#|| Stuff I'll never have time to write

[unstablerk800]

|| Thinking about Kamski with a mug like this every morning:

He got it from Gavin.

They had heavy arguments in the past and had a falling out for about eight years, but because of a certain android (Nines) who picked up on Reed's emotional state when Kamski was mentioned, they decided to make up after so long (after enduring tons of pressure applied by aforementioned android).

This mug is the first gift Reed had given him for "bah humbug" Christmas (which they both hate for personal reasons).

Elijah complains about it, saying it's silly, childish, and stupid, but every android in his home knows he loves it.

[wardingshout]

Zelda goes mushroom girl

[cluescorner]

I cannot imagine being a Damian stan right now. You've got both Zdarsky's bullshit (where he clearly doesn't give a shit about your boy) and The Boy Wonder (where Juni Ba clearly gives so many shits about your boy) coming out on the same day. The whiplash must be insane. I hope y'all get some nice warm soup for your efforts jfc

[yujeong]

Time was at a standstill. Vegas was holding his breath without noticing, and continued to hold it when he did - he was afraid of what would happen if he exhaled loudly enough to draw attention to himself. His gaze was shifting between Pete and the man who was standing before them in the doorway, blocking their entrance. Vegas had never seen him before, but even so, he recognized Pete in him enough to know who he was. A dangerous aura surrounded him. There was an edge to his presence that Vegas would only come across people of certain circles. He was a fighter. A muay khao. Pete's father. Shame coursed through Vegas' body, smearing his skin, settling in his lungs, rendering him speechless. I thought he was dead, he wanted to tell Pete if he could. He wanted to scream at him, I thought you killed him. Pete was the one who broke the stillness. As if awakened by something, he took a half-step back and made a motion with his arms, almost raising them to his chest, but not quite. In an instant, Pete reverted into the pet Vegas had been keeping at the safehouse, bound by handcuffs and afraid of his belt hitting flesh and drawing blood. A lump formed in Vegas' throat. "Have you stopped practicing? Your form is off." The uncanny similarities between Pete and his father appearance-wise didn't mean a thing when it came to their voices. Vegas shivered. Was this what Pete would sound like in a few decades? (Were these the condescending words he'd choose to spew? Was Pete going to embody his father? Was Vegas embodying his?) "What are you doing here?" Pete whispered. "They let me out for a few days, so I came here to collect some money. Imagine my surprise when I found out my offspring left the job someone found him worthy enough of doing to... do what exactly? Yaai didn't want to tell me." He crossed his arms, waiting for an answer. Vegas didn't know what he was allowed to say. If he was allowed to say anything at all. "It's none of your business." "I'd say it very much is my business, as well as yaai's business who was dependent on the money you were making being some rich asshole's human shield." A choked sound scratched Vegas' throat. He didn't like getting reminded of Pete being the main family's bodyguard, even though he stopped being one mere months ago. Especially like this. That was the first time Pete's father stopped looking at his son and turned his head to look at Vegas. For a moment, there seemed to be recognition in his eyes. Did he know who Vegas was? Did he care? A snort came out of his mouth. He leaned on the door. "Oh, I see how it is." He laughed, scratched his neck. "I never expected you to whore yourself out for money. Tell me, is it preferable to the path I carved out for you?" Vegas could sense the disgust in his voice. He could also see it on Pete's face. He was too astonished to share it, but not enough to be unable to speak. "Khun, there has been some misunderstanding-" "Don't bother. I can recognize a faggot when I see one." Pete's movements were too fast for Vegas to stop him. A direct jab to the nose; his father fell like a pack of cards, groaning like a wounded animal. Surprisingly, no blood - Pete held back. Vegas didn't know what to think about that. "That was a pathetic attack, even for you." "Get up." "We're not in the ring, son." Pete growled. Vegas could see his hands trembling as he was keeping them in the air, maintaining an offensive stance. "That never stopped you before." "You were too young to understand what I was doing back then. What I was preparing you for." Pete was silent. "The world isn't kind. It'll fuck you over one way or another." He got up, spat on the ground. "You still haven't learned a thing. You're too old to afford being naive." He turned around, and without sparing a look at Pete again, said: "Now get the fuck out of my house." (For @musictooth, whose posts about Pete's father have reignited my passion for this specific concept and for @wretchedamaranth, whose comments on my writing are always lovely and precious ❤️)

[lupins-hehim-pussy]

I wanna know ur Fontaine msq criticisms 👁️👁️👂I’m all ears

I'm not sure if you wanted me to talk about this secretly or publicly but! Here I go!

