#As easy as it would be to have them make out here or even go further than that

[maskedbyghost]

cw: manipulation, possessive reader, suggestive language

You told him you didn’t do casual.

You didn’t make it a big deal. You just said it like you meant it, not trying to sound dramatic or emotional about it. Just honest.

“I don’t do casual,” you said, eyes on your drink. “It always ends up messy, and I’m not built for that.”

Simon leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “That’s alright,” he said eventually. “I’m not looking for anything serious.”

You nodded. No reaction on your face, no shift in tone. “Then we can just be friends.”

He raised an eyebrow like he was trying to figure you out. “You sure?”

You smiled a little. “Yeah. I like hanging out with you. We don’t have to fuck.”

“…Alright,” he said, after a pause. “Friends.”

And that was the start.

Except friends don’t show up to his gym when he’s meeting a girl for a workout date.

Friends don’t slip him a text during his Tinder dinner like,

“you left your hoodie here again. i’m wearing it. smells like you.”

Friends don’t show up to the pub when he’s got plans with someone, all dolled up like you just rolled out of a damn music video, giving his date a once-over and offering a tight smile that says run, babe.

You’d always act surprised when things didn’t work out. “Oh no, she ghosted you? That’s so weird.”

And Simon? He wasn’t completely oblivious. But he was tired, and lonely, and honestly kind of lazy when it came to trying to figure women out, and you were just so easy to be around, so warm and funny and low-maintenance and somehow always around when he needed someone.

So when he started seeing you more than anyone else, it didn’t feel weird. It felt right.

He told himself it was just friendship.

Even when you leaned against him on the couch. Even when you started sleeping over. Even when he started feeling a little sick thinking about you with anyone else.

The night it finally changed, he had just come back from a shit deployment — nothing too dangerous, just long and annoying and cold, and you’d been waiting at his place (with your own key, because somehow that had happened), and you were in his clothes, curled up in his bed with takeout, and when he saw you like that he just… stopped thinking.

“You’re perfect for me,” he said quietly, almost like he was talking to himself.

You blinked, looking up from your phone. “What?”

“I was so fucking stupid,” he muttered, dropping his bag, walking toward you like something magnetic was pulling him in. “I didn’t see it. I don’t know why.”

You didn’t say anything right away. You just looked at him for a second, then smiled, slow and easy, like you’d been waiting for him to finally figure it out, like none of it really surprised you, but you were still happy to hear it out loud.

From there, it was easy.

The relationship happened fast. Slipped into place like it had always been there. He’d gone from “I don’t do serious” to leaving his toothbrush at your place, to falling asleep with his face buried in your neck, to holding your hand in public without even realizing he was doing it.

He was happy. Stupidly happy. The kind that made his friends suspicious and his coworkers tease him. The kind that made you look like the hero of some cozy domestic fantasy where nothing ever goes wrong and love is enough.

It wasn’t one big moment. It was a bunch of little ones that slowly added up until he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Like how you always just showed up when he had plans, how his phone would buzz with a text from you right before he left for a date. Or how you’d casually mention how certain girls “weren’t his type,” even when he never brought them up to you.

And then one day, while you were going through an old playlist together, you said, “God, I remember this song. I used to listen to it every time I thought about you with someone else.” And you didn’t even blink after saying it.

And the more he thinks about it, the more it starts adding up.

You’d played him. You’d baited him.

And now he’s sitting on the couch, watching you walk into the room in one of his old T-shirts, holding a bowl of snacks, looking like home, and he honestly doesn’t know whether to laugh or be pissed off or bend you over the arm of the sofa and remind you who he is.

You plop into his lap like you do it every day (because you do), nestling in like you’re settling into your rightful throne, and he wraps his arms around your waist automatically, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder.

“You know what I realized today?” he asks, voice low.

You hum. “What?”

He tilts his head like he’s thinking it through. “We’re together because you manipulated me.”

You pause for like… half a second. Then?

“Yeah,” you say, nonchalant. “And?”

He squints at you, mouth twitching like he can’t decide if he wants to smile or frown. “You sabotaged every girl I tried to hook up with.”

“I did,” you say, and lean forward to grab the remote. “Most of them were trash anyway.”

“You tricked me into thinking you weren’t interested.”

“Mhm.” You don’t even look at him. “Worked, didn’t it?”

There’s this long silence, and then Simon groans and lets his head fall back on the couch dramatically.

“I should be mad,” he mutters.

“You’re not,” you say, smiling down at him like he’s your prize. “You love me.”

