#ungiven

[deebrisbyfish]

This strip is one that kind of popped into my head as an extension of last week's strip about choosing my name. I rarely use the term "deadname" in regards to my given name, as I don't personally like the negative feeling it give me. But I also wanted to explore the nonsense of when people describe a name like it's some inherent part of our existence. I mean, growing up I HATED my LAST name. Being named "Fish" got me made fun of my entire childhood and my mother always derisively told me that "when you're 18, you'll be free to change it to whatever you want!" Unfortunately, when I hit my 40s and decided to change my FIRST name, she didn't care as much for me having that same freedom. Go fig.

[sexhaver]

The weirdest thing about ygo rules to me is that they don't have fail to find out fizzling it's just an illegal game action to activate those effects

Richard Garfield is rolling in his grave and he's not even dead yet

[theneoboards]

submitted by @sappho-official

[palismet]

never in my life did i think i could be so into the vibes of and arc of and writing for some colonial ass white boy named hunter, of all things, but alas. here we are, loving and thriving

[formula-red]

i wish all of you had little tumblr p.o. boxes so i could send u guys stickers and trinkets and fun things youd like because i see so many things that im like omg i know exactly who would love that but i cant get it to them 😭😭😭😭😭😭

[belabras]

Starfinder - SFS 6-11 Gifts Ungiven Resources and 2023 Year in Review

Solo Run Studio is back! This week maps and images for your online game of SFS 6-11: Gifts Ungiven, as well as a brief review of 2023 and look at things to come. Join me for things that were, things that are, and some things that have not yet come to pass!

[brainbuffering]

TL;DR : Please report any adverts or blaze posts you see that contain flashing images to tumblr.com/support 

After my blaze post about disability access in media was rejected due to reasons ungiven, I got in contact with Tumblr and pointed out their irony in rejecting my post but continuing to promote adverts that contain dangerous levels of flashing imagery, high contrast colours, and glitch effects. 

They told me to screenshot/screen record any of these adverts I saw and report them to tumblr.com/support along with the approximate date and time and the website they redirect to. 

Of course, for Photosensitive people who have been forced to witness these adverts, this sort of thing is nearly impossible. How can you have the wherewithal to report an advert whilst suffering from a seizure or migraine? 

This is where Allies come in! Please can you collect any and all adverts you see that contain flashing lights at a rate of 3 Flashes Per Second or higher/Glitch Effects/High Contrast Colours? Then, on 26th March (Epilepsy Awareness Day) I suggest that we all send these adverts in on mass! It'll help to get our point across that this is a REGULAR OCCURRENCE that affects an entire community of people, and hopefully we'll be able to enact some actual change to make this website more accessible for disabled people! 

If you are seeing this after 26th March, or worry you'll not remember to do so by then, fear not! You can send the posts to Tumblr Support year round! It's just useful to have a date to organise these things around for maximum impact.

After their rejection, Tumblr gave me a free blaze so let's see if this one gets put through! Or if they'll reject it on unknown grounds once again. 

[sexhaver]

this card has kind of been power crept out of relevance at higher-end tables over the years, which is a shame because it's one of the coolest/fun/most skill-testing mechanics in the game for both the caster and targeted opponent. there's the unironic Game Theory of how to split the stacks if you don't like the caster, along with the political/metagaming possibility of the caster simply asking/forcing someone to not split the cards at all, making it a 4 mana draw 5, e.g. "if you split it into a stack of 5 and a stack of 0 i'll leave you alone until my next turn, otherwise i'll kill you with my damage on board". what a fun card

Fact or Fiction

“Try to pretend like you understand what’s important.”

Artist: Matt Cavotta TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

[damnfandomproblems]

Rep this! Rep that! I am sick of it! Can't people just create what they want without people bringing representation into it?

Not every writer is trying to represent people. Can't writers just write their queer or queer-coded or subtextually queer characters without everyone taking them apart and politicizing them?

Can't anyone write queer fanfiction without people saying 'thanks for the rep,' as if it's other queer people's job to be the marketing team for other LGBTQ+ people? Can't you enjoy queer characters without the judging them by 'quality of rep'?

And another thing! Can we stop acting like headcanons about existing characters with vague/ungiven identities are 'rep'? Headcanoning a character as a queer identity is not 'creating good/bad rep'. It's just having fun!

Even more importantly: the identities of REAL PEOPLE is NEVER EVER REP. They are real people, not fictional characters. A gay man should be able to sing his heart out without you judging him by the 'quality' of 'rep' he seems to be.

Cishets don't have to deal with the politicizing and branding and tokenizing of their identities so why should we, queer people, have to?

[jacebeleren]

Need a nice version of Gifts Ungiven depicting Jace next to Venezuela by the hearth as he gives her a lovingly wrapped gift tbh

venezuela

[smallgodseries]

People wind up in charge through all sorts of avenues. Sometimes they win elections; other times they’re born into power, or trick or talk their way into it. Only two things are universal: that the people in authority expect to be listened to, whether they’re right or not, and that some of them don’t deserve their positions.

Serious wasn’t initially made that way. In the beginning, they called him Sincere, and he followed the people in authority in all their dealings.  It didn’t last for long. People existing in conditions of near-infinite power will always show their true faces sooner or later, and bit by bit, Serious was born. He is the quiet question and the ungiven answer, the necessary grit in the gears to keep things running honest and clean through his simple presence.

He is always watching, and he is always asking “Why?” and when he doesn’t receive an answer he cares for, he is always willing to ask again. And again, and again, until the answer changes, or the person in authority does.