The TLDR: Fontaine MSQ aestheticised prison, poverty, child abuse, the justice system/court and didn't properly address any of it.

More:

Focalors/Furina has way too much of a sympathetic angle for a dictator who's lets people drown with her inaction.

Neuvillette feels Bad for sentencing some people to death/prison, but that's it. He's one of the most powerful people in Fontaine. If he felt like there are systemic injustices, I.E sending an abused Child to prison, he should be the first person to DO something about it, not just cry and be sad so the audience can be like aw, that's complex character writing isn't it? No it's not! And guilt doesn't absolve you!!!!!!! (These are stuff we deal with in OTCOJ read my fic now /j)

Meropide has children in it, both Sentenced there (Wriothesley) and BORN THERE (Lanoire), and this is just a quirk of the place. Not only that, Meropide accepts prisoners of all genders and crimes. There are abusers and abuse victims in one place. Do you know how bad that is? How much potential for crimes to happen in a place like that— oh wait, Meropide isn't under Fontaine's jurisdiction. If you are assaulted as an inmate it literally means nothing to the court.

Wriothesley had no qualifications when he took over. Depending on how long he lived on the streets, how old he was when he killed his parents, how old he was when he was first taken in by the orphanage, etc, the man might never have more than 4–5 years of formal education. Sigewinne probably had to teach him how to write reports. And do Meropide's spreadsheets. Edit because I forgot to elaborate on this one: This isn't a point brought up anywhere, which is bad, because when poverty and incarceration robs you of a proper education (and the rights to vote in many places too, too, by the way), it reduces your prospects for jobs, reduces many people's ability to get a home etc etc. Wriothesley was just, narratively, Given his position.

Meropide is an industrialized prison, and they portray this as a good thing. Prisoners are paid in coupons for their labour, and this is also portrayed as a good thing.

The One-Meal-A-Day reform was something Paimon gushed about being so great of a perk, that people might want to go to jail for food (could be interesting and reflective of systemic poverty if MHY had brains, but they don't, so I was just Pissed because essentially all Paimon wanted to say was "Prison isn't so bad, but still don't go to prison guys! Prison labour is really hard!"). By the way, in most real-world prisons they are obligated to feed you three meals a day. Because that's how much food a human needs. MHY went with one meal just so they can say "if you want to eat more, you have to work." And then the welfare meal is a goddamn gacha. So imagine you're a starving child who's too weak to work in the fucking robot assembly line, and you wander up for your first meal in 24 hours, only to luck in with a shit one. I'd kill myself.

They wrote Wriothesley, who's a victim of the system, into a guy who's say shit like "I'm the Duke I can do whatever I want" for a cool moment where he choke-slams an inmate (I know he was a bad guy. But also, in copaganda when cops are violent/disregarding protocols, they are always only portrayed to do that against bad guys, so what does our critical thinking tells us about this one?) They wrote Wriothesley, who was an inmate of a prison so bad, so notorious that it is the literal boogeyman of Fontaine, that has a legal (???) fighting pit, with an administrator who abuses his position to be unreasonable, to willingly stay in the place and become an Administrator who would choke-slam an inmate while saying a cool line about how he has the power to do whatever he wants. They wrote him, the guy who had to be fed on the streets by melusines, to think one-meal-a-day was a good enough reform (while he spends god-knows how much on his boat). This wasn't a victim-turns-into-abuser narrative either, they want all this to be seen as positive character growth.

And then, the final kicker is, they gloss over his entire abuse. You can only read about these shit in his profile, which most people don't because they don't Have Him or doesn't care to unlock it/read it online, and they jammed his entire backstory into a flaccid info-dump at the end of his character story quest. This man isn't Allowed to feel abused and neglected and show any reaction to it within the narrative of Fontaine itself, because if they actually Gave Weight to what happened to him, they'd have to confront THE FUCKING JUSTICE SYSTEM they had NO PLANS on criticising. I don't think they ever explicitly said the fucking Crime-Theatre nonsense was Bad either.