“Fuck, woman,” he breathes, eyes locked on yours. “That turns me on.”

You grin, shifting your weight so you’re straddling him properly, hands sliding up his chest slowly until your fingers curl around the back of his neck. You squeeze—not hard, just enough to make him feel it.

“You belong to me,” you whisper against his ear. “Always have.”

He shivers. Actually shivers.

“…Jesus.”

You kiss his jaw, slow and smug. “Say it.”

“…Yours.”

“Good boy.”

And yeah. He is.

----------------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6

[dior-luxury]

i dont know if your requests are open but if they are can you pretty please make a part 2 of the how they'd propose to you with other characters like Sebek and Ruggie and anyone else you would like? (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

How'd They Propose To You

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff - gn!reader .

- [𝐜𝐡.] cater . ruggie . floyd . kailm . vil . rook . idia . lilia . sebek

- [𝐩:𝐬] nothing . just the boys being romantic

Note: This series like my 'Kiss And Make-out' series was heavily request so... Part two, here we go!! Also everyone, get your tissues out cause this is going to be an emotional one.. 😭

Cater Diamond

Cater always made everything look effortless. From his impeccably filtered Magicam photos to his playful, lighthearted persona, he was the guy who breezed through life like a summer wind — colorful, vibrant, and hard to pin down. But the moment he realized he wanted to spend his life with you, the thought terrified him. Not because he didn’t want it — but because he did.

You’d been together for a while, enough to see past his curated charm and into the subtle sadness he kept hidden behind his eyes. You saw the moments when his smile faltered just a second too soon, when he stared at old class photos for a beat too long, when he tried too hard to make everyone like him. And despite it all, or maybe because of it, you stayed. You loved him, not the persona.

He wanted to return that love with everything he had.

So he planned it down to the second. Not flashy, not performative, but genuine. A proposal just for you two — no hashtags, no likes, no audience.

You were led on a surprise “casual date” through campus, each place tied to a memory: the greenhouse where you first studied together, the corner of the courtyard where you surprised him with lunch one day, the little music room where you once caught him playing guitar alone. At each spot, he left a small printed Polaroid of the memory, with scribbled notes like “Can you believe you caught me blushing here?” or “Still the best sandwich I’ve ever had, btw.”

Finally, you arrived at the abandoned tower that overlooked the rose gardens. It was dusk — golden hour. A string of soft lights framed the edge of the balcony, and a blanket lay spread out with two drinks, his favorite strawberry soda, and your favorite too.

Cater stood there, not in any extravagant outfit, but in his everyday clothes, a little flushed, a little nervous. His Magicam was nowhere in sight.

“I know I’m not always easy to read,” he began, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. “I’m a master of filters. And honestly? I’ve spent most of my life trying to be someone that other people like. But with you… I don’t have to be anyone else. You make me feel like being just ‘Cater’ is enough.”

He knelt, pulling out a small velvet box that he almost dropped because his hands were shaking.

“So… if you’ll have me, for all the mess, the moods, and the million selfies — will you marry me? And keep reminding me that being myself is okay?”

His voice cracked, and you could tell it wasn’t a line rehearsed for flair. It was Cater Diamond, bare and honest.

You said yes, of course.

And that night, he took one photo — just one — of the two of you silhouetted against the golden light, laughing through your tears.

No filters. No edits.

Just love.

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie Bucchi never thought he’d be the type to propose. Where he came from, marriage was practical, not romantic. You partnered up, you made it work, and you did your best to survive. Love? That was a luxury. He grew up knowing how to scrape by, how to hustle, how to keep smiling when your stomach was empty.

But then he met you — and everything shifted.

You saw past his tricks and street-smart charm, past the sly grin and the mischievous glint in his eyes. You saw someone capable. Someone worth loving, not just useful. And that meant more to him than he ever let on.

He saved for months. Scrimped every madol he could without you noticing. Side jobs, extra errands, even turning down a few schemes with Leona when they felt too risky. He wanted this to be his, something he earned with his own effort. Not flashy — but real.

One day, he invited you to his hometown. He played it off as casual — “Hey, wanna see where the magic began?” — but you could tell he was more nervous than usual. His tail twitched a little more. His jokes came faster. He wouldn’t meet your eyes for too long.

You arrived in the Slums of the Sunset Savanna, where he grew up. It was loud, dusty, and full of kids shouting and running barefoot in the alleys. But Ruggie looked… peaceful. At home. He gave you a tour like it was the royal palace — proudly showing you the bakery where he got day-old bread, the crumbling wall he used to climb for fruit, the school where he taught himself to read better.