He has outlasted regimes and administrations and more managers than anyone cares to count, including Seriously himself. But he never loses faith that one day, perhaps, things will change. After all, they’ve changed before.

If he can hold on for long enough, if he can ask sufficient questions, he may eventually find a form of authority that renders him extraneous.  Until that happy day, he’s content to serve as he does, holding the important to account, keeping them from growing too content in their absolute power.

Power corrupts. Serious Lee is always there to keep it from corrupting past the point of all return.

[glystenangel]

Say You Love Me Too

Soft!Dom Choso x Afab!Reader Oneshot (Modern AU)

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, we gettin DOWN, best friend to lovers trope, comfort smut, choso’s a little obsessed with you, okay maybe alot obsessed, alot alot alot alot aLOT of praise, words of affirmation, scent kink if you super squint, oral sex (f receiving), nipple play, penetrative sex, raw sex, multiple orgasms, mention of a safeword but not used, one mention of cervix f*cking, one mention of drinking, aftercare and cuddles

summary: you’re venting to your best friend and he accidentally confesses to you

~4.6k words

thanks for reading and enjoy<3

_________________

“So, whats going on with you?”

You peer up at Choso over the tea he brewed from the plant riddled kitchen in his apartment, the steam obscuring his expression and thankfully your own. Although you could guess with certainty that he was searching your body language for any sign of discontent.

“Ah, nothing.” 

Feigned nonchalance lines your voice, and you take another big chug of herbal liquid before setting ceramic onto mahogany. The tabletop just below your crossed ankles sports an assortment of neatly stacked books and unused marble coasters. Choso seemed to only display them for show, citing the ringless surface of his coffee table as justification for his laziness. 

You two were catching up after you had asked Choso if you could come hang out. You hadn’t bothered waiting for him to reply, only reading that he had texted you back with a ‘yeah, door’s unlocked’ once you were standing outside.

He had dropped the chore he was doing to hug you as soon as you made it across the threshold, and you couldn’t help but close your eyes as you discreetly memorized his cologne. It’s a fresh, calming scent you could never fully place except in association with him.

Maybe you paid a little too much attention to that brief embrace, but you set aside your thoughts as you notice Choso staring at you expectantly. The fog of tea was gone, and you know that look. It had taken you years to recognize previously. Now, it is glaringly obvious as he sits across from you.

He drapes an arm over the back of the couch, “Everything alright? Is this about that guy you told me about?”

A corner of your mouth pulls down for a second, Choso could read you too easily.

“Oh, him?” You begin, and then you ultimately resign to clicking your tongue while making a slicing motion across your neck.

The space between his eyebrows furrows with concern, “What happened?”

You bite the flesh of your bottom lip, hesitating.

“Tell me.” Choso presses a large fist into his cheek, resting his elbow atop his thigh and staring at you intently.

It seems impossible for him to regard you with any sort of gaze less than piercing. In fact, Choso’s default state tends to sit in the realm of perceptiveness and placidity. It definitely came with the territory of having to watch over his little brothers for the entirety of his life thus far. He often had a hard time shutting off his protective instincts, even with his friends. Of course, that includes you.

You shrug under the intensity and partially dodge it by picking your tea back up, “He ghosted me.”

Choso reels back, offended on your behalf and tilting his head to the side with a disbelieving scoff. 

“What the fuck?”

“It's okay, it was a couple weeks ago. I’m pretty much over it, just stings a little.” You trace a finger over the rim of your beverage, glancing at him and emitting anything but confidence.

You were over your last dating attempt, but the cowardly rejection still hurt your self-confidence. It was difficult for you to accept that someone you saw potential in had neglected your feelings, and worse, for an ungiven reason. It almost makes you doubt yourself, and you hate that.

Choso makes a contemplative noise, probably reading more of your thoughts.

The idea of that forces you to straighten your posture, “I mean there’s nothing else to it. I thought we had a connection, we liked a lot of the same shit…great sex...” 

You give him a sideways glance.

Choso barely moves as you speak. The only time he does is when he blinks or swallows, the sweep of his lengthy eyelashes and dip of his Adam’s Apple punctuating his wordless reactions. The pale column of his throat stretches towards the hollow shapes of his collarbone, and you admire how they complement the strong silhouette of his shoulders. His entire frame is bulky and tall, which he claims is convenient during instances where he has to split up his younger brothers’ fights or during times when you get so plastered that he has to carry you home. The structured, milky planes of his skin are sharply contrasted by every other feature that defines the fine structure of his handsome face, all velvet, dark eyes and messily bundled strands of hair in deep shades of midnight. Even the swipe of black across his nose boldly complements the pretty set of his nose and lips. It was often a habit of Choso’s to absentmindedly tap the middle of the mark whenever he was thinking, coupled with clenching his jaw when annoyed or working hard on a task. The purpled skin underneath his lower lashes gave him a boredom marked countenance, but the gloom seemed to consistently disappear whenever he smiled.

As close as you are with him, it was sometimes hard to talk about your sex life with Choso when he always looked…like that.

Part of you has always been attracted to him, but friendship was safer. At least, that’s what you told yourself. He never said anything otherwise either, and you didn’t suspect he would.

It’s difficult to tear away from him, but you persuade your vision to analyze the cracks between the sofa cushions instead.

“Guess I missed some red flags.” You finish lamely.

Choso shakes his head, “Don’t blame yourself. That guy’s an idiot.”

You wave a hand into the air, “It’s whatever.”

“It’s not ‘whatever’.” Choso catches your eye.

You can see the broad movement of his chest tensing underneath his shirt, and the grit of his teeth in the set square of his jaw.

