2K | Obi-Wan & Leia (minor codywan)

“Obi-Wan,” Cody’s voice filters from the cracks between Leia’s fingers, and Obi-Wan wants to sob. His heart keens at the phantom touches on his shoulders and around his waist as he listens to Cody’s steady, low voice. “Obi-Wan, it’s alright.”

A forced chuckle rips its way from behind his teeth. “Alright, is it?”

Cody’s response is a buzz over the wireless connection: “It’s going to be. You have Leia. Fulcrum and her charge are alive. Just breathe, Kenobi.”

Not Her by dieFabuliererin

Chapters: 23 | 76k | Ahsoka-centric | Padmé/Anakin (Obi-Wan & Ahsoka & Anakin & Cast)

A white-hot warning flashes through the Force, and Ahsoka jumps to the rooftop without hesitating. Whatever Obi-Wan's reason for not defending himself, she can't allow the sniper to kill him. She wouldn't be able to live with herself.

Incapacitation by whitchry9

Oneshot | 3K | Obi-Wan & Stim (medic oc) & Cody

Neuromuscular incapacitation: the disruption of nerve and muscle function by a targeted electrical stimulus.

Or, Obi Wan gets shocked repeatedly, and the aftereffects are... many.

Speak No Word (Hear No Sound) by TemporaryUniverse

Oneshot | 6K | Obi-Wan & Ahsoka and Anakin and Boga

Ahsoka wasn't sure what she was getting into when she was assigned to Master Kenobi and sent to the front lines. She didn't even know he was deaf.

Being captured together gives them the chance to get to know each other a little more. For better or worse.

dancer in the dark by catboydogma

Chapters: 3 | 10K | Cody/Obi-Wan & Dooku & Anakin

“Fuck,” Obi-Wan said. “Anakin, what’s Bly’s last name?” Anakin blue-screened for a moment. “Uh…”

“Fuck,” Obi-Wan said again, sliding ungracefully off the boards with a thump and putting his back to the door. “Is that—tell me that’s not Bly’s father, Anakin.” Good God, he’d never live this down.

“No,” Anakin said after a moment squinting first at the door, then Obi-Wan. A tangled mess of sound was echoing through the room as the newcomers greeted Bly and vice versa, all deep voices with light accenting—Māori, Obi-Wan remembered, slightly giddy. It was a Māori accent, because—“That’s his brother,” Anakin told Obi-Wan. “Cody—”

“Cody Fett,” Obi-Wan said, clutching his cup a little tighter and steadfastly refusing to look over his shoulder. “He’s brothers with Cody Fett, former Olympic gold medalist and—oh, God.“

[highlordofkrypton]

warmth // an elain x lucien smut one-shot

This was written as a response to @lainalit's request for a specific Elucien scenario 😉

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I've never written Elain before, and this fic turned out way more delicate than I expected! Hope you all enjoy it.

SUMMARY: Elain loves her husband, but as the emissary of the Spring Court, Lucien is always busy. She decides to set a time limit; he can work as long as he can resist her.

Read on AO3 or under the cut (tw: explicit content).

The earth feels cool on her long slender fingers; it feels like home. Old memories of their hovel drift into her mind as she pokes little burrows for the water to seep more deeply into the ground, and perhaps if she's lucky, wild little flowers will find a home to grow in.

Her work is purposeful, though humble. On one end of the garden, roses bloom, watching the centuries go by despite their creator's absence. She sings to them, and tells them stories of their son, the current High Lord of this magical, blossoming place.

"Your sprout is doing well," she whispers to the spirit of Tamlin's mother who has lived here for an eternity and a half. "But you already knew that."

The plot right beside the yellow flowers are a little hoard of alpine lotuses. They breathe with scent of crisp night, but their hearts are as bright as spring itself. Elain tends to them too; the flowers—they speak to each other. She may not be privy to their conversations, but they all seem to mirror one another.

Elain picks up her basket and adjusts her sunhat, moving from eternal flower to eternal flower. She knows each of them like old friends, some of whom their magic is familiar and others, a welcomed stranger into her life.

It was her idea to sow this garden; it was her mission to create a place of peace and safety for all those who wanted to protect what matters most to them. Faeries and humans alike would come here and plant their love, either a single grain of everything they have, or grand gestures of adoration. When Tamlin had told her to make herself at home, this was her only request. A place for all to love freely.

The High Lord had not only granted her wish, but he extended his protection over all which bloomed in his soils, no matter their origins.

Her first and last stop is always the bright orange emberflowers at the edge of her garden. When the breeze blows, their petals crackle like a warm fire on a cool summer's eve. Their song welcomes her as she approaches, and they sway at the sight of her smile—happy little children at the sight of their beloved mother.

"Hello, my darlings," she hums.

Their petals are soft, and she remembers only to touch the edges where the colour errs on the shades of fall. She had made the mistake of touching the bright ringlets of blue at their cores, and it had burned her terribly.

It was her mistake for thinking something so soft and comforting would be without its own edges. Lucien had told her their flowers hold the ferocity with which he would protect their love, but Elain knew that she would protect what they have twice as hard.

When every member of the garden has been cared for, Elain retreats to the Lord's manor. She skips past Alis and the gaggle of new handmaidens. She introduces herself briefly, quickly brushing her soiled hands across the white apron over her dress, before excusing herself. The basket of gardening tools is left on the first floor while she searches for her dutiful half, but not before washing her hands clean with lilac water.

Though she knows exactly where he is, Elain still makes a game out of it, wondering if she'll ever catch her husband in one of the many other rooms in the manor. Their room, though full of flowers and beloved paintings, is empty. The library is still a mess—a chaos that can only be attributed to guests enjoying the company of their home—but without its Lord Emissary.

She breezes through the long hallways, past the prim white walls and golden trims of intricate moldings. Her life on the other side of the wall had been years ago, and yet, she still cannot believe the opulence of a High Lord's home.

"Miss Elain, Miss Elain!" A tiny pixie buzzes beside her, crystaline wings fluttering wildly to keep up with Elain's long strides. "I did it! I did it!"

"I told you," Elain reprimands, voice light like a chime. "Elain is just fine." She holds her hands out to cup the little creature as it stands stark naked, hands on her little hips. "How did it go?"

"I told them! I told them that just because I was little, they couldn't push me around. It's not very springy of them," the pixie nods, her pointed tuft of hair bouncing with the movement. "And that the Lady of our Court would be very disappointed."

"And what did they say?"

"Um," the pixie gets shy. "Well, they said that Spring Court doesn't have a Lady, so I kicked them in the butt real hard."

Elain laughs. There are those who have yet to acclimate to her role in the Spring Court. Her husband, for all intents and purposes, is the Lord Emissary of Spring and in the absence of the Court's High Lord, the decisions fall to Lucien. She takes none of it to heart.

"I can't say I endorse the violence," Elain says firmly, but she looks around to see if anyone is around to eavesdrop. "Good job standing up for yourself." She smiles and presses a gentle kiss on the pixie's forehead. "I heard there's honey tarts in the kitchens. You should go reward yourself. Tell Aed that I, the not-Lady of the Court, sent you."

"Thank you, Miss Elain! I couldn't'a done it without you!"

The pixie flies off, excitedly doing loop-de-loops in the air, as Elain waves her goodbye.

Onwards towards my husband, Elain muses, a soft smile on her delicate features.

Five rhythmic knocks signal her arrival. Lucien lifts his head, and her heart flutters at the sight of him. Her spirits had been light already, but being with him makes her soul soar.

"My love," he greets smoothly.

"My dutiful emissary," she reprimands with a grin. "How long have you been here?"