That evening, he brought you to a quiet hill just outside the neighborhood. It overlooked the city, bathed in orange from the setting sun.

There was a picnic spread, nothing fancy — some homemade snacks, cold drinks, and a little bread pudding he tried (and failed) to make look neat. The bread was a little burnt. He kept muttering that it wasn't perfect.

And then, out of nowhere, he said:

“Y’know… I used to think I’d just grow up, keep scrappin’ my way through life, maybe end up old and alone with a bunch of stolen pies under my belt.”

He laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

“But then you came along and messed it all up — in the best way.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a tiny, slightly lopsided ring box. Inside was a simple band with a small, pale gem. Not expensive. Not glittery.

But made with his whole heart.

“I don’t got a palace. I don’t got riches or magic castles or nothin’. But I got you, and I wanna spend every day makin’ you smile. So… what do you say? Wanna keep causing trouble together… forever?”

His ears were flat against his head, and his tail was still as stone.

When you said yes, he lit up like the stars were inside him.

And he never stopped smiling after that.

Floyd Leech

Loving Floyd was like dancing with a storm: unpredictable, wild, sometimes overwhelming — but breathtakingly beautiful. He could be sweet one second, biting the next, and then melting into your arms like seafoam. And through it all, there was something real behind his mercurial moods — a strange, raw devotion that ran deeper than the ocean.

So when Floyd started acting… weirdly consistent, you knew something was up.

No wild mood swings. No threats to squeeze someone into a pretzel. Just this quiet intensity in the way he looked at you, like he was memorizing your every blink.

He’d drag you along for “dates” that were more like mini adventures: exploring underwater caves off the Coral Sea coast, racing each other through twisted kelp forests, picnicking on giant sea turtles (you hoped it was legal). He’d laugh, splash you, nibble your ears when you weren’t looking — but then fall completely silent when you watched the sunset over the waves.

That silence carried something unspoken. Something serious.

Then one day, he brought you to the edge of the Mostro Lounge after hours. No lights. No music. Just the dark water shimmering under moonlight. Jade had subtly cleared the area, probably under Floyd’s “friendly encouragement.”

Floyd stood by the pool, barefoot, wearing loose, sea-salt-dried clothes. He looked wild and untamed, like he’d just swum from the abyss.

“Ne~ shrimpy,” he started, voice low and lilting. “You really stuck around this long, huh?”

He didn’t look at you at first. He stared at the water, watching it ripple like something might rise from it.

“Most people get scared. They say I’m too much—too loud, too weird, too hard to keep up with. Even Jade gets tired of me sometimes, y'know?”

He turned, and for once, his eyes weren’t playful. They were clear — crystalline, serious.

“But you… You let me be me. Even when I’m a pain in the tailfin.”

He stepped forward and pressed a tiny shell into your hand. At first glance, it looked ordinary — until it opened with a soft click, revealing a shimmering, black pearl nestled in its center like a star trapped in the deep.

His hand slipped into yours, fingers squeezing tight.

“So, what d’ya say? Wanna be my forever shrimpy? I can’t promise I won’t get bored sometimes or drag you into weird stuff… but I can promise I’ll never leave. ‘Cause when I say you’re mine, I mean it.”

He grinned then — sharp teeth and all — but there was a rare softness to it.

When you said yes, he scooped you up, twirled you into the air, and shouted your name into the sea breeze like it belonged to him now.

Because, well… it did.

Kalim Al-Asim

His love was the kind of love that sparkled — joyful, loud, radiant. He loved with everything. And when he realized he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, there was no hesitation. No fear. Just overflowing excitement and the desire to make it perfect.

So naturally… the entire city had to know.

You started noticing little hints. He’d smile at you longer than usual. Ask strange questions like “What’s your favorite kind of flower, just hypothetically?” or “Do you like fireworks or doves better? No reason!”

But the day of the proposal? He kept it hidden perfectly.

You were invited to a “casual dinner” at the Al-Asim family estate — nothing fancy, he swore! When you arrived, the garden was transformed into something out of a dream: floating lanterns bobbed gently in the air, casting a golden glow; fragrant jasmine vines curled around the trellises; rose petals lined the walkways in careful spirals.

And in the center of it all stood Kalim, wearing a white and gold sherwani embroidered with intricate sun motifs — custom-made, obviously.

He took your hand and pulled you close, his smile so big it looked like it hurt.