“I mean it’s happened before. Maybe he just had some things to work on emotionally and wasn’t ready. It’s okay.” You suggest, though you know you were being too nice with that explanation.

“It’s not. He’s an asshole.” Choso repeats, his tone even yet filled with immense reproach.

He doesn’t seem angry despite the slight scowl on his face, more frustrated. You’re not certain why though, so you decide to be blunt.

“Choso, what are you getting so worked up about?” 

Choso opts for bluntness as well, scoffing incredulously, “You don’t deserve that and you shouldn’t be making excuses for him.”

You’re a bit annoyed now, it already stung and you expected at least some consolation, not to be lectured.

“You don’t think I know that? God, you’re being an asshole.” 

His jaw clicks, and you dare him to say something with your eyes.

Choso goes quiet, settling in his seat as he lowers his sightline. 

You wonder if you were too harsh as the air in the room seems to still. Not knowing what to say, you reach out to take his hand in yours. He doesn’t look at you, but accepts your touch and delicately wraps his hand around yours. Silence descends over you both, and a shiver runs through you as Choso brushes the tops of your knuckles with his thumb.

Then, he lifts his head. His eyes are set on yours, and you know something has revealed a shadow of itself in the way he considers you. An inexplicable something.

Somehow, you know exactly what it is.

“I would have never done that to you.” Choso finally says.

As soon as the promise leaves his mouth and your eyes widen in reaction, he bows his head and touches the smooth skin of his forehead to where your hands are still woven together.

“Shit. Sorry. Don’t say anything. Please.” He intakes a breath and you blink upon hearing the tremor running through it, “Now’s not the right time for that.”

“Choso.” You let go of his hand, cradling his face instead.

He allows it, but immediately drops his gaze once you make eye contact and tries to subtly pull back from your grasp.

“No- Sorry, I just-sorry. That’s not-” He stops himself, opting to press his lips together and seal them.

Gently, you slide your hands down to the back of his neck, tucking your chin to see if you can convince him to look at you again.

“Say it.”

Hesitation, and then you feel him melting into your touch. The skin of his cheeks is cold, but when he speaks the warmth of his breathing skirts past the heels of your palms.

“I love you.” He swallows, like the admission is poisoning him, “I…want you.”

You’ve never seen Choso appear so hopeless or apologetic. 

Like it broke his heart to say it.

You don’t let the admission sink in for more than a second. You tug him forward and sense his hands startle until they automatically anchor into your waist the deeper your lips meet.

A desperate type of flavor colors the kiss, your entire body heating with unrestrained fervor as Choso’s hands move down your body and hook into your thighs. He easily hoists you up and sits you on his lap, wrapping your legs around his waist and swooning when he lets out a small moan between your lips.

Choso’s thumbs knead into the skin underneath your shirt, “Can we-”

“Yes.” You answer, and he bestows more eager kisses to your lips.

You feel him standing and you wrap your arms around his neck, swiping your tongue across his bottom lip as Choso carries you into his bedroom. Once your back hits the cool surface of his sheets, you start unbiasedly gripping fistfuls of his clothing to get it off.

“The couch would’ve been fine.” You mumble as he drags your shirt over your head.

“No.” He cages you between his arms, which are wiry and lined with veins you want to lick, “You said you hated my couch when I first moved here.”

You laugh at him remembering, and he smiles into the next kiss he gives you.

“Only the best for you.” 

“So sweet.” You kiss him back, your stomach fluttering at his genuine words.

He starts shrugging your pants off of your hips, “Something about you makes me like this.”

As soon as you’re both stripped down to your underwear, the want you hold for each other slowly takes over. You fully explore the mind hazing feeling of his tongue gliding against yours, looping your saliva together and roaming your hands over each other’s skin.

A groan leaves Choso when your fingertips stroke against the fabric tented over his hardon, his grip on you tightening and you start getting shy.

Because, well, it’s Choso.

You only ever fucked him in your head and he was pretty private about what he liked from his exes.

He seems to notice your apprehension immediately, his nose hovering by the shell of your ear, “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know what to do. With you.” You sheepishly admit.

The edge of his lip grazes your ear, “You don’t have to do anything.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, I’ll prove it.” Choso reassures, kissing your cheek, “Just give me a safe word.”

Before you can stop yourself, you tauntingly blurt out, “Couch.”

An astounded laugh leaves him, “You suck.”

“Aw, I love you too.” You respond, smirking at the immediate effect it has on him.

He bites his bottom lip to keep from grinning, but it breaks out across his face anyway.

“Come here.” Choso leans down to capture your lips once more, mumbling sweet nothings as he trails kisses down the curves of your neck.

“Leave it to me.” He whispers, licking a spot at the base of your throat and nipping the sensitive skin there.

“I’ll make you feel good. Want to.” Choso continues, tracing your body with touches of his lips and hands so dedicated to pleasing you that you become wracked with trembles.

He tweaks your nipples with pinches of his fingers, teasing the taut peaks further with his tongue. 

“Ah, Ch-Choso.” You arch your back, clutching at one of his hands as he uses the other to push the side of your hip flat to his bed.

“Wait.” He softly instructs, continuing to squeeze and lick your tits until you’re squirming underneath him.

Rushes of adrenaline roll down your body, collecting in your thudding core and visibly leaking your excitement into the cloth covering your sex. Choso is patient and attentive, and you wonder how embarrassing it would be if you came just from him playing with your tits.

Choso breathlessly rubs his thumbs back and forth over your nipples, concentrating on the growing splotch between your legs and your whimpering lips.

