two thousand and eleven

one (relatively minor) thing that bugs me about moffat who is his tendency to use long periods of time as mere plot points. we got a fairly mild version of it this episode, where bill had to wait for the doctor for over two years, but just think about that. two years unable to go outside, where her only friend is the master in disguise, forced to do manual labor under a terrible boss, while the doctor- knowing full well that time is passing more quickly for her- dithers about explaining this to people, instead of racing to save her. think about that, and think about how little weight that’s given in the episode. now think about rory, guarding the pandorica for two thousand years, or eleven spending nearly a millenium on trenzalore, or twelve spending four and half billion years in the confession dial. it’s all about the bombast of the impressively large number and not about the human impact of that time

Badlands || Soulmate!AU Chan

Originally posted by guksuu

GENRE: soulmate!au, dystopian!au, prince!au

WORDS: 6265

BLURB: In this world, soulmates are born with half of a mark somewhere on their bodies which slowly light up when they come to stand by each other. However, in an attempt to keep the castes in place, the government rebranded everyone with new soulmate marks – barcodes – that work the same way but their new “soulmates” will only ever be people from the same caste.


“They’re only going to get stronger if we remain on the defence!” The King’s voice reverberated through the heavy oak door, echoing down the hallway. “We need to start attacking and squash their forces now!

The anger in his father’s voice made Chan step away from the door but it didn’t shock him. Things have been tense since two summers ago, when the rebels first showed themselves. They have been pushing the boundaries ever since, coming down from the mountains and occupying the Badlands, the buffer region between the Lee Kingdom and the rebels’ own exiled territories. They’ve went past the city walls too, slithering underground like rats in the sewers and exploiting old mining tunnels that had once been used to transport minerals from the caves down to the city. It was only a matter of time before the rebels tired of simple theft and rebel graffiti. Rumour had it that there were already over a hundred safe-houses mushrooming around the kingdom, and the people’s loyalties were swaying. The officials were getting antsy and Chan’s father, the highest ranking official around, was the antsiest of them all.

Chan decided it was time to move on, leaving the great War Room behind and continuing his journey down the hallway. There was no one around. His quiet steps echoed in the emptiness. Even as he descended the stairs to the back garden where one of the castle exits was, no guards stopped to greet him. In fact, there were no guards about at all. Castle security had been lax ever since more and more men were sent to patrol the Walls. Not that it mattered – the rebels were still evading capture somehow. His father’s words from a few days ago rang in Chan’s ears, “If anyone is caught harbouring these rebels or assisting them in any way, they will be arrested and executed immediately.”

Chan carefully unlocked the garden gate, looking furtively around. When he was satisfied no one was watching he slipped outside.

It could just be the placebo effect but Chan felt the sunshine was warmer out here than it was inside. The alley he was on was also quiet and void of people, but it was different somehow, the sounds and sights up ahead creating a sort of ambience that was absent from the emptiness within the castle walls. Crowds pleased him and he enjoyed being able to walk about without the responsibility of being his father’s son heavy on his shoulders. No one seemed to realize he was a prince and treated him like everyone else.

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I, a Muslim woman

What if I, a Muslim woman,
told you Hijab was my choice?
It’s my right, my faith, my beauty,
who I am, and in it I found my voice.
Society can try to undress me,
but what they never seem to realize,
is it’s my protection, my safe haven,
and keeps me away from prying eyes.
It covers my hair, my neck, my chest,
but opens my heart to new salvation.
No it’s not a mask to hide behind,
but hijab is my self-proclamation.

What if I, a Muslim woman,
told you Qur'an is my bill of rights,
promising me the right to an education,
to take my standing to all new heights.
I am to be looked up to: a leader.
I am to marry who I want, when I want,
My man is to treat me with respect;
I’m not some doll to show and flaunt.
We chose each other but he relies on me.
Without me, half his deen is incomplete.
And one day, if we are blessed with kids,
their paradise will lie beneath my feet.