“Surprise!! Okay okay, I know I said this wasn’t a big deal, but I might’ve lied a little,” he admitted, practically vibrating with excitement. “I wanted this to be special. Because you are.”

He led you through the garden, pointing out little scenes — memories you’d shared together recreated in glowing, magical dioramas. The first time he gave you a ride on his flying carpet. The time you accidentally got stuck in the rain together and danced anyway. Even the first time he tripped and landed face-first in a pile of fruit during a festival. Each one floated in a soft golden shimmer like preserved dreams.

Finally, at the very end of the path, the lights dimmed. Music began — a quiet, melodic tune played by a live ensemble hidden behind silk screens.

Kalim dropped to one knee, pulling out a ring so stunning it looked like it belonged in a treasure vault: warm rose gold shaped like the sun, with a diamond center surrounded by sunstone and opal, glowing faintly with enchantment.

His voice trembled slightly, but his eyes never left yours.

“I know I’m… a lot. Loud, excitable, maybe too much sometimes. But my heart? It’s yours. Every day. Every moment. I want to fill your life with so much joy you forget what sadness feels like. Will you… will you marry me?”

You could barely answer before fireworks burst overhead in a dazzling cascade of color — forming your name, a heart, and then the words “Will You Marry Me?” again for good measure.

He laughed, teary-eyed, pulling you into a spinning hug the moment you said yes, nearly tripping over a pile of lanterns.

And he swore — over spiced sweets and glowing stars — that loving you would always be the most joyful celebration of his life.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil Schoenheit had always been perfection incarnate.

He chose his words carefully, curated his life down to the last detail, and ruled over every room he entered with grace and quiet authority. But love? Love was unpredictable. Messy. Vulnerable.

And yet… with you, he chose it anyway.

For months, he kept the idea of proposing buried beneath a polished exterior. Not because he doubted your love — no, never that — but because he feared imperfection. What if the moment wasn’t enough? What if his words failed him? What if he wasn’t enough?

But one morning, as you were wrapped in a robe, sipping tea while lazily flipping through one of his scripts, looking utterly unbothered by the world — his world — he knew. No stage could rival this.

Still… he had to make it perfect.

The proposal wasn’t sudden. It unfolded like a symphony — days of subtle preparation, each moment building toward the crescendo. First, a handwritten invitation slipped under your door, sealed with gold wax in his personal crest. It read:

“You are cordially invited to an evening of celebration — for a love that deserves the finest stage. Wear what makes you feel radiant. The rest… is mine to handle.”

You arrived at a private rooftop garden in the heart of Maquillaville— Vil’s favorite filming location. Every inch of it had been transformed: strings of enchanted lights that pulsed like heartbeats, violet roses laced with flecks of gold, a crystal runway leading to a single, candlelit platform under the stars.

Vil stood at the end of it, not in a costume, not in a role — just himself. Beautiful, yes, but bare. No stage makeup. No lenses. Just Vil, with his natural elegance and a look in his eyes like he was seeing you and only you.

As you approached, music swelled from invisible instruments — soft piano and violins, as if the stars themselves were holding their breath.

Vil took your hands, his thumb stroking your wrist gently.

“I have played many roles,” he said quietly. “A prince. A villain. A monarch. But none… none compare to the part I’ve played in your life — myself. No masks. No script. You have loved me.”

He lowered himself to one knee, not out of tradition, but reverence. The ring was an opalescent band shaped like a flower in full bloom — not ostentatious, but hauntingly beautiful. Regal. Just like him.

“And I want to spend the rest of my days proving that I am more than a face on a screen. That I am yours — wholly, imperfectly, and honestly. Will you marry me, my dearest?”

Your yes was the kind of answer that echoed through your soul. And when you kissed — fireworks didn’t go off.

But you could’ve sworn the stars shifted.

Rook Hunt

To love Rook Hunt was to walk the edge of obsession — not in a dangerous way, but in a way that made you feel seen. Utterly seen. No piece of you, no habit or flaw, escaped his gaze. And he loved every detail with fervor and poetry.

So, when Rook decided to propose, it wasn’t a question of if or even how. It was a question of when the moment would feel like destiny.

And he waited for it with the patience of a hunter watching from the trees — breathless, quiet, focused.

It came during an autumn evening. The forest outside campus was bathed in gold and amber light, the air crisp and still. He asked you to take a walk, his tone casual, but there was a certain gleam in his eyes. The kind that made your heart stir.