I could go on, but this is already so long. But yeah, I hope this gave you an idea.

[muninnhuginn]

Writers tag game

Prompt: share some writing

Thanks for the tag, @miyamiwu!

So, I'll be honest, I don't actually have any WIPs I'm intending to do anything with, but I have some oldish abandoned stuff I managed to relocate. It's back from 2021 so in my Untamed era and this bit was specifically set during Fatal Journey*:

Nie Huaisang woke blearily, cold seeping into his clothes from the floor. It was dark and it took several seconds to remember where he was. He could hear the muffled sounds of clanging and voices. As he lifted his head off the ground, they slowly resolved themselves into the clash of swords and yelling. [...] He didn't know what to do. What would his brother do? Xichen-ge? San-ge? He had his flute with him– he could try Cleansing. This was what it was for, right? Before he could doubt himself further, he started playing, pouring all the qi he could muster into the tune. He'd practised for hours the night before, long after San-ge had left, but despite that, he hadn't truly thought then that he'd need to play so soon. Was that so naïve of him? As he watched, Da-ge began to slow in his movements and Nie Huaisang felt himself start to relax. He kept his lips to the flute, trying not to let his relief fool him into making mistakes. Still, he knew he only had to play a little longer and then they could all escape. Him, his brother, his cousin. They could flee far away from the darkness that haunted these halls. And then Nie Zonghui's head hit the floor. He stopped playing.

And then I had this other bit:

He'd messed up. He must have played a wrong note. Maybe he'd misremembered the entire thing? And now Nie Zonghui was dead and his brother - what looked like his brother - was stood, Baxia dripping blood to the floor. [...] The sword was pointed at him. He tried to hold himself steady as he looked down the blade. Tried to blink away the tears that kept escaping without his permission. He could tell he was failing, unable to stop the trembling, but he forced himself to meet the eyes at the other end of the sword. He couldn't die here. He refused to die here. After all, he was the only family his brother had left.

*(it was meant to be part of a short time travel fic where post-canon characters went back not long before NMJ died. It would've had flashbacks to Fatal Journey interspersed with the "present" up until the point at which future NHS tipped off past NHS about the poisoned music. I actually got as far as figuring out where I wanted all the characters to be at the end of it, but I ran out of motivation pretty quickly so there's only this WIP stuff and the intro part written in the end.)

Ahh not sure who to tag when it comes to writing stuff. I know @roseofcards90 and @floofiestboy write some stuff? And anyone else who sees this who writes, feel free to consider yourself tagged ^^

[boyfriendyke]

there r a lot of things about the myth of psyche and eros that makes me a little insane but one of them has always been the tasks from aphrodite and the unfairness of it. they're not intended to be possible. they're so obviously not meant to be possible, and psyche isn't fucking hercules, you know, she's not a demigod or whatever, she's mortal and these aren't mortal tasks!! it's why psyche has to be helped with each one, fucking by like ants and river gods and shit. and so like. idk. i know ppl see psyche and eros as like a story about love and shit which obviously it is but as a kid psyche and eros always felt like a story about being able to accept help

[theloveinc]

i don't really want to bc like. there's many reasons for me to stay but. i don't think this tumblr life is for me anymore

[tamedgod]

but seriously while i will be slow answering them ty to everyone who sent in those flirty memes (and if u haven't yet and want to, feel free to do so)!!! i often get v self conscious about that stuff bc i've been heavily bullied for that sort of thing in the past, mainly anons yelling at me about "only wanting to ship". so i always feel nervous posting stuff like that!!! or talking about potential (romantic) ship stuff!!!! so genuinely thank you for giving me a night of shippy feelings, even if i am slow to respond to them.

[volostogekiss]

an eternity spent (one-shot)

No warnings. GN!reader, time-traveling/immortal Volo. Established past relationship. This man is just in love with you a lottt okay. It gets pretty wholesome because I want a happy ending :)

(Based on the Pokémon Masters EX and PLA premise because I’m waiting for when Volo is released in PoMas plsss)

Summary: Life was just how it should’ve been between you and Volo in Hisui. A love tried through trials immeasurable would never be broken, but fate always had a way of taking the things you treasure the most from you when you least expect it. After what had happened on Mount Coronet, you’d hardly spent a few months together, until you’d disappeared without a trace one day. 