“Is this turning you on? You’re getting all wet. It’s cute.” 

You try to keep a straight face, but you know that it’s not working. Hiding from Choso never worked.

He openly chuckles at the sight of you struggling, and you shiver from the low reverberation of it.

Choso coos at your obvious need, “Okay, okay. I’ll stop teasing.” 

One last kiss to the marks he left on your chest, and then he crouches down to adorn the middle of your waist with a slow path of kisses to where you want him the most.

“So wet. Fuck, I’m getting so hard.” He mutters, pressing his lips to each side of your inner thighs.

“You don’t mind right?” He pulls at the waistband of your underwear, the sizable imprint of your arousal drenching the front.

“No.” You say quickly, bucking your hips into his face, “Want it. Please.” 

He unfurls his tongue, using the pointed tip to draw a pensive line down the thin material ruined by your desperate cunt.

“I want it too.” 

Sounds of satisfaction leave him more and more as he adds to the slick staining your panties. He kisses along the hems and then finally bunches them past your ankles to unceremoniously toss them on the floor.

Choso takes in the messy view of your pussy for mere seconds, and then he’s gripping at your bare ass to languidly stroke up and down your folds with the pink of his tongue. 

As frantic and filthy as his motions are, he takes his time when his tongue starts swiping into your slick warmth. 

You think he might be talking between noisy gulps of pussy, but you honestly aren’t listening and far more focused on how his nose periodically nestles against your clit. The malleable swells of your ass are spread apart by Choso as he continuously drools and bends his tongue into your excited walls.

He seems to like how your fluids dribble along his tongue, beading into his throat and giving him mouthfuls of your cunt.

The enthusiasm he has is so endearing that you reach for his hands, wanting to reciprocate with some sort of connection. The skim of skin has him glimpsing up at you before he takes both of your hands in his.

Choso’s thumb steadily rubbing across the tense grooves of your knuckles is so different from the firm, dizzying laps of his tongue, but you adore them both. 

Once he’s collected enough of your precum on the flat of his tongue, he starts making long licks up the seams of your pussy that end with aggressively circling his tongue around the swollen flesh of your clit. Sucking at your clit, he devours every creamy drop of lust from your pussy so fast and well that you can hardly tell if he’s breathing anymore.

You possess a similar struggle, your vision turning to static and your breath continuously getting caught in your chest from how good he’s eating you up. 

He’s moaning unbiasedly into you, like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. Like every squishy piece of your cunt is saturated with pure sugar and sex.

Choso then lets go of one of your hands, reaching his fingertips over your thigh and then placing the tips on your soaked nub. He rubs it back and forth, pressing the pads down in a bliss inducing pattern as he keeps fucking open your cunt with his tongue.

You feel every tastebud on his tongue twisting against your walls as far as he can reach, the hum of his lips buzzing electricity throughout your core.

It’s so good that you don’t even realize how many times you’ve already cummed into his mouth. All you can do is flinch and surrender under his keen administrations.

Wanton cries part your lips, and although your vision is blurry you manage to see Choso giving your wetness one last lick before he rises to kneel in front of you.

He keeps giving your clit loving attention, forcing your hips into a taut curve as he tucks his thighs beneath yours and lines himself up to your pulsing sex.

You peek over your quivering breasts to see the defined shape of his dick, the hardness twitching and grooved with aching veins. He’s as big as you expected, and just seeing his girthy cock is already making your stomach ache and twist. The head is swollen thick with a slit sheened in precum, a glob of it slithering over the sides and forming a dewy drop next to the coarse nest of hair over his balls. He holds the base while looking into your eyes, and the thickness twitches in his hand.

“Say the safe word if you need it, okay?”

Choso makes sure you’re watching him, and at your faint nod, he starts pushing in.

He doesn’t stop mashing your clit back and forth with the stickied pads of his fingers, slowly stuffing you with his cock and bringing your hips together.

“W-wait. Choso-I’m about to-!”

You’re cumming again as he puts his dick in, sliding in so effortlessly it’s like he was always meant to be there.

“Oh, fuck!” You let out a whine as you begin recklessly fucking into each other, each synced push of your hips leaving you both gasping.

“Your cum feels so good on my dick.” Choso groans, the whites of his eyes showing as he reels his hips back.

“Want more of it. Gonna keep making you cum.” He pants, pumping faster and prodding at your cervix.

He hits an eye crossing spot in the ceiling of your pussy, and that’s when your whole body seizes again.

“Stay there. S-Stay, please please please, Choso.” You nearly black out between begs, but Choso doesn’t have to hear it more than once.

“I got you, here. Here.” He grunts, clasping your hands in his again to hit that spot within you until you’re screaming.

Choso stops to look at you every now and then, tenderly scanning your face to make sure you feel nothing but pleasure.

“Oh my god!” Your nails indent crescents into the backs of his hands and he slots his tongue into your mouth in time to hush your next delight filled mewl.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum.” You can feel every stutter of his hips, and his pupils are completely blown out as he urgently searches your eyes, “Wanna cum with me?”

“Mm,” You taste the salt of your tears pooling in the corners of your mouth, “Please, Choso. Now, please.”

Instead of answering, he kisses you, forcing you to only hear the sounds of his tongue in your mouth and the squish of your pussy as its molded into the shape of his dick. It pummels into your walls until you can’t deny each other any longer.

“I’m cumming- Ah- Choso-” You weakly confess, Choso’s ropy gushes of cum following the spurts of heady fluid from your overwhelmed pussy.

