#//really i haven't drawn anything in like. a week i think

[captain-huggy-bear]

“What’s that bruise from?”-clayton

I had so many ideas of how I could take this particular prompt and this is only one of them but I like how it naturally developed as I wrote it so, enjoy more Clay content! Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :) Writing Masterlist

On any given night of the week when Clayton isn't playing a game you find yourself at his house for a sleepover, if you can calling staying round your boyfriend's house a sleepover. Like always you found yourself in your comfy clothes the moment you arrived at his, not even needing an overnight bag anymore as Clay kept everything you needed at his. Even down to having bought every item in your makeup bag so that you had everything you wanted when you stayed over.

A pair of sleep shorts, an oversized Arizona Coyotes tee and your fluffy socks had you feeling extra comfy on the couch, curled up watching a re-run of Buffy while shoving an chocolate ice-cream mochi in your mouth because they're little bundles of joy.

Clay's eyes are drawn to your legs the moment he sits down on the couch after changing into sweats. At first it's appreciation. You hide your legs away so often under tights or jeans that he can't help but look when they're out. But, appreciation quickly turns to worry and then anger when his eyes catch onto a big purpling bruise on your thigh. It's the size of his hand, large enough to be a fist mark and it's the first thought he has...that someone's touched you, hurt you and you haven't told him. It has him gritting his teeth, grinding them together to quell the upset that starts in him at all the worst possible scenarios.

“What’s that bruise from?” His voice is clipped, tense and when you look up at Clayton from where you're curled up on his couch, legs on show because you're in your pajamas, he's got his lips pursed tight. He looks angry, the sort quiet anger that Clay so often gets on the bench when he's frustrated. Not yelling. Not screaming. Not a big outburst, just tension held by a series of strings ready to snap. You're just struggling to understand why he seems angry when he'd been so relaxed when you'd arrived at his that evening.

"Mmm?"

"That bruise, baby. Where'd you get it?" He wants to ask 'who' gave it to you, but he knows better than to do that...maybe he's overreacting, maybe he's thinking of every worse case scenario when in reality there's nothing there for him to get angry about. But, fuck, the thought of someone putting a hand on you? Of someone hurting you? It makes him blood boil as much as it makes him feel like he's failed somehow.

"Oh, this one?" He watches your fingers rub across the bruise like it's nothing, like it's not larger than your hand, like it's not marring your skin like some sort of plague. He hates it. Hates that it's there at all.

"Yeah, baby. That one. The giant fucking bruise over your thigh that wasn't there 3 nights ago when you slept over." He's snapping now, doesn't mean to, but it wasn't there last time you slept over. You hadn't mentioned falling over or anything that would cause it and he knows for damn sure it's new.

There's a brief pause, a moment in which you seem to take him in, to realise that Clay's really bothered by it. It's like a light bulb goes off in your head, a realisation that he's worried, the way his blue eyes are fixed on the bruise not even looking at you, how Clay's fists are clenched on his thighs, whole body tense like he's waiting for a bomb to drop. How he's snappy in a way that Clay very rarely is with you, always so soft spoken.

"Clay...I ran into a table while teaching." You smile at him like he's an idiot, all amused and patient, like he's a little kid that believes candy grows on trees.

"A table?"

"Yeah, you idiot. I was walking around my classroom and just walked fully into the edge of a student's table...I bruise easily, remember?" You can't count on two hands anymore the number of bruises you've had on your legs over the years. Always bumping into tables, the edges of doors, counters, anything that might possibly be in the way.

You watch the anger drain from him. Clay's shoulders slumping, far more relaxed, tight jaw and tense purse to his lips replaced by a sort sheepish smile that tells you he feels silly...but it's sweet you think. Sweet that he was so worried, that he jumped to concern, that he wanted to look out for you.

"Right...So I guess I'm not beating anyone up then?" You're moving towards him even as you laugh at him, settling yourself down until you're straddling his lap, sitting back on his thighs.

"Unless you want to beat up a table?" You rest your arms over Clay's shoulders, your fingers playing with the hairs at the base of his neck and the back of his chains as you smile at him in good humour. There's a pause before the goofiness fades to a quiet softness from you, a whispered question, "You'd really fight someone for me?"

"Of course I would. No one puts their hands on my girl." He says it so matter of fact, like it's the most natural thing in the world, like he'd never considered another option. As simple as water is wet. The idea that if someone touched you, hurt you, then that was it, he'd have to deal with it. It makes your arms tighten over his shoulders, shuffling closer until you're chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis. Clay's arms wrapped around your waist to draw you closer to him.

"You were really angry weren't you?" It shouldn't surprise you, Clay thinks, it's natural. To be angry when you think someone's hurt your girlfriend. You should only be surprised if he isn't angry about, if it doesn't bother him.

"Well, yeah, I thought someone had hurt you...I thought...I thought I'd failed." He grows quieter as his sentence reaches its end, hands falling to your hips. Clay's fingers dig in just enough to tell you he's upset, that the heavy swallow that rocks his Adam's apple isn't nerves but a sort of weighted sadness.

"Failed?" You try your best to sooth him without fully understanding, fingers running through the hair on the back of his head, nails scratching at his scalp in a way you know often makes him relax.

"At keeping you safe. That's like boyfriend duty number 1, keep your girl safe."

You get it now...god, of course you get it. Clay's always been the leader, the guider in your relationship. Most importantly he's always been your provider and protector. He never let you walk closest to the road. He always made you wait for the green man before crossing. He kept a hand on you in crowded public spaces, and made people give you room, space. He had spent your entire relationship trying to make you feel safe, secure, loved...and he'd thought for a minute that he'd failed at the one thing he'd taken such pride in ensuring.

"Y'know you've never failed at that, right?" You press your forehead against his, nose nuzzling against his own in an effort to bring back that smile you love so much, missing his dimples. "You make me feel safe...doesn't matter where we are or what's happening, even when there's cameras and fans and it's overwhelming...I just feel safe with you." You're more spontaneous around Clay, your brain shuts off so often because you simply trust him that much. You're so safe around him that you know he'd never let you get hurt and it makes just existing so much easier.

"Good, means I'm doing my job, baby..." The smile starts to form, first one corner of his mouth, then the other...a slow spread until his teeth are showing and his dimples are on full display.

"You're like the president of the good boyfriend club."

"Yeah?" His smile grows wider until it's basically a grin, corners of his eyes crinkling up, baby blues twinkling at you because fuck, he loves hearing that he makes you happy, makes you feel safe. It strokes some part of him that needs to provide, needs to make sure you're sorted for life.

"Mmm, definitely getting re-elected this year as well. Might even get a promotion to the president of the good husband club one day."

"I love you."

[keeps-ache]

1) i'm bad at games 2) i'm scared of people

[non-un-topo]

At the crossroads between wondering if it's worth it to basically completely rewrite all my WIPs or just take a break from writing for the rest of the summer

[staygoldralph]

ladies and gentlemen i'm back (not really)

[knifegremliin]

aghhh man. i've been. doing barely any art lately.

[muniimyg]

BAD HABIT // JJK

09 | stars in your eyes // series m.list

note: jealousy jealousy <3 mwah ;) ,, sorry this ch took forever ... i think u'll understand why lol

//

you’re proud of yourself.

over the past few weeks, you’ve adjusted well—faster than expected, even. part of it is because you belong here. the other part is because the people around you make you feel like you’re truly home. for a long time, you’ve craved that feeling. living outside the palace had never been easy... especially not when you spent your whole life keeping being a part of the divinity a secret.

although, you still keep the friends you made outside these walls close to your heart, but the ones you’re making here… they feel different.

they are different.

for the first time, it feels like you’re falling into place. like everything is falling into place.

even being soulmates with jungkook feels lighter these days.

it’s conflicting, really—this soulmateship with him. stranger than any situationship, more serious than any relationship. maybe that’s why you’ve been trying so hard to perfect your friendship with him. if you can make that work, maybe everything else will follow.

but you’re an idiot if you think you can ever just be friends with jungkook.

yes, friendship is the foundation of any partnership. but who are you kidding? you two are bonded. the string is tied, glowing, dusted in gold. there’s no undoing it. there’s no pretending you don’t feel the weight of it, the way it tugs—the way he tugs.

and, not to mention, you’d rather die than be his friend (that’s the bond talking).

being away for the past week has been rather... reflective on your end. aside from the silyl groupchat messages the guys initiated and the random check-in ones jungkook would send you; you haven't really seen them around.

but it's fine.

it's nice to get some space. since you've been here, you've spent every waking minute with them. during your rest days, your parents came up to see you too. it was fun catching up with them and spending time together.

but you're so ready to be back.

you miss them.

some more than others.

today, you arrive early, ditching jimin and yoongi. jungkook’s grey hoodie is bunched up in your hands as you step into the classroom, the fabric warm and worn. you hadn’t meant to keep it this long.

the plan was simple:

walk in. toss it onto his desk. say something casual like, “here.” pretend like it didn’t make a home in your closet for too many nights.

pretend like you weren't holding onto it for this long because it smells like him. like you didn’t sleep in it once…

twice, if you’re counting the nap you took in it yesterday. pretend like it wasn't the one thing that made you smile during your week off.

but the moment you step inside, all that excitement fizzles out.

something blooms in your chest. warm and haunting. unsettling. you struggle to understand it—until you see it.

then, you feel the string tug inside your chest.

you feel it before you even realize why... then, when you do; you don't know what to do say or feel. it happens too fast. your vision blurs and then it focuses on her.

her.

there’s a girl sitting in your seat.

your freaking seat.

with jungkook.

your jungkook.

jungkook isn’t half-asleep with his hood drawn over his eyes. for once, he’s awake. engaged. talking to her. and worse—he’s smiling. that stupid boyish smile, the one that softens him in a way you’re sure he doesn’t even realize. he says something, and she laughs. bright. airy. the sound of it curls around your chest.

your heart races, a tight, erratic thump against your ribs. and maybe—just maybe—in a split second, you let your guard down. because jungkook’s breath hitches.

quickly, you tighten your grip on his jacket and shove it deep into your bag.

jungkook scans the room.

his eyes find you.

before he can do anything, you move past him. you don’t look. you don’t acknowledge him. you just walk.

he shifts, taken aback by the blatant rejection of his (attempt at a) greeting. the girl beside him notices. she follows your movements, then looks back at jungkook. then back at you.

“hey,” she says sweetly as you pass. "recover well?"

"yeah. thanks," you force a smile. short-lived. fleeting. half meant.

then she gives you a look.

not quite smug. not quite innocent. just knowing.

your stomach turns. your gaze drops, your mind suddenly heavy with overthinking thoughts.

from behind you, jungkook watches without watching. eyes half-lidded. head tilted against the back of his chair. fingers drumming against the desk in a slow, lazy rhythm. he doesn’t turn, doesn’t follow your movements outright—but he doesn’t need to.

he already knows exactly where you’re going.

you reach namjoon’s desk. it’s a placement he’s long past rolling his eyes at. he may not be able to manipulate you, but it’s honestly no problem when you’re this fucking predictable.

just as you reach for the chair—

it moves.

the wood scrapes against the floor, the legs dragging in one long, grating noise before it stops. a loud thud makes it known what just happened. the chair is set... well...

beside him.

the sound cuts through the low hum of the classroom and heads turn. at the door, jimin, yoongi, jin, and hobi watch, poorly concealing their amusement. namjoon huffs, lips parting, already prepared to scold jungkook for using his aura.

you freeze. your fingers twitch at your side.

god.

what do you even do in times like these?

when jungkook makes it excruciatingly obvious that he does whatever he wants, whenever he wants? when everyone just…

lets him?

from the corner of your eye, jungkook shifts.

his arms uncross. one hand rises slightly. and with the subtlest motion—two fingers flicking out, then curling in—he gestures at the chair.

his aura hums faintly. a ripple in the air.

you feel it.

your jaw clenches. slowly, you turn, eyes narrowing.

"jungkook," you seethe, voice low, controlled. "you can’t just—"

"you were gonna sit here, right?"

his tone is bored.

like he didn’t just drag a whole piece of furniture across the room with his aura. like it’s not a big deal. like he hasn’t been watching your every move since you walked in.

more snickers echo around you. and he enjoys it, doesn’t he? the attention? the fact that he’s just so fucking sly?

he knows perfectly well that he shouldn’t be using his aura for stupid things like this.

you don’t get it.

is he trying to boast? is he trying to prove something? the gesture is too sudden. too early. yet, it earns looks and murmurs.

jungkook doesn’t acknowledge it.

instead, his gaze flickers—just briefly—to your bag. the fabric of his jacket peeks from the unzipped opening, barely visible. but he catches it.

he notices it. then, slow and deliberate, his gaze returns to yours.

"sit here, princess."

the air shifts when the guys crowd around your desk.

hobi’s already perched on top of it, swinging his legs like a kid while namjoon leans against jungkook’s, arms crossed, lips pressed in thought. jimin and taehyung pull up chairs, dragging them across the floor with a grating screech that earns a sharp look from the professor at the front—but neither of them care.

"glad you aren't limping anymore," yoongi says.

you smile and nod. "yeah. my parents sent a nurse in once a day to check up on me. it felt a little... overprotective but it's whatever."

nam joon huffs. "you're telling me."