But perhaps, fate could be merciful as well.

Volo had spent nearly two hundred years without you, waiting for the day to find you once more. He has his chance when he’s brought to Pasio, and it just so happens that he learns you’re the first Champion of the island.

He won’t let you go, this time.

I’m the one who is lucky to have you, my love.

How often had he thought of that, told you so as he’d embraced you?

He’d always trace his teardrop pendant he’d given you as it sat around your neck, his fingers drawing meaningless patterns on your chest and his lips caressing yours.

How often had Volo thought himself lucky to have you by his side, even when he felt undeserving of your love?

He was lucky that you had forgiven him for his misdeeds, his anger, his hatred. You’d forgiven him for breaking your heart, but your benevolence to allow him a second chance to love you…

Volo hadn’t ever experienced such happiness before, until you.

He was foolish to think that he was lucky enough to stay with you forever, however. It was too easy to lose himself in the bliss of your perfection, but how could he have avoided it? You were perfect.

Of course, his Pokémon were dearly important to him, but you were the one good thing he’d never thought he could ever really have. How right I had been.

He cursed Arceus for taking you from him.

The morning he had awoken with you gone… it haunted him every night. At first, he’d thought you had merely wanted an early start to the day, that you were trudging your way to Jubilife from your home far down in the Sandgem Flats. It had disappointed him that he hadn’t been able to kiss you awake, but as the day dragged on without you, that was trivial in comparison to your unexplained absence.

Volo could do nothing but wait for you. He trusted you. He knew you would return, wouldn’t you?

Creeping in before he had really wanted to acknowledge it, that doubt stole into his mind, worried him, and hounded at him incessantly. You weren’t there to stop it.

You weren’t there.

He hadn’t wanted to believe you had left him. Volo trusted you, as you had trusted him.

But three days after your disappearance, he went to Jubilife, hoping that someone else had seen you.

No one else had.

You had just vanished.

Part of him wished that you had left him, if it would spare him the pain of being separated from you in a world not even of his own. A world he had no connection to, no way to reach, a world that condemned him to agonize without you.

He knew it was so, for it could have only been another cruel act in the play of Arceus’ grand absurdity.

He had cursed his forsaken god more times than he could recall, so he couldn’t believe it had been the one generous enough to bestow him this opportunity to reunite with you on Pasio. He could put no faith in Arceus, for the deity had never accepted it, but presumed it fitting to both bless and damn him with immortality. Then, instead, Volo chose to lay his faith in the strength of your love—the only constant he would keep in his heart. Perhaps his fate had finally played out as it should have—with you, and only you—or maybe some other force besides Hoopa, as he’d learned, was at work, but Volo wouldn’t let you escape him.

Not when you were here, too.

His heart had almost shattered with a hysterical joy when he saw it was your picture flashing on the walls of the buildings all around the island. Maybe it’s once more that I’ve been lucky to find you. Of course, he wasn’t surprised that you were crowned as the strongest Trainer—the first PML Champion, as he’d heard. You’d defeated him and Giratina, after all. A lofty pride surged through his heart as he thought of your success here, and a burst of desperation compelled him to find you despite knowing nothing of Pasio. Its differences in landscape and culture compared to the Sinnoh he knew from only decades prior were inconsequential when you were here, waiting for him to seek you out. Ignoring how people had stared at him while he asked for you, whether for the uniqueness of his features, his noticeable accent, or some familiarity they said they saw in him, Volo thought only of you.

Their opinions were naught but useless blathering, for only yours meant the world to him. He needed to hear you. He needed to see you. He needed to feel you.

After what felt like an eon apart, Volo wouldn’t let anything take you away from him again.

Not when he knew how much he loved you, and how much he knew you loved him.

It didn’t even matter that you couldn’t remember anything of him.

Still, he hadn’t expected his heart to sink when you had first met at the Trainer Lodge, as people said you often were there in the morning. His heart should have soared upon seeing you, exactly as you were, exactly as he remembered you, but he supposed he was truly unprepared for the reality that you had forgotten him.