“Good girl.” He says, observing you through a half lidded squint and the cloudy lens of his own uncontrollable shudders, “Good girl. Good girl. Showing me how good you feel? Thank you.”

Wispy whines prelude Choso pulling out, and he soothes his hands over the ravaged areas of your body as you do your best to hold onto his neck and stop shaking.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He murmurs into your hair, delicately kissing a spot on your jawline, “You were so good for me. Perfect.”

He lays you onto the bed, cupping your chin and dotting your face with more kisses.

“I’m gonna clean you up, ‘kay?”

You make a tiny sound of agreement, and Choso rests a hand along your body as he makes his way off of the bed, only separating at the last possible moment.

He returns quickly, wiping you off with a warm, wet cloth and then taking you back in his arms while covering you with his fluffy comforter.

“Sorry I had to go.” Choso settles you on his chest, enveloping his hands behind your lower back.

“It’s okay, thank you.” You kiss the base of his neck, sighing into his skin.

“I really like you.” He says, and you poke fun at the sudden, timid proclamation. 

“I know,” You gesture to the marks he spotted all over your body, and at one you bit on the side of his throat, “I really like you too.”

“Yeah? Got a little crush?” He muses, preening at your proximity.

“Huge one.” You shift closer.

“That’s funny, me too.”

“Embarrassing.” You tease, moving your gaze to his cupid’s bow.

Choso lets out a long exhale, “I know. Can’t help it though.” 

You give him a happy peck on the lips, and he cradles the back of your head as he sweetly returns it.

A pout accompanies the wave of exhaustion that floods you when you pull away from Choso, “I want to keep talking to you, but I’m so sleepy.”

“We can talk for a little longer. Whatever you like, as long as I can keep holding you.” Choso bargains, and the offer makes your heart melt.

“Sounds fair to me.” You beam, and he kisses your forehead.

“My heart’s still beating like crazy.” He admits, skating his fingers around your face.

“Mine too.”

Choso’s fingertips fall to your lips, cascading along your chin and neck before settling between your shoulder blades. A thoughtful hum leaves him as he lightly rakes his fingers across the space of skin, studying the places he bruised on your neck.

He briefly presses his lips together, “Okay, I’m going to calm down.” 

Even as he says so, his breathing hitches when you wink at him.

“Okay, you do that.”

He inhales, and a beat of silence occupies the space between you too.

“God,” Choso cranes his neck to inch closer, “You smell so good.”

“Choso.” You admonish playfully, propping yourself up to create some distance.

“Okay, okay. I’m sleeping.”

He settles into the sheets, loosening his grip on you and pretending to close his eyes. You almost believe him, but your instinct doesn’t at all.

Handfuls of seconds tick by, and then he peeks his eyes open, an enamored smile cinching his mouth upwards.

“Hi.” You give him a cheeky wave with a couple of fingers.

“Hi.”

In an instant, he showers you with kisses, smushing your cheeks with a hand and making your heart swell.

“Okay. Now-” Another couple of sleepy kisses are paired with a content sound that you echo.

“I’m done.” He lets go of your face, sinking back against his pillow and genuine sleepiness now overtaking his voice.

“Goodnight.”

You snuggle into the nape of his neck, worn out from your shared affections, “Goodnight, Choso.”

_________________

The sun drapes its silken rays through Choso’s windows the next morning, muted orange urging you to wake.

A relaxing, undulating motion lulls you out of your slumber. You haven’t moved at all from your position on Choso’s chest, the solid muscle of his stature supporting your aching figure. The natural inclination to raise your head and check if Choso is awake becomes interrupted by the sensation of him tenderly stroking your hair.

And, he’s talking quietly.

“So beautiful, even asleep.” He tries to stifle a good natured laugh, but you still feel it a little between your hearts.

“I don’t think you even know how precious you are to me…how highly I think of you. I can talk to you about anything.”

“You’re gorgeous too. Drives me crazy.” He curls a strand of hair around your ear and repeats it more softly.

“...Gorgeous.”

Like it’s your name.

“I don’t think I’ve said all of this to you yet. At least when you’re awake. If you ever woke up during one of our camping trips or after party sleepovers I would probably die of embarrassment.”

He makes a thinking sound, and it ripples through you. You’re speechless.

“You know it’s kind of stupid, I always imagine talking to you. What you would say, how you might react to some good news I have. You exceed my expectations every time though. It’s pretty close to pathetic-”

Choso scoffs and it’s tinged with shame, “I hang on every word you say.”

The confession has you starstruck, you had been so clueless.

“I don’t even remember when I started falling for you, maybe a few months after we met? When I finally asked myself why I hated every guy you dated? Or, maybe after you met my brothers for the first time, and they told me I looked at you like you put the stars in the sky. I don’t think I realized it even then. Didn’t wanna freak you out, I didn’t want you to think I only wanted to be your friend to get in your pants. I’d fucking hate myself if you ever thought that.”

Deep exhales wash over you, “I hope I don’t fuck this up, for as long as you’ll have me.”

The dark haired man gives the top of your head a kiss, and then lets out another sigh.

“You’re my best friend. I love you. Every time I think about love, I think about you.”

He contemplatively plays with your hair, using another hand to draw random shapes into your back.

“I always, always think about you.”

The well of emotion in your heart nearly spills over, you don’t think anyone has ever told you anything close to the casual details Choso shares about his thoughts on you.

You try to keep your tears in, but Choso continues with a small snicker, “I’m getting ahead of myself…but that’s how I feel. I hope you wake up soon, I miss you.”

There’s a pause, and you finally can’t take it anymore, tears fall from your eyes at the doting words you unintendedly overheard.

