#m. answer

are you their type?

☠ pushing them against a wall

                         he’d caught her completely off guard.

   her breath hitched as she hit the wall, eyes wide with shock. she was so used to nothing but verbal sparring between them that she’d become too relaxed with his movements. she was slipping up. Zara wondered if he’d been waiting for that --- for an opening. for a moment of being the one in control. at these thoughts, her stunned expression warped into the beginnings of a scowl, the doctor’s hands slowly balling into fists at her sides.

          ❝ now what, mr. Newton? ❞

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@blessedrulers said: sorry Haru Hayden is not a good chew toy, squeaker too loud

winter prompts // @valorspat

part of her couldn't believe this had been approved by human resources, but the other part of her could entirely believe astrid would organize something like this.

perhaps that was why the party was held so informally at the woman's own home — quite luxurious for an hr director. what rich man did she say she was dating this week? a soccer star? it was always someone new, exotic, and exciting with the older woman; haru didn't know how she kept up with it. the cat was barely able to keep up with her own dance, even with some liquid courage flowing through her at this point in the night.

the alcohol had her cozy (what little she'd had — placebo, perhaps), somewhat numbing the butterflies in her stomach at the sight of the mistletoe above. how conveniently placed, she would think, had she been more inhibited. but part of her felt like this was a chance to make something — anything — happen. it had her grey eyes draw to the side to see the snowy haired man beside her, her cheeks rosy. [ was that from the drinks? or something else? ]

"...phainon — um."

there is still a little hesitation, the feeling of knots tightening in her stomach as she debated on what to do. grey hues move briefly back up to the parcel above, before she turns back to lean down and press her lips to his cheek. it was in the holiday spirit, wasn't it? to kiss him like this?

thoughts scramble to rationalize the action even after she draws back, haru able to feel the warmth radiating from her own face from her self-consciousness. heart races as she searches phainon's gaze for his reaction. lips part to speak, but the twists in her stomach stop her, instead pulling her back in to softly press her mouth directly to his own. warm hand comes up to cup his cheek as she lingers — perhaps a moment too long — before breaking away.

her hand retracts to gently touch her own lips; what did she just do? they were coworkers — surely he hadn't actually wanted a kiss in that particular manner. her brain is instantly buzzing with anxiety as her gaze drops, cheeks red, suddenly very sheepish. no trace of her earlier bravery remained.

"w-well — merry, ah... merry christmas, phainon."

kisses // @valorspat

the night is so dark, save for the light of the moon, shining brightly above. a rain of fireworks goes off above you, cheers are heard all around you, and you smile. it's new year's day. your grey eyes risk a soft glance at the man beside you, a sweetness coming over your features as he's bathed in the colorful lights showering down from the sky. the smile on his face is like a flame, always warming you no matter the circumstance. you two had been dancing for a while now — even before the moment you'd shared at christmas. your gaze drops from his face to his hands, one of your own reaching out to gently lock a couple fingers in intent. when your eyes meet again, a shy smile pulls at the corner of your mouth. you can feel your heart pounding in your chest as you bravely lean forward, pressing your lips to his. your hand shifts to lock properly with his own, the other coming up to cup his cheek. your smile grows. happy new year, you chime beneath the boom of the fireworks. you wonder if he can even hear you.

a purr rises from within you as you stretch your limbs, body still fresh from sleep, before entangling yourself in him. arms wrap around him, one hand threading into his hair while the other strokes the feathers of his wing. his warmth was in full as the first traces of his light peek above the horizon, filtering through the trees and shining gold upon your nest. you hook one leg up and around him, planting slow, purposeful kisses against his clavicle — you don't want him to leave. your kisses trail up his neck, a hum passing your lips at the pulse of him, before reaching his jaw. you press closer, chest to chest, as you ask if he has to go — the answer always the same. you pause for a moment, a disappointed whine sitting on your tongue as your feline ears flatten. you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, holding him tighter; this was your least favorite part of every day. slowly, still groggy with sleep, you shift to straddle atop him, reaching out to gently wrap your hands around his wrists. you steadily push his arms above his head as you lean forward, sensually molding your lips to his own. stay, you murmur between breaths. stay, stay, stay. but you know he has to go — you are only prolonging the inevitable. you release his wrists in favor of cupping his face, one last, deep kiss shared between you before you retreat. tonight then, you make him promise. and tomorrow night, and the next night too. the vine of snowbells glows softly on your ring finger as he vanishes into the morning light.

it was cold, the rain having chilled you near to the bone by the time the pair of you had found a place to stop for cover. you don't know who used to live in this shack, but it looked like it had been abandoned for a long while. the shawl you'd used to cover yourself was soaked, but it felt no better to toss it aside — no, the only thing that had managed to alleviate the iciness of your skin was him, laying there with you. you could tell he was just as nervous as you were, you can feel his heart pounding. could he feel yours as well? you still didn't know quite what it was between you, what drove you to act so foolishly around him — or perhaps you did know, but refused to acknowledge it. allowing your retainer to convince you to dress a certain way to garner his attention, always wanting to spend time alone with him... trusting him to help you run away. there is a heat to your cheeks that fights against the sting of the cold, and you huddle closer to him beneath the fur blankets. your heart feels like it's in your throat as you shift, turning in the bed to face him. there is an uncertainty to your expression; something in you hopes to find an answer in his gaze, despite not even knowing what question you're trying to ask. you whisper his name as you ease in, your lips barely brushing against his, before you hear your own name called in the night; your retainer is looking for you. you exhale a shaky breath, face completely red as you quickly withdraw, immediately sliding out of bed only to be struck by the cold. you'd just given a knight your first kiss. you can scarcely believe it, unable to face the other for fear of his reaction. you hadn't even asked him. you do everything you can to steady yourself as your retainer approaches the door, though you can't seem to bring your gaze away from your feet. your first kiss... the shame you are meant to feel, the embarrassment. but somewhere deep in your heart, there is a joyful sense of relief.

unpopular opinions

🚩 rp isn't even about writing anymore. people talk ab having no interactions when all they do is post memes and write ooc chat. people send them said memes (i know bc it's me, i'm usually 'people'), like their starter calls, plot calls, etc. and then they just make another post ab how no one wants to write w them. or how they feel lonely and sad bc they don't have a lot going on. or they just post more memes and make more calls. or some combination of them all. newsflash: you have to write in this hobby. so many people spend all this time making the most aesthetic graphics and icons and carrds but then fail to write literally anything ever. and it isn't even just threads they aren't writing, they don't even talk ab their characters or their lore. anything relevant to the hobby at all. people talk ab rp dying or how people are turning to c.ai and other programs to simulate writing but i believe this is in part due to no one actually being willing to do the work required to write with another actual person. people want the dopamine hit of a little heart on their starter call or an ask in their inbox and then don't do anything with them and then wonder why they "gain less traction than others". you don't have to write every day, you don't have to be pumping out drafts. just fucking do something with the medium. you have to fucking interact. and ngl if you're not going to interact, then go to pinterest. if you just want to be a fucking aesthetic or musings or faceclaim only blog you may as well just make a damn board and leave.

🚩 many people do not actually understand or respect "dead dove: do not eat" or whatever the hell the tag is now to say that you write dark subject matter. like genuine dark subject matter. OR they say they do, may even have their own blog labeled that way, but then certain dark subject matter is somehow just not okay. or they don't even really partake in it at all, don't actually comprehend what they are talking about and / or are advertising of themselves. the return of puritanical culture in a time of declining media literacy has caused some folks to 'woke' themselves into being fucking stupid. people will praise published works like the GoT universe, that has an insane amount of dark subject matter (including darkshipping, which is categorized under but not all inclusive of dark subject matter), but then frown upon the humble role player who wants to engage in the same tropes and topics. witch hunts commence because people suddenly no longer seem to understand that mun ≠ muse, like that understanding seems to be disappearing more and more as time goes on. there seems to be some disconnect now in the knowledge that these characters are not real. they do not exist. they are figments in our mind or pixels on a screen. they are actors doing their jobs, writers creating entertaining and engaging content. people see dark subject matter and assume the writers' hard drives must be checked because surely if they have interest in specific dark tropes in fiction then they must believe in it in reality. y'all realize we were all born with our own morals and values, right? that our frontal cortex has the developed ability to distinguish the difference between right and wrong? you can read ab non-existent fictional beings doing horrible things and go "gosh, that's horrible... it's a good thing i would never do that"? or do you need the fucking bible to tell you thou shalt not kill, since you apparently can't figure out on your own that killing is bad? fucking buffoonery.