Smiling at him as you did to everyone else, you greeted him like a stranger after you gave him your name. “Oh, hello!”

The heat roiling inside him had almost caused him to lurch forward, pull you close, and call you his love. But Volo simply smiled at you, unable to keep the adoration from twinkling in his eye when he saw his pendant around your neck, even as you remained unmoved when he spoke his name.

“‘Volo’…” you repeated his name with a thoughtful hum, and by the stars, he trembled. It was almost as it had been back then, when you’d said his name in so many different ways, brightened by your happiness, shaded by the flushed tint of yearning love, and even coarse amid your grief. Ah, his name always sounded best upon your lips!

“It’s nice to meet you!”

He was glad you said nothing about his uncanny likeness to Cynthia; it was a difficult point to ignore as it was one of the most common things he’d been told upon his appearance in Pasio, but of course, you would be the one to look at him for who he was. And despite how much he’d heard of her, his descendant he should rightfully be interested in—shouldn’t he?—Volo found he couldn’t be as fascinated with her as he was enamored with you. You were always his priority, and he couldn’t change that.

He would make sure you would remember. If he could wait almost two centuries to see you once more, then the time spent to recapture your heart would be mere seconds in comparison. He would hold dear those seconds, treasure them like nostalgic days far gone in the past.

“Here,” you proposed generously, showing him your own decorated Poryphone, which he thought looked awfully akin to your old Arc Phone, “how about we stay in touch?”

Volo couldn’t help that his mischievous nature had revealed itself so readily in your presence. “I’d love to. You’ll have to teach me how we go about things on this island, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, I’d be glad to!” You’d accepted his Poryphone and flashed him another smile. “I think we’ll get along well—I just have a feeling.”

Volo grinned. “I happen to think so as well.”

And while he supposed he should have been acquainting himself with everything this artificial island had to offer, nothing could captivate him like you did. He often asked you more questions about yourself than Pasio, even after you’d taught him about battling with his Togekiss as a sync pair. He should’ve been focused on the second upcoming tournament. He should’ve been focused on battling harder, for your skills had only improved after your time apart.

Even more so, you’d graciously invited him to compete on your team, but he couldn’t help himself. He needed to know if you could remember him, if you knew anything of Hisui. You had even said it yourself that he was a man of many questions, but you never seemed to grow tired of them. Then and now, you had said you enjoyed hearing his voice, and Volo absolutely loved it. You hadn’t changed.

“Hm, so even as I and other Trainers were brought to Pasio with our memories intact,” Volo considered with an uncharacteristic sullenness marring his expression, “you haven’t been able to recall anything.”

The pair of you were seated upon a square balcony, framed by flowers at a seaside café. A shared breakfast plate rested between you two, just as Volo saw it on the little dining table you had built together in your home.

“I don’t know. I wish I did. A few of my Pokémon were brought with me, but I don’t remember anything still. I wish I remembered…”

One of your hands drifted to the silver pendant settled on your chest, the action so natural it was apparent you had often fiddled with the charm. Volo smiled at that. It was reassuring that you subconsciously thought of him, even if you couldn’t remember him.

It really was you.

You brought your hand down, rested it on the table beside your untouched cup of neatly sliced fruit and berries. “Sometimes, with how many things are happening on Pasio, and the fact that I’m the Champion, I tend to lose myself in how happy I’ve become.”

Volo then wondered if it was better for you to remain happy without your knowledge of everything that had hurt you in Hisui, even if that included himself. Only you knew what he’d done to you, since you’d told no one else about his betrayal. And with how Adaman and Irida had welcomed him as a friendly face on Pasio, he knew you really hadn’t said a thing. Should he let you feel that pain again? He shook away the alternative of leaving you ignorant of matters that were yours just as much as they were his. Your love was worth that suffering; you had told him so, and you always did when his doubts were too easily read on his face.

He often left it at that.

He could never give you up anyway, regardless of what you’d told him.