"why? what did they do?" you ask curiously. honestly, a part of you answers frantic. you know how your parents can be... "i can talk to them—"

"it's fine," he assures you. "i just got a speech from the council about safety and making sure that i'm not only encouraging divine quality behaviour, but also monitoring it."

you're eyes widen at his words. was he serious? how could he possibly have that much responsibility? besides, jumping into the lake was your idea.

"nam joon," you start. "i'm so sorry. my parents are—"

"it's fine," he repeats. "you're the princess. they're your parents. we’re the divinity. this shit has to be taken seriously whether we like it or not. just... try not to get hurt again, okay? really pissed your parents off and jungkook."

your eyes shake.

jungkook doesn't flinch. he doesn't even breathe. he's just... still.

then, the focus shifts.

“so... the game’s tonight.” jin says, earning a few groans from the guys. then, he rubs his temples like he’s dealing with a personal crisis. “i need to see it in high quality. i will not accept buffering.”

namjoon sighs, tipping his head back. “problem is, we have, what? one couch and a ten-inch laptop?”

“it’s embarrassing,” hobi groans. there’s a growing frustration in his face that makes you a little curious. was the game really this important?

jimin frowns, eyes darting to taehyung. “can’t you get us into the lounge?”

taehyung scoffs. “not after last time.”

“which wasn’t my fault, by the way,” jin mutters, but no one acknowledges it.

a pause.

jungkook, who’s been silent the entire time, exhales sharply through his nose. his knee bounces under the desk, fingers tapping against the wooden surface in a steady rhythm. truth be told, he’s fighting the urge to touch you right now. in any and every way… he wants to put his hand on top of your bare knee so bad. he wants to touch your skin and feel your warmth. 

is it the bond?

he doesn’t know and he doesn’t care. sitting beside you, controlling himself—this is fucking torture. yet, he pushes through the distraction. 

“i mean, if it comes down to it, we can just—”

but before he can finish, you shift forward, resting an elbow on the desk.

“you guys can just sleep over at mine.”

silence.

then—

“wait, what?” taehyung blinks.

“i have the highest view in the palace,” you say easily, tilting your head. “i mean… as someone previously mentioned… it’s perfect view of the city, and the biggest room. jin can project the live game with his aura. i can put a few paintings down to make the walls bare. i have a kitchen so we can cook some things up. it’s basically a studio—w-what? why are you guys looking at me like that?”

a beat.

then—without a word, jungkook shrugs off his uniform jacket. the fabric crinkles as he bunches it up and drops it onto your lap, as if it’s second nature. no glance, no explanation. just a quiet, instinctive action. you glance down at the skirt you’re wearing. before your focus shifts, the guys chaos keeps you in place.

"are we allowed?" taehyung blinks. "because if we are... then i'm really fucking upset you're not my soulmate."

"that’s actually genius."

"yo, what about your guards?"

“again, are we even allowed?”

you just laugh, shrugging. “who said i was gonna ask for permission?”

namjoon shakes his head, but there’s amusement in his eyes. “___, you’re insane. i don’t want to get disciplined for this—”

“then i’ll take responsibility,” you urge him. “please, nam joon? come on... is it that horrible that i want to spend time with my friends? i think my grandparents have bigger things to worry about. and my parents? i'll just tell them the truth. i missed my friends. oh! how about we invite others too so it's a bigger gathering and we can all chill?”

again, silences follows. 

then—

“uh, she’s kinda the coolest person ever?” hobi throws an arm around your shoulders, grinning. “we should’ve been best friends sooner.”

“you’re just saying that cos she solved your problem,” jin points out.

“and i’m grateful!”

the energy crackles between everyone—everyone except jungkook.

he stays quiet, but not in a way that goes unnoticed by you.

jimin nudges jungkook’s arm. “you’re in, right?”

jungkook leans back in his chair, stretching slow.

“dunno.”

for some reason, he answer upsets you.

clearing your throat, you pretend not to hear what he said and push the conversation forward. jungkook stays leaned back, arms crossed, gaze unreadable.

clumsily, everyone sneaks inside the west wing. 

laughter fills the hall as steps hurriedly make it to your door. before you know it, taehyung appears in front of your door with a wide grin and drinks. 

“you sent the guards away?” taehyung practically giggles, as he looks over his shoulders. “this is so fucking thrilling. i can’t lie… i feel like i’m meant to be a spy or something.”

you laugh at his words and open your door wider. 

“i scattered them around with errands,” you reply. “they’ll be held off for at least three hours… and then, i’ll be known as the picky princess for at least three months.” 

popping his head in, nam joon lets out an impressed hum. quickly, the guys all make it to your door. you step aside, gesturing for them to come in. as they do so, pure adoration fills the room. 

for a moment, their laughter dies down. 

“fuck,” yoongi breathes. “this is truly ‘eat the rich ’ kind of shit.”

your dorm has to be one of the most unreal places in this palace. the ceilings are high with golden accents threading through the marble walls. it’s a studio-like layout that unfolds so elegantly. the kitchen is to the side, there’s a huge living space near a fireplace, and your bed—is massive, draped in sheer silks. there’s a canopy above, completing the perfect princess flow of the tower. 

yet, what really takes the boys breath away is the window. 

it takes up nearly an entire wall and gives access to a balcony. the window stretches from floor to ceiling, revealing the glowing city below. the garden view is utterly romantic too. one thing is for sure—their dorms do not look like this. 

“holy shit.”

“ohhh, this is nice… girl,” taehyung sings. “this all you do right here? okay…. it don’t smell like roaches in here or nothing!” 

you burst into laughter and gesture for everyone to make themselves feel at home. to which, jimin mumbles; “unlikely, but if you insist...” 

just then, jungkook walks in.

his hair is freshly washed and he’s wearing this oversized black t-shirt that hugs his chest nicely. he’s scanning your dorm before his eyes fall to you. just as you’re about to take a step towards him with some teasing remark already forming on your tongue—

“jungkook!”

a presence. a laugh. a shift in the air. 

then, she appears. 

the same girl from this morning. except, now she’s even more pretty? it’s strange. you’ve never really felt much for comparison but it’s hard when she… looks like what could be jungkook’s type. in a swift way, she breezes in front of you.

“oh!” she breathes, brushing shoulders with you in the process. she doesn’t seem to notice. “sorry—just wanted to give this back. thanks for inviting us here by the way, ___! your place is great. wish all our dorms looked like this.”

your stomach dips. 

suddenly you hate the fact that you brought this unto yourself. what were you thinking? wanting to invite more people aside from the seven of them? 

fuck. 

this is all your fault. 

jungkook blinks, visibly caught off guard, but reaches out, his fingers brushing the material.

“oh—uh, thanks.”

she lingers, arms crossing over her chest. “also, didn’t think you’d actually be that bad at giving directions. thanks for that.”

she laughs. light, teasing.

and then it hits you. 

it’s an inside joke.

and worse—jungkook chuckles back.

it’s brief, casual, a mere breath of amusement. but it’s enough to make something cold settle in your chest. enough to have your fingers curling into the hem of your sleeves, nails pressing faintly into your skin.

she glances at you then, finally acknowledging your presence in full. her smile is polite, and unassuming—nothing malicious in her gaze. 

it's annoying really... how she's so easygoing.

so... opposite of you? because in times like this, she's the kind of girl that can push through and smile. you? not so much. though you know you should smile back, you don't. rather, you can't.

so, instead, you nod.

with that, she lets out a small laugh and excuses herself, the warmth of her presence fading as quickly as it came.

but the damage is done.

your thoughts race, irrational and loud, clawing at the inside of your head. jungkook barely gets the chance to turn before he notices—the way you’ve gone still, the shift in your expression, the way your shoulders have tensed ever so slightly.

“she’s into jimin,” he murmurs, voice low. like it's barely above a whisper. like it's just for you.

you blink. 

then, a wave of relief crashed over. 

jungkook lifts the jacket in his hands, his fingers pressing into the fabric as he exhales. “this isn’t mine. it’s jimin’s.”

your brows furrow, processing.

“ai and jimin have this… thing.” he grimaces. “on and off again situationship, i guess… he never likes to talk about it so ai does this thing where she makes it everyones problem but jimin’s. i don’t know. i just keep getting caught in the middle.”

oh. 

oh.

something in your chest eases—just a fraction.

but not entirely. 

it’s stupid.

completely, utterly stupid… because why should it matter? it’s not like you—

you shift on your feet, suddenly hyperaware of the way jungkook is watching you. the way his gaze lingers, studying, picking up on details you wish he wouldn’t.

“you okay, princess?” he asks.

you clear your throat. “y-yeah—i just…” you glance toward the girl, now chatting with someone else across the room. “i didn’t know that about jimin.”

jungkook hums, tilting his head slightly. 

“you sure that’s all it is?”

you scoff at him. “what else would it be?”

he doesn’t answer right away. instead, he just watches you… like he’s waiting for something... the way he waits, makes you fidget.

you hate that it makes you fidget. 

that it makes you feel seen in a way you don’t want to be.

���i’m gonna go greet the others,” you mutter, turning on your heel, and moving toward the others. "catch you later—"

"___—"

as you step away, annoyance still lingers beneath your skin. your chest feels so tight still… meanwhile, jungkook places his hand on his chest and clenches it. 

something is wrong. 

and you can’t hide it from him.

it starts off slow. subtle.

almost like a silent war.

at first, you ignore him. at least, you try to.

for the past half-hour, you’ve kept yourself busy, drifting from one conversation to the next, laughing at half-hearted jokes, nodding at stories you aren’t fully listening to—all while avoiding his gaze.

but jungkook is relentless.

he stares, unwavering, dark eyes burning through the space between you. it makes the people you talk to uneasy, shifting under the weight of his presence. he doesn’t care. doesn’t even blink. he just watches, jaw clenched, frustration simmering under his skin.

weren’t you two fine before?

what changed?

it’s not fair. you’re being unfair.

by the hour mark, he’s done waiting. his patience—thin and fraying—snaps. he moves, weaving through the crowd with a single-minded focus, no longer shooting daggers at anyone in your orbit. now, his attention is solely on you. people try talking to him, but he brushes them off with a distracted nod, a quiet hum. jungkook has never been the most social, but tonight? he’s something else.

steady. controlled. purposeful.

and everyone can see it.

everyone except for you.

he wants something.

he wants you.

so, he decides he’s getting you. one way or another.

this distance? this coldness? he hates it.

it’s not like you. not with him.

his feet move before he can stop them, a sharp exhale leaving his lips as he finally closes the space—

but just as he reaches you, you stand.

his steps falter.

you’re heading towards the kitchen, slipping past taehyung, ready to lose yourself in the crowd there.

his jaw tenses.

then—

“the guards!”

your voice cuts through the room, loud and urgent. “everyone hide!”

chaos erupts.

yoongi flicks his wrist and darkness swallows the space. shadows stretch across the walls, flickering like ghosts. your breath catches, adjusting to the sudden shift. silhouettes blur, people scrambling into hiding—under the bed, behind curtains, pressed against the ceiling with their auras. you move toward the door, but—

then you see it.

or, more accurately, you feel it first.

a sharp pang, like a fist tightening around your stomach.

jungkook brushes past you, fast, purposeful. he heads for the closet, but then—

his hand reaches out.

not for you.

for ai.

he pulls her close, murmuring something low in her ear as he guides her across the room. she laughs, light and breathy, before slipping inside the closet with him.

the sight is gut-wrenching.

sickening.

heat rises to your face, burning at the back of your throat. you don’t know if you want to yell or walk away. your fists clench at your sides, nails digging into your palms.

you shouldn’t care.

but you do.

knock.

“princess?”

another knock.

“we’ve returned from the errands you sent us on. you'll be pleased to know everything went well... princess, is everything alright? we heard some noise... do you have company?”

your heart pounds and your hands shake as you answer the door. yet, regardless of how you feel; you smile.

“yes,” you breathe, voice smooth despite the chaos in your chest. “everything is fine. t-thank you for running those errnads... i’m having a self-care night and streaming a game with friends. excuse the noise. please, take your posts at the guard house. i'll be fine for tonight. it's late anyway and your shifts are ending soon. take the extra hour off."

the guard hesitates, then nods. “as you wish.”

you wait until their footsteps fade before closing the door and locking it. the second the latch clicks, the tension collapses.

everyone exhales, heavy and relieved.

laughter spills into the space, nerves unraveling. yoongi flicks the lights back on, dimmer than before. jin groans. taehyung lets out a breathless chuckle.

but you barely hear it.

because the closet door creaks open.

jungkook steps out, ai right behind him. she grins at something he murmurs under his breath.

and just like that, the feeling returns.

tight and suffocating. curling deep in your gut.

he didn’t hesitate.

not even for a second.

it presses against something inside you, something sharp and unwelcoming.

so you turn away.

“you good?” taehyung side-eyes you from the couch.

“yeah. i'm fine.” you answer him rather too quickly. too sharp.

taehyung's mouth twitches, unconvinced. but he doesn’t press. you sink down beside him, trying to ground yourself, but the moment you do—the couch jerks backward.

your body stumbles.

the guys groan. you look up and see jimin glaring at jungkook.

“jungkook!” jimin whines. “don’t use your fucking aura right now. stop messing with us.”