He led you into the woods, deeper than usual, through a path dappled with falling leaves and faint trails of candlelight — candles placed just out of reach, like fireflies guiding you toward something sacred.

Eventually, you came upon a small, open glade. In its center stood a circle of white lilies and dried pampas grass, arranged with almost ceremonial care. Strings of paper birds fluttered from the trees — cranes, owls, hawks — each meticulously folded and each with a word written inside: Admiration. Fascination. Devotion. Enchantment.

You turned to Rook, who now stood behind you with that soft, unreadable smile.

“Mon trésor,” he breathed, voice velvet-smooth. “You are my greatest muse. The most magnificent mystery I’ve ever encountered. I have followed your footsteps, your laughter, your sorrow — and I find myself always… captivated.”

He circled around you like a dancer, his hand brushing your cheek, then resting over your heart.

“To hunt is not merely to chase — it is to understand. To behold. And I understand now that no beauty compares to yours. No thrill equals the way my heart stirs when you smile.”

Then, with the flourish of a magician revealing his final act, he drew from his coat a black-velvet box — aged and worn, like an heirloom passed through generations. He knelt, the golden leaves falling around him like confetti from the sky.

Inside, the ring was unlike anything you’d seen: a twisting band of silver and moss-green enamel, crowned with a delicate white diamond shaped like a feather — symbolizing the pursuit, the admiration, and finally, the surrender.

“Would you, my radiant one, do me the indescribable honor… of being mine, forever? Not as prey. Not as an object. But as the one I choose to walk beside, for all my days?”

When you said yes, Rook exhaled — deeply, reverently — and kissed your hand as if pledging allegiance to a monarch.

Idia Shroud

Proposal? Marriage? Social interaction? That was high-tier anxiety content for him. Even the thought of confessing to you, back when it all started, had nearly sent him into a shutdown spiral.

But now, here you were — his person. The one who understood his silences, who gamed beside him through 72-hour dungeon crawls, who sat beside him in eerie, comforting stillness while the blue glow of his hair flickered in thought. Loving you felt like logging into a private server only the two of you could access — quiet, secure, and safe.

And Idia, for all his dramatics and gloom-posting, loved you with an intensity that didn’t need fanfare. Just… data. And intention.

So, when he decided to propose, he made it a quest.

Literally.

You received a handmade invitation on your phone one morning: "Player 2, your presence is requested for a legendary raid. Final boss: Emotional Vulnerability. Rewards: Eternal Love + Rare Ring Drop. Do you accept?"

He built the whole thing himself: a pixel-art RPG styled just like your favorite fantasy games. The title? “Shroud.exe: A Love Story.”

As you played through it, you encountered your story together — from your first awkward hangouts in the Ignihyde dorm, to the moment you held his hand during a panic attack, to every late-night cuddle session where his hair dimmed peacefully beside you. Every NPC was a digital recreation of your favorite characters (Ortho, obviously, had an adorable role as the overly enthusiastic love-coach sidekick).

Each level was built with custom dialogue, full of Idia’s signature wit and fourth-wall breaking commentary:

“This is the part where MC doesn’t leave me despite my trash social skills. Truly S-tier behavior.”

“Warning: Final boss approaching. His defense stats are ridiculous but he’s got a glass heart. Weak to unconditional love.”

Finally, at the end of the game, the final cutscene began. And instead of sprites on screen, the video feed switched to live camera.

There he was.

Idia. Sitting in his room. Nervously fiddling with something in his hands — a small velvet box. His flame-hair flickered erratically, and he was in a carefully chosen outfit you’d never seen him wear before. Formal, but still unmistakably him.

He looked directly at the camera — right at you.

“I, uh… I figured I should do this in a way that makes sense for me. For us. Not in some overhyped, real-world, normie way with candles and violins and… people.” He cringed just saying that last part.

“But I wanted it to be real. So… here I am.”

He opened the box with trembling fingers. Inside was a ring shaped like a circuit loop, inlaid with glowing lapis and delicate code etchings — the ones you both designed together for fun once. The pattern pulsed faintly with light.

“I’m not good at words IRL, but I can say this: You’re my favorite co-op partner. You made all my side quests feel like main storyline material. So, will you… like, marry me? And maybe keep patching me for the rest of our lives?”

You didn’t even need the dialogue box to appear.

You just whispered "Yes" to the screen — and moments later, Ortho popped into the game world cheering with pixel fireworks in the background.

You looked up — and there Idia was, standing awkwardly in your doorway, holding the ring in real-time. Blushing furiously. Looking like he’d risked everything.