Lucien sets his quill down, and waves away the other three that were scribbling away by the grace of his magic. "Not that long."

"Since the first crow of the cock, at least, and it is nearly noon." The grin that slithers on his face is made of mischief. Elain ignores the implications, skirting into the room. "When I married you, I thought I would have more of you."

"So did I, but our High Lord seems to have developed an aversion to paperwork. It's fatal, he says."

"Mhm, and that is why he is galavanting in Night Court?"

"He, and I quote, brought the honey — where else will he find the moon but in the Night Court?"

"Clever."

With a single finger (and his help), she coaxes his chair backwards. Elain climbs into her lap, and when he leans to press a kiss to her lips, she turns to focus on work. That is his preference, is it not? Instead, his kiss lands on the tops of her pointed ears.

"What's this?"

Elain's eyes dance across the page. It is a draft with words crossed out haphazardly and more scribbles above. She finds many things in the discarded—words of love and adoration, a plea for celebration, and a hundred other soft sentiments.

"You're still doing this?"

Lucien rests his chin on her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her waist securely as he reads along with her. "Mhm."

"Lucien," she breathes. "You don't need to."

He promised—he promised he would love her in every which way, including professing his love to her in the languages of the Seven Courts of Prythian. On their fingers, they wear the shadows of the Night Court, a promise to always hold one another. In their eyes, flickers of brown dot Lucien's russet, and vice versa for Elain—the magic of Dawn sealed their promise to always see one another through glamour, magic and the storm of emotions. Both Autumn and Spring bargains are sealed here in the garden, their very own fire contained in their eternal flowers.

In his newest letter, he entreats the Winter Court to allow them into their territory for the Midwinter Festival where the two of them can bring life to a snowmite through the magic of their bargain. High Lord Kallias is not his father, but since Amarantha's invasion, Lucien has always tread carefully with Winter.

"I do. I love you to the ends of this Earth and back."

"I know that, you foolish male. I don't need grand gestures."

"And yet, you will recieve them anyway," Lucien grins.

"Even at the cost of spending time with my husband?"

"I'm almost done, my darling."

Oh, this will not do. Even if Lucien says he's almost done, Elain knows that this is the lie that plagues him the most. She presses a gentle kiss to his lips. "Not good enough. Aed has prepared new recipes for us to try. The food will get cold."

She knows if she truly asked him to stop working, he would. There is nothing Lucien would deny her. Instead, an idea flutters into her mind. The kind of idea that brings a deep flush to her cheeks. Mother above, it's so unlike her, Elain doubts if she can execute it properly. She would ask her sisters were they here, but they too have taken to galavanting across Prythian now that the threat of death no longer looms above them. Not for years now.

How much is too much? She would ask them.

A few years ago, we had nothing. Nothing is too much, Feyre would surely say while grazing on a tamelon with her feet up on the ornate couch and her boots still on.

Who cares? Nesta would snap. Do what makes you happy, El. He's a male, he will be happy with whatever you give him.

It's true, Feyre would agree.

It's a wonder how things have changed—how three sisters who could not be more different are now in sync. Their family, once fractured, feels whole again.

"You will have a time limit."

Lucien's auburn brows perk. "Oh? And how much time will I have?"

"That depends," Elain says, getting up and adjusting her skirts. She feigns looking for something under her desk.

"On what? What are you looking for down there?" Rather than answer, she pulls his chair closer, effectively trapping her beneath the desk, between his legs. "Elain?"

Never in her years has she thought of doing something like this. She has always watched the others; how freely they express their adoration for their partners. Her shyness has always overwhelmed her. If not, the propriety he mother taught her always took precedence. Her duty as the wife of an emissary is to represent him well. What use is there for her to do such things?

Only one way to find out.

Arousal pools in her belly before she even begins, warmth settling between her legs. She bites her lip, fascinated by the magic of her own mind. She hasn't done anything, and yet her body knows.

Elain's slender fingers smooth over Lucien's thighs. Beneanth the tailored fabric, she can feel the strength of his lean muscles. His style has always been a choice, projecting elegance and flair, all while hiding the power beneath. (Power that she knows well.)

She kisses his knee, a loving gesture he has done to her time and time again—one that she is happy to reciprocate. Her touch wanders to his hips, and his ass without lingering too long.

"Elain." Lucien's voice is a shuddered breath. "What are you doing?"

"Entertaining myself while you finish your work."

"Elain," he outright moans, a single-word complaint.

A smile dances on her lips as her hand explores the blooming erection between his legs. Elain laughs softly, but its drowned out by Lucien's groan. He spreads himself as much as he can, trapped between the walls of the desk. He could shatter the desk, but that would defy the point of her game.

Button by button, Elain takes her sweet time in freeing her husband's cock from the confines of his tailored trousers. It springs free, tall, proud and glistening, even in the dim light under the desk. She takes it in his hand, stroking the soft skin and toying with the folds of his tip.

"Ah, ah, Elain."

He speaks her name like a prayer, like salvation wrapped up in a single sound. His hips rise, looking for more friction, and the attempt makes her pull back. She is in charge, not him. Lucien groans, sitting up properly. He sighs, and above her, the quills begin to scribble once more.

He's getting it, she hums to herself, amused.

Elain leans forward, kissing the root of his erection. Her warm breath curls over his skin. She presses her lips along its length until she reaches the top and tongues beneath the skin to taste the salty-sweet of his precome. She lingers there for a bit, listening to the heavy breaths of her husband as he reigns in his desire. Then, when she's satisfied, she trails back down towards his balls. Each one is taken whole in her mouth, sucked lovingly. She nips at the skin; she gets to enjoy him in a new way today, entirely at her own pace and without his distractions.

Her husband is an impatient man, and a giving man, which means that she cannot have him on display like this—which means that she has never had him at her mercy. He squirms when the cool air hits his saliva-slicked balls.

"Keep playing with them," he pleads, but he is not in control here. The only thing Elain cares to hear is whether or not he is enjoying himself.

"Elain, you will be the death of me." He pauses, and she can hear the smile in his voice. "You give me life."

Another kiss graces Lucien's tip. Then, Elain spreads her lips to take him into her mouth. She cannot take him whole, not on the first try, and her throat seizes around him. She has to pull back.

"Fuck," he growls.

Elain tries again.

His cock slides into the warmth of her throat, and she holds him there. Just a little more. She just has to figure out how to take a little more of him. Thinking about it doesn't help, but she knows she has to measure her breath. She knows that she has to simply enjoy this.

Her fingers slip between her legs, feeling the moist patch at the centre of her undergarments. Outside the pink fabric, Elain applies pressure. A soft pulsing rhythm to distract her. The more she toys with herself, the more willing she is to open her mouth, to coax that fluttering muscle at the back of her mouth to yield for her husband's thick length.

"Are you playing with yourself?" He asks from above. "I can smell you, my sweet flower."

"Mhm."

"Fuck. I can just see it, my love. I could come on the very thought of you fingering yourself for me, so you can take me deeper."

Elain stops, wincing her eyes shut. She could come on the words spilling from that damned mouth of his and he isn't trying. (She has come on his words alone.) Breath heavy, she swallows him to the root.

And then, she simply stays there.

"I want to fuck your mouth," Lucien complains. "I want to fuck your mouth. Fuck. You feel so good." His fingers curl into the desk, scraping at the wood. There is a long moment where he seems at war with himself, debating whether to give into his desire for this beautiful, wonderful woman at his feet, but he proves himself to be the better male.

Lucien gets to work. Elain remains between his legs, warming his cock with her mouth. She stops toying with herself. Instead, she leans her cheek against his thigh and waits. Occasionally, his fingers would reach down to caress her hair—to toy with her ear affectionally—before he finishes what he was writing. Whenever he touches her, Elain's eyes would flutter shut in sheer comfort.