“jungkook,” namjoon warns. “don’t move furniture for attention.”

but it works.

he has yours.

your head snaps toward him. he tilts his head, slow and assessing, as if you’re the problem.

frustration bubbles under your skin. you take a deep breath, standing to head to the kitchen. you need space. you need something to do.

you reach for a piece of bread. but suddenly, it's taken out of your hand.

jungkook then takes a slow, deliberate bite.

“did you want this?”

you stay silent.

his eyes glint. “use your words like a big girl.” he’s teasing. but it’s different. charged and edged with something unreadable.

you reach for another piece—

his aura glows.

suddenly, all the bread lifts into the air, floating just out of reach.

your patience snaps.

“jungkook—”

“not so fun, is it?” he murmurs. “having something right in front of you, but never being able to reach it.”

it’s a loaded statement.

the bread drops.

his mood shifts. his aura flickers between you, pulsing hot and heavy. before you can react, his fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you to the side.

eyes snap to you both.

“don’t make a scene—”

he chuckles. “this isn’t a scene.” his voice drops lower. “do you want me to make a scene?”

you grab his hand, gripping it tight. “stop.”

“you stop,” he hisses. everyone begins to whisper around you two. then, louder, to the room—“holy shit. watch the fucking game.”

the command in his voice—his aura—shifts the air. he lifts his hand in the air and waves it towards the projection. suddenly, everyone turns to the screen, despite the protests, despite the groans. they don’t have a choice. they're under his control.

jungkook leans in.

“what’s wrong, princess?” he asks, eyes dark and searching. “why are you mad at me?”

you hesitate.

“i’m…”

“you’re?”

you swallow, looking around. everyone's eyes are fixed on the screen and you can tell they're all uncomfortable. you are too.

then, you take a deep breath in. you turn to everyone and notice how his aura still radiates through them. with pleading eyes, you ask him; “can you… not do this? let them watch if they want to watch. let them talk if they want to talk. let them stare—”

“only if you talk to me. like, really talk to me.”

you nod, accepting the exchange.

jungkook shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. as he exhales, so does the room. everyone’s posture goes back to normal and they continue on with whatever they were doing before. once you see that everyone is comfortable again, you look at jungkook and tilt your head at him.

“you can’t always use your aura to get what you want.”

jungkook shrugs. “using it or not, there’s not much difference.”

“what do you mean?”

“you don’t like me regardless,” he assumes. “right? you hate that i have this aura.”

you shake your head.

“i hate the way you use it.”

then, he snaps.

“i hate the way you make me use it.”

silence.

and then, the weight of it crashes down.

“i don’t hate you.”

… is all you manage to say. 

jungkook’s lips twitch.

just like that, ease takes over his eyes. he can’t help but feel a sense of hope. like every negative thought he made up about himself throughout this entire night ceases to exist because of your four words… but it still stings. how you treated him tonight… how much of a fucking pull you have on him that he acts like a manchild. how badly he wants your attention… and how suffocating it is to be without it. 

“you don’t?”

“no.”

the air stills between you two. 

jungkook doesn’t know how to explain it… but there’s a warmth that blooms in his chest. like a relief takes over. it’s so.. special to him. he’s never felt better so fast. he has never… believed anyone so fast. your words cut deep into him, carving themselves into his heart. then, the familiar feeling of wanting to touch you kicks in. he knows it’s not the time, so he fights the urge. 

but it’s difficult. 

so, just as he reaches—

“did you find it?” you ask.

he tilts his head, confused. “find what?”

“your hoodie.”

“my hoodie?”

you nod. “yeah. it was in the closet.”

slowly and then all at once, jungkook’s face falls. 

the warmth in his eyes dim like the sunset swallowed by night. i’s slow, almost imperceptible—the slight twitch of his brows, the way his lips part as the realization sinks in. but then, it’s unmistakable. his expression shifts, unraveling from confusion into something softer, something edged with regret. you swallow, but it does nothing to ease the ache blooming in your chest, jealousy and hurt tangling like thorns in your throat. 

you shouldn’t care. 

you shouldn’t. 

but the weight of it sits heavy in your lungs, pressing against every breath. and jungkook sees it—sees the way your fingers curl in your sleeves, the way your gaze flickers away like you can’t bear to hold his. the air between you turns fragile, laced with something unspoken, something that trembles on the verge of breaking.

“you…” he pieces it together and sees the picture whole. “you can’t be serious? are you upset that i hid her? ___, we were going to get caught—”

“but did you have to hold her waist?” you hush him. “why couldn’t she just hide on her own? why was that your responsibility—”

“okay, fuck. do you want me to hold your waist so you two can be even or something?”

“what?” you raise your voice. “are you insane? no. a-and… we’re not even. she and i are—”

“you’re what?” 

you pause. 

“well… she’s not your soulmate. she’s not supposed to be even with me.” you choke out, almost cringing at your own words. "i... i'm your soulmate."

jungkook huffs. then, a small chuckle comes out. soon enough, a laugh. 

“sorry,” he attempts to stop himself. “this is kind of ridiculous. i mean, i told you she’s into jimin, didn’t i? why can’t you trust me—”

“because i don’t know you!” you cry. “god, i don’t know you enough to trust you. and it’s confusing because my heart—or rather, the bond—tells me i do. but my mind… spins every time you do something that i don’t expect. like… why didn’t you just let jimin bring her to the closet? why was it your responsibility? do you know how i felt during those two minutes? what you could’ve done in two minutes?”

“two minutes?" jungkook's eyes widen. "___, are you seriously jealous about me spending two minutes with ai in a closet—”

“yes!” you breathe. “because… w-why did you just leave me—”

“what did you want from me?” jungkook asks rather sincerely. “to stand by you and get caught? they would’ve thrown my ass out. soulmate or not, they would have thrown me out and everyone would have been caught.” 

you swallow. 

then, you mumble, “you just… you didn’t have to go in the closet with her.” 

to your surprise, jungkook nods.

there’s no defensiveness in his expression, no sharp retort on the tip of his tongue. just quiet acceptance, like he’s already replayed it in his head and realized there’s nothing to argue.

his shoulders drop, the fight leaving him all at once. a slow exhale pushes past his lips, and when he speaks, his voice is softer—lower, like an admission he doesn’t want to make.

“okay.” his gaze flickers to yours, holding it. “i didn’t have to go inside the closet with her.” a pause, then the slightest huff of a breath, something like regret tugging at the corners of his mouth. “you’re right. my bad.”

he says it so simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world to agree with you. and maybe that’s what surprises you the most—not the words themselves, but the way he says them, like he means them.

“do you forgive me now?” his voice is quiet, careful, like he already knows the answer.

you exhale, pressing your lips together. “jungkook, you didn’t even say sorry—”

before you can finish, the room is swallowed in darkness.

a sharp inhale. 

the shuffle of feet. jimin’s voice cuts through the quiet. 

“someone’s coming.”

you freeze. 

jungkook does too. 

the air weighs down on you two. thick, unmoving. somewhere in the dark, a faint rustle of fabric, the soft creak of wood settling under shifting weight. muffled whispers. hurried footsteps. you hear everyone scrambling into hiding, bodies pressing into corners, behind furniture.

but jungkook doesn’t move.

he stays beside you.

then, a gentle nudge against your arm. deliberate. teasing.

"hey, p?"

his voice is low, quiet, but the way he says your name—it curls at the edges, soft and familiar.

"hmm?"

you feel him shift closer. not much, just enough. enough that the warmth of him bleeds into your skin, enough that the air between you turns thinner, charged.

"do you think we have two minutes?"

his voice is impossibly close now, warm against the shell of your ear. and even though it’s dark, even though you shouldn’t be able to see him—somehow, you do.

you feel him.

the slight tilt of his head. the barely-there curve of his lips, smug and knowing. the way his lashes dip, his gaze dropping to your mouth before flicking back up, unhurried, unreadable.

your breath catches.

"for what?"

you don’t know why you ask. maybe you do. maybe you just want to hear him say it.

but he doesn’t.

he just lingers—close enough that you can feel the heat rolling off him, the faint scent of something warm and clean, something undeniably him.

his silence stretches, heavy, expectant.

and you think he’s waiting but—

instead, he tugs you forward, slow and certain, hands skimming down your arms before settling at your waist. his grip is light—tentative. 

now. 

now he’s waiting. it’s like he’s giving you the chance to step away.

but you don’t.

and the moment you don’t, something changes. in fact, you feel it in your heart. something glows.

his hands tighten, just barely. his head dips, his breath warm against your cheek, and then his lips brush yours—once, then again, like he’s memorizing the feeling, like he’s giving you another chance to stop him.

but you don’t.

the world suddenly stops as jungkook’s lips meet yours. he kisses you. your soulmate kisses you for the first time.

slow and deep, careful and desperate all at once. his fingers press into your waist like he’s trying to tell you something without words… and maybe he is. maybe you are, too, because your hands find his shirt, fisting the fabric, pulling him closer, letting him steal another second, another breath.

then—

a flicker. a buzz.

light floods the room, washing over you both like a wave crashing against shore.

you break apart instantly, breathless, dazed.

jimin blinks at you both, unimpressed. 

“sorry everyone! false alarm.”

just like that, the room shifts back to life. conversations pick up, laughter hums through the air, the moment folding neatly into the chaos like it never existed at all.

except it did.

you can still feel it—still feel him. the heat of his hands, the ghost of his lips, the unspoken words lingering between you.

you stand side by side, staring ahead, breathing uneven.

your fingertips still linger, barely brushing.

your heart still races, pounding against your ribs, aching for a moment that belonged only to the two of you.

jungkook turns to you, searching, chasing your gaze as if the answer is there—written in the spaces between your lashes, in the soft parting of your lips. and maybe it is. because when he looks at you now, really looks at you, he sees something he hasn’t noticed until now.

something familiar. something timeless. something extraordinary.

a glint.

a sparkle.

your breath hitches when you realize how close he is, how his eyes trace over you like he’s trying to commit you to memory. and for a second, just a second, it feels like the universe quiets—like nothing exists outside of this moment, outside of you.

then, he sees it.

and when he does, a breath slips past his lips, soft, relieved. because there’s no need to split the sky or rearrange the cosmos. this entire time, he hadn’t realized it before—hadn’t seen it, the same way people forget that the stars don’t disappear in the daylight. they’re always there, quiet and constant, just waiting for the right moment to be seen. and this? this is his time to see—to know it.  

yes, he’s right. 

there are stars in your eyes.

[alymccart]

[Click image > right click > "open image in new tab" for higher res]

Alright, uh. Screw it. Let's dust off this account. I was embarrassed about even drawing this, and especially about sharing it publicly, but I'm slapping it up here. Why not. Been extremely burnt out lately, doing art professionally has pretty much killed my desire to do art for the sake of enjoying it (sorry, fans of my dead comic). Mental health has been shoddy. Actual health is eh, as well. I've been too busy to really think and have been so guilty about there being so much stuff to do in my life still that I haven't really afforded myself time to relax or unwind. My enthusiasm for anything has been in the dumps for years. I don't think I've drawn more than a handful of fanart pieces in over a decade (what you see on here is pretty much it), and I've certainly never drawn something like... this. Obviously, I watched Hazbin finally (didn't even realize the show was an actual thing now, though I did love the pilot eons ago; I don't tend to traverse into fandom discussion and discourse so I've been out of the loop). I'm actually nearing double-digit rewatches... and the OST has been on repeat for weeks. Well animated, beautifully written adult cartoons? I'm here for it. Musicals? Oh yeeahhhhh! A well animated, beautifully written adult cartoon that is also a musical??? *teakettle noises*

I'm ace as hell, but wholesome, loving, devoted relationships like this in fiction seem to hit me right at my core. I also cry at heartwarming videos and movies, but that's beside the point... I just... hrrrnnnnggg... Charlie and Vaggie's relationship has SENT ME. It has an iron grip on my soul and I cannot stop it. I feel like i'm 14 years old again. I want to write fanfiction. Is it 2004?? Where am I????? What the fffffasdfasfagghfgfjhdd????????!!!! Aannnyyyyywayyyy.... This art gave me stomach butterflies the entire time I worked on it, as well as an immense amount of joy, and I really hope this can maybe do that for others. And I still have... so many ideas........ so many....

[idkwhatever580]

Embarrassed

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x enhanced!reader (Reader has powers like Wanda's but pink because I'm the author and I can do what I want, and my fav color is pink)

Prompt: Reader's best friend Wanda informs reader about this new thing she learned with Agatha that amped up their sex life. Reader decides to try it out with Nat, and the outcome is better than expected.

Warnings: SMUT, enchanted strap, bondage, slapping, daddy kink (daddy is not a reflection of your gender just a term I used i swear!) cumming without permission?/warning?, swearing, tmi? (Is there such thing as tmi between best friends?), teasing. Top!Reader (semi soft)

A/N: I already had this in my drafts partially finished but then I got a rq and I thought I could incorporate it into this so yeah :) thanks for the request @keirannoa420 <3 (I made reader afab but I think I made them gn for everything else I hope that isn't a problem!)

Today is a simple day for the Avengers. Almost nobody is on a mission today, so everyone is doing their own thing to decompress and rest. Especially since last week was horrible. It was just mission after mission for you and the others.