What if I, a Muslim woman,
told you that I am a peaceful one?
I don’t support war or terror,
so tell me, what wrong have I done?
You mention the terrible attacks:
two thousand and one, nine-eleven.
I was too little to even understand,
at the ripe young age of only seven.
I grew up, surrounded with hatred,
but not from any Muslim that I knew.
Those people didn’t look like me;
no, they looked a whole lot like you.

Now what if I, a Muslim woman,
pointed the finger back at you?
You’d ask so innocently,
“But what did I do?”
This time I ask the questions,
and you provide some answers.
How about the genocide
of my Native ancestors?
And what about my dying
Palestinian sisters and brothers?
What about all the Muslims?
And all those you call “others?”

But… I am a Muslim woman,
so there is no room for hate in my heart.
And instead, I will pray for you,
even if you choose to ignore this part.
There is nothing that I want more
than for the world to be at peace,
for us all to be filled with love,
and for this fighting to cease.
Yes, we have our differences,
but be that as it may,
I pray to our one and only God,
that you eventually find the right way.

agenderraskel  Hey, in your dubcon regency thing, you mentioned…

People with uteri don’t produce eggs, I think? Aren’t they born with all their eggs? ANon you baffle me.

I just Googled it and that seems to be the case?

Remember, women are born with all the eggs they are ever going to have, and they don’t make any new eggs during their lifetime. Women are born with approximately two million eggs in their ovaries, but about eleven thousand of them die every month prior to puberty.

And everything else I’ve looked at says the same thing so

Anon can you site your sources

Rusty Nail’s Recipes

Dear Drinkers. It is July the Tenth. Which means something, here at The Pony Keg.

You see; once upon a time, it was 2011.

We hadn’t yet recovered from the Housing Market Crash, I’d recently been accepted back into college to finish my degree, and for MONTHS, I’d had friends ( @askcharliefoxtrot ) telling me about a cartoon I needed to watch, about magic, and friendship, and colorful cartoon horses.

I’d resisted. I’d derided. And then I watched it, and, well, I was boned.

July the Tenth, Two Thousand and Eleven. Inspired by blogs such as the brilliant, but sadly gone Ask Pinkamena Diane Pie, and @asklilmissrarity , I took to Tumblr, and I created Rusty Nail. I created The Pony Keg. I created the Everfree Distillery. I created the Four Left Hooves Brewery.

And I created, what I’d later learn, was the third OC Pony to ever be Ask-Blogged on Tumblr. Only a scant three months after the first Tumblrpon blog ever, Ask Apple Bloom. (Thanks go to @fishermod​ for the data)

Dear Drinkers. Ladies and Gentlemen. Genders of all Spectrums.

Welcome to The Pony Keg’s Five Year Anniversary.

I cannot even begin to count, or name, or thank all of the brilliant people who have left their mark on me, and my blog, over the years. @askcharliefoxtrot​ deserves deep thanks. @askmerriauthor​ , for drawing their dumb horse dating my dumb horse, and, inadvertently, leading me to start the recipes, rather than screw up their storyline. Thank you for that; its been one of the best things to happen to this blog. @asksweetcream​ , You relentless flirt. You were one of the ones to really help shape Rusty’s personality from a booze-horse, into what he is today. @askpenwright​ , and @jumped-out-pinkieanswers​ , for helping me realize that my blog didn’t have to be RP, or art. That my blog could be whatever, and however I wanted to interact with the community. @egophiliac​ and @ask-wiggles​ for being continual, relentless inspirations to do better, to be better, and to never be satisfied with what it is that I am doing; to strive, as a creator, to be better.

And @technomod​ . My significant other for nearly three years now (We’re comin’ up on October.~) Met me because of this blog. You have. You have done so very much, to keep me, to help me, to guide me. From the very bottom of my heart, thank you.