After all, months had passed, and Volo was sure that you were seeing him as more than a friend. Despite how common it was to exchange Poryphone numbers, he had been on Pasio long enough to understand that whether one continued communicating after that really spoke volumes of your relationship. You were popular, of course, as your prestigious station demanded, but you still wanted him by your side. So why else would you have wanted him on your team? Why else would you keep showing up to talk to him and present him little gifts whenever you saw him in the Trainer Lodge? He knew why. It was exactly how he’d been all those years ago in Hisui whenever he’d seen you. He’d curl into your palm tokens of his affection, the mementos small, but telling of his boundless love for you. His hooded gaze, warm touches, and reluctance to part from you were surely clear enough signs for you, weren’t they?

Privy to rumors as he’d always been, Volo knew that it was certainly obvious to anyone else who looked your way. With their knowledge of your relationship from the past, the two clan leaders could see it, but neither felt it right to interfere with history, instead allowing him to court you as he had before. So why should he still wait to proclaim his love to you? No one else could love you like he did. None had waited nearly two centuries to be reunited with you, and never had he faltered in his stride to find you again. Throughout the lonely years that had stretched over the melancholy patience in his heart, Volo never forgot you.

He could never forget you.

When he least expected it, the rush of emotions—relief, love, and sheer happiness—tended to overwhelm his heart. But then at the worst possible moment, when you faced one another in a training session, he often felt himself pulled back to that day on Mount Coronet, and it slowed his reactions, forced him into clumsy mistakes, and worried you.

Like today, as the two of you fought against one another, in a secluded clearing at the northern forest’s edge of the island.

“The intensity of our battles sometimes brings me to such a state of nervousness that even I can’t quite comprehend it!” he lied, and he hated that he had done so again.

The last time he’d lied to you…

He didn’t want to think of it.

And yet, you never let him remain lost in his uncertainties. Your wit, your humor, your genuine concern… Volo could see how you looked at him with nothing but appreciation for who he was. So much more for someone who had been a stranger to you just short of half a year ago—

“Well, don’t think I’m not watching you,” came your playful retort as you stepped closer to him.

From behind you, Solgaleo pawed at the ground, its tail twitching. It almost looked amused.

Volo ignored your sync partner. He turned back to you with a smirk he hoped would distract you. “I’d prefer it if you watched me all the time, actually.”

“Volo—!”

He laughed, and he was relieved that it wasn’t long before you did too.

Oh, how he’d wanted to hear your laughter! He’d thought he’d never hear it again, but when he’d heard it so close just a day after meeting you again, he didn’t know how he’d lived without you. It hadn’t been over anything significant that caused you to snort, then laugh, but it had been because of an off-handed remark he’d made about the number of times people had felt the need to stare at him for his similarity to Cynthia.

“I think most of them are looking because you’re unfairly handsome!”

Volo had frozen. That was what you had told him when you’d first become friends. You’d admitted it with that same laugh, then gone on how the two of you should take a picture together.

And in this modern age, you’d done so more times than he could count, the album in his Poryphone full of photos of you and him.  

It seemed you were thinking of something along those lines now, for you were almost touching him, that smile you saved just for him on your lips.

His heart fluttered.

He wanted to kiss you very badly then.

Volo often realized he was dangerously close to dipping down and pressing his lips to yours, but always, always, regrettably, he stopped himself before he did. He’d brush it off as some dirt on your face or a stray eyelash dropped upon your cheek—excuses to touch you as he had when you were lovers.

Oh, and if you could just see the way you looked at him now.          

“You know, I’m really happy that you’re here, Volo,” you whispered quietly, leaning forward to gently take his hand.

He let you wind your fingers between his, felt his world tilt and rush away from him just to come careening to a halt as he thought of the first time you’d held hands. A breezy spring day. His enthusiasm for exploring the ruins he’d wanted to show you outmatched by his excitement to be alone with you. The wonderful, rugged and soft skin of your palm, the warmth blazing against his hand. The startled look on your face, then how you’d smiled at him so brilliantly. He looked up at you, saw the glimmer in your eyes, saw that same beautiful smile, and then the overlapping memories were almost too much for him.

It was almost the same, but this time, it was you who had reached for him first.

“The longer I’m around you, I think there’s something so pleasantly familiar about you that I just can’t understand.” Your lips twitched upward when he placed a hand tentatively upon your waist. “It’s like I know you, even though I hadn’t met you before you got here.”