From what you know, Tony and Bruce are in their lab, Steve and Buck went on a date after visiting Peggy's grave to give her the monthly flowers, Clint went back with his family, Thor and Loki are back at Asgard until needed, Nat is reading in her library, Agatha is in a therapy session (she is still healing from her witchy trauma, good on her!), Vision is probably floating around somewhere, Peter is with Aunt May, the rest of the younger ones are out and about, while you and Wanda are catching up on a much-needed yapping session.

"Omg did you hear what happened on Sam and Tony's mission yesterday?"

You sit up being intrigued, "No, what happened?"

She giggles at the thought of what happened, and says, "He- he"

She can't even tell you what happened without bursting into laughter. "He what! Oh my gosh stop laughing and tell me what happened!"

Your need to hear what happened overpowering your patience, but Wanda eventually can control her laughs into a soft snicker every now and then, "He had to run into the building instead of his usual flying, and he ended up slipping and falling on his back and rolling around because it was raining! Sam got the whole thing recorded thanks to redwing!"

You burst into laughter at the thought of Tony slipping, this surely hurt his ego more than anything. You gasp and say, "Wait... can I see the video? Do you have it?"

She laughs and grabs her phone, "Of course I have the video! I would say I'm surprised you don't have it, but I forgot your phone broke."

You roll your eyes at the reminder of not having a phone to do your daily social media things, but Nat says you need a break from your phone. Joke's on her, you're just bothering her more. (She secretly likes it)

You're drawn away from your thoughts when Wanda holds her phone to your face, the video of Tony slipping funnier than you pictured.

(volume is not necessary for this one)

You both started laughing so hard that tears fell from your eyes, but you both eventually calmed down and were able to change the subject. "So, how's Aggie? I feel like I haven't seen her in months even though I've only been on a mission for a week."

She smiles softly and says, "She's good. Her twice-a-week therapy sessions are really impacting her in a good way. I think she might be having a bit of a hard time adjusting to the Avengers though. She still gets overwhelmed sometimes. Which is what I was scared about. I didn't want to bring her into this space after nine whole months of secretly dating just for her to regress on her progress, but I think she is getting there. Her communication skills are definitely getting better which is helping me accommodate to her needs you know?"

You smile and nod knowingly, "Yeah, I remember coming here for the first time from being a S.H.E.I.L.D. agent, it was terrifying, but my relationship with Nat only grew from where we were. Something is bound to blossom from her too. Anything else interesting with you two?"

Wanda sends me a small smirk and says, "I've been trying out new spells and tricks to cast and I happened to fall upon an interesting spell."

You raise an eyebrow with a tentative voice, "Interesting how?"

She giggles and says, "Okay, so obviously we talk about our sex lives a lot together, but this spell just made bedroom time way better. It's a spell to make an inanimate object basically a part of you. You can feel it and everything that happens to it. So, I tested this spell out on a certain strap-on that we use and let me just say I've never felt so good before. I think you should really try it on Nat, the first time I did it to Aggie, she literally cried because she felt so good."

You raise your eyebrows suggestively and say, "That is quite the interesting find Wands. I'm impressed. You'll have to show me the spell. I think I might try it out on Natty tonight if I can do it right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a few tries of this new spell with Wanda, you're able to feel everything that happens to the tv remote in your leg. You smirk at Wanda and go to exit the room just as Agatha comes back. You send your goodbyes and almost sprint to Natasha's library, making sure to stop by your room to get a certain backpack.

The joys of having your own floor with Natasha means that the things on that floor are only used by the both of you, unless otherwise provoked. So, you know nobody is going to be walking into this space. This also means that you guys can literally fuck anywhere on that floor, but you are so excited to try this spell on her.

You slow down right before you enter and you saunter in, even though Nat has her noise cancelling headphones on, so you know she won't hear you. You come up behind her and softly rest your arms on her shoulders slowly creeping down to kiss her cheek.

She pulls off her headphones and says, "Hello detka. Do you need anything?"

You simply nod your head and give her a soft kiss on the lips to distract her before carefully snatching the current book she is invested in. She lets go of it but not without a pout, "Baby, I was reading that."

You carefully set the book down after putting a bookmark in. Then you walk around and pull her headphones off her ears which makes her even more confused. Until you sit in her lap and snuggle up to her neck. She softly smiles and starts rubbing patterns on your back. "Aww baby, did you want cuddles?"

You nod your head innocently and she says, "Well I can do that while also reading my book so can I have it back?"

You shake your head, and she realizes there's something else you want. She raises an eyebrow, and skeptically says, "What else is it? Did you do something?"

You pull away from her neck and shake your head, "No, I didn't do nothin', but I'm 'bout to."

She furrows her beautiful brows in confusion but notices the glint in your eyes. She knows this look; she has seen it a million times before. How could she miss it? So, she pouts and says, "Aww is my detka a bit horny?"

You nod your head and whisper, "I want to try something new today."

She smirks and nods, always willing to try everything once, well, almost everything. "Of course, detka, what is it you were wanting to try?"

You smile and say, "You're gonna have to wait and find out."

She rolls her eyes at your antics, but you kiss her on the lips and the words that were on the tip of her tongue fade away quickly.

You both start making out softly, a tenderness infiltrates your hearts that only you two can replicate with each other. The kiss quickly turns aggressive though. Her hands falling to your hips to steady them when they start to move on their own, while yours go to her hair to softly tug on the luscious, fiery locks.

Moans start to spill out of you when your core starts to rub on her thigh, and she starts to unbutton your pants trying to get directly to the source, but you push her away. Before she can question your antics, you reach behind her lounge chair to grab the backpack and wave it in front of her face. She smiles and you both stand up to undress yourselves, not bothering to do it for the other, instead choosing efficiency.

Once she has the strap securely tightened around her hips, you push her back down and sit just before the silicon cock, butt resting on her thighs. "I need you to hold still and be quiet for a moment, okay?"

She furrows her brows and says, "Wait, what are you doing?"

You smile at her and say, "I just need you to trust me so I can work my magic." You kiss her doubts away and whisper, "I think you're going to quite like this."

You cast the spell silently and when it is done, you look in her eyes and there is nothing, but confusion written all over her face. "What did you do?"

You smirk and spit on your hand before softly rubbing the tip of the dildo making her hips jerk. "Woah."

You smirk and say, "Woah indeed. Did that feel good?"

She nods her head and says, "Seriously Y/n, what did you do to me?"

You giggle and say, "I made you be able to feel everything like it is your own."

You shimmy your body down to be eye level with the pink sparkly attachment, and you look up into her eyes with yours being doe like from this angle and you slowly take her length into your mouth.

This new sensation causing Nat to moan helplessly and thread her fingers through your hair. You softly start to play with yourself and stretch yourself out, while making sure to not give her too much stimulation. Once you deem yourself ready to take her, you pull away and Nat glares at you. "Why'd you pull away?"

You smile and kiss her worries away, "So I can do this..."

You grab the attachment and slowly slide yourself onto her. Moaning at the size. She always seems to be so big even when you take her all the time. She moans extra loud when you take her to the hilt, and suddenly her hips jerk and her eyes roll to the back of her head.

You force her to look into your eyes and then you start to bounce up and down while grinding onto her.

Although you are feeling very good, your sole intention is to make Nat feel good today. "How does it feel baby?"

She opens her mouth to say something, but only a measly gasp is heard. After a while, she finally is able to conjure a sentence, "Fuck... it feels- so good."

You smirk and say, "Yeah? You like feeling this pussy clench around you?"

She whimpers and nods her head biting her lip to stifle her sounds. Usually you wouldn't let that slide, but since it is her first time feeling this, you'll give her some grace.

You start to bounce up and down on her cock more aggressively and her hands tighten around your hips. She is completely still excepting the few involuntary thrusts her hips make, which make you moan at the spot she hits when she does this.

Nat's head is thrown back and she finally lets go of her lip, allowing all the beautiful sounds to tumble out of her throat. Her pathetic noises are so hot to you and even hotter when she tries to speak, "Y/n I- it feels, I-"

All of a sudden, her words are cut off with an almost pornographic moan, which makes you so wet because you never hear her be this vocal. Her hips start thrusting into you uncontrollably and her hands are scratching into your hips, not that you care.

You furrow your eyebrows as hers raise in surprise and embarrassment. You slow down and say, "Did you... did you just cum?"

Natasha lets out an exhausted breath and looks at anything but you, until you move her by her chin to look into your eyes. When she sees your eyes, she tears up a bit, "I'm sorry I don't know what's wrong with me! I usually last way longer than that! I wasn't even prepared for it; it just sprang up on me."

She starts to ramble, so you shut her up with a kiss and when you pull away you chuckle softly, "Natty baby, I don't know why you came so fast, but I'll bet you it has something to do with the fact that this spell makes you feel things you've never felt before huh?"

She nods her head, and you smile, "Do you want to keep going or do you want to stop?"

She frowns and says, "I want you to cum."

You smile and shake your head, "That's not what I asked darling, I asked about you."

She thinks about it, and then a nasty thought pops into her brain, and she says, "I wanna keep going."

So, you nod your head, and keep moving and grinding on her, this time she makes it about five minutes before the same thing happens.

You become beyond confused as it looks like she just came again. Once she calms down, you tentatively ask, "Did you just... again?"

Her eyes widen and her face turns redder than her hair. She tears up a bit and tries to shove you off of her to inevitably run off and hide from her embarrassment, but you push on her hips, and she moans again. She still tries to get away, so you cut her thoughts off with soft tone saying, "Darling, don't worry, it's okay if you did, you know? It is a new sensation, and it is normal to have a crazy reaction to it."

She previously covered her red face with her hands to hide, so you carefully pull her hands down and smile at her small frame. "Tasha, why are you hiding from me?"

She finally cracks and says, "Because! That was so embarrassing! I've never finished that fast! So, I am embarrassed because I didn't even get to last long enough to have fun, and don't even mention the fact that you didn't get anything out of it!"

You pout at her with fake pity, "Oh darling," You brush her already sweaty hair out of her face and clench your pussy on her strap making her moan at the feeling, "You don't have to worry about that, trust me, we are going to have fun all night. You'll be begging me to stop."

She timidly nods her head, and you say, "Is that okay?"

She nods and says, "I really want to keep going."

You smile and nod your head, but before you can start riding her again, she pulls you off of her swiftly and flips you over on your hands and knees, slipping right back into your wet cunt.

She leans over to whisper in your ear, "I'm gonna fuck this pussy so hard."

You can only moan in response because she's already thrusting deep and hard into your insides. You consider giving in to her and letting her take over, but you already made your mind up ahead of time and she is not getting in your way. So, with a flick of your wrist, she is flipped over, and ropes appear and tie themselves around her wrists.

You crawl up to her as the pink glimmers fade from your eyes, and shake your head, "Thought you could get away with it huh?"

She doesn't answer and you slap her breast making her jerk and yelp out, "I asked you a question, didn't I?"

She meekly nods her head, and you say, "Then I expect you to answer it."

She nods her head again and you say, "Don't make me ask again."

"Yes! I thought I could get away with it! Please daddy!"

You bite your lip at the power trip you're getting from this, but you make sure to soften up and check on Nat knowing she only uses 'daddy' when she's extra sensitive, "I want you to use the color system just like always, okay? Can you tell me a color?"

She doesn't even hesitate before saying, "Yes! Green, please daddy!"

A sigh falls from your lips at hearing that and you nod your head. "Okay baby, you know I'm not gonna be nice to you right?"

She whimpers and nods her head closing her eyes to center herself. You smirk and flip her over, making the dildo hit the bed when you push her hips down on the bed.

She moans out and you lean forward, your lips brushing softly over the shell of her ear, and you whisper, "Do not cum."

Her eyes widen and she shakes her head knowing she's already sensitive from previous orgasms, and she whines out, "No! Please daddy!"

You chuckle at her desperation and say, "If you're good tonight, I'll find a spell to make it so that you can cum in me too."

She shudders at the thought of being able to "breed" you and both of you feel it, so regardless of how much she already wants to cum, she nods her head and takes a breath to prepare herself.

Right before you are about to start, she yelps out, "Wait!"

You freeze in worry that she doesn't want this anymore, so you pause and look to her and let her speak. Her words come out the first time a quiet jumbled mess so you say, "What was that babe?"

She looks over her shoulder and says a little louder this time, "Can I hold a pillow?"

You think about it for a moment, and ultimately decide that if you're not going to comfort her until after, she might as well have something else to find comfort in, so you nod your head and she grabs a pillow. Once she is situated you wait for her queue and when she nods her head you begin to massage her ass a bit before pulling back and landing a harsh slap on her butt.

Natasha's hips jerk away from your hand, and in turn makes her strap rut against the bed stimulating her. She lets out a mix between a moan and a groan because she feels good, but she also knows you put limitations on her.

You continue your assault on her now red and pink ass, and the lewd sounds that are emitting from Nat's throat are making you more wet than you'd like to admit.

You slap her ass again, and she starts to uncontrollably hump the mattress, and you won't allow her to cum without asking so you grab her hips and lift them from the bed before she can stimulate herself any further. She groans and pleads, "Please. ugh please I need it!"

