I got a guy hard from just having him sit his head in my lap while i played with his hair tonight. It was honestly so adorable.
Today's Document

Kiana Khansmith
ojovivo
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Jules of Nature

Kaledo Art

oozey mess
Monterey Bay Aquarium
No title available
d e v o n
KIROKAZE
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me

No title available
No title available
Sade Olutola
dirt enthusiast
Misplaced Lens Cap
No title available
YOU ARE THE REASON

Janaina Medeiros
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from Kenya

seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Ecuador

seen from Canada

seen from Germany
@winter-berries
I got a guy hard from just having him sit his head in my lap while i played with his hair tonight. It was honestly so adorable.
every inch on his face lights up my world ♡
IG : intoyou_global
good god pink looks SO GOOD on him
“YOU DIDN’T WAIT” “I DID WAIT”
OP didn’t think we’d notice them using the same pictures twice
Bucky: You have to accept your flaws, like I have.
Walker: You've accepted your flaws?
Bucky: No, I've accepted yours.
Published September 1, 1997 © JK
Presenting the Golden Romance Collection, a series of vintage romance novels dedicated to my favorite hopeless romantic. I love you and wish you every cliche and happily-ever-after of your dreams ♡
deeply believe that bucky makes shit up about what the forties were like to piss sam off. ragebaiter x ragebaiter dynamic
100% they’re both ragebaiters. also believed they would’ve both done it to peter, had they been given the chance to be one big dysfunctional happy family
my love language is a violent immortal with no soul falling so in love with me that he completely changes himself for the better and worships the ground i walk on
female protagonists will literally go through 30 life altering traumas at the age of 16 and you ppl still have the audacity to call them annoying bc they cry about it and act like teenage girls
If Marvel didn't want Sam and Bucky to be gay and in love they really should have told Anthony Mackie and Sebastian Stan to stop gazing longingly and with so much fucking yearning at each other.
Finally a response for when people harass fanfic writers and repeatedly ask how we would feel if idols read these stories.
the panic that went through the room was insane, especially when a few members kept jokingly “changing their minds” 💀
reverence, rewritten | k.m
⎯⎯ Niklaus is not hiding her out of shame. He is hiding her out of worship.
warnings: kinda possessive, Elijah pov.
Niklaus had always been a creature of patterns—destructive ones, typically.
Vanishing for hours to paint in violent solitude. Appearing in parlors with blood on his collar and a smile like ruin. Drowning himself in the wine of women who meant nothing to him, burning cities and loyalties alike when the emptiness caught up to him again.
But this... This was different.
Lately, there was a rhythm to him that Elijah had never seen before. A quieting. His wrath came slower, with hesitation at the edge of it. He declined the usual hunts. No bodies turned up in the river. He even let an insult slide at last week’s council gathering—something that would have cost a man his jaw not three months ago.
At first, Elijah assumed Klaus was simply plotting. That this stillness was the storm’s inhale before the tempest returned. But then came the absences.
Klaus would disappear for hours—just as he always had—but not to feed, not to destroy. And not a single soul knew where he went. Not Rebekah. Not even Kol, who took it upon himself to eavesdrop out of sheer boredom.
He stopped inviting people into his wing of the estate. Locked the door behind him without menace, without snide commentary. Just... quietly. Like a man closing a book.
And so, one evening, Elijah followed him.
It was raining—thin, silver rain that spidered across the windows and turned the gardens to watercolor. Klaus had left with no announcement, but Elijah had heard the softest creak of a door around midnight, and that was enough.
He walked without sound. He had learned stealth centuries ago, but he still felt like an intruder—not out of fear, but out of something quieter. Something reverent.
Because what he found at the end of the east wing hall was not the war god he knew.
It was Klaus—on the floor.
Not sprawled out, not brooding, not pacing like a caged animal.
He was seated cross-legged on an old rug, candlelight flickering across his face. And she—she—was curled against him, her legs draped over his lap, her cheek resting against his shoulder like she’d done it a hundred times before.
And Klaus... He was brushing her hair back with both hands. Slow. Careful. Like he was afraid to startle her with even breath.
Elijah couldn’t move. Couldn’t announce himself.
He watched his brother commit a miracle with nothing but silence and two hands gently brushing a woman’s hair behind her ear.
She laughed—soft, low, private.
And Klaus smiled. Not that feral grin he used as armor. Not the smug smirk that preceded bloodshed.
But something small. Unsteady.
Like he’d forgotten for a moment who he was supposed to be.
And Elijah—who had seen this brother burn the world down a dozen times over—felt his chest ache with something like disbelief. Or awe.
"Niklaus has many obsessions," he thought, standing just beyond the candlelight. "But this isn’t that. This is devotion in disguise."
He stepped back before he was seen. He didn’t want to interrupt the quiet.
Because in all their immortal years together, Elijah had never seen Klaus Mikaelson ask for peace.
But tonight—without saying a word—he had chosen it.
And she was the reason why.
༊*·˚
It happens again.
Not by design. Elijah doesn’t seek it out. But the rain returns a few nights later, and with it, so does that strange gravity—the pull that has haunted him since the first glimpse of that room, of her, of him—transformed by nothing but love’s proximity.
This time, the door is already slightly ajar.
No enchantment. No protection spell. Just a door left open, like an offering.
Elijah hesitates.
It feels wrong to intrude, but worse to pretend he doesn’t want to understand. Because something is changing in his brother. Something that silence cannot name.
So he stays in the shadows.
Inside, the world is quiet. The fire is low. The rain tics gently at the windows like a second heartbeat.
And there they are—again.
Klaus is on the floor, back resting against the velvet of an old chair, legs stretched out around her. She’s bundled in a blanket, tucked against his chest like she belongs nowhere else. His arms encircle her completely, like a sanctuary. A shelter. Not a cage.
She’s reading aloud at first—softly, sleepily—from a worn book Elijah vaguely recognizes. French poetry, maybe. The edges are frayed with love. But at some point her words fall away, lips parted in the beginnings of sleep.
And Klaus... He takes the book from her hands. Turns the page gently. Begins reading where she left off.
His voice is low. Intimate. Not just speaking the words but offering them. Like a gift.
A love poem, Elijah realizes.
And not one Klaus wrote. But one he’s chosen. Which is somehow worse. Which is somehow better.
The girl—his girl—breathes deeper, sighs into him, and her head slips to his chest.
She is asleep.
But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t shift. Doesn’t seem to notice the weight of time or the fire dwindling beside them. He just holds her there, arms wrapped around her body with the kind of patience Elijah never imagined Niklaus possessed.
The kind of patience reserved for temples. For prayer.
And then—
She laughs. Just once. A ghost of a sound, still half-dreaming.
And Klaus smiles like the world hasn’t been ending inside him for centuries.
That’s when it strikes Elijah hardest.
He’s seen his brother bring kingdoms to ruin. Cities leveled. Blood spilled for the pettiest of provocations.
But never this. Never peace.
Not like this.
Not with his chin resting against her hair. Not while one hand draws soft circles over the blanket at her hip. Not while he stares at the window as if the storm outside could never touch what he’s built in here.
There is no war in him. Not now. Not with her.
Only reverence.
And Elijah, standing silent in the doorway, begins to understand something he never thought possible.
Niklaus is not hiding her out of shame. He is hiding her out of worship.
Because gods do not parade what they pray to.
They protect it. Quietly. Desperately.
༊*·˚
The night is long. Rain slicks the streets outside. The city hums with its usual quiet menace, but in the Mikaelson compound, there is only firelight and the weight of something unspoken.
Elijah finds him where he always is now—in that room no one enters but her.
Klaus doesn’t look up when the door opens. He doesn’t need to.
“She’s asleep,” he murmurs, gaze locked on the flames. His fingers curl around the glass in his hand, but there’s no tension there. Just the stillness of someone entirely occupied by a different world.
Elijah steps inside anyway.
The air is thick with heat and lavender and something even heavier—truth, maybe. Or guilt.
“She always sleeps better when it rains,” Klaus adds softly. “Says it sounds like something ancient trying to come home.”
He doesn’t turn around. He knows who it is. Of course he does.
Elijah clears his throat. Keeps his voice low, careful, like he’s stepping through a cathedral. “You touch her,” he begins, “like she’s made of ash. Like she might vanish if you breathe wrong.”
Klaus is quiet. Too long.
And then—
“Because she’s the only thing I’ve ever held that didn’t bleed.”
It steals the breath from Elijah’s lungs.
He stares at the back of his brother’s head, the shape of him so familiar and suddenly so unknown.
“She’s not like the others, is she?”
Klaus chuckles at that—dry, humorless. “No, brother. She is nothing like the others. She never begged me to stay. Never feared what I was. Never tried to twist herself into a shape that might fit beside a monster.”
Elijah steps closer, voice gentler now. “Does she know what you are?”
Klaus finally turns. His face is all shadows and softness, eyes lit not by hunger or rage but something quieter. Sadder.
“She knows who I am.”
A beat of silence.
“And that’s worse, isn’t it?” Elijah says. “Because you’ve never let anyone see you. Not truly.”
Klaus takes a breath like it hurts. Like every word is pulling at something stitched shut long ago.
“She didn’t tame me.”
“No?” Elijah tilts his head.
Klaus smiles, small and broken and full of something raw. “No. She just looked at me like I didn’t need to be a monster anymore.”
And that’s the moment Elijah realizes: this isn’t just love. It’s absolution.
It’s everything his brother has carved himself open trying to earn—and never found in blood or war or power.
But somehow, she gave it to him. Not by force. Just by being there.
Just by seeing him.
༊*·˚
It happens without warning.
No announcement. No grand reveal. Just a quiet evening in the courtyard. The scent of burning wood, a fire flickering in the old hearth, wine passed between hands too used to power to speak much of it. A gathering like any other—until it isn’t.
The doors open. Klaus steps through.
And she’s with him.
Not in the way Elijah has come to expect. Not hanging off his arm, not paraded like a prize or a possession. She’s simply there—at his side.
Not ahead. Not behind. Beside.
And that, Elijah thinks, is what stops him cold.
Klaus carries himself differently tonight. Not cocky, not simmering with all that restless fury. He looks calm. Like a man who knows exactly who he is and doesn’t feel the need to say it out loud.
She walks with him, her hand resting lightly on his coat. It’s not a claim. Not a warning. There’s no performance in it. Just touch. Just closeness. Just choice.
For so long, Klaus has held onto things like they were slipping from him—clutched too tight, loved too violently. But this is different. This time, he’s not afraid of losing. He’s just there with her.
And she? She doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t shrink.
When someone new arrives—a face Elijah doesn’t recognize, eyes too old, too sharp—she moves without thinking, just slightly, just enough to place herself between Klaus and the stranger. Protective, not performative. As natural as breathing.
Klaus doesn’t bristle. Doesn’t push her back. Instead, he leans in and says something low. She answers with a laugh, soft and real, then rests her hand briefly over his.
It’s easy, Elijah realizes. Effortless. Intimate in a way that no one in this room has ever been with Klaus. Not without blood. Not without fire.
And she doesn’t flinch. Not once. Not when someone calls him the Hybrid. Not when she catches whispers of stories that should make anyone run.
She looks at Klaus like she already knows the worst of him. And she’s still here.
Later, Rebekah catches the look on Elijah’s face and raises an eyebrow over her drink.
“She isn’t a secret anymore,” Elijah says quietly. “She’s his center.”
Rebekah smirks. “He let her in?”
Elijah nods once. “No,” he says. “He brought her.”
And when the guests begin to trickle out, when the fire has burned down to orange coals and the laughter has dulled into silence, Elijah finds him again. Alone now—almost.
She’s nearby, her fingers grazing the spine of a book left on the table. Like she lives here. Like she belongs.
“You brought her,” Elijah says.
Klaus doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pretend not to know what he means.
“No more hiding,” he says simply.
“She knows what that means?”
“She does.”
Elijah tilts his head, searching his brother’s face. “And she’s not afraid?”
Klaus looks past him then—at her—and the look in his eyes is something Elijah hasn’t seen since they were boys. Something soft. Something full.
“No,” Klaus says, voice barely above a breath. “She’s not the girl who tamed me, Elijah.”
“She’s the woman who saw me—and chose me anyway.”
hope you like it anon <<33 actually really liked writing it from Elijah's pov!
Imagine fumbling a kpop girlie when there are millions of examples of exactly what she wants?
fluffy fanfics
not so fluffy fanfics...
so many hours of videos of her favorite idols jokes and silly moments
very clear direction on the fashion she likes to see on men
her favorite lines from romantic songs
thousands of edits of flirting idols that make her knees weak
Not to mention:
ask her about her favorite groups and show interest in her yapping
a million easy gifts to buy her because the amount of kpop merch is actually insane and she would love all of it
playlists for every date night are easy peasy
very clear permission to be able to show your feelings and not be hyper masculine
DANIELLE ROSE RUSSELL as HOPE MIKAELSON ↴ Legacies | Maybe I Should Start from the End ( 1.08 )
"you can use ai to improve spelling and grammar"
if you’re wondering why spellcheck and grammar check is worse now, it’s because they replaced it with AI! 🥰
now, instead of maintaining a comprehensive, nuanced, and human-maintained encyclopedia by which to check your document, they have switched to an AI that just compares what you’ve written to what other people write in, say, Google Docs, and use the most commonly used iteration.
ever have it change something like “all intents and purposes” to “all intensive purposes” or “should’ve” to “should of”? that’s why!
people make the same spelling and grammar mistakes so often, AI thinks that’s the way you say it because it is a PATTERN DETECTOR and cannot THINK let alone use language.
"you can use ai to improve spelling and grammar"
A Kid
Werewitch daughter Mikaelson reader x Elijah Mikaelson and Hayley Marshall
Summary: Little does your family know, you're not wanting an 'actual' kid
Warnings: implied sex?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Can I have a kid?" You come bounding into the courtyard of the abattoir where your mom, dad, uncle Kol, uncle Klaus, and Aunt Rebekah are sitting.