And when you kissed him — he glitched. Heart racing. Code crashing.

And he didn’t want to reboot. Ever.

Lilia Vanrouge

He had watched centuries pass like seasons. He’d lived through empires and starlight, laughter and war. He’d known many things — joy, grief, loyalty, loss — but love? True, soul-deep love? That was rare. Precious.

You, however, had changed that.

He never planned to fall for you. It simply happened. Like a song that begins as a hum and ends in a chorus that takes your breath away. With every shared moment — your laugh, your clever comebacks, your kindness — you pulled him out of memory and rooted him firmly in the now.

And so, one day, when the time felt quiet and right — he began to prepare.

The proposal wasn’t flashy. It was intimate. Lilia’s style had always been part mischief, part myth, part poetry. And so, he invited you to a place he hadn’t shown anyone in centuries.

A clearing deep within Briar Valley’s forest — hidden beneath vines and weeping trees, where the moonlight filtered through like silver lace. Fireflies lit the air in lazy constellations. In the center stood an old, stone ruin covered in moss — a place once sacred to the fae.

Lilia held your hand and stepped into the clearing with you, a small smile on his lips.

“Do you know what this place was?” he asked, voice soft like dusk. “It was a fae courting ground. We used to come here when we were ready to say, ‘This is it. This is the one I’ll write songs about.’”

You blinked at him — heart stuttering.

He stepped back from you, then lifted his hand. Magic shimmered like crushed moonlight around his fingers. With one slow motion, the ruins bloomed to life — glowing vines wrapping around pillars, flowers that hadn't blossomed in centuries opening in a swirl of glowing petals. The whole grove sighed, as if exhaling from a deep sleep.

“I’ve done many things,” Lilia said, stepping closer again, eyes shining. “I’ve lived through battles and lullabies. But I’ve never done this. Never wanted to. Not until you.”

He reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled out a delicate silver ring carved in the shape of intertwined bat wings and thorns, centered with a faintly glowing green stone that looked like a captured firefly.

Kneeling — he looked up at you, unguarded and eternal.

“You have made my immortality feel like a blessing again. Would you walk with me through what years I have left, and let me love you through each one? Will you marry me?”

The forest held its breath with you.

When you said yes, his smile was the softest thing you’d ever seen. He pulled you close — kissed you slowly — and whispered, “Then we’ll write a love story even time won’t forget.”

Sebek Zigvolt

For a long time, Sebek Zigvolt didn’t understand love. Not in the way he understood duty, or training, or the fierce loyalty he bore for Lord Malleus. Love was… unpredictable. Emotional. Disruptive.

But when he began to feel it — first in small ways, like watching you speak with others and getting irrationally flustered, or the way your touch lingered in his mind for days — he was angry at it. Frustrated.

And yet, you stayed. Through his yelling, his dramatics, his constant declarations of greatness on behalf of Malleus. You never teased him. You understood him.

One evening, after an exhausting mission outside Briar Valley, you found him standing guard alone under a stormy sky — soaked, grim, but stubborn as ever. You put your cloak around his shoulders and stood beside him in the rain.

He never forgot that moment.

It was when he realized: You are who I want to stand beside forever.

Sebek’s proposal took months of planning. Everything had to be worthy — of you, of his feelings, and of the future he wanted to protect. He asked Lilia for advice (and immediately regretted it after hearing “fake dragon attack for dramatic flair” — no thank you), trained twice as hard every morning, and spent evenings carving something in secret.

When the day came, he invited you to the castle gardens of Diasomnia at sunrise. The sky was still dark and quiet, a soft mist curling between hedges and dragon statues.

Sebek stood waiting at the center, in formal attire — the ceremonial armor of the Draconia Guard, silver and forest green, etched with runes that glowed faintly with magic. He turned when you arrived, eyes wide and serious, breath fogging in the cold air.

“I… I wanted to say this in the place where my heart was forged — under these towers, in these shadows, where I learned what it meant to serve.”

He stepped forward, taking your hands in his own — warm despite the chill.

“But then I met you. And I learned something greater than duty. I learned love. Fierce. Relentless. Protective. The kind I would fight for. Die for. Live for.”

From his belt, he drew a small box. Inside it was a ring made from polished emerald steel — hand-forged, slightly rough around the edges, but unmistakably beautiful. It bore his family crest inside and tiny runes around the band for strength, loyalty, and passion.

“I will not promise perfection. I am loud. I am difficult. But I swear to be yours with every heartbeat I have. To protect, to cherish, and to learn. Always.”