You simply chuckle and shake your head, "Need it so bad you're willing to give up cumming for a week?"

Her eyes widen at that threat and she whimpers knowing she might not be able to hold back since the last two came out of nowhere, but you lay her back down and say, "two more, then you can cum again."

She nods her head, crossing her fingers that she makes it, and out of nowhere the second to last slap is let out on her skin. It is way harder than all the others, so in turn, it makes Nat almost forget about what you said. Almost.

You hum and rub her ass tenderly, not letting her know when the last one is coming, and the second she whimpers again you pull back and hit her ass so hard it has her shoving her hips back into you.

She catches her breath and rolls around. You tell her to hold still as you are about to disenchant the strap, but Nat says, "Wait, baby, what are you doing?"

You furrow your brows and say, "I thought you said you were done after this orgasm?"

She nods and says, "I held it, I wanna cum with you on my cock."

Her eyes are so sweet and soft you simply can't refuse, so you let her win this time, riding her cock until the both of you come, and then you end up just laying together in a moment of tenderness.

"I love you detka."

"I love you too Natty, I'm glad you liked the surprise."

"Oh, I loved it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Masterlist

Taglist

@ilovesnat @ihartnat @marvelnatasha12346 @moistblobfish @justarandomreaderxoxo @lovelyy-moonlight @symp4nat @ale-estrabao

Comment to be added to the taglist!!! I have a list of prompts coming out after this :)))

A/N: I hope y'all liked it!!! (Did you catch my Love and Death reference???) Also, I apologize for the rushed ending, I really needed to get this out.

[uravitypng]

werewolf meguru bachira x (chubby) reader

KINKTOBER: knotting + dacryphilia + marking

word count: 1.3k words / mdni / 18+ i love writing for bachira <33

your roommate is really hot. applying to become roommates with someone who you didn't know led to unexpected problems- like falling for him. his cheerful and eccentric personality drew you in, his amber eyes and his black and yellow hair keeping you there. a very attractive man in every sense. a very attractive werewolf.

decades ago werewolves and other monsters would have to hide who they are but the times have changed and society has progressed. one of the reasons why you're glad you're born during this progressive age is now you can go into sex shops and buy sex toys... monster sex toys... werewolf toys.

you didn't go out of your way to buy a monster sex toy, you just wanted a new vibrator, maybe something a little quieter now you have a roommate but there was a whole section on monster toys. huge, thick, ribbed, knots, it was rather daunting to see all of them. your eyes were drawn to a particular dildo though, thick and with a knot, you guess around 9 inches. you read the label below it and it's a werewolf dildo. in the end you end up buying it but you tell yourself that you might not even use it, you're just buying it because it was cheap. it wasn't, you couldn't even afford to buy the vibrator you wanted as well.

when you get home you throw the dildo under the bedside table, sometimes your eyes drift over to it but it's been weeks and you haven't used it.

you make your way into the living room and turn on the television, throwing a blanket over you. you think about asking bachira if he wants to watch a movie with you, you hear the shower run and look for films while you wait to ask him. you don't hear the shower stop and you don't hear the door opening, already focused on your task of choosing a film. "oooh, what are you watching?"

"i haven't deci-" you turn to look at him and he's wearing his towel, and nothing else. it's definitely not the first time he's done this, it's pretty frequent but every time it floors you. it should be illegal for someone to look so good. "bachira put some clothes on!" you squeak and he laughs loudly at your reaction before leaving and coming back a couple minutes later this time with clothes on. you end up watching a film and that night your hand reaches under your bedside table. it was only fair that meguru touched himself to your muffled moans, it seems you forgot that werewolves have supernatural hearing and you're basically putting on a show for him. he can't hear any porn so he wonders what you're thinking about. little does he know it's about him.

it happens nearly everyday now, once you've started it's hard to stop. stripped down and turning your face against your pillow muffling your moans and making your wrist hurt as you repeatedly thrust the dildo into your pussy. however, unaware to you, your noises get louder, as you get closer you whine loudly and bachira can hear squelching noises and he imagines him getting you to make the noises. as you push the knot into you you whine "meguru" and he cums everywhere, all over his chest and pants loudly. he didn't imagine that. you definitely said his name.

immediately he leaves his room and he flings open your door and and you whelp trying to cover yourself with your hands. "bachira wha-" before you can finish what you were going to say he goes over to the bed and grabs your hands, forcing them away from your body.

"don't cover up. it's rude to tease," he grins and your eyes widen. he grips your wrists in his large hands and licks his lips as he drinks up your soft body with his eyes, making you shiver.

"tease? tease, i-i haven't done anything!" you don't know what he's talking about but you're hyperaware that you're naked and exposed with a knotted werewolf dildo currently in you with your werewolf roommate above you completely naked too, and you can feel his hard cock against you which you're trying not to look at it.

"oh, really, so calling my, whining, my name as you fill up your cunt isn't teasing?" he licks a tear that starts to fall down your face, 'you look so cute'.

your eyes widen and you try and wiggle out of his grasp, " 'm sorry! ' didn't mean to! just like you a lot meguru!"

bachira doesn't try to stifle giggles, making you cry more and he ruts against your chubby stomach. "awe why didn't you tell me? we could of been doing this for ages." he teases but you can hear that he's being genuine. you sniffle and look up at him in shock and awe at his 'confession'. "such a silly girl," he grins as he sees another tear and wipes it with his hand. "it's a good thing i like you too," he kisses your wet cheek. "never knew you were such a crybaby though." he never knew he would be so turned on by seeing you cry either.

"i'm not a crybaby." you mumble.

"oh please," bachira rolls his eyes and without any warning pulls the dildo out of you, making you screech, suddenly feeling so empty. when he sees it he grins wide, not only covered in your juices but very clearly knotted. "awe did you buy this because of me?" you turn your head to the side not wanting to look at him, embarrassed. 'cute'

"do you want my cock?" he asks cockily and you head snaps back to look at him. "i promise it's much better then that small piece of plastic you've been using." he grins and ruts against you again. your mind goes blank as he says 'small,' that toy is anything but small, how big is he?

you nod your head, "good girl." in one swoop he thrusts into you, not stopping as you scream and grab hold of his arms and hold him tightly to ground yourself. he laughs at your reaction as he keeps thrusting hard and fast. he wasn't lying when he said your toy was small. his cock feels thicker than your wrist and is longer than average too, you feel like you're feeling ripped apart but still he doesn't slow down, in fact as you cry more he gets even more feral. "you look so pretty crying for me," kissing your cheeks and soft jaw.

bachira grabs hold of your malleable hips and sinks his fingers into you groaning at the sight and the feeling, using them to pull you towards him and off him, aiding in his movements.

he doesn't even need to work hard for you to come. of course he doesn't you're his 'good little mate' meguru actually growls when he thinks that, shocking you in the process. it seems impossible but his thrusts get harder and it almost hurts but the slight pain is pleasurable. "fuck, fuck," he grabs hold of you so tightly he's going to leave bruises and pushes his knot into you and stuffing you full.

you scream, you cry more than double that you have been, your arms flail and your swear you're going to bleed. "sssh, shhhh, it's okay," he strokes your hair and wipes your eyes. you sniffle and he continues comforting.

" 'ts big," you say through tears.

"i know but you can take it. you're so good for me aren't you?" you nod your head and as you nod your head your neck gets exposed causing bachira to start breathing heavy and you worry that something's wrong. you don't have time to ask about it though because he's instincts are telling him to bite, bite, bite! and that's what he does, he turns your head and bites down hard, leaving a mating mark on you, making everyone know you're his. you gasp but the that blood drips down makes you wince, he licks your mark soothing any pain you have. you're his- forever.

[literaila]

the brunch

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: satoru does not get jealous, just so everyone knows

a/n: (that previous statement was a lie) the brainrot is real

last part | next part

year four.

it’s a bit unusual for the house to be this filled, especially this early in the morning. 

chatter echoes throughout the space, loud exclamations, and secret whispers, all making up a terrible-sounding symphony. 

megumi and tsumiki are playing some elaborate board game with onlookers on the coffee table, both of them smiling proudly. 

satoru is trying to tidy up the many different plates and cups everyone's left lying around, laughing when shoko rolls her eyes at something he's just said. 

and you're in the kitchen, talking with nanami like you haven't seen him in several years--it's been three weeks. 

it's very strange for the four of you. to let anyone--not to mention a dozen people--intrude on your carefully planned out saturday mornings. to invite others into your world of burnt breakfasts and uncombed bedhead. 

but here you all are, managing. 

and you’d reminded satoru probably seventeen times—too many times, he thinks, with far too many knowing glances—that hosting was not something to be taken lightly (and that you weren’t going to help him ((both of you know that you are)). 

but he doesn’t mind this. 

the crowded house, or the many different phone calls he had to make about getting this party (which he swore wasn’t one) set up. the loud sounds or the inevitable cleanup he'll try to swindle his way out of. 

it’s quite nice. actually, satoru is a little proud of his makeshift brunch, and the fact that everyone came, and everyone seems happy. he likes that he can barely hear his thoughts, that there's nothing important enough for him to think about anyway. 

and honestly, with all of it going on, satoru should not be this discontented with the fact that you’re smiling at someone else. 

he invited nanami because he knows that you miss him and that you’re too embarrassed to admit that. or too proud, maybe. too forgiving. and he knows that you wouldn’t have done it yourself, had he not gotten involved. 

but still. should satoru really have to sit back and watch as you fawn over a man who wore a suit to casual brunch? 

no, he should not, thank you. 

"what's wrong with your face?" shoko asks him after the silence has drawn on for too long, sounding very uninterested. 

satoru shakes his head, snapping out of his daze. "what?" 

"you've got a weird look." 

"no, i don't." 

"it's like that time that you chugged the entire carton of expired milk someone left in the fridge." 

"don't remind me," he says, trying to put on a theatrical wince, but he just ends up looking back at you, with a blank face. 

there is no time for joking, or flamboyancy, or caring about anything else in the world. 

shoko does the same, her eyes trailing where his are, watching as you tilt your head at nanami, laughing when he murmurs something. 

in typical nanami fashion, his lips only twitch a little bit, but it's enough to tell that he's amused by whatever conversation you're having. 

that he's got your full attention, and he gets to watch your eyes as they shift from one glance to another and--

shoko nods, looking back to satoru, who is trapped in his stare. chained down at the mere thought of you. "oh," she says, rolling her eyes. 

satoru doesn't look away, but grunts in the form of a question. 

"you're an idiot, you know that?" 

he frowns. "what?" 

her eyes are exasperated, and her smile is all-knowing. she has always alluded satoru, and his very short attention span. and he kind of hates her, at this moment, for distracting him. 

"seriously," she scoffs at his perturbed face, "after a whole year of living basically in the same room, i thought that the two of you would finally get over it." 

"who?" satoru asks, smiling confusedly. "get over what?" 

"you. get over yourself. honestly, only you and y/n would raise two kids together and pretend like there's no intimacy in it." 

"what?"' satoru repeats, dumbly. 

"and, by the way," shoko tells him, sipping on her drink. "jealousy is not cute." 

and then she walks away, like she's answered a single one of satoru's questions. 

and he frowns, thinking about it. 

because--no, there's no way she was talking about him--he shakes his head. where would she even have gotten that idea? there's--

no. 

and it’s—it’s not jealousy. he laughs off that thought.

satoru gojo is the strongest. he's the one everyone looks to. he doesn't have anything to be jealous about. 

and besides satoru knows that you don’t get enough time away from your discombobulated family. that your life revolves around them, and they around you. 

and the two of you have talked—at length—about the fact that you’re both young, and neither of you should live the lifestyle of some middle-aged parents, with no way to connect with the people in your age group. the people that would’ve been your family, in some alternate universe. 

satoru knows that you don’t carve out the things that you need without being asked to, that you get anxious about these types of occasions--he's watched it happen before, when you were forced into a corner at one exchange event the two of you shared, or when yaga took you all out to dinner, and you'd shrink yourself in your seat until someone noticed. 

he's seen you try to make yourself smaller at the convenience of others, and as he's grown (he almost winces at the thought) satoru has sworn to himself that he'd keep you from any situation where that might be necessary. 

so he shouldn’t--he doesn't--mind that you’re having a good time. he should be--is--happy with himself, for setting it up so you could, for planning it around you, and the kids. he should be preparing himself to gloat in your face about the fact that he thought of this, and he set it up all on his own. 

god. he doesn't have anything to be jealous about. 

but that doesn't change the fact that satoru can't really see beyond you, ten feet away from him, laughing at something that nanami said. 

and maybe it's not the fact that you're talking to him, or that you're smiling at him like satoru wants to be smiled at, he thinks, but more that you don't act that way with him. 

satoru is well aware of the grounds in your relationship, and he knows that you spend most of your days rolling your eyes at the obnoxious things that he says, trying to protect the children--and him--from the antics that you've all grown used to. 

he's not jealous, but maybe he's a little bit annoyed that he hasn't seen you this easy, and light since you were still in school. since you were still younger than him, and still someone he could look down upon. 

you cling to nanami like satoru clings to you, he realizes, sullenly. you smile and tease--if just the way your eyes crinkle means anything. 

you grin at nanami like you're trying to irritate him. like you're the reckless one between the two. 

and maybe it hurts satoru more just to know that you are the reckless one.

he'd lived with the two of you for three years. he'd experienced nanami's typical brooding--which, now, reminds him a lot of megumi, actually--and the way he'd think through everything. maybe a little bit too much, even. 

satoru was always there to watch you giggle alongside the austere man, pull him out of whatever thought process was darkening the mood, and remind him that none of it was all that serious. 

satoru knows--he knows--that you and him are similar. he knows that it's why he feels the way he does with you. that the way the two of you dance around your emotions, and say nothing that you truly mean is something to cherish, if also something to despise. 

he's not jealous, but maybe it hurts satoru because he knows that you've never been able to truly not care, with him. that he takes up all of the ignorance one household can get, even without meaning to.

or maybe it's just been a long time since he got the chance to watch you interact with anyone else. 

maybe he's just ridiculous, and he should go do something else before he thinks about this for too long. shoko is wrong, though, he thinks. he's definitely not jealous. 

he's satoru gojo. he doesn't have anything to be jealous about. 

but he's still watching when you shake your head at something nanami says, tapping him on the shoulder and excusing yourself while waving him on, still light and airy, eyes meeting satoru's with that same grin. 

it's probably worse to know that it doesn't quite belong to him. that he's not the sole benefactor of it all. 