And so, Dear Drinkers, I present to you The Pony Keg’s Five Year Anniversary Honoring! Today’s honoree has had a rough go of it. Hungry. Lonely. Flea Bitten. Lost at Sea. Nearly drowned. And now, stranded somewhere that French is, in fact, the Lingua Franca. It’s a good thing that artistic talent is coin wherever you travel, and our poor little misfit has that in droves. The other thing they have in abundance is a far, far rarer coin, and one that will pay their way to whatever end the eventually reach.

Hope.

Ladies and Gentlemen…

It’s Crayon, the Homeless Artist! @ask-crayon-the-homeless-artist​ .

They have had it ROUGH. Life has been shitting on them from just about each and every direction it can, and, well, even if they’re too young for it yet, I figured they deserved something good, to match their relentless and boundless drive to survive.

Buckle in for this one, folks; occasionally, I get to make a recipe that makes me happy, even if it’s not going to be practical. And Crayon, dang, you get a good one.

A Crayon (The Homeless Artist)
Ingredients:

  1. Beefeater Gin
  2. Lime Juice (A LOT of Lime Juice.)
  3. Bottled tonic water
  4. A Lemon
  5. A glass
  6. A Knife (You’ll want a sharp, thin one, like a paring knife, or a scaling knife)
  7. A spoon
  8. Food Coloring in each of the ROYGBIV colors.
  9. One Verbena Blossom

Special Equipment:

An ice cube tray. A Hammer. A Medical Grade Liquid Nitrogen Aerosol Sprayer. Liquid Nitrogen.

Making a Crayon (The Homeless Artist).

  1. Put Gin and Tonic Water into glass in a 2 parts Gin to 3 parts Tonic Water mixture
  2. Cut end off Lemon.
  3. Hollow out Lemon.
  4. Fill Ice Cube tray with Lime Juice..
  5. Put two to four drops of food coloring into each of the cube-sockets. Mix into Lime Juice. Create ROYGBIV Lime Juice. One color per socket.
  6. Freeze Lime Juice.
  7. Remove colored Lime Cubes.
  8. Smash with hammer, creating shards of ice.
  9. Place end of Nitrogen Sprayer at bottom of glass, and pull sprayer back upwards, spraying into drink. If done correctly, you have just made a Gin And Tonic Slush.
  10. Spoon Slush into Lemon.
  11. Top Slush with Rainbow Lime Ice.
  12. Decorate with Verbena Blossom (Do Not Eat)
  13. Use Spoon.
  14. Drink/Eat!

You’ve just finished making a Crayon The Homeless Artist!

This creates a very traditional Gin and Tonic, using the two most common garnishes for the drink in exceptionally novel ways; one as an ice-decoration, one as the container from which you consume the concoction. It’s an unusual twist on what should be an expected experience. Much like our honoree. Also, the sheer quantity of citrus in this should probably help poor Crayon stave off Rickets.

You may want to meander over to http://drambuieandscotch.tumblr.com/ . You might find a newly created Mod-Blog I was peer-pressured into creating after five years without one. Do not expect deep truths. Expect snark and cat-videos.

Keep sending in suggestions as to who you’d like to see made into a drink, and Stay Thirsty, Dear Drinkers!

Here’s to another Five Wonderful Years!

Meanwhile, as the alcohol flowed freely, race meetings often erupted into violence. Usually, it took the form of common brawling, but, according to the Birmingham Mercury, in 1855 the day at Aston Park ended with eleven thousand ruffians dividing into two gangs of ‘British’ and 'Russians’ to re-enact the battles of the Crimea, with many of the participants ripping up the fence posts around the race course to use as weapons. The action spread into the neighbouring town, and sixteen people were hospitalized.
Attraction part 2

Originally posted by jitamin

Word count: 1654

Warnings: Swearing and ANGST ;)

Authors’s note: Thank you. I love you. Enjoy!

part 1

Check out my masterlist ;)

attraction

/əˈtrakʃ(ə)n/

Definitions: noun; The action or power of evoking interest in or liking for someone or something.