“What’s going on? Hey, wake up.” Choso is immediately concerned, holding you close and tucking your hair away from your face.

“Nothing, I just - I’m really happy to wake up next to you. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how I felt sooner.”

“That’s alright. You’re worth the wait.”

Choso never seems to run short of patience or kindness for you.

He wipes at your tears, “What are we going to do today?”

You cease your sniffling, pacified by his considerate assurances, “Um, I don’t know. It’s the weekend, we could get breakfast and then watch that movie we had been meaning to last night?”

“That sounds good.” Choso kisses your cheek.

You yawn after stretching your arms out, “Oh, do you have popcorn? I really want some.” 

“Some what?” Choso mumbles, caressing your sides.

“Are you even listening to me?” You jokingly narrow your eyes.

“Of course, hang on every word you say.” Choso lifts his chin, smirking.

You bring yourself nearer, nose to nose, “Oh, so you can compliment me when I’m awake too?”

He pales in epiphany, “That’s-”

You use a kiss to muffle his protest, “I was hanging on every word too. Believe me.”

Choso softens completely, a myriad of stars speckled in his eyes as he stares up at you. You drink in his utterly captivated face, the effort of last night dewing his features and blooming on his musculature. 

You know exactly what he’s thinking, and he confirms it when he speaks again.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Choso.”

_________________

End Notes:

i feel like choso likes plants bc he likes taking care of people/things🌱✨

comments and messages on this are appreciated if you'd like to leave one <3

[theshitpostcalligrapher]

req'd by @yonlionz

oh this'd make for a good banner feel free to use, folks

text: The ungiven fuck personified

[galahadwilder]

Gifts Ungiven

Once upon a time

In a refrigerator in Brooklyn

There was a bottle of coffee

And a Tupperware box.

There was nothing special about the bottle of coffee.

There was something special about the Tupperware box.

Both of them were the last pieces I had of you.

The Tupperware had a Polish pastry

Handmade by your mother

That I could never bring myself to eat.

The coffee I’d bought for you for our trip to Maine

But I’d forgotten it before we left

And I don’t drink coffee, so it waited for you.

Things ended before I could give you the coffee.

Things ended before I could return the Tupperware.

There is a special grief in gifts ungiven.

We do not leave each other’s lives cleanly.

There is always detritus

Physical things

That carry the weight of all our memories.

They were never meant to.

A plastic bottle of coffee

Should not be asked

To hold the weight

Of my now-rootless love.

My memories have never been kind to you.

I was, when we were—I was kind,

To the real you,

The person you,

But the you in my memory

Is buried in anger

Because I wanted to love you

And you decided, halfway in,

That you didn’t want to be loved.

You were scared.

You were sad.

You were lonely.

You weren’t ready.

How could I have failed to forgive you?

WHY did I fail to forgive you?

Why did I forget that I loved you?

I have spent 5 years

Telling myself

You never mattered to me.

But a bottle of coffee

And a Tupperware box

Sat unopened, unremoved

Lodged in my mind

Long after the apartment was gone.

5 years and 2 cities later

The coffee and the box

They haunt me.

They haunt me still.

What is grief but gifts ungiven?

You were as kind to me

As you could be

With how sad you were

And it hurt

Because nobody I tried to replace you with

Has ever been kind

Not like you were

I wish I could have made you happy.

I wish I knew whether you were happy now.

I hope that you’ve found someone

To take that sadness away

Because you always meant more to me

Than I let myself believe

And you don’t deserve

The hell that lives in your mind.

My love to you was a gift ungiven.

I carry it with me still.

There is nothing left of you in me

Save for the sadness in your eyes

The uncertainty in your voice

And a bottle of coffee

And a Tupperware box.

And there is always a fear in me now

Of ragged endings

Of gifts ungiven.

So let me give you this one

The last gift I can offer you:

I forgive you

You mattered

And

For what it’s worth

I’m sorry.

[rspoetry]

The things we left behind,

All the words left unsaid,

All the flowers left ungiven.

I never told you why I ran away like that,

I'll probably never have the chance to.

But know that every poem,

Every letter,

Every sentence,

Every breath I take,

They're all for you.

I hope that everytime you read my words,

You'll realize that my love runs deeper than what my actions showed.

[highlordofkrypton]

ACOTAR Omegaverse Week // Day 1 - Nesting

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

SUMMARY: Tamlin's things have been going missing from his manor in the Spring Court. More specifically, all the clothes Rhysand has gifted him are disappearing one by one. It's time for him to get to the bottom of this mystery.

PAIRING: Alpha Tamlin x Omega Rhysand

TAGS: General Audiences, fluff, light angst, nesting, no smut

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Ahhh, my very first entry to @acotar-omegaverse-week! I've never written for Omegaverse before, so this is totally new to me. Hopefully, as the week goes on I get a better grasp of the universe. I hope you guys like it!

TAMLIN AND THE CURIOUS CASE OF UNGIVEN THINGS

That's strange… It was here just last night.

Tamlin stares at the plush velvet chair by his closet, the one where he tosses things that he is either far too lazy to put away in the separate room three feet away dedicated to his and his mate's clothes, or that he uses frequently enough that there is no point in putting it away. The shawl was made of white fur, purchased somewhere in the Winter Court—or so Rhysand told him.

He liked that shawl. It was nice to throw over his shoulder and run his hands through its softness, absent-minded, while working.

Perhaps it has been sent to cleaning.

The High Lord catches Alis, startling the little urisk who was puttering around the manor chasing chirping dustmites with her broom.