"hey," you say, bumping into him on purpose when you come over, your hands wrapping around his forearm as you lean on him. "need help?" 

"nah, i've got it," he finally looks away. he doesn't want to watch this. 

but you're still grinning at him, trying to catch his eye--even with the sunglasses. "you're all alone over here," you coo, "i can help you clean up." 

satoru snorts. "i thought you weren't going to help with anything." 

"well, since i'm already here..." you drawl, beginning to pick up spare utensils, and napkins. all of the things he'd been too distracted to do. 

you're humming as you do it, completely content with everything. 

satoru tries not to grind his teeth at the fact that your mood is not because of him. 

"how's nanami?" he asks, unprecendented, after a moment. 

you shrug. "he's good. i guess the real world sucks too," you say it with a lilt, like there's an inside joke that satoru is missing. 

he shakes his head, trying to keep his words civil. "the real world?" 

"the corporate universe, and laws of reality, or whatever," you roll your eyes, and you sound exactly like him. "no curses or magic to liven things up." 

"no monsters, you mean." 

"or that," you smile at him, looking almost giddy. 

satoru hums. 

you put all of the trash you've collected on a serving dish, piling things up without a care in the world. and then you turn towards satoru, and he can feel your slight frown before he can see it. "you okay?" you ask him. 

satoru freezes. "what?" 

"is it getting to you? the brunch?" 

"what? no, i'm fine," he tries to look at you like you're ridiculous, but his face feels stiff, and wrong, and far too happy for you. 

"you look like your tongue is too big to fit in your mouth." 

he sticks his tongue out, almost on command. "does it look any different?" 

"hmm," you pretend to observe. "yeah. might want to see a doctor about it." 

"noted." 

"are you trying not to laugh at something? you can tell me if i have something on my face, you know." 

satoru's smile is a bit easier at that, but he shakes his head anyway. he kind of wants to run away to his room--something he's learned from raising two children. "no, i'm just thinking." 

you raise a brow. 

satoru scowls. "what? you didn't think it was possible?" 

"no, not really."  

he shakes his head. he tries to turn away, scoffing like it's a joke (it's not), but your hand reaches for his bicep before he can. 

"hey," you say to him. he turns back to you, and your smile, nose scrunched up as you lean in. "how are you?" 

"busy. i have to go make sure there's enough ice in that bucket." 

"i'll come with you," you say, even though you both know that he's lying. 

"no. i'm sure nanami has more he wants to talk with you about." 

"is that what this is about? nanami? are you mad at him, or something?" 

"why would i be mad at him?" 

"i don't know, satoru, your brain is a confusing thing," you tug on his hair just a little bit. "hey, c'mon. why're you upset?" 

"i'm not upset." 

satoru should be basking in your attention, but he can't quite bring himself to notice it. or that you spend every day with him--mostly without complaint--and never fail to laugh at something he says. 

no, his thoughts are not very organized, at the moment. 

"you've got your little angry pout on," you nudge his lips with a finger. "i think you've been spending too much time with megumi." 

he grabs your hand, trying not to squeeze. "i'm fine. go hang out. you're not supposed to be helping me." 

this time, you pout. "you don't want to spend time with me?" 

he groans, throwing his head back. "i'm trying to be nice," he tells you. "you know, like how you're always telling me to?" 

"ew," you say, giggling a little bit. "i don't like it." 

he rolls his eyes. 

"seriously, come hang out with me and the kids. we can beat them at charades, or something, again. you need a little pep in your step." 

"what are you, my mom?" he deadpans but feels his heart twitch a little bit because you're still holding onto him. 

"might as well be. take a break, satoru, i miss you." 

you say it so easily and nonchalantly that satoru wants to pick you up and lock you in a little box, just so you can never talk to anyone but him again.

he stares at you, blinking beneath his glasses, feeling like you're doing all of this just to mess with him. 

honestly, whiplash is a serious condition. 

you smile at him, fluttering your eyelashes unknowingly, pouting at him a little bit, even through the smile. 

and satoru's never been able to say no to you, so he lets you pull him with you, back to the kitchen, where you grab nanami too--to the dismay of satoru, of course. he tries not to glare. 

and satoru chooses to ignore the discerning look that nanami sends him, and the fact that his arm tightens around your waist as you drag the two men along. 

he's not jealous. god, it's just very loud in here. 

*

somewhere several minutes earlier, when the two of you were standing just a little bit too close to each other, both of you pouting, looking like two children fighting over a toy--you had a couple of spectators. 

shoko scoffs, shaking her head. "that's disgusting." 

you're on your tiptoes, head tilted as you purr something to satoru. they can't see his eyes from twenty feet away, but they can all tell that they're stuck on you. glued, never to be torn away. 

megumi looks at the woman, then follows her eyes to the two of you, blank-faced. 

tsumiki giggles. 

"we know," they both say, rolling their eyes. 

*

next part | series masterlist

[jewelleria]

I don’t usually talk about politics on here, if ever. But it’s been almost six months since the conflict in the Middle East flared up again, and I’m finally ready to start. Here are some of my thoughts.

I say ‘flared up’ because this has happened before and it’ll happen again. Because, even though what's currently going on is absolutely unprecedented, those of us who live in this part of the world are used to it. Let that sink in: we are used to this. And we shouldn’t have to be. 

But I use that term for another reason: I don't want to accidentally call it the wrong thing lest I come under fire for being a genocidal maniac or a terrorist or a propaganda machine, etc., etc.—so let’s just call it ‘the war’ or ‘the conflict.’ Because that’s what it is. Doesn’t matter which side you’re on, who you love, or who you hate. 

This post will, in all likelihood, sit in my drafts forever. If it does get posted, it certainly won’t be on my main, because I'm scared of being harassed (spoiler: she posted it on her main). I hate admitting that, but honestly? I’m fucking terrified. 

I also feel like in order for anything I say on here (i.e. the hellscape of the internet) to be taken seriously, I have to somehow prove that a) I’m “educated” enough to talk about the conflict, and b) that my opinion lines up with what has been deemed the correct one. So, tedious and unnecessary though it is, I will tell you about my experience, because I have a feeling most of the people reading this post are not nearly as close to what’s happening as I am.

How do I explain where I live without actually explaining where I live? How do I say “I live in the Red Zone of international conflicts” without saying what I actually think? How do I convey the fear that grips me when I try to decide between saying “I live in Palestine” and “I live in Israel”? I don't really know. But I do know that names are important. I also know that, due to the various clickbaity monikers ascribed to the conflict, it would probably just be easier to point to a map. 

I haven't always lived in the Middle East. I've lived in various places along America’s east coast, and traveled all over the world. But in short, I now live somewhere inside the crudely-drawn purple circle. 

If you know anything about these borders you probably blanched a bit in sympathy, or maybe condolence. But in truth, it’s a shockingly normal existence. I don't feel like I've lived through the shifting of international relations or a war or anything. I just kind of feel like I did when COVID hit, that dull sameness as I wondered if this would be the only world-altering event to shape my life, or if there would be more. 

I've been told that, in order for my brain to process all the horrific details of the past six months, there needs to be some element of cognitive dissonance—that falling into a sort of dissociative mindset is the only way to not go insane under the weight of it all. I think in some ways that’s true. I have been terrifyingly close to bus stop shootings when my commute wasn’t over; I have felt my apartment building shake with the reverberations of a missile strike; I have spent hours in underground shelters waiting for air raid sirens to stop. 

But. I have also gone grocery shopping, and skipped class, and stayed up too late watching TV, and fed the cats on the street corner, and cried over a boy, and got myself AirPods just because, and taken out the trash, and done laundry on a delicate cycle, and bought overpriced lattes one too many days a week. I have looked at pretty things and taken out my phone because, despite it all, I still think that life is too short not to freeze the small moments. 

So I'd say, all things considered, I live an incredibly privileged life—compared, of course, to those suffering in Gaza—one filled with sunsets and over-sweetened knafeh and every different color of sand. One that allows me to throw myself into a fandom-induced hyperfixation (or, alternatively, escape method) as I sit on the couch and crack open my laptop to write the next chapter of the fic I'm working on. 

But there are bits of not-normalness that wheedle their way through the cracks. I pretend these moments are avoidable, even if they’re not. 

They look like this: reading the news and seeing another idiotic, careless choice on Netanyahu’s part and groaning into my morning coffee. Watching Palestinian and Jewish children’s needless suffering posted on Instagram reels and feeling helpless. Opening my Tumblr DMs to find a message telling me to exterminate myself for reblogging a post that only seems like it’s about the war if you squint and tilt your head sideways. 

These moments look like all the tiny ways I am reminded that I'm living in a post-October seventh world, where hearing a car backfire makes me jump out of my skin and the sound of a suitcase on pavement makes me look up at the sky and search for the war planes. They look like the heavy grief that is, and also isn’t, mine. 

Here's the thing, though. I know you’re wondering when the ball will drop and my true opinion will be revealed. I know you’re waiting for me to reveal what demographic I'm a part of so that you, dear reader, can neatly slap a label on my head and sort me into some oversimplified category that lets you continue to think you understand this war. 

No one wants to sit and ruminate on the difficult questions, the ones that make you wonder if maybe you’ve been tinkered with by the propaganda machine, if you might need to go back on what you’ve said or change your mind. We all strive for our perception of complicated issues to be a comfortable one.

But I know that no matter what I do, there will always be assumptions. So, while I shudder to reveal this information online, I think that maybe my most significant contribution to this meta-discussion spanning every facet of the internet is this: 

I am a Jew. 

Or, alternatively, I am: Jewish, יהודית, يَهُودِيٌّ, etc. Point is, I come from Jews. And, like any given person, I am a product of generation after generation of love. 

I'm not going to take time to explain my heritage to you, or to prove that before all the expulsions and pogroms, there was an origin point. If you don’t believe that, perhaps it’s less of a factual problem and more of an ‘I don’t give weight to the beliefs of indigenous people’ problem. But, in case you want to spend time uselessly refuting this tiny point in a larger argument, you can inspect the photos below (it’s just a small chunk of my DNA test results). Alternatively, you can remember that interrogating someone in an attempt to make their indigeneity match your arbitrary criteria is generally not seen as good manners. 

Now, let’s go back to thathateful message (read: poorly disguised death threat) I received in my Tumblr DMs. I think it was like two or three weeks ago. I had recently gained a new follower whose blog’s primary focus was the fandom I contribute to, so I followed them back. I saw in my notes that they were going through my posts and liking them—as one does when gaining a new mutual. Yippee! 

Then they sent me this: 

I tried to explain that hate speech is not a way to go about participating in political discourse, but the person had already blocked me immediately after sending that message. Then, assured by the fact that I surely would never see them complaining about me on their blog (because, as I said, they blocked me), they posted a shouting rant accusing me of sympathizing with colonizing settlers and declaring me a “racist Zionist fuck.” Oh, the wonders of incognito tabs.

Where this person drew these conclusions after reading my (reblogged) post about antisemitism…. I'm not actually sure. But I greatly sympathize with them, and hope that they weren’t too personally offended by my desire to not die. 

For a while I contemplated this experience in my righteous anger, and tried to figure out a way to message this person. I wanted to explain that a) seeing a post about being Jewish and choosing to harass the creator about Israel is literally the definition of antisemitism and b) that sending a hateful DM and refusing to be held accountable is just childish and immature. But I gave up soon after—because, honestly, I knew it wasn’t worth my effort or energy. And I knew that I wouldn't be able to change their mind. 

But I still remember staring at that rather unfortunate meme, accompanied by an all-caps message demanding for me to Free Palestine, and thinking: the post didn’t even have any buzzwords. I remember the swoop of dread and guilt and fear. I remember wondering why this kind of antisemitism felt worse, in that moment, than the kind that leaves bodies in its wake. 

I remember thinking, I don’t have the power to free anyone.

I remember thinking, I’m so fucking tired. 