It had been a month since “the incident”. You had recovered so far that you managed to go back to your usual duties. But to act that your broken heart was fixed again was hard. Forgetting Taehyung even harder. It had scarred you. 

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if you’re warm; then you can’t relate to me- part 2

Hey remember when I wrote this thing? Well I’m back with a sequel and it’s as Extra as ever.

disclaimer: I have no idea what i’m doing.


if you’re warm; then you can’t relate to me part 2

part 1

The dead flowers sway in the rhythm of the November wind, kissing her ankles with petals long dry. Her fingers clench, and she looks up to scene around her. A concrete and metallic jungle held together only by rust. Sitting on the bed of truck half surrendered to the earth, the grey slab she threw Lucas against all those years ago stares back at her. She can still hear all their voices- his voice- as if it’s in the wind, taunting her. “What is wrong with you? What is wrong with you?”

“You came.” And he’s there, wading through wilted daisies given to the weeds, coming to where she waits on the truck bed. His voice is hoarse and he grips the steel of the truck on the side he hides behind, his fingers whitening as if he needs to steady himself, ready to sway in the wind like one of the many dead flowers.

“You asked me to.”

“I can’t do this anymore”

“I won’t ask you to.”

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u kno thos weird healthcare videos that still run even tho they were made in Two Thousand Eleven (2011) and they trick you into thinking theyre a short ad but No theyre 30+ mins long and mention Free Guide + DVD every other minute

WestAllen + wedding

Bartholomew Henry Allen and Iris Ann West

request the pleasure of your company

at the celebration of their union

Sunday, the seventh of May,

two thousand and twenty four

at eleven o'clock in the morning

4562 Central Bay, Central City.

“Where is my tie?” Barry asked, a panicked look on his face, “I can’t get married without a tie!”

“Uhhh…weren’t you wearing it like a minute ago?” Ronnie asked as he fiddled with his bow tie, “Cisco?” he asked the younger man who was fidgeting in front of the mirror in his tuxedo.

Cisco shrugged, “Don’t look at me, I haven’t seen it,” he muttered, tugging at his suit jacket, “Who’s idea was it to get married on the beach? Wearing a monkey suit no less?”

“For real?” Barry cried, “You guys are supposed to be my best men! Find me a tie!”

Both Cisco and Ronnie took a step back from the stressed out groom.

“Barry, just whoosh over to your place and get a replacement, it’s faster that way,” Cisco said, his voice calm, “And you need to stop panicking bro.”

“Panicking? Pfft! Who’s panicky? Not me…” Barry replied, trying to get his heart rate down, “I’m not panicking,” he repeated his statement firmly looking at the wary looks on both his friends faces.

Both he and Iris had decided on an outdoor wedding, and luckily they had managed to rent a beach house near a secluded corner of the Central City beach. And it was a beautiful spring day, the decorations had all been put up; an arch covered with white orchids had been designated as the altar, facing the ocean.

________________________________________________________________________

“Barry?”

“Oliver! Felicity! Great to see you guys!” he exclaimed as he walked towards the beach, “Where’s Rose?” he asked, referring to their two-year old daughter, “You brought her didn’t you?”

“Of course we did,” Felicity replied, grinning, “Why aren’t you wearing a tie Barry?” she asked, already digging through her purse, “Here,” she said, handing him a black silk skinny tie, “I came prepared.”

“Oh thank God,” Barry exclaimed, relief evident in his voice, “I was afraid I had to go back to my apartment just for another one.”

“Where did you lose your tie?” Oliver asked, looking at the younger man in mild amusement, “Never mind, don’t answer that,” he replied hastily, before Barry could launch into a sad explanation.

“I’m going to see Iris,” Felicity announced, “Barry, go do something to that mop on your head you call hair,” she said, narrowing her eyes at her friend, “This is supposed to be a formal event.”