Her eyes flutter shut. Occasionally, Elain will shift her tongue and even the slightest bit of friction will have him hardening once more. Her jaw begins to ache; like magic, he reaches down to massage the tense muscle. His hand trails down her neck, then to her shoulder for a gentle, grateful squeeze.

She hears him without him neeeding to say anything—

What have I done to deserve you?

It's why he will anchor their love in every Court, in every single one of their love languages. For her.

"I'm done," his voice rouses her from her comfortable lull, despite her mouth full of his cock. "Do you—"

Elain sits straighter, gripping his hip with one hand and withdrawing herself from him ever so slightly. She wraps her slender fingers around the base and begins bobbing her head, filling the room with wet, slurping sounds. She hollows her cheeks, sucking her husband's cock to the best of her ability.

"Hnng, my love."

Strands of her hair fall into her face, and before she can pause to tuck them behind her ear, Lucien's already there, gathering her hair in one hand and pulling slightly.

"You'll let me know if I get too rough?"

Elain nods.

Lucien starts to move against her, gently at first. Each thrust into her warm, wet, welcome mouth strikes at her chore. Wetness pools between her legs; she swears that she is ruining the soft carpet beneath her knees, but she has no regrets. None.

She tugs on the hem of his shirt. More, she asks, politely.

The bond nudges at her mind gently. Elain closes her eyes while Lucien fucks her mouth, letting the full breadth of their mating enter her.

She can feel it. Goddesses, she can feel him. She can feel the way her mouth encapsulates the length of his cock—the way her throat flutters around his tip. Each clench sends waves of ecstacy through Lucien, and he fights the urge to grip her hair and properly fuck her.

Oh, that is most definitely a problem.

Elain shifts gears. Using Lucien's thighs as leverage, she ups the pace, bobbing her head on him with fierce determination.

"Elain, ahhhh, Elain. I'm going to come."

Each time she spears herself upon him, the thrust is felt at her core like—like he's fucking both her mouth and her cunt at once. It pulls at her mind in every which way, wearing at her focus. She cannot decide between the high of worshipping Lucien with her mouth or being ridden.

"Let me," Lucien breathes, coaxing her to let him take control with a gentle touch along her jaw.

Elain nods.

His angle shifts, and he cups both her cheeks while driving himself into her. Her pussy clenches, as if trying to grab hold of something that isn't there, but she feels him. Elain slackens her jaw, the only way to take him at this pace. Although he truly, properly fucks her mouth, he's still careful. He never passes the threshold of her throat, never dares choke her; he is delicate in his use of her.

"I'm close, are you—are you sure you don't want me too —ah!"

Her fingers curl around his balls, fondling him. Her touch slips further back towards his perineum, and then, and then—does she dare? Elain presses the pad of one finger against his asshole.

"Elain."

Lucien's reaction is immediate, bucking into her mouth. Warmth floods her, and she has the bitter-sweet taste of his come on her tongue. He pumps into her a couple of more times, hips rolling from the high of ecstacy. When he pulls back, a dribble of saliva and cum escape her lips. She dabs at it, and swallows.

Elain blinks up at him, nothing the expression of surprise on her husband's face. Every time they've made love, he has been the one to take the lead. The fingering trick, that was his that she turned against him and it worked in her absolute favour. She ducks her head, sheepish.

"Don't look at me like that," Lucien grins. He picks her up, carefully placing his hand on her head to protect her from bumping it on the underside of the desk. "It's time for me to return the favour."

"We'll be late for lunch," she says with a deep flush on her cheeks.

"That's not very fair, is it? You've had your fill." Lucien pulls her close, leaning in to breathe into her ear. "Shall I save you for dessert then?" He squeezes her hands as he nips the lobe of her ear, just below the pretty fox earrings her sisters had gotten her for her last birthday. "Next time, don't swallow. I want to taste us." Lucien kisses her anyway.

Oh, oh, her face burns.

"Lucien!"

She smacks his shoulder, but takes a note for next time. There is much opportunity to explore herself and her husband. Some would say, there is an eternity ahead of them.

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts (31) Pride

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 31)

Summary: We get glimpses of Joanna Shirley's first year and an emotional trip to the countryside ensures that the circuit is closed.

Thirty-One Years Old

Some months after Joanna’s first birthday, we’re going to Sussex to spend a week with my parents. She has Timothy’s dark hair and my curls. Her eyes are violet-blue and radiant, her social skills are impeccable. Our daughter loves people. When we’re out in the park, at the shops, on the tube or the bus, she babbles to anyone who’s willing to listen. Most people are. During the Pride parade, that became quite evident. 

Molly had bought her a multi-coloured dress. In each hand she had a flag. The traditional rainbow flag in her right, and the bisexual one in her left. Every so often, people in the parade approached her to say hello, and she preened and had the time of her life. Timothy filmed the whole charade to show to our families later.

When she’s used up her charm…let’s just say; her bad temper is as untamed as her good mood…

“Just like her mother,” Dad often points out when I complain.

There’s no sympathy to get from Papa either.

“A tornado is calm compared to your tantrums as a child and teenager, Bee.”

“Ha, bloody ha,” I retort, but I know it’s true.

Having a strong will and principles can be good things, I guess.

***

Joanna has never seen Papa’s garden and beehives. The last time we visited, it poured down all weekend, so we stayed inside.

She has yet to have taken her first steps, but there have been other firsts. 

First trip inside the city: New Scotland Yard with uncle Greg so he could show her off to all his previous colleagues (he retired two years ago.)

First solid food: corn porridge (she detested oatmeal.)

First tooth: four months (she bit me when I breast fed her.)

First real trip: Sussex to Grandad and Lock. (She refuses to call Papa anything else.)

First BIG toy: an antique rocking horse from the granduncles. (Guess which one searched worldwide for the correct one, a replica from his and Papa’s childhood.)

***

The second Joanna sees her grandparents, she starts to wriggle in my arms, can’t get to them fast enough.

“Easy, my little octopus,” I mutter and hand her to Dad with a relieved sigh.

“Hey there, princess Shirley,” Dad coos and kisses her cheek.

“Da!” she exclaims and pats his shoulder, before turning eagerly to Papa, stretching out her arms.

“Hello, little Joan,” Papa rumbles, which make her giggle and shout: “Lock!”

“You’ve got to stop calling her that,” Dad protests half-heartedly.

“Nonsense,” Papa says mock serious. “Not until you stop calling her princess Shirley.”

Joanna points at herself when she hears Dad’s name for her.

“Yes, that’s you,” Papa agrees proudly. “My clever girl.”

***

After lunch and Joanna’s nap, Dad and Papa walk around the garden with her, safely in Dad’s arms to show her the different flowers, letting her smell and touch. Her dazzling smile, and the besotted looks on my fathers’ faces are caught on camera. I decide to get it enlarged and framed as a Christmas present.

Papa points out the beehives, but they stay at a distance lest Joanna’s waving arms disturb the bees. I stifle a sob when she turns and points a finger at me when Papa says the word “bee”.

“Yes, darling. That’s Mummy too,” I say in a choked voice.

“Well done, princess,” Dad praises.

“Cess,” Joanna manages and presses her palm against her chest.

***

A week later, as a farewell, Papa takes Joanna for another stroll in the garden, which she seemingly can’t get enough of. She took her first steps there two days ago, eager to get her hands on a bee that was resting on a flower petal. When the insect flew away, she turned questioningly at Papa, who had followed in her steps ready to catch her if she lost her balance.