He dropped to one knee — knight-like, formal, trembling — and looked up at you as though you were the most sacred being in the world.

“Would you do me the extraordinary honor… of becoming my partner? My future? My heart?”

Your “yes” rang through the mist like sunlight.

When he stood, his composure nearly broke — eyes damp, mouth trembling — and when he kissed you, it was with the passion of someone who had finally learned what it meant to love freely.

And though he never said it aloud again in front of others — in private, every night after, he whispered: “Thank you for choosing me.”

[thekitsunesiren]

Dc x Dp #54

Dan wondered if he was about to keep most of his mind due to his own existence being an anomly amonst time itself, or if Clockwork somehow interevened because he believed that it was best he had his mind instead of being a complete child with his ridiculous powerset. Probably both, if Dan was being honest. Or should he say "Dante" now? Honestly, he knew his momma wasn't original, but seriously? Dante was the best he could do?

Momma-heh. Dan looked up at his younger counter part as he frantically moved around their small cramped apartment as he tried to wrangle Dani into her pajamas for bed. The younger child flying around and going intangible whenever her momma was too close to putting the clothes on her after their evening bath. It was domestic, somewhat, if you didn't know more about them.

Three out of four of their only kind in hiding. Hiding from those who don't understand them. Who wants to hurt them jsut because they are viewed as non sentient.

Danny could've left him alone. Simply take Dani and leave. But he didn't. He looked at him as a child. His child. Made sure he was just as safe as Dani as they disappeared from Amity and far away from the GIW. Now playing a happy family in one of the most crime ridden towns in the United States. Far enough for the GIW to not immediately look there

Dan remembers his original timeline. When he killed every hero, vigilante, and villain that stood in his way of greatness until there was nothing but weak humans who couldn't defeat him. Every alien invasion wasn't a threat, it was a work out to him. And it lead him to crave more. His need to fight. For Power. To become the strongest until there was nothing left. And yet, even then, the only person that could stop him was him.

Honestly, Dan didn't remember much during his reign. The heroes were strong, but not enough. Even the villains that turned against him weren't anything but a small distraction of the bigger things. But the biggest threat, unsurprisingly, were the bats.

Smart. Cunning. Stubborn. Put up a better fight than anyone else and got closer to anyone else to figuring out how to stop him. How to hold him down. How to make him bleed.

Yes, they lasted the longest out of all of them, and it wasn't until Dan stood over the remains of the infamous bat family did he realize: this was his family.

While only his ghost half, Dan still remembered being Danny. And more than that, he remembered Danyal: the shadow of the heir to the al Ghul name. Twin to Damien Wayne, but treated nothing but a shadow and a bodyguard.

Congratulated none for his efforts but punished twice as much for if Damien failed. He was nothing, while his brother was anything. Scars physically and mentally that he pushed into the back of his mind when he finally left the League. It was easy to see how little how they felt about him when none of them left.

When he left and was adopted by the Fenton's, everything was great. He actually succeeded about forgetting about his past life. Especially with all of the ghost business and trying to hide his identity from his parents.

But as he stood over the corpse of his brother, the youngest Robin, he wondered if Damien ever wondered about him. Wondered if he looked for him. Wondering if the great Batman knew he had another son out there. Would he turn him away if he did? Would he haved turned away Dan? It was too late to find the answers.

Until now that is.

Now, his future was a distant timeline. Broken and forgotten with no going back. But that didn't mean that the people weren't still here. He knew his father was Bruce Wayne. He just didn't know when Damien was introduced to the Wayne family.

Dan startled out of his thoughts when momma picked him up into his arm, Dani in the other dressed and snuggled against momma's chest in a sleepy daze.

He rested his head on momma's shoulder as he was carried into their small bedroom and tucked into bed. His eyes briefly closing as he felt cool lips press against his forehead in a goodnight kiss. A soft and fond voice wishing him and Dani a good night.

Dani responded but Dan stayed quiet. Not opening his eyes until the door clicked shut and his mommas ectoplasmic presenced lessened as he went to the next room. Then, his eyes opened to reveal a glowing red as he stared out the window into the cloudy and smog covered sky that was Gotham.

He was going to get the help his momma needed. He just hoped this trouble was worth that it was.