And before you tell me that this conflict isn’t about religion—let me ask you some questions. Why is it that Israel is even called Israel? (Here’s why.) Why do Jews even want it? (Here’s why.) But also, if you actually read the charters of Islamist terrorist organizations like ISIS, Hamas, and Hezbollah (among others), they equate the modern state of Israel with the Jewish people, and they use the two entities interchangeably. So of course this conflict is religious. It’s never been anything but that.

But I do wonder, when faced with those who deny this fact: how do I prove, through an endless slew of what-about-isms and victim blaming, that I too am hurting? How do I show that empathy is dialectical, that I can care deeply for Palestinians and Gazans while also grieving my own people? 

There's this thing that humans do, when we’re frustrated about politics and need to howl our opinions about it into the void until we feel better. We find like-minded souls, usually our friends and neighbors, and fret about the state of the world to each other until we’ve gone around in a satisfactory amount of circles. But these conversations never truly accomplish anything. They’re just a substitute, a stand-in catharsis, for what we really wish we could do: find someone who embodies the spirit of every Jew-hating internet troll, every ignorant justifier of terrorism, and scream ourselves hoarse at them until we change their mind.

But, of course, minds cannot be changed when they are determined to live in a state of irrational dislike. In Judaism, this way of thinking has a name: שנאת חינם (sinat hinam), or baseless hatred. It's a parasite with no definite cure, and it makes people bend over backwards to justify things like the massacre on October seventh, simply because the blame always needs to be placed on the Jews. 

So when a Jew is faced with this unsolvable problem, there is only one response to be had, only one feeling to be felt: anger. And we are angry. Carrying around rage with nowhere to put it is exhausting. It's like a weight at the base of our neck that pushes down on our spine, bending it until we will inevitably snap under the pressure. I’m still waiting to break, even now.

I wish I could explain to someone who needs to hear it that terrorism against Israelis happens every single day here, and that we are never more than one degree of separation away from the brutal slaughter of a friend, lover, parent, sibling. I wish it would be enough to say that the majority of Israelis (which includes Arab-Israeli citizens who have the exact same rights as Jewish-Israelis) wish for peace every day without ever having seen what it looks like. 

I wish I could show the world that Israel was founded as a socialist state, that it was built on communal values and born from a cluster of kibbutzim (small farming communities based on collective responsibility), and that what it is now isn’t what its people stand for. 

I wish the world could open their eyes to what we Israelis have seen since the beginning: that Hamas is the enemy, Hamas is the one starving Palestinians and denying them aid, Hamas is the one who keeps rejecting ceasefire terms and denying their citizens basic human rights. Hamas is the governing body of Gaza, not Israel. Hamas is responsible for the wellbeing of the Palestinian people. And Hamas are the ones who are more determined to murder Jews—over and over and over again, in the most animalistic ways possible—than to look inwards and see the suffering they’ve inflicted on their own people. I wish it was easier to see that.

But the wishing, the asking how can people be so blind, is never enough. I can never just say, I promise I don't want war. 

When I bear witness to this baseless hatred, I think of the victims of October seventh. I think of the women and girls who were raped and then murdered, forever unable to tell their stories. I think of the hostages, trapped underneath Gaza in dark tunnels, wondering if anyone will come for them. I think of Ori Ansbacher, of Ezra Schwartz, of Eyal, Gilad, and Naftali, of Lucy, Rina, and Maia Dee, of the Paley boys, of Ari Fuld and of Nachshon Wachsman. I think of all the innocent blood spilled because of terror-fueled hatred and the virus of antisemitism. I think of all the thousands of people who were brutally murdered in Israel, Jews and Muslims and Christians and humans, who will never see peace.

My ties to this land are knotted a thousand times over. Even when I leave, a part of me is left behind, waiting for me to claim it when I return. But when I see the grit it takes to live through this pain, when I see the suffering that paints the world the color of blood, I look to the heavens and I wonder why. 

I ask God: is it worth all this? He doesn't answer. So I am the one, in the end, to answer my own question. I say, it has to be. 

Feel free to send any genuine, respectful, and clarifying questions you may have to my inbox!

EDIT: just coming on here to say that I'm really touched & grateful for the love on this post. When I wrote it, I felt hopeless; I logged off of Tumblr for Shabbat, dreading the moment I would turn off my phone to find more hate in my inbox. Granted, I did find some, and responding to it was exhausting, but it wasn’t all hate. I read every kind reblog and comment, and the love was so much louder. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 🤍

Source Reading

The Whispered in Gaza Project by The Center for Peace Communications

Why Jews Cannot Stop Shaking Right Now by Dara Horn

Hamas Kidnapped My Father for Refusing to Be Their Puppet by Ala Mohammed Mushtaha

I Hope Someone Somewhere Is Being Kind to My Boy by Rachel Goldberg

The Struggle for Black Freedom Has Nothing to Do with Israel by Coleman Hughes

Israel Can Defend Itself and Uphold Its Values by The New York Times Editorial Board

There Is a Jewish Hope for Palestinian Liberation. It Must Survive by Peter Beinart

The Long Wait of the Hostages’ Families by Ruth Margalit

“By Any Means Necessary”: Hamas, Iran, and the Left by Armin Navabi

When People Tell You Who They Are, Believe Them by Bari Weiss

Hunger in Gaza: Blame Hamas, Not Israel by Yvette Miller

Benjamin Netanyahu Is Israel’s Worst Prime Minister Ever by Anshel Pfeffer

What Palestinians Really Think of Hamas by Amaney A. Jamal and Michael Robbins

The Decolonization Narrative Is Dangerous and False by Simon Sebag Montefiore

Understanding Hamas’s Genocidal Ideology by Bruce Hoffman

The Wisdom of Hamas by Matti Friedman

How the UN Discriminates Against Israel by Dina Rovner

This Muslim Israeli Woman Is the Future of the Middle East by The Free Press

Why Are Feminists Silent on Rape and Murder? by Bari Weiss

[maki-nsi]

I am alive!

I just haven't drawn anything other than doodles lately so um, enjoy the pointy silly hats i doodled like two weeks ago cause i think theyre cute and i can share them with yall

i am still very much busy, sorri ^_^

i do have a lot of painting ideas though, so, yknow, as soon as i find some time

so yeah, thats all, i like them doodles here, i think theyd look very cute in an illustrated book for kids, maybe i should look into illustrating books for younglings. there isnt really any context behind these doodle other than me just wanting to draw something cute

[holymolyfizzie]

i don't wanna derail @kityana's post about stolas's pill popping, so i'm making a separate one. but something kityana said finally made me think about something: "i'm still not sure if those pills are actually helping him or if they were just given to him to numb him to how shitty his life is"

I've wondered something related to this a lot myself. but Stolas takes his antidepressants with alcohol (and in the aftermath of alcohol, like at the end of The Circus), which is a depressant. taking antidepressants + alcohol at best just cancels out your antidepressants so they don't actually do anything. but both at once, at worst, makes your depression symptoms a lot worse. taking them together is the sort of stuff that college girls get yelled at for, but i guess no one told stolas. i wouldn't be surprised if he's been popping them like candy and upping his dosage because he was told they would help him…and then they don't because of the rampant alcoholism. which is to say that we don't know if the meds even worked for him at all (i'd argue strongly they didn't, considering his alcoholism only ever got worse and he kept taking more and more pills, like they never worked enough) or if they were a placebo while he was taking them

and this might be a bit too nuanced for such a show, but as someone who has suddenly gotten off antidepressants that didn't work at all, the withdrawal symptoms don't always affect mood that much (they did nothing for it to begin with) and they sure as hell don't last a full month after getting off. in fact, going cold turkey off of meds that do work for you shouldn't have withdrawal symptoms that last a full month (if you do, it's a Talk to Your Doctor moment). i just really wonder if Stolas noticed the lack of antidepressants after the first few days beyond the old habit of taking them, and if we really can contribute much of his mental breakdown to getting off antidepressants

but you know what he was taking religiously, that did affect him for sure, and that we haven't seen him touch in a month now? the alcohol. he was drinking during Mastermind, but he clearly hasn't touched it since the trial. Blitz doesn't seem to have alcohol around, and Stolas wouldn't ask for the extra expense -- he's being forced to quit. he passes up Loona's beelzejuice at the Sinsmas party, noticeably. the beelzejuice is brought in, and Stolas immediately goes outside for a smoke instead. he's not drinking anymore. and quitting alcohol cold turkey is an insane process, esp at his level of hard liquor. we're talking about disastrous health consequences and a whole host of withdrawal symptoms -- anxiety, depression, irritability, fatigue, loss of appetite, brain fog, hallucinations, and much worse stuff (in humans, seizures). it's impossible to underestimate the severe damage alcoholism does to your brain and body longterm. and a lot of those withdrawal symptoms stay weeks after stopping cold turkey

like, i don't want to detract from him going off of antidepressants; he needs and obviously wants working antidepressants, he's desperate for them. but i'm gonna be so for real, i've had my experiences going off ineffective antidepressants, and i've watched family members try to quit alcohol. an alcoholic quitting is a brutal, drawn out process that shakes me to my core. there are reasons a person still says "i am an alcoholic" even a decade after quitting. that shit's insidious in a way that antidepressants aren't, and it was affecting stolas noticeably more, surely enough to render his meds useless. if you want him back on antidepressants, then you need a sober Stolas first, and this is what he's FINALLY working on

so i think more emphasis needs to be placed on Stolas's recovery from alcoholism when discussing his mental breakdown, irritability, etc. the fact that he's doing this without rehab or other interventions is miraculous, nearly impossible. i don't want his impressive recovery (so far) from alcoholism to end up getting buried under the antidepressant talk ngl, especially when his getting off of alcohol now means that his antidepressants may actually work in the future and help him. this is something to be so so proud of!!

[pearlzier]

⭒ㅤ𓈒ㅤׂ 🐾 ★

pairing : carmen berzatto x fem!reader

summary : carm is fucking flabbergasted to hear you've never had a proper valentine's day, let alone a special meal. so he has to rectify it as soon as possible.

word count : 2.28k

tags: the bear, jeremy allen white, fluff, valentine's day, carmen berzatto, carmy berzatto, established relationship, awkward carm <3, BEST MAN EVER.

a/n: got this idea from @aliaugustaa, i thought it was so cute so i just had to do it :3 who needs an irl valentines when u have ur little chef man, making sure u know u deserve the best amiright.

it all started when carmen had overheard you, syd and tina talking. he'd been in his office, trying to get some work done with the door slightly ajar, considering the air conditioning in the room was shit, when the three of you had struck up a conversation. he hadn't paid much attention to it. he occasionally tuned into the sound of your voice, of course, but the details of the words you were saying remained mostly lost on him.

until he heard the mention of ‘valentine's day’ come from tina. fuck. if he had to be honest, it'd been years since he'd last.. celebrated? valentine's day? before you, he didn't actually have any reason to do anything for it. carmen avoided the day like the plague, actually, with the bare minimum being done in terms of heart themed menu times. but even he knew that you would've been expecting a valentine's gift from him, right? you two had been dating for what, nearly a year now, so he had to think of something.

that started his panic in terms of what he was going to get you. he had no fucking clue. but what took him out even more was your words, as you leant against the counter with your notepad: “valentine's day is so overrated,” okay.. “i haven't had a valentine since i was like, fifteen, and i'm perfectly fine.”

perfectly fine.

his blue eyes darted quickly to the calendar on his desk, fixing onto ‘february 14th’ almost instantly. he can't bite back a smile at the heart you'd drawn around the date, with ‘v-day’ scrawled messily on it. but all the cuteness aside, he had.. one week. he didn't need to do anything amazing for you, no, considering you did think the holiday was overrated, however he felt there was an unsworn duty for him to prove to you that you were special, and deserved the best.

he sorted the week that he had left into phases. there were four phases, all of them intricately, messily, planned to ensure you'd have a great day. and he'd managed to do all of it right under your nose.

of the four phases, first came the easiest one. slowly easing you into the idea of valentine's day. you weren't stupid, no, you were quiet observant and god knows you would've picked up on any new behaviours from your boyfriend, so he had to try to integrate the day of love into work first.

convincing everyone to mention valentine's day, not obsessively, but repetitively to try get it into your routine wasn't difficult. it was a restaurant, for god's sake, of course they'd have some sort of valentine's menu, right?

so he got marcus to start making some particularly love themed desserts — “uh, sure. don't mind it.” you hadn't seemed to pay much attention to the ginormous order of cupid stickers out back, which worked heavily in his favour.

“yo, cousin, don't worry. she'll be walkin’ ‘round with the whole ass arrow by the time i'm done,” — richie was just as eager to get you in a lovey-dovey mood, with his passing comments about how eva was a total bachelorette and that all the kids in her class were gonna be throwing presents onto her desk.

there was no way to tell whether that was true or not. no one really asked.

“hey, cool, i'm feeling it,” — tina was also happy to help, being overly lovey with you around the restaurant. it was quite unlike her, but still, you didn't mind the affection. little hugs, forehead kisses from dear aunt tina weren't that bad.