"My lord!" She straightens, as if she should never offend him with the sight of her… doing her work. Alis has old values, ones that Tamlin does not particularly adhere to.

"Good morning, Alis. Have you seen my shawl? The white one?" Tamlin describes it, holding his hands out to better show its size. "I would think it was sent to cleaning since it's not on my chair."

"No, no… I instructed the others not to touch anything on your chair unless you put it away for cleaning." Alis hums. It's better that way, so not to assume their lord was done using it when he still needs it. "Perhaps someone took it by accident. I hope it's not another sock elf."

"I thought we put out old clothes for them to steal instead of our laundry." Tamlin frowns. The sock-elves had stolen a sweater he rather liked, too.

"I thought so, too. I will look into this myself, my lord." Alis bows and shuffles away as quickly as she can without running.

Maybe he shouldn't kick up such a fuss. A new shawl can easily be bought, but he doesn't have the heart to tell Rhysand that he lost yet another gift from him. Come to think of it, Rhysand has been giving him a lot of things lately. Tamlin should give him something in return; he's been so busy with work, the gifts must have been a quiet way to ask for his attention.

Rhysand, much like the shawl, is nowhere to be found in the manor. He left a note on their beside table, a vague but trustworthy 'be back soon'. His absence gives Tamlin time to think of a way to shower him with the adoration he deserves, so he gathers a piece of hand-pressed parchment, a quill with gold ink and heads to his library to sit in his favourite chair—

"My chair is missing?"

Now this is ridiculous. It was an egg-shaped chair with a base made of marble and a very comfortable cushion. The chair was large enough to accommodate Tamlin both in his already massive Faerie form and in his beastly shape, should he want to curl up in something den-like.

"Your what?" Rhysand asks, popping his head into the library.

"My chair. My favourite chair. It's missing." Tamlin motions at the very empty spot in the very full library. There's even a circle on the ground of dust and discolouration where it used to be—that's how long it was there.

"Oh my," Rhysand says in muted concern. "This is a tragedy. Oh well, we'll just have to order a new one."

"I don't want to order a new one. I liked that one. Do you know how long it takes to get the cushions to fit you just right?" It also smells of him, his childhood, and it has all the memories that matter. "What if they don't make them exactly like that anymore?"

Tamlin huffs, trying not to pout. Oh, if the other Lords could see him now, sulking because he can't find his favourite egg-shaped chair.

Rhysand approaches him, reaching up to cup his cheek and caress it with his thumb. "I'm sure it'll be alright. I remember the exact dimensions. We'll get you a new one and break it in together?" He grins.

The thought of marking their territory and just basking in each other, erasing the scent of anyone else who's ever touched the chair makes him happy. Tamlin is a simple faerie; he asks for very little, and if Rhysand promised to cuddle him for all eternity and nothing else, he would be a very, very happy man.

Tamlin leans in, pressing a kiss against Rhysand's lips, smiling, and pulling him close. He moves to his neck, breathing in the scent of him and nipping at the skin there lightly. Humming, a very different kind of territorialism spurs in him.

"Wait, wait," Rhysand palms his chest, politely asking for distance. "I wanted to give you another gift."

The Night Prince steps back, opening a drawer encrusted in one of the ornate wooden bookshelves and pulls out a black box. He hands it to Tamlin.

"What… What is this for? Rhys, you're spoiling me. I should be begging for your forgiveness for being busy." Tamlin accepts the gift, but doesn't open it. "You should know," he starts, looking openly guilty. "I keep misplacing the things you've given me. I suspect we may have a sock-elf problem, but I should have been more careful."

Rhysand smiles; he isn't angry at all. "Things are… things. What matters to me is being able to give you these gifts. Even if you make use of them for just a day, it's good enough for me. Open it."

Tamlin kisses Rhysand again, opening the gift. It's a beautiful dark green robe, almost black, that glimmers with colours when held directly under sunlight. It's beautiful. More importantly, it's so soft and velvety.

"You should wear it. Make sure the size is right," Rhysand grins.

***

There's only so much Tamlin can lose before it starts to keep him up at night. The beautiful deep emerald robe disappeared after a day of having it, which is a record, honestly. He can't pass it off as a conniving creature playing a trick on him anymore. It's now a reflection of his capabilities as High Lord. A skill issue, per say.

Then again, he could be awake because the right side of his bed is empty and there is nothing more sobering that missing a part of him.

Tamlin worries. Everyone knows that.

He sits up on his bed and realizes his sheets are missing too? What is going on? Tamlin expects the slide of cool spidersilk against his bare skin, and though he naturally runs hot and kicks the sheets off, he still expects them to be there.

A part of him wonders if Rhysand was kidnapped, bundled up in the fancy sheets he insisted on and carried away into the night. The thought makes Tamlin jealous. If there is any sweeping away to be done, it is by him and him alone.

Fuck taking the stairs; Tamlin must find his mate quickly. He blows open the windows with a hint of magic, launching himself out of his manor and tumbling onto the ground, two floors down, with ease and grace. He sniffs the air, and locks onto the scent, sprinting straight into his forest.

Any other night, he would drink in the beauty of the trees, the symphony of the cicadas, the owls and the foxes, but Tamlin is on a mission. He cannot and will not be stopped until he finds his mate. His hunt takes him down a familiar path, straight towards his second home—a den that he played in as a child, then turned into his own safe haven as he grew older and his father grew crueler. It is the only place where his secrets are harboured and his vulnerabilities are shown.

He hasn't needed his den since Rhysand came into his life—since Rhysand stayed in it.

Tamlin blinks, and his eyes shift to better accommodate the darkness.