[bananonbinary]

okay. everyone here, stop. forget about ai, forget about art, forget about copyright and plagerism. forget the wider context of this debate and focus in on this argument.

explain to me, from the start, how "lazy and incompetent" are morally bad things that aren't rooted in ableism. use your fucking words, and spell it out, in clear terms, that you think that people who struggle to do a task are doing so out of some personal character flaw rather than admit that sometimes people have shit going on that isn't fucking about you.

I'm going to say the same thing that I said when everyone was talking shit about "weaponized incompetence."

It is not your place to judge what someone else is or is not capable of. it's just not. you have no fucking idea what invisible disabilities they might have. "no disability actually prevents-" yes it does. sit down and actually look around, everything you find easy is hard for someone.

even if they totally don't have any disabilities at all, it still doesn't actually matter if people get accommodations they don't "need." partially because attempting to gatekeep who "really" needs help can only hurt disabled people, but also because. it doesn't matter. it's not hurting anyone.

laziness, as a concept, is not fucking real. it's just not. laziness is a diagnoses that looks at outward behavior (this person isn't doing what I think they should), and refused to acknowledge the actual internal reasons behind it. it is inherently dehumanizing and enormously self-centered. people do not self-sabotage for no reason. I have never in my life met someone who isn't doing something that they want/need because they...what, want to annoy me personally? even people that i think are doing objectively wrong things, it's not because they're evil, or stupid, or lazy, it's because they have shit going on that they are handling poorly. "they simply aren't putting in any effort" is a symptom, not a fucking cause.

we are talking about art. funny pictures and words and whatever. there is no moral imperative to make it "correctly." you can dislike it, you can even argue against it ("its plagiarism," "its bad for the environment," whatever the hell you want), but don't fucking imply that people who do not meet YOUR threshold of protestant fucking work ethic are somehow morally inferior to you. if you're going to argue about something being bad, pick an argument that isn't fucking bootlicking. work ethic isnt real. hard work is not virtuous. easy things are not sowing evil in people's hearts or whatever the fuck.

"oh sky you're overreacting that's not what they meant-" the person above me literally said in clear terms that sentence structure, vocabulary, and expressing yourself "adequately" are skills only someone lazy and incompetent would struggle with. AND that it's "not fine" to not be able to cultivate those skills. just say you hate mentally disabled folks and go.

PS just. all of my complete rage at seeing the words "lazy and incompetent" aside, this just...isn't true at all. you guys are not doing yourselves any favors by IMAGINING what the beloathed ai artist is probably like and then shitting on him. talk to people that actually make ai art. ask them questions. some people are making shitty art, just like some traditional artists. but some of them actually are very skilled at what they do and spend a lot of time on it. just because it's *different* skills doesn't mean the skills aren't *there.* i certainly wouldn't even know where to begin with a project like @infiniteartmachine.

PS PS the original example of chatgpt and education is irrelevant to the discussion of ai art. like, yeah, asking a robot for the answers prevents you from learning, which is bad when you are explicitly trying to learn and build those skills in school. its not bad like, conceptually. the more equivalent argument would be that it'd be fucked up to submit ai art to a still life class. which is true, but not because AI Art Bad. its just grossly inappropriate and kinda ridiculous in that context.

[secretaccountlol]

GDA SUPERHERO NO WORKER COMP

Author note. (Holy yap I’m sorry)

If you've seen my Tumblr, you know l've only written for Spider-Man before. But recently, l've been getting into Mark Grayson (Invincible), and there aren't many fics for him yet, so... (atleast at the time of writing this)

Disclaimer: I'm still getting a feel for Mark's character, so excuse any OOC moments. Also, slight canon divergence-Mark's a bit older here (early 20s, college arc), and Omniman is still gone. Oh, and his bathroom is connected to his room because I said so. Uhhh plz comment, repost etc if you like this, (I read ALL OF THEM) and first time out of my comfort zone highkey scared ngl...

Shoutout to the lovely, supportive, stunning : @sobbingscripter

Another shout out to @clownprincesshq , the detailed notes on how write/the character of Mark is something I read to trying to study his character.

I hope I don’t let yall down LMAO.

About 4,000 words give or take.

18+ no minors go away!

Warning : uhh not much? Mark is kinda pissed at the reader at first due to story beats. So yk some name calling but only once.

Oh and typos, guys I'm dyslexic and this is my first story in a while go easy on me.

Oral sex on reader, the smut is short I got waaay too into the writing of the reader and mark.

Reader is AFAB, she/her pronouns aren't used :D (if l missed any please let me know l'll correct it)

Y/N is not used.

Reader has superpowers, they are * undefined* Very vague like super strength and flying.

SUMMMARYYY