After they’ve finished the circuit, Joanna starts to wail, but Papa’s excited voice and gesticulating hand, gets her attention.

“Let me tell you what I once told your mother when she and Granddad moved to Baker Street,” he starts, and goes through the different stages of human decay, the art of flagging down a taxi in London, and pissing off the likes of Philip Anderson.

Before he’s finished, Joanna has fallen asleep in his arms.

Also available on AO3

You can find the fic that inspired this one here

Here we are. At the end of an amazing month of prompts which have produced ficlets, limericks, heartbreakingly beautiful writing, hilarious new AUs and so much more. Tears have been shed, laughter has been shared, the fandom has shown endless support and love to everyone involved.

Thank you to the wonderful @calaisreno for instigating this marvellous event, and to everyone who has participated, commented, reblogged and cheered along the way.

(P.S There'll be no Rosie at the age of 106 as you requested early in the month @totallysilvergirl because that would ensure the demise of our OTP, and we both know that I don't do that...)

@keirgreeneyes @raina-at @helloliriels

More tags in the replies

[sodaonskateboards]

your post ab sugarbaby! denji is just *chefs kiss* 🤌 i couldn’t stop thinking ab it!!

sugarbaby! denji who thought that his life couldn’t possible get any better until he became your sugar baby, you’re around his age and have always been so kind and welcoming to him ever since he started working at public safety<3

sugarbaby! denji who loves being able to spend his lunch breaks with you! he orders practically everything on the menu, even if he doesn’t know what it is because well…free food is free food! he truly believes you’re some sort of angel sent from above

sugarbaby! denji who goes absolutely wild when you let him use your black card to his heart’s content. he buys all sorts of manga, video games, and snacks (which never last more than a day…power def raids his snack drawer and then proceeds to blame it on aki)

sugarbaby! denji who wants to gift you things too because a lovely angel such as yourself deserves to be spoiled too!! he may not have much money but when he does he’ll buy you a bouquet of your favorite flowers with a cute heart-shaped box filled with yummy chocolates<3

Anon, we are holding hands and kissing, this is delicious <3

Sugarbaby! Denji who still wants to use your shampoo and your soap because he likes to smell like you and he just likes sharing with you!

He shared with Pochita all the time, always hand feeding him, so sharing one thing, eating off the same plate, wearing each others clothes, etc is like his only little love language. It makes him feel close to you.

Denji can be dumb, but I think he's good with numbers and money as he's able to calculate his debt and costs quickly, so he's actually good at keeping track of your money, it's just that large purchases don't feel very real to him because he could never imagine something as simple as buying a new console.

On the flip side, small purchases can make him anxious. He actually checks that he has enough for the littler purchases, but when he's done triple-checking, he gets all excited and will go wild!!

Watch out this man could probably eat cardboard fine but he will eat himself into tummy aches :[[

If you pay for Denji, you end up paying for Power (and Meowy) too, she will throw a bit of a tantrum if all three of you are together and you only get Denji and yourself something. She also tells you that it's unfair to not buy Meowy something on the way back, and that you need to get him a cat tower. She will bite and steal and claw and whine, but somehow you two don't mind.

Denji desperately needs more clothes and he finally gets to chose what to wear! Imagine him at a thrift store or simple warehouse looking at shirts and wondering what he likes and whats comfy, not what's cheapest. He dress in some god awful patterns and colours at first, but it's good for him to explore, so you encourage him

Denji probably has never even touched silk in his life, so when you want to get him some clothes with nice material, start small, otherwise he'll overwhelmed. Gift him a fancy shirt to start and he loses his mind over how soft it is, then work up and you can take him to a department store and a tailor, he looks so damn good in a black, silk dress shit with a low cut

GET THIS BOY BATH BOMBS!! My guy is happy just to bathe everyday, bubble bath, bath bombs and oils, romantic candles, flower petals, blow his mind!! Spoil him in every way!!

Speaking of, Denji also loves doing activities together!! Take him to a quiet onsen in the country for a weekend, where its calm and peaceful, lord knows he needs more of it. Denji usually doesn't mind being around a lot of people, but some venues, like a concert is a lot for him, but please also gift him experiences like theme parks, bath houses, fairs! He loves spending time with you!

When no one else is around, he'll talk to Pochita in his chest. It makes him feel a bit better about missing him. He'll talk about how you dote on him and show him yummy foods, that he's in his lover arms playing video games and so much more they didn't even dream of. Pochita loves you too for taking such good care of Denji

Most people in his life try to buy him or use him, so to be with you, kind-hearted lover you are, is a first for him. To have someone give with no expectations of giving back, purely to make him happy, its so foreign to our baby boy that he just might cry. The only relationship comparable is with Pochita, and while they do love each other unconditionally, it did start off with a deal.

Denji loves his gifts, but when he thinks of the best times with you, its because you two are together, trying out a new restaurant or cuddling in bed, or even giving him a cool rock you found, he loves it all. He always wants to be your lover-boy, money or not

[lady-bess]

Hi Mrs Daniels!

I'm back with my Ask games again!

This time we have a spring based prompts theme. You get a spring prompt and a character and I'd like to know your head canon/immediate thoughts on the combination.

Character: Jack Daniels (of course)

Prompt: petals

With love,

El

Petals

Jack Daniels x F!OC General/Teen+ Content W/C: 913 Notable tags: Spring, Spring Prompt, Retired Jack, Domestic Jack, Fluff.

A/N: Finally getting round to this ask! Thank you my dear El for sending this in - I now sufficiently have an image of retired Jack swirling round my head 🫠🫠 (Is anyone surprised?)

Enjoy!

LadyBess xox

A03 Link | Tumblr Masterlist

Life was slower for Jack now, but he couldn’t be more thankful for it. For too long he’d lived his life swept away in the hustle and bustle of working for Statesman. But now, he took every day one hour at a time, and he enjoyed every moment.

Retirement was treating him well. After nearly thirty years serving with Statesman, he’d done his time, and decided to hang up his lasso for good. No more did he want to be running around, putting his life at risk, chasing down some of the world’s most nefarious criminals - not after he met her, either.

She’d come into his life at a time he’d least expected it, but now five years on he couldn’t imagine his life being any different. It was almost hard to imagine that there had been a time without her. They’d met by sheer chance one afternoon in May when his flight to the New York office got delayed, and they’d just been at the right place at the right time. With a few hours to kill, they started chatting just to pass the time, but when it came to boarding the plane Jack knew he wanted to make her all his.

Six months later, he did.

They’d lived together ever since, out in the depths of the Kentucky countryside. Jack had always wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps and have a home like what he had now - simple, functional, and picturesque. Situated on a few acres of land, it wasn’t like the old ranch he’d grown up on, but it was close enough. He had a few horses, and a few hens; that more than sufficed.

He had a simple life now, and took enjoyment in the small pleasures. Today was no exception. The sky had been clear this morning when he rose, a crispness to the air and a fine dew on the grass. Spring was well and truly here, and the garden they both meticulously maintained reflected this. Flowers of every colour started to bloom, a small rainbow in the beds littering the land.

Jack smiled to himself, fully content, as he relaxed back into the wooden swing bench which he’d installed under an oak tree just behind the main house. It had become his favourite place to be, especially on early mornings like these. A gentle breeze swayed past him, carrying a few loose petals across the green grass, and he watched as they danced away into the distance.

And that’s when he saw her.

Jack always woke up early - it was a habit he’d got into from his time with Statesman. He always slept light, his body finding it difficult even in retirement to not have to worry about being constantly alert. As such, once he woke up in the mornings, he found it hard to drift back off to sleep. Usually he’d just get up, and be by himself for a couple of hours. But just occasionally, she’d be up too.