"Rhys? I know you're in here."

No response.

As he steps into his den, he realizes… it's been transformed.

The den has always been nothing more than a cave. It's walls were enough to make him feel safe and he would always sleep facing its entrance. No one could get him without his knowledge. The animals would visit and watch over him, of course, but no one else was welcome. (Not until Rhysand.)

Now, it's brimming with things. All the things Tamlin thought he lost, the gifts ungiven and taken back by one clever mate. He walks along the edges, touching the portraits of them and of Rhysand's family. He finds nearly every toy from his childhood; his mother had tried to save what she could from his father's annihilation of his childhood, and Rhysand must have found where she hid them. Tamlin picks up a toy cart with a long, long string. He used to fill this thing with flowers and berries, then drag it along behind him through the forest and all over the manor.

There are books here too. Tamlin recognizes them as Rhysand's. The Spring Court has never tolerated human 'fairy-tales' and he only knows of them because Rhysand has read him each one as proof that humans are brilliant.

Naturally, his egg-chair is here, too. Tucked at the back of the cave, right up against the wall, its opening is blocked by pillows upon pillows. Rhysand's scent leads right to it.

Tamlin tries to hide his smile as he leans in and plucks one pillow out. The rest start to topple, but Tamlin is careful to push them inwards into the nest.

"It seems I have found my thief."

Rhysand's expression is far too cool for someone buried to the neck in Tamlin's clothes.

He's hiding.

That's the problem with faeries like them. The way they were raised—it didn't matter what their natures were. They needed to be exactly what their fathers needed of them. Tamlin needed to be strong and immovable. Soft things were barred from him, even his heart needed to be made of stone. Rhysand needed to be sharp, but not bothersome. He always handles things alone.

Tamlin doesn't ask why he wasn't told or invited to help.

"May I enter?"

Rhysand shrinks into his pile, hiding his face except his watchful violet eyes. "You may," he says without a hint of emotion.

Tamlin crawls into the nest, careful not to squish Rhysand or disturb the hoard of things. Rhysand likes his things in particular order. Tamlin has no preference, so he's happy to adjust to his mate.

"I'm wounded," Tamlin sighs dramatically, taking Rhysand's own words and intonation for when he isn't getting his way. "My mate would rather my things than me and my," he pauses, trying to find a word that only Rhysand would use. "Luscious self?"

"Luscious? I do not say luscious." Rhysand unburies himself to glare at Tamlin. "You were busy."

"And you know that I would drop everything for you, if you told me you were nesting."

"I don't need you to drop everything. I have everything under control." Rhysand's jaw ticks, determined to handle himself. Were they in the Night Court, Rhysand would run his court, nest and make sure that Tamlin doesn't lift a finger because that's just who he is.

Tamlin crawls closer, squishing him purposely this time.

"Then control me," Tamlin leans in, breathing his words against Rhysand's warm lips. "Fit me into your plans. Hoard me like all these things. I am yours," he reminds his mate, kissing him slowly. "Do with me as you please, as long as you're doing it with me."

All this is new to both of them.

Tamlin has always known his dominant Alpha nature, and for his own safety, he had to swallow back his instincts. He wasn't afraid of what his father would do to him, but rather everyone else between them—his brothers, his mother and everyone Tamlin has even glanced at. The battle between Alphas is ugly and violent, especially in the transition of power. At the end, they both knew it was his father's mistake for not killing him at birth.

For Rhysand, Tamlin knows it was the opposite. Suppress, suppress, suppress, was his mantra. Not only did he have to hide, but he needed to deny every instinct within him. At least Tamlin could be a lesser version of himself, but Rhysand…

"You are perfect." Tamlin whispers between kisses. "You are stronger than I am."

"Liar," Rhysand denies.

"You are," Tamlin hums, catching his lower lip between his teeth. "I wouldn't have been able to do this alone. I need you by my side. Also, my den is a lot cozier than it was before. I might have to move out here."

Rhysand rolls his eyes and kicks at him from the layers of stolen clothes. "Flatterer." He says, clearly won over.

Tamlin pushes the clothing aside, snuggles in beside Rhysand and curls at his side, before putting the nest as it was. He says nothing, happy to kiss Rhysand's shoulder and listen to him breathing.

"I want to have a baby," Rhysand says suddenly.

The confession has Tamlin tensing, a reaction that comes from deep within rather than anything to do with actual thoughts. He eases after a moment. "Okay."

"I'm not even sure we'd be good," Rhysand can't even finish the sentence. The shame is visceral. His mother did her best and his father was selective in his affections. He knows how true mates love each other, and he knows how it feels when an Alpha rejects his offspring. It's not that he thinks Tamlin would—Tamlin would be a great father. "I just… With you… I feel ready. My body wants…"

The half-Illyrian flushes, turning to try and bury his face against Tamlin, but they only end up in a more intimate position, foreheads pressed against one another. Tamlin can see the worry on his face. Tamlin kisses them way.

"We will be good parents."

"How do you know?"

"Because we know pain. We know everything not to do."

Tamlin will never raise a hand against his mate or his children. He will never use them as weapons. He will listen when they speak. Everything his mind and body has come to know—all the violence and punishment he has come to expect—he will go against it. He will raise his little ones without fear. They will be free to be happy.

"That's horrible, you know that right?"

"But it's the truth." Tamlin assures, nuzzling Rhysand. "We have all the time in the world. You can over analyze this as much as you need," he teases.

"Oh, fuck you."

The Spring Lord grinds against Rhysand's hip with a playful grin. "Mmm, is that a request?"