“I was going for a windswept look,” Barry protested, “Besides, I look good like this.”

“Who told you that?” Oliver asked him, his eyes following Felicity as she walked away from the two men.

________________________________________________________________________

“Wow! Iris, you look fantastic!” Felicity exclaimed as she looked at the bride, “Rose, tell Aunty Iris how pretty she looks,” she told the two year old who was smiling at her mother, making a tremendous effort to grab on the long dangling earrings Felicity was wearing.

Iris laughed, “Thank you Felicity, how’s Barry doing?” she asked as she slipped into her white pumps, “He’s not nervous is he?”

“Barry is the last thing from nervous, trust me-”

“Hey baby girl, you ready?” Joe’s voice interrupted them as he entered the room, “It’s almost time.”

Iris took a deep breath as she looked at her reflection in the full length mirror, “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Take a big sip of the champagne, Cisco breathed in the salty ocean breeze, enjoying a moment of peaceful of relaxation. The wedding had gone off without a hitch; Barry not tripping down the aisle being a huge bonus point.

“Hell yeah,” Ronnie grinned, clinking his glass with Cisco, as Caitlin took the other seat, “Here’s to being the best best men.”

Cisco snorted, “I’m pretty sure I was the main best man.”

“Yeah right, you lose points for crying during their vows,” Ronnie said, smirking.

“Yeah…well, Caitlin was crying too!” he accused as the woman rolled her eyes, “I’m a woman, and I basically have a right to cry at weddings,"Catlin said, "What’s your excuse?”

“There was sand in my eye,” Cisco said stubbornly, refusing to look at the couple as he took another sip of the champagne.

_____________________________________________________________________________

When the DJ announced that it was time for the cake-cutting, Barry’s face lit up as he dragged a giggling Iris towards the four-tiered chocolate cake.

“My turn,” Barry said as he quickly swallowed the rich confection, a knowing smile on his face as he moved towards Iris, who glanced at his expression and jerked away from him.

“What’s the matter Iris?” he asked, his voice lacked with mock confusion, “Don’t you want to taste the cake?”

“Barry, no!” Iris exclaimed, moving away from him again, knowing full well that he wanted her to have cake all over her face, “Ahhh!” she squealed as he caught her by the waist, a wicked grin on his face.

“Barry! I swear you’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight,” she warned him, her words having the opposite effect on him as she squealed again and tried to wriggle free of his grasp, but to no avail.

“It’ll be worth it,” he grinned, as he took a small piece and smashed it on her face, laughing at her expression.

“I’ve got it in my nose you jerk!” she exclaimed, laughing as he tried to wipe it off with a napkin, “I’ll get you back for this,” she mock-threatened, a big smile on her face, “I’m serious!”

“You know that you have to catch me right? Me? The fastest man alive?”

“Well…uhhh-”

He cut her off, kissing her thoroughly, cake and all. His lips moved smoothly along hers, his tongue slipping into her mouth as he almost lifted her up.

Save it for tonight you too!“ Joe yelled, causing the entire wedding party to break into laughter.

Both of them smiled, sheepish looks on their faces as Joe looked at them with a slightly disgruntled expression on his face.

_________________________________________________________________________________

"I’m really happy,” Iris whispered as they sat on the front porch of the beach house, both of them staring out at the ocean.

Barry tightened his arm around her waist, “Me too,” he said as he pressed a kiss to her hair, what was once up in an elaborate bun, now tumbling past her shoulder in waves.

“You wanna take a walk on the beach?” he asked her as he stood up, tugging her along with him, “C'mon, the weather’s perfect right now,” he said as he glanced at the full moon in the cloudless sky.

“My dress will be ruined,” she said, looking regretfully at the expanse of white silk, “Wait, this part of the beach is private right?” she asked, quickly unhooking the buttons on the side as he nodded his head.

“What…are you doing?” he said, mentally kicking himself when he realized that his voice was much higher than normal.