Today was one of those mornings.

He smiled at her from across the garden, watching her come towards him with two mugs of tea in her hands. She was still dressed in last night’s pyjamas, a navy blue knee-length nightdress, with slippers to match, but she’d also thrown on one of Jack’s flannel shirts over the top. The gentle wind whipped at the hem of her nightdress, and she giggled as the silk dappled across her thighs. Jack grinned at her as she got closer, refraining himself from making an inappropriate joke.

“Morning, sugar,” he drawled, his voice still thick with sleep. She smiled down at him, handing him one of the piping hot mugs, then settled down next to him on the seat.

“Good morning, sunshine,” she said. Sunshine had been her nickname for Jack, the irony coming from the fact he was usually the complete opposite to a ray of sunlight. At least, he was. Retirement had changed that. But still, the nickname had stuck.

Jack took the mug from her, chuckling to himself, but then thanking her. He took a sip, sighing in contentment as the drink warmed him from the inside. It might be spring time now, but this early in the morning it was still a little on the colder side.

“What’s got you up so early, my love?” he asked. He set the drink down on his knee, stabilising it with one hand on the handle, and then he slipped his other arm across her shoulders. She smiled, leaning into his hold.

“Needed the bathroom, but noticed you’d already got up. Saw you out here and thought I’d keep you company for a little while,” she said. Jack smiled, turning his head to plant a kiss in her hair.

“You’re too sweet, you know that right?” he said, and she giggled.

“So is that why you call me sugar?” she asked, making Jack laugh.

“Maybe. Got a problem with that?” he teased. She turned her head to look at him, smiling warmly as the breeze began to mess up her hair, half in a messy bun from overnight.

“Never, Jack. I love you,” she said, leaning up to kiss Jack softly. He smiled against her lips, applying pressure to hers in return, drinking in the sensation. His body went warm throughout, the contentment and happiness of being with her as clear to him as the sky above. And in that moment, he realised.

He had never been happier.

Tumblr Masterlist | A03 Profile

[kataravimes-of-the-shire]

This has been tickling around in my brain for months.

Room to Grow

The Archeron sisters discuss what they miss about being human.

Kinda ✨angst✨, kinda fluff

Word Count: 1226

“Do you know what I miss?” Feyre sighed wistfully.

She sat with her sisters under the glimmering glass dome of the newly erected Velaris Orangerie. They were seated around a small mosaic-covered table, a steaming pot of tea and a tiered display of cakes before them. The late morning sun gave the space a soft glow, turning all of their hair into varying shades of burnished bronze.

Nesta cocked her head eyes narrowing slightly, she could always see through Feyre’s attempts at feigning innocence, “What do you miss?”

“Stretch marks,” Feyre sighed.

Feyre looked between her sisters. Nesta’s eyebrows had shot up towards her hairline. Elain’s cup of tea had paused midway to her mouth, her petal-coloured lips parted in mild shock. This was not a conversation one had in polite society. Feyre began to scramble for a change of topic. This was still new ground. This peace with her sisters. Openness.

Feyre was about to remark upon the craftsmanship of the dome that soared away above them, or on the already spectacular height of the plants from Summer Court whose uppermost leaves just brushed the underside of the glass.

When Elain let out a small laugh and then tensed, as if bracing herself.

“They were like stripes, I used to hate them on my thighs” - she paused, Feyre met her sister’s warm brown eyes and gave her a nod of encouragement - “I loved that the fashions kept my legs covered. I used to be terrified someone would see them and realise I wasn’t all that beautiful after all.”

“I was so pleased when I finally got some, it was proof I was growing. Proof that I was healing. Or at least what I thought healing was when I was with him,” Feyre fought the temptation to curve her shoulders in towards her body. She reached for another cake, her third or was it fourth? She rarely kept stock of how much food she ate anymore. Only if she felt stressed would the habit of tracking every morsel and crumb come creeping back into her life. Rhysand had only reigned in Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony when he discovered her stash of bread, magicked to stay fresh, stashed at the back of their shared closet.

Nesta cleared her throat, bringing Feyre out of her memories before she spoke softly, “I had them on the curve of my breasts; they shone silver in the candlelight. They were beautiful. I always thought yours were too,” she reached out across the table to squeeze Elain’s hand. “Your looks have never been what made you truly beautiful, blossom.”

Elain’s eyes welled with tears, Feyre couldn’t help but beam as she watched her sisters share this moment. Couldn’t help but beam as Nesta reached out and took Feyre’s hand as well, and gave it a light squeeze.

“But do you know what I really miss” - Nesta seemed to shake herself out of the reverent moment she had created - “The lines I had right here,” she pointed to the smooth and flawless patch of skin between her brows.

“Frown lines you mean!” Feyre laughed, sticking her tongue out at her eldest sister. Earning her a frown unmarred by any wrinkles or creases.

“Concern lines, for all the trouble you were always getting into,” Nesta made a playful jab for Feyre’s ribs. Elain hid a snort of laughter behind her hand as she watched their antics.

Feyre delighted in her sisters’ laughter. After a moment they settled back into sipping at their tea and scattering more crumbs down the front of their outfits.

“I had a few grey hairs,” Elain added.

“I did too,” Nesta paused and looked at Feyre, her eyes narrowing in mock anger. “Don’t you dare comment on our age difference.”

“Not many,” Elain continued managing to effortlessly direct the conversation back where she wanted it before Feyre and Nesta descended into chaos once more. “But I think I was going to go grey the same way Mother had started to, before…”

Feyre had tried, and failed many times, to remember what their Mother looked like. But all she had was a sense of severity, of the length of a skirt, the smell of sickness and sometimes of lavender.

“Are either of you missing any moles?” Feyre could admit to herself that this was a last-ditch attempt to save them all from the melancholy they had unwittingly meandered into. “I used to know mine like the constellations of the night skies. I swear some are missing.”

“Oh, and scars!” Elain jolted back from wherever she had gone behind vacant eyes.

“Yes! Moles and scars. Vanished!” Nesta exclaimed. “I had little white specks across my neck and wrists from a pox I caught as a child before either of you were born, I think. Or perhaps Elain was just a babe. I would scratch them whenever Mother or the governess turned their back.”

“I had scars on my hands from learning to use a bow, from setting traps and climbing trees,” Feyre held up her hands and looked at them as if they were completely foreign objects to her. They had been at first. Unknowable.

“I had a sunburst white scar just below my knee,” Elain reached a hand below the table as if feeling for that old wound. “I can’t have been more than seven, out in the garden playing when I heard Father returning from a trip of some sort. I sprinted up the path so fast, skirts flying. You know I’ve always been clumsy, I tripped over my own feet and came down on a sharp stone lining the path.”

“Oh yes! I remember. You got straight back up and kept running. You were so desperate to see Father, he asked why you had ripped your skirts and you only burst into tears once you hiked them up and saw the blood!” Nesta’s mouth quirked up at one side as she recalled the memory.

Feyre knew that Rhys would comment on her glow as soon as she returned to the townhouse. As soon as they were alone she would gush to him about how whole it had made her feel to talk to her sisters, to hear Nesta mention their Father and not stumble over the words.

“I asked Rhys once if he had stretch marks,” Feyre looked out across the undulating meadow of the park, the sun was beginning to burn off the morning dew and the mist twirled like dancers in a ballroom. “He didn’t even know what they were.”

Nesta huffed a laugh and rolled her eyes conspiratorially, “Cassian couldn’t understand how we got scars for such minor wounds.”