“she's gonna realise that we're going overboard,” — syd was the most reluctant. she'd have much rather told you about what they were doing, as opposed to keeping it a secret. however carm was good at convincing her, and it was for a good cause too. so, she let it slide, pushing the valentine's agenda with little doodles of cupids or hearts on her menu designs. you liked them.

so that was phase one done. pretty simple, if carmy says so himself. and you didn't mention anything about it. perfect. he felt a little weird keeping something from you, but, of course, it was a good cause, right?

with phase one completed, he had to move onto phase two. this one was probably his second favourite of all of them. bringing valentine's into the house. valentine's day was all about love. he loves you, of course. it was the reason why he was doing all of this in the first place. so he thought the best way to do this phase was to get you in the mood.

you were very clearly confused by the romcom that was playing on the tv screen when he ushered you into the living room, but you didn't ask many questions considering how tired you were. “carm,” you began, brow furrowing, before you shrugged, moving over to settle on the couch. tilting your head over to the direction of the kitchen, your eyes found carmy bringing over the chinese takeout. it'd been a while since you two had indulged in it, but he knew full well it was your favourite. “you're the best,” his smug little smile told you a lot, but not about his little scheme and its phases.

“i know, babe,” he hums, bringing over the tray and settling it onto the coffee table. carmen shuffled over, settling onto the couch beside you, gently lifting your box onto your lap before he took his own. it wasn't unlike him to take care of you like this, but there was something more tender in how he was helping you. sweet, yes, but it was making you a tad bit suspicious. “you okay?” he asked softly, voice gentle and low, as a small little smile played on his lips.

“mhm,” you nodded, just snuggling beside him with the takeout box in your grasp. you two usually didn't watch romcoms, usually finding a good drama or sitcom however you didn't mind it. this one in particular was quite good.

and besides, carmen having his arm slung around your waist as you two ate was a perfect feeling. so despite your suspicions, you let him have this moment without asking him.

that was phase two done. not too shabby, really. richie and, actually, literally everyone in the bear was a tad bit sick of carmen's rambling about how amazing you were. they literally all knew it, since you were their colleague, but god, could this man talk.

the third phase was one that carmy realised perhaps should've come earlier. it was just getting you things that you liked, without you realising. which was harder than it sounded, considering carmen was shit at keeping things from you, and you were usually the one who looked at orders to the apartment. so he needed the help of his sister, natalie. she was so eager to help that it was a little overwhelming. “so what do they like anyway?” natalie asked as she pushed the cart beside carmen, eyes flickering over to his in curiosity. “bear?”

he was uh, stressing. he loved you so much, and—well, “god, sugar, i love her—” he ran a hand through his curls, eyes widening as soon as he saw the giant valentine's day display in the store. a quiet groan slipped past his lips and he bit his knuckles for a moment, glancing desperately over at his sister. “peach deserves the fuckin’ world, y'know? just wan’ make it special for her,” the pity, and adoration, in natalie's gaze softened her eyes immediately and she gave him a quick pat on the back.

“right,” it was her personal mission now to ensure that you and her brother had a perfect day on valentine's. she was sure of it. a small little grin played on her lips as she ushered him over to the display, and she leant against the cart. “okay, what would she like? something lovey? sentimental?”

“don't fuckin’ know,” carmen muttered under his breath, rubbing his temple as he looked over the many valentine's themed things available. holy shit, this was harder than he thought. he knew you so well and yet, what you'd like evaded him.

“okay, well,” natalie picks up a random white teddy bear, brows raising in question as she offers it to her brother. he grabs at it, squeezes it perhaps a little too hard out of frustration but slowly relaxes his tight grip on it. “okay, that one's going in.”

the shopping trip continued like this, with natalie suggesting things that she thought you might like, with carmy giving his wordless responses. it was kind of therapeutic for nat, to be fair. and carmen was getting the stuff he needed for you. he'd have to thank natalie after, considering soon after he was done with phase three, he was into the final phase. the actual valentine's gift.

this was probably his favourite part. of course, carmen was a chef by nature. so he knew a valentine's dinner was in order. he was sort of sick of hearing anything related to the saint, however he could relax with this part. he'd made sure that syd would keep you out of the apartment for at least three hours. having even gone to the lengths of giving money for you guys to spend, he was clearly working hard. he knew your palette, so well in fact, that he didn't even think twice about what he was preparing.

from what you loved to eat, to what you despised, carmen knew it all. and he wanted to spoil you in terms of what he made, so he also gave sydney strict instructions that the two of you weren't allowed to get any food. hey, he wanted you to have enough room to eat.

he'd planned everything immaculately, of course, but when he heard you and syd at the door, he almost panicked. the table was laid out perfectly, all of your favourite foods available. a flush filled his cheeks at the thoughts of richie's previous words: “shit, cousin’, you a fuckin’ simp,” rang through his head and he scratched the back of his neck nervously, sitting at the table.

“thanks, syd,” your voice called from down the hall at the door, your smile evident in your voice. it made the butterflies in his stomach flutter, and he shifted where he sat. “m'back, carm!” you were making your way down the hall now, nearing the living room where you assumed he'd be. he was not. “carm—?”

your brow furrowed, since he'd have mentioned he'd be out if he was going to be. “carm,” you hummed as you wandered into the dining room area, not looking into the room until you did, and your lips parted into an expression of shock. “holy shit.”

you're surprised you didn't burst into literal tears seeing carmen sat at the table, wide blue eyes lifting to yours from the table cloth. his cheeks were rosey, a sheepish expression adorning his lips. “fuck, this is dumb,” he got up, scratching the back of his neck once more, “i know you don't—oh, shit, peach—”

his eyes widened as you barelled into him, wrapping your arms around his frame as his hands slid over your lower back. biting his bottom lip, he lifted a hand to your face, just to see your expression. “oh my god, carm,” tears threatened to spill from your eyes, bottom lip trembling. carmen's expression only softener, and grew a tad bit guilty.

“oh, no, baby, don't cry,” his thumb stroked over your jaw, brow furrowing. carmen soon pressed a peck to your forehead, his hand cupping your lower back and bringing you into his body. “can't eat ‘n’ cry at the same time,” he soothed with a soft chuckle whilst he cradled the back of your head.

“so this is what you were doin’?” your mumbly words come all soft, watery, glossy eyes lifting up to his as you frown. you may be about to cry, sure, but it's for a good reason. “all this time? oh my god, is it because of what i said to syd and tina?”

a sheepish nod followed, his hands brushing away your tears gently. he smiled, nuzzling your nose with his own as he brushed his lips with yours, squeezing you tight against his chest. “uh-huh,” he muttered, “didn't notice earlier?”

“nuh-uh,” god, you felt kinda dumb for not realising. but also glad you didn't, since you wouldn't be as overjoyed as you are right now. you squeeze tight around his waist once more before you drag him back into sitting down. hey, you were hungry considering his little scheme. “god, carm,” you bite your bottom lip, looking over all the food. not to mention the valentine's themes decorations.

“so everyone was in on it?” you lean against the table, watching as carmen dished out your plate for you, his blue eyes lingering on the food before they lifted to yours when he heard your question. he gives a little nod, pushing your plate towards you. then, he pours you a glass of wine, all smiles. “god, that's why—oh my god!”

giddy, absolutely giddy, would describe you right now. over the fucking moon.

“and when you and nat went out? you guys never go out, holy shit,” you grabbed your fork, leaning against the table with a little smile. that smile soon became the biggest grin he'd ever seen. “babe, this is too much,” you frowned, gaze all fond.

“wait till you see the gifts,” he mumbled around a spoonful of pasta, avoiding your gaze and focusing on his plate.

“carmen!”

[hybbart]

Hey guys, I would really appreciate it if you stopped sending me messages about Lizzie's appearance. I get that most of you are just happy and/or think it's a compliment, but I've literally never had so many weird comments on a woman's body before, and it's getting really uncomfortable.

While I know I'm not always as good about it for men, as a character artist and as I hope is made clear in the design sheet I did for all the hermit and empire girls, I have always and will always draw all sorts of body types. That includes not just fat people, but fat people with different distributions and shape language- different everything. Lizzie and Cleo and Stress may all be fat and round but I like to think I did a very good job of making them all distinct in shape from each other in a way that converys their character.

I redesigned my Lizzie recently because I was wanting to draw her more, and I wanted her to allign better with my mental idea of her. She hadn't before because 1) I started off drawing her as the ocean queen and mayor who are very unlike her base self and monstrous, because she's cool like that. And 2) I never sat down and made a design sheet for her, so I constantly drew her differently and mixed her up with my Gem design. (which, go firgure, as a fan of sister characters, when I finally worked it out that mental idea ended up having a body type similar to my own little sister. Which makes it extra uncomfortable on a personal level.)

The fact is, when I draw women people casually comment on their body a LOT more, which is already a bit uncomfortable- and baffling, given that most of my sexualized pictures are of men. I get similar comments about how tall Pearl is, I've probably gotten more comments about how tall Pearl is than I have about how tall Jimmy is, and I draw him multiple times a week. But those comments are often at least done with a bit of amusement and not just straight up ogling her.

Every single time I've drawn Lizzie recently, though, I got an absolute flood of comments specifically talking about her body and nothing else. How fat she is, how attractive she is because she's fat, cat calls, and other more unsavoury language. Even backhanded compliments. I certainly didn't try to make her ugly, but I've not drawn her in pinups. She's doing the exact same things as every other character I draw, including herself before my redesign. And given that timing and VERY pointed nature of the comments, it's not exact rocket science.

Most of the comments haven't been too gross, thankfully. I'll chalk that up to a lot of the messages being people projecting onto her, which- that's a whole different can of discomfort worms. But it is constant and it is in place of literally anything else. I draw a whole comic about a funny moment with multiple people, and art I'm pretty happy with, and the only thing a dozen asks have to say is "Lizzie's fat!!🤤" which stands in quite the contrast to all the comparatively few comments about Jimmy being about how I drew his banana costume.

Anyways, what I'm asking is to please just be a bit more normal about women's bodies. I get that it's rarer, and it makes some people happy when they see characters like them, but focusing on how beautiful an unconventional woman is is still objectifying and making that woman's beauty her worth.

[bonknigirlinthehood]

I went nuts upon discovering Calcharo cares about his mercenary members so much. Even the game itself said he has a strong fatherly instinct ... .HOW COULD I LIVE knowing this man is such a FAMILY MAN???༼⁠;⁠´⁠༎ຶ⁠ ⁠۝ ⁠༎ຶ⁠༽

As an artist, I realize the power I hold, but as a uni student, I also realize the debuff I have to face that is TIME MANAGEMENT. I haven't drawn anything for a week now because of how busy I am, AND WHEN I TELL YOU I'M STARVING FOR CALCHARO CONTENT.

I had to feed myself using fanfiction as an emergency meal.

Content: basically Calcharo (try) being a father (which he does a good job).

Calcharo has a very strong fatherly instinct, as shown by how he keeps his lads in check before and after a mission. So imagine if one day, by accident, he ended up with a baby…

Part of him wants to take care of it because after all, it's his baby. Yet his other side keeps reality-checking him, saying how dangerous it is for the baby to be raised by someone who keeps venturing into the danger of Tacet Discord everyday, especially in a dangerous environment since he is the leader of a mercenary group.

However, most of his members would support and help him take care of the baby. They encourage their leader to keep it instead of giving it to an orphanage.

“Leader, do you really think the baby will grow happily and well-fed in an orphanage? You do know some of us came from there, right?”

“We'll help you take care of them!, they're our little landlord now!”

Of course, Calcharo couldn't refuse. They even already made a baby crib for the baby, even the medics going as far as to research about baby foods and formulas to help him ease his burden (which he highly appreciated).

This man tried his best to give as much affection as possible to this little bundle of joy, knowing he never received one and always emotionally constipated. He asked Jiyan if he could enroll his child into a preschool in Jinzhou, in which the general happily helped.

It was not easy for a dangerous man like Calcharo to have a dog, let alone a child. But after experiencing it firsthand, he concluded that raising one is not that bad. Sure, he was having a hard time sleeping now, but seeing his baby's face every morning has been worth it.

I'm pretty sure Calcharo is the type of man who makes sure his kiddo is prepped thoroughly for the day before actually starting his own day. He would wake, shower them, brush their hair, and feed his child before work. His room that was always gloomy and smells like iron now filled with toys and smelled like a baby cologne instead.

I knew this man would be good at changing diapers and making milk🍼and his baby probably only wants to drink milk made by him since the measurements are just perfect.

But because of his occupation, Calcharo had no choice but to hide his baby from the world. He does feel bad about it though, keeping them locked in the base with only so much entertainment he and his mercenary members can offer. That's why every once in a while, he would bring them to Jinzhou city, walking around all day and enjoying Lingyang performance. Calcharo even bothers to actually dress like the locals more, he even entertains the pre-school flyers the teachers give out there.

And how surprised Jiyan was when Calcharo offered another deal in exchange he and his members went in and out of Jinzhou city freely. He wanted to enroll his child into Jinzhou’s preschool, and possibly until they graduate high school, that's why he needs to be able to enter the city freely since his mercenary gang itself is located outside the city.

At first, Jiyan offered to give him a house inside the city, but after much consideration, Calcharo told the general he might need more time thinking about it.

All in all, Calcharo is a very responsible man. He loves and adores his little one, and tries his best giving them the best childhood he could offer–despite never having a proper one himself–though there's also some things he couldn't give, he sincerely hopes they would forgive him someday for it.