Iris rolled her eyes, “Relax Bear, I’m not going to skinny dip on my wedding night,” she said,shimmying out of the dress, “I’m wearing a slip under this. See?” she said, pointing to a white silk slip that came up to mid thigh.

Putting his jacket around her shoulders, she slipped her hand into his, as they walked along the shore.

“Did I tell you that you looked beautiful today?” Barry asked her as the gentle waves lapped at his feet, “Because you do.”

She smiled at him, reaching on her tip-toes to kiss him; clinging helplessly to him as Barry pushed down, the pressure of their lips melding together in delicious sensations that sent shivers of delight up and down her spine. Barry’s lips moved effortlessly against hers even as he pushed harder, deeper and achingly slick.

“I think we might want to move this indoors,” Barry mumbled as they grew apart for air. Before Iris could even nod her head, she was placed on the bed, Barry hovering over her, a smirk on his face, “I’m pretty sure that this is my favorite part of the wedding,” he said, as his hand caressed her inner thigh.

“You and me both,” Iris replied, a matching smirk on her face.

_____________________________________________________________________

Imagine Asahi being away on a trip, When he comes back (really late, around 2 am), Noya is already out like a light sleeping (probably because he was out with Tanaka having a drink or two) and the next morning Noya wakes up before Asahi and just gets out of bed and goes to make coffee. Then later, Asahi wakes up all dizzy, with messed up hair (having a knot or two) and slowly, lazily goes to kitchen to find Noya dancing around to some music and making morning coffee. Asahi just stares at the unusual view of Noya being so energetic in early morning, then yawns, drawing his attention and after a second Noya is basically flying to Asahi’s arms, shouting ‘yoooOOOOO, MAN, I MISSED YOU SO MUCH, GIMME A SMOOCH OR TWO OR MAYBE ELEVEN THOUSAND’

Ficlet: Coward

Note: Jumanji AU that was born at 30,000ft.

—————————————

The first thing he sees is a wooden floor as he falls face-first onto it.

Rumplestiltskin curses, rolling on his side, clutching at his right leg, just as he had clutched at a small boy’s hand that night in the forest all those decades ago, on the precipice of a portal, the very twin of which has just spat him out here.

And here happens to be a place he knows well.

It had once been dark and richly furnished - a stale mansion of time-warped antiquities, scattered with proudly-placed finger-paintings (the fridge door had been too full) - and though where there had once been drapes, moth-eaten velvet, and wood-panelling, there is now yolk-yellow curtains, chintz upholstery, and white walls, he can still tell whose house this is.

His.

There is, however, an interloper.

She’s tall in her high navy shoes, and with her mouth open and long auburn curls falling over her shoulders, she looks as if she’s staring down at him from a great height. Her eyes are as blue as her periwinkle dress.

“What year is it?”

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anonymous asked:

Mama shawol, in honor of shinee's comeback, it's time for the annual why do you ship onho question! Has your perception of either member changed since last time? Both members (as well as SHINee as a whole) have grown with another year of being top idols. What are your thoughts on the onho ship based on what you've noticed about their interactions lately? Any new fave otp moments? I always love hearing your replies; they're the perfect mix of reasoning and fangirling. Thanks! <3

Well, YES to Mama Shawol! LOLOLOL!!

 Okay, OnHo. My goodness. MY GOODNESS, have they not shown their collective asses this year or WHAT?  

I want to preface this with the overwhelmingly stark contrast in what I’ve seeing in the last year or two, to what I’m USED to seeing (in the past). I’ve been an OnHo shipper since 2011. TWO THOUSAND AND ELEVEN. I’ve never wavered; they are my life ship, they are the unseen protagonist behind my book. I’m a tad bit obsessed with them.

Nonetheless, what I’m experiencing today with OnHo is a smorgasbord of affection. In 2011, I had to have some sort of magnifying glass, I had to pick apart (along with anybody who was as foolhardy as me to pick a ship constantly referred to as a crackship (AS IF)) glances and slight touches and words and…basically I was tinhating the hell out of it. (There were SO many essays; no pictures. Just essays)

Fine. I’d accepted that.