Elain lack of comment about a conversation with her mate felt conspicuous. She stared down into her tea without replying to her sisters’ remarks. Feyre felt that maybe the morning had been soured once again when suddenly Elain whispered - as if to the morning sun, directed at no one in particular:

“I know they think all of these things mark out human frailty. But oh, how wonderful to have a map on your skin of everything you’ve lived through. Of everything you’ve survived.”

“Our old housekeeper once told me,” Nesta let out a wry laugh as she spoke. “Be grateful for every wrinkle, grey hair and mole. Growing old is a privilege, that not everyone gets.”

[shibaraki]

Early evening might just be your favourite time of day.

It is when the sun begins to fatigue and sink slowly under the blanket of horizon, a deep orange hue cast across the cityscape, soft and diffusing. Glaring beams of light peek between buildings in her descent, their brilliance waning behind the passing clouds. Dappled shadows danced along the pavements, ever-changing mosaics reflected through the canopies.

Most of all, you adored the new life it brought to your little shop. Each day felt like the passing of a new season; the vivid oranges and reds would crown every flowering head and swaddle the young stems with warmth, alighting upon the verdant green. You felt entirely at peace, entirely human, in those few minutes of sunset.

Though on this particular evening, your attention has been focused on the suspicious figure pacing the front of your store. His silhouette has darkened further as the sun dipped, face tucked and hidden behind an oversized hoodie, both arms folded into the front pocket.

You watch him stall again outside the door, playing idly with the petals of a recently bloomed camellia. Only days ago it had been a tight bud, now blushing a deep shade of red.

He pulled his own hand out, reluctantly pressing each finger to the glass pane. Sunlight floods through the spaces between like nectar, highlighting the severely scarred skin. A few beats pass. You wonder if he’ll turn away again and leave, as he has done three times now. After all, this was his final chance before you closed up.

Amidst that thought, a bell above chimes to signal his entry. You inhale sharply, straightening up while releasing the camellia and brushing down the front of your apron.

“Hi!” he looks towards your voice, loud in a way that emphasises your excitement a little too much. You ignore the urge to grimace and clear your throat, smiling gently. “Uh, welcome to Heavy Petal. Would you like some help looking around, or do you have an idea of what you want?”

His demeanour shifts, as does his weight between each booted foot. Awkwardly, he approaches the counter. Closer now, you can see beneath the hood that the deep scarring continues far up the column of his neck and across both cheeks. Politely averting your gaze, piercing blue eyes seize your own.

“I want to buy something to congratulate someone”.

You clap both hands together as you circle around the counter, holding them to your heart. This was definitely one of the more fun parts of the job. “Alright. Could I ask what you’re congratulating them on? Are they for a friend, or a partner?”

The customer recoils slightly at the questions, his mouth twisting irritably. Such a small change in expression, yet it visibly pulls at the stitching beneath his eyes. You swallow the surging sympathy for his discomfort, not wanting to call attention to it, and beckon him towards the shelves.

“Is all that shit actually important?” he mutters, following at your heel. “Can’t you just sell me something pretty and be done with it?”

“Flowers have a whole language of their own, so you should think about what it is you’d like to say,” you tell him, smiling back over your shoulder. No longer hunched over, the hood has slipped minutely to reveal tufts of black hair. His features are more open, softened by the honeyed light, and his head turns to peruse the array of colours on display.

You say nothing, observing as he reaches to feel the petals of a yellow rose, only to abruptly stop. The mottled purple palm curls into a tight fist, defeatedly dropping back by his hip.

“My little sister,” he rasps. “She recently got her first job as a teacher”.

Arrangement ideas begin to blossom in your mind, “That’s wonderful. You must be proud of her”.

The corner of his lips curls up as he turns his eyes to the floor, and his only response is a quiet, rumbling hum.

You let it be. It isn’t for you to pry into. “Your sister— would you say she’s into cutesy things?”

The man pauses to think, and gives a resolute shake of his head. “No, it doesn’t suit her. She’s kinda elegant, I guess. Like my…” his voice tapers off, and the thought is left unfinished.

“…Well. With that in mind, I think a floral bouquet of Orchids is perfect for her,” delicately, you pull one of the smaller decorative pots towards him, turning it to showcase the blooms. These ones in particular are pale pink; demure and gentler than their red and blue cousins.

“If I arrange it along with some scented lilies and a little decorative foliage, it would be a beautiful way to show how happy you are for her success”.

Unfortunately, your enthusiasm is anything but contagious. There’s an air of melancholy about him, and you find that it feels tight in your chest when you look at him.

He stares wistfully at the flowers. Tucked back into the front pocket of his hoodie, his hands protrude and move beneath the fabric as he fidgets. “Think y’can stick some hydrangeas in there too?”

You blink at his question. “I can do that,” comes your uncertain reply. “But— Are you sure?”

The man smiles again. Quick as it began, the sunset has settled beneath her blanket, and the warm toned hues have dulled into grey. For reasons you cannot decipher, there is a lump in your throat.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Got a lot to be sorry for”.

[fieldofdaisiies]

Elain x Lucien | Baby Fever

type: drabble warning(s): none word count: 600 words summary: Elain has some very happy news for her mate. 

- all rights reserved - 

“Hey, my outstandingly beautiful mate," Elain chirps, bumping Lucien’s nose after having jumped onto his lap. Immediately her mate looks up from his reports, his gaze meeting Elain’s. His eyes -one of russet and one of metal- are aglow.

“Good afternoon, my lovely and stunning mate. Why are we grinning like that?" Lucien’s large, warm hand moves to his mate’s hip, bringing her closer to him. 

"Do I need to have a reason to grin at my mate?"

Lucien’s face lights up even more, colour blooming high on his cheeks. Mirroring his expression Elain wants to peck her mate’s lips but fails terribly and rather giggles loudly against his mouth, quickly curling her arms behind his neck. 

"I actually do have a reason to grin like that, I—"

"Bought a new plant?"

The grin momentarily vanishes from the middle Archeron sister’s face. Furrowing her brows, she pinches Lucien’s biceps.“Hey! No.”

Elain tries to glower, but fails and only gives her eyes a tiny roll. “I have to tell you something actually…"

Anticipation and excitement and also admiration for his utterly adorable mate laces Lucien’s handsome face. His chest warms and he squeezes Elain to his body.

"Go on then, my lady."

"Well, you know about the birds and the bees?"

A smirk tugs on Lucien’s lips, now a tint of irritation coating his insides.

"Yes, you do, too, my love."

"I do, and I also do know what happens when one stops taking the contraceptive tea."

Elain grins, face flushing. She can hear Lucien’s heart beat louder and faster. He stares at her, mouth opening and staying open, many thoughts coursing through his mind while his skin starts to tingle. For a slight second Elain is worried that her mate might have stopped breathing. And teuly, the breath gets stuck in his throat when his mind goes blank.

“Luc—“

"You are pregnant?!” he blurts out, still staring at his mate with wide eyes.

"I am. I am with child. Our child, Lucien." This time she pecks his lips, breathing in his scent. 

Lucien’s jaw drops to the ground, eyes glazing and lashes turning damp. His throat works on a swallow when his eyes trail over the beautiful face of his mate. 

“I am going to be a father?” “That you are, my love. And I am going to be a mother.” 

Elain beams, and then squeals when her mate hoists her up and softly and carefully carries her over to the bed. He places her down and shoves her gown up her thighs, over her belly so that it pools under her breasts. Lucien, as carefully as possibly, settles between her thighs, grinning at her belly, then at Elain’s face, gazes meeting momentarily before he looks down at the small bump again. 

He lies down between her legs and exhales loudly. Colour blooms high on his tanned cheeks, every fiber of his body radiating joy and pure bliss reaching Elain through the bond.