You don’t know how well I know you, and how well you really know me, my love.

Volo tilted his head, drew you in so that your clothes brushed against one another’s. “I don’t think you realize that I’m beyond happy to hear you say such a thing.”

Not once had he ever stopped loving you.

Your eyes wavered when he cupped your cheek hesitantly, and you could barely manage to remain still in his arms. Thudding and twisting in your chest, your heart pounded in your ears, and you swore he could feel how unsteady you were. “Volo, I don’t know what it is, but when you look at me like that, I can’t help thinking that I—”

“I love you.”

Volo wasn’t even sure if he was the one who had said it, but he knew he was the one who had moved to kiss you.

He’d always dreamed of kissing you again—fantasies clouding his mind throughout his wistful mornings, or soaking deep into his skin as he lay alone at night. You’ve always been everything I’ve needed, he hoped to tell you with the craving press of his lips against yours, and somehow, I’d known it the moment I’d met you.

I love you.

He held you closer, turned to catch his breath, but couldn’t deny the desire to steal yours away again. How could he hold back any longer? He couldn’t. A wanton growl escaped him as he chased the warmth of your lips, but before he could kiss you again, you stiffened in his hold so suddenly that he had to let go.

“I knew you,” you gasped, a light in your eyes that shone clear in recognition of who he was to you. “I knew you, Volo. I—I loved you, and I know I still do.”

Immediately, with a cry of delight, Volo swept you up in his arms, twirled you in the air, and laughed to the heavens, the unprecedented reaction catching both you and him by surprise.

“My love, I’ve waited for you for so long—”

You were the one to lean in and kiss him this time.

“You’ll have to tell me everything later—“

He nuzzled against you, then set you back down on the ground, his lips brushing against yours.

“Of course,” Volo chuckled, “we’ll have all eternity, now that we’re together again.”

[muzzlemouths]

having the kind of mental panic that not even Creating Art can fix. wuh oh

[cconfusedkat]

Ok so I have no idea why I am so inconsistent with the very own au I am hyper fixated on so I just . stare at my screen with dread and ? GIRL MAKE UP YOUR MIND ITS NOT THAT COMPLICATED ???????

[unstablerk800]

|| Nines, who must swap with an android cat to escape shut down during a mission to save himself.

Witnessing how Gavin finds his body.

Witnessing how Gavin deals with finding his body.

He's trying to tell him he's right there, but, well. He's a cat. His systems are not so sophisticated. All he can do is meow and run after Gavin, who can't even notice him at first.

The human had no idea how attached he was to his android partner. Now, he knows. And he hates it. He hates it. He hates how Nines is not there - stoically commenting on everything that happens.

Stupid fucking android, he thinks, or screams at the top of his lungs? As CyberLife takes the remains away.

Though, Nines is just standing behind him in the rain, all wet, his LED yellow as he processes Gavin's reactions with a tilted head. He's especially mesmerized when the Detective breaks down crying after he shut himself in his car.

How quaint.

Of course, Nines knows where he lives, and he goes there, hoping to find an open window or hoping he can meow loud enough for the man to hear him. No open windows.

So meowing it is.

When the door opens and he's picked up by Gavin's hands, he forgets to hiss in complain. He's wrapped in a fluffy, warm towel, placed in the man's lap and rubbed dry gently. Oh? That actually felt nice. Was he... purring? He'd never live that down at this point, if he had to tell Gavin what happened exactly...

Although... judging by how Gavin seemed to wet the fur on the top of his head with his tears again... perhaps he should find a way to get his usual form back... somehow...

[house-of-mirrors]

I post a fic I spent hours and days and sometimes weeks on and it gets 10 notes, and I post a low effort screenshot meme and it gets 300 notes and counting 😭 I know it's how tumblr works but can I please get a waffle

[buildarocketboys]

Man nothing like talking to other writers to make you feel like you're not a proper writer

[gatoraid]

My contribution to the Kitchen Extended Universe! And it's an OT3!!

5900 words, Esen POV

Established Ouyang/Xu Da, eventual Ouyang/Xu Da/Esen (but it takes them years to get there)

Featuring Esen realizing some hard truths about life and trying his best to be a girldad