I don’t know what happened between Sherlock and Dream Girl or maybe it was during JAT tours or a combination of everything at the same time but it felt like someone had picked me up and shook me by my ankles.. I DON’T KNOW MY BRAIN DOESN’T WORK ANYMORE but suddenly they were EVERYWHERE.

Now Minho’s been a clingy brat since the dawn of man. That’s his thing. If anyone loves skinship more than Jonghyun (who’s obsessed with it apparently) then it’s Minho. Minho’s skinship is a little more customized, where as Jonghyun’s is a sort of EVERYBODY IS GOING TO GET A HUG AND YOU’RE GONNA LIKE IT, Minho’s particular brand of flavor is older men.

I mean just…what yesterday, he admitted that one of his best friends forever was a veteran actor? Like, he’s legit serious about older men. (Crazy when his ideal type isn’t older women…I don’t..okay. But…okay, I’m going to dive off the deep end here. Does anybody get the distinct feeling that Minho HATES the fact that Jinki is attracted to older women, men, people, persons, as opposed to younger when Minho is OBVIOUSLY younger? That just cracks me up. ANYWAYS)

And guess who’s the older man in his immediate life (barring his brother and father of course). You got it. Lee Jinki. So considering how close the 5 of them are and considering Jinki’s temperament, Minho’s probably been DYING to just pile on the love ontop of Jinki like he was the plate to his affection spaghetti while Jinki has been very opposed to second servings of pasta.

Wait. Affection spaghetti.
*laughs uncontrollably for 10 minutes*

Okay. Whew. I’m okay now.

Now, I read this fic once where Jinki recognizes that Minho would probably fight the entire Elven army for Jinki (paraphrasing and some creative liberties there) and Jinki kind of…doesn’t let him? He makes him work for it. Which I think is absolutely TRUE. Because maybe, just maybe, Jinki recognized that while Jjongie’s and Key’s and Taemin’s affection were mostly brotherly (mostly, not entirely—Taemin worships the ground Jinki walks on), Minho’s affection may have not been. That Minho’s love is layered with undying adoration, unbreakable respect and a desire to be as close to him as humanly possible.

Jinki knew this. He knew it. He just wouldn’t let him be as close to him because of…reasons, who knows?

I don’t know what changed this. I don’t know if Jinki woke up and said “I should indulge in this.” And like a light being switched on, everything CHANGES.

So now we have this abundance of OnHo moments. And they all blend together, I don’t even have to hunt them down anymore, they are just THERE.

And the fact that it’s just them in the apartment together probably is a HUGE reason why what was visibly evident in the last year or so is almost BLINDING today. It’s like they are going through a honeymoon phase, with all the giggling, secret handshakes, looks, Jinki taking IG pics of Minho’s bedroom wall and medal, Minho going on NATIONAL television and practically read a love poem in the form of unending praises and god, the random hugs just for no reason in the middle of shows and at the airport and whatever that thing was when they were like..man-titty-bumping? What WAS that? It was ADORABLY stupid is what it was.  

JUST…okay.

I’m just…sometimes I just have to sit down and put my hand on my forehead and go “what have I gotten myself into?”

Oh, I forgot to answer a question. WHY do I ship OnHo? Because it’s the natural order of things in my head. Because they were a ship I couldn’t even fathom when I started this craziness. Because it’s organic to me. BECAUSE LOOK AT THEM.

My favorite OnHo moment so far?

The cake moment. Where it looked like Minho was propositioning Jinki all while licking his finger or something suggestively?

NO.

NO.

I’m lying.

It’s when…oh…oh it was THIS. Minho auditioning…for…ahem.

BECAUSE SERIOUSLY. 

What the fuck yo? WHAT THE FUCK!