Lucien’s soft, warm lips coast over Elain’s bare belly, her hand smoothing through his silken strands. 

"I cannot believe it," —after another kiss to Elain’s skin Lucien lifts his gaze, locking it with Elain’s— "our child is in there. Our baby. We are going to be parents, petal. The two of us are having a child. How long have you known?”

"Yes, we are and I found out only today." Elain beams, one single happy tear rolling out if her eyes. Lucien’s face was damp as well, singles tears rolling over his cheeks while his fingers dance over Elain’s skin, accompanied by his lips.

“This is the greatest happiness you could have brought into my life. The greatest happiness along with having you as my mate.”

“I love you, Lord Lucien, to the moon and back and more than you can imagine.” “I love you more than possible, Lady Elain.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

tags: @rippahwrites @shadowhunter2003 @my-inner-crisis @ladyelain @acourtofthought @itwasalwaysaboutthetea @multifictional  @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger 

[thethirdromana]

Some thoughts on The Giggle:

Wild Blue Yonder was exactly the kind of Doctor Who episode that I reliably love. The Giggle, on the other hand, was a bit of a grab-bag of all the RTD tropes that I don't really get on with. So it was a bit of a surprise that I still enjoyed it hugely.

(For example, the threat that exists in every single one of a piece of technology simultaneously. How many times have we done that one now?)

It felt like enough plot for three episodes. There were bits I would have liked to have spent more time with; I felt like the episode was at its best when it slowed down and gave us a character moment, e.g. when Kate turns off her Zeedex.

Lovely to see Mel again.

Also lovely to how Donna solves the mystery. "I spent six months teaching my daughter how to play the recorder till she said 'This is not who I am'. And that was the start of a whole other conversation, believe you me" - perfect.

The final trigger for disaster is Starlink, the Prime Minister is Boris Johnson and we are assured that Donna will have a nice house and a good salary when all this is over. Yes, that's RTD on classic form.

The whole sequence with the bullets turning into petals - glorious.

It's almost a dick move to have the new guy immediately have to share a screen with his beloved predecessor but wow did Ncuti Gatwa pull it off. He IS the Doctor. Charisma for days.

Thighs for days too. I saw what you did there, RTD.

Could have done without "do you come in a range of colours?" though.

Fourteen lives happily ever after as Donna's QPP <3 <3 <3 I don't even normally like that kind of storyline but it just works.

And I notice that RTD left a lot of space for Fourteen to appear in the Extended Universe and indeed for David Tennant to keep reappearing as the Doctor at reasonable intervals for the rest of his life. Which I assume he will.

The transition from the calm of Donna's garden to the sheer excitement of the Fifteenth's Doctor's TARDIS was exhilarating.

I can't wait until Christmas.

[doppel-doodles]

AU Masterlist

Monster Kid Au

Oc and canon centric

Summary: Basically everyone lifes in a cozy little village that is perpetually set in autumn and right next to that is a magical forest housing every kind of Halloween creature your head can think off, ranging from adorable mischief makers to full on eldritch abominations and of course some monster hunters to round out the cast.

Growing Garden Au

Ming and Baí centric

This Au was made with @/littlethingsrae

I already made a whole intro post about it that you can find here

Summary:

Koi King Au

Klara and Katie centric

Summary: Taking place in the much distant future. Mk, now a hero in his own right, is looking to teach successor of his own. Instead of just one he chooses two students that he'll pass the torch to once his time runs out.

Wilting Petals Au

Flowerpower(Mengtao x Nezha) centric

This is still a platonic ship

Summary: What if instead of kicking the peach maiden out of the realm like a mama bird chucking out their chick from the nest the third lotus prince actually came with her to the mortal realm to make sure she doesn‘t fall over and die or something-

Dollhouse Au

Shadowdancer(Jú x Macaque) centric

Summary: Instead of humans,monkeys,demons or whatever else have you almost everyone is some sort of toy living in the bedroom of the Allard twins. One day a new doll is introduced into the home of many colourful characters and catches the eye of a certain plushie.

Am I ripping off toy story? Probably, but more importantly I am ripping off Raggedy Anne and Andy: A musical adventure even more-

Crimson Emperor Au

Ming and Klara centric

Summary: Mings hatred for wukong for abandoning him reaches a boiling point, in his emotional state he makes more and more rash decisions in an desperate attempt to feel less pain. Until eventually his grudge turns into a desire to see the king fall like many before him and he decides that to achieve that he needs to steal a body and the power of the late jade emperor.

Fallen Crown Au

Ming and Baí centric

Summary: My oc's but they are in cult of the lamb-

Here's a little post I made about it: click here

Au's from other people

Rescripted twice Au that belongs to @/chuitu

Sun shrine Au that belongs to @/littlethingsrae

[ahordeofwasps]

Find the Word Tag

I've been tagged by the awesome @deanwax! Thanks for the tag! My words are dress, red, book, even, and odd. I'll be sharing excerpts from To Not Falling Off Cliffs!

But first, the no pressure tags! I'll be tagging @sarandipitywrites, @winterandwords, @mary-is-writing, @emelkae, and open tag! Your words are fire, flail, free, and follow!

Now, onto To Not Falling Off Cliffs!

Dress & Odd

On the other side there were two humanoids. One was a woman, and the other was a man. They had clean flawless skin. Their hair was neatly combed without a single strand out of place. The woman wore a white dress while the man wore a black turtleneck and black slacks. They both smiled as they each held a small stack of pamphlets. They both looked almost human. Almost. Their teeth, although perfectly white and straight, looked a little too sharp. Their eyes weren’t vacant, but there was an emptiness behind their stares, the kind that demanded to be filled. They were [unintelligible]. [unintelligible] usually didn’t go door to door. [unintelligible] usually found their prey in crowds, in those that walked a little too slowly as if they were lost. Some [unintelligible] hunted on the internet, using social media to find those set adrift in their life, looking for someone or something to grab a hold of. [unintelligible] were impersonal, though they did strive to make their prey feel special. [unintelligible] preferred odds set in their favour, usually working one to one only when their hooks were in their prey.

Red & Even

There were small occasions where Erika lingered truthfully, however. She stopped in the aisle with the shampoo, taking the time she normally spent pretending to read the ingredients in each bottle. Recently, Erika had noticed that her hair was turning red and was starting to become dry and chitinous. Although she liked the unexpected colour change, she disliked how she looked with a head full of chitin instead of hair. When Erika had examined her shampoo and conditioner, she discovered her shampoo was enchanted to give her the “dazzling hair of the future.” Erika did not want the hair of the future. She wanted the hair of the present. Obtaining the hair of the present proved to be difficult. Half the shampoo brands had the “hair of the future” enchantment, making Erika wonder why she hadn’t seen anyone else with chitinous hair. Of those without the enchantment, one brand had caused the death of one of Steve’s clients, two brands were currently in the midst of lawsuits due to giving their customers alchemical burns, one shampoo’s only ingredient was one whole coconut, and the rest weren’t sulphate free. Erika sighed, rubbing her temples, feeling her headache returning. What should have been simple hygiene was quickly turning into a losing battle. Erika could at least choose how badly she lost that battle. She picked up one of the shampoos with sulphates; it would make her already dry hair even drier, but at least she would be free of the chitin.

Book

At first glance, the apartment looked the same as it was when Erika last visited. There was still a bucket of crystals on the end table next to a stack of unopened cardboard boxes with facial cleansers targeted towards teens. The blue macrofibre dusting cloth was still left forgotten on the bookshelf next to a series of volumes on pigeon breeding. Beer cozies with various energy drink logos printed on them nestled mason jars filled with origami flowers were scattered about every available flat surface. Next to where Erika sat was a potted plant sitting on a cardboard box that once contained meal replacement shakes. But, as Erika examined the room further, she spotted new items among the clutter. A small box of make-up was in the bucket of crystals. A bar of soap that looked like a cupcake sat on the bookshelf, still in its original packaging. The paper petals of the origami flowers look like they were wet, and the room reeked of peppermint, with the stench being strongest next to the origami flowers. There was a plastic depiction of a zombified cat having a tea party with a ceramic frog in the soil of the potted plant.

[imsailorpluto]

Summer Strike, ep 1; thoughts & spoilers

Wow, I entered a dream and got completely lost in this one. How to explain it, where to begin... There are those days when only one negative thought holds immense power over us, and then there are those days that are just so well that even though nothing special happens, every ounce of negativity simply bounces off of us as if it doesn't even exist. Well, I'd compare exactly that with the first episode of Summer Strike. Despite the main character Yeo-reum putting up with mobbing for a long time, she finally decides to quit all the pointless never-ending rush. By finishing this ep, all sense of frustration one might've felt along with our protagonist simply disappears.

The first episode depicts how people constantly chase after something beyond their reach and it even haunts them in their sleep. In that endless chase, forgetting to stay close to those who matter the most comes naturally. One day we're having a phone call with our dear ones, just like Yeo-reum, and the other we pick up that one call no one ever wishes to receive. A moment to say goodbye suddenly is long gone, and no matter how hard we try denying certain life events, it's still there in the end, inevitably waiting.

“Mom. I'll do everything for you. I'll make a lot of money, so I can take you out to look at flowers, and take you to the beach too. I'll do everything for you. So don't age too quickly.”

In that crazy rush, Yeo-reum lost her senses along with the perception of herself, and since those things seldom go unnoticed, her co-workers just pick on what's left of her, like some vultures. One step at a time, without even realising it, the ground beneath her feet keeps moving, escaping. Slowly vanishing. It doesn't crumble, nor does it make a sudden noise. It slowly fades away, like the colours of clothes exposed to the sun a little too long on a hot summer day.

“Every day, the exact same sun goes down and comes up. The world hasn't changed at all.”

In all its predictability people take on well defined roles. Everybody adapts to new situations, many prey on the “weaker” as if that's all to life there is for them. And the weak ones aren't really weak, they just can't understand where the ground is nor how to find it. Allowing others to define their core is as good as walking blindfolded, expecting not to stumble and fall eventually. The hand which helps Yeo-reum put the blindfold on every day also feeds her, or gives her a false sense of dependency, no wonder having any clear perception is completely out of the equation. What kind of person would ever agree to that, right? The world doesn't change. The rush doesn't change either and the route to work is always the same. Except when something happens out of the blue. Rocks us to our core. And the invisible floor is suddenly full of cherry blossom petals, scattered and carried by the wind. The floor becomes visible again, she's breathing the air with her own lungs and she's standing tall on her two feet.

“The subway car moving away from Seoul on a weekday morning was so quiet and peaceful that I almost felt as though I had been transported to another world. Perhaps, life isn't any different. If you go in the opposite direction of everyone else, you may be able to find a quiet, peaceful path that isn't as crowded.”

“I've lived my life in a daze. In order not to fall behind and not to be criticized, I held out with all my might. But looking back now, I realise that I always criticized myself more harshly than anybody else ever did.”

Yeo-reum realising she's her own worst enemy is where this whole escape journey begins. It made me rewatch the episode again and again and again... The feeling of liberation as she leaves her city life behind is extremely palpable. As a girl who has moved a lot, there is certain relatability in Yeo-reum carrying her whole life in a large rucksack, styling her hair in a single braid, wind messing up her hairdo, that silly oversized rhcp hoodie, trains moving, bus traveling into the unknown, the rejoice new beginnings offer, ...

Focus isn't on leaving a life behind, but on giving yourself a chance where it seems like there are no chances left at all, it's about seeing what is in front and going for it, even if it means stepping into the unknown.

Her hopefulness as nature offers the greatest gifts of fairytale-like scenery, reaching the seaside, dropping everything just to jump into the sea immediately after stepping out of the bus, and floating on the calm mirror-like surface... There's something liberating in those scenes, I can't count the times I did exactly the same in the late spring. Sea offers and takes away so much, including all the heavy weight, every overwhelming feeling, every pain in every corner of one's being. It dissolves everything.

There's nothing like surrendering yourself to it.

Here we are again, at the end of another chaotic little mess. Great job reaching the final destination! ♡

This 1st episode works perfectly as a stand alone. For those who don't have much time left on their plate and getting into the entire story isn't an option - it's totally fine, first episode is a piece of art, do watch it. (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

This has nothing to do with the fact that I'm starting a club for all Yeo-reum supporters, called "I did the same thing as Yeo-reum". Only requirement is mentioned in the paragraph above (◠⁠‿⁠◕)

I'm only 4 episodes in, and can't even express how enjoyable they are, but updates on that a bit later. I'll continue watching and rewatching this little series it seems. As always, feel free to leave a comment and share your opinion.

xx

Pluto

[starrrberry]

golden hour

hello all. i have writing ! nice writing not man i wanna kill someone rn writing. no tws (for once) words : 564. what else please reblog if you like it ig it helps <3 enjoy!

Every day, when I wake up, the sun will rise like it always does, without fail. For a long time, I hated it, I hated the way that it would constantly shine for me from its sanctuary of rosy pinks and soft blues, while I was trapped in a bleak prison full of dying nature. It was cruel really, this huge ball of gas had the audacity to smile down at me while incinerating everything around for endless miles. Admittedly, there were times when it was beautiful. Mostly when it was setting, when it bathed my gloomy life in sunlight, when gold and orange washed away the shadows and I could feel pure light trickling down my skin. So for all its faults (primarily causing life threatening heat waves and rushing the world with floods) it was undeniably breathtaking at the best of times. But most of the time, I was quite pessimistic. How could I not be? The vivid flowers that used to bloom at my feet with every step were drying up and turning brown, wilting into the scorched soil. Vibrant grass became brittle and dry as it was stomped into the ground by over-excited children and bustling adults heading to work in the morning. Seeing the world rundown and frail without a care from anyone else always sends a shot of anger rushing to my brain, and I never really know what to do with it. Every time I looked outside my window and watched the colour draining from every single leaf and petal, I wished for something that would help me shake off the cynicism dragging my limbs down; in those moments, I wanted something more than survival. I wanted to live. Time dragged on this way for a while, from the beginning of autumn all throughout winter. It felt as though it would go on forever, this feeling of hopelessness and anger towards the world, until I woke up one spring day and everything just felt so… right. Glittering ribbons of sunlight streamed through the cracks in my blinds, illuminating my face and melting the wooziness from my brain like overnight snow on a bright morning. Flowers were dazzling once again, delicately woven between silky blades of grass. Fuzzy bees flew dizzying paths through open blue skies, and everything came alive in the light breeze that ran through my hair. Honestly, it was like this a lot of the time during spring. But this was the first time I truly felt it. Nothing will beat the time before sunset though. Recently, I found it was called the “golden hour”, which I think is a perfect name for it! The golden hour, a loving hand that reached out to me when I was stuck in my head, the beginning of my realisation that maybe, the world wasn’t as bad as I made it out to be. It was the time that left me floating, basking in warm sunlight, a time where I was free to let go and feel the soft yellows seep into my bones. At some point, the gold gushing through my veins became my lifeblood, it let me see the world in an entirely new way. Sure, there are days where I feel angry and empty once again, but every day, when I wake up, I know the sun will rise like it always does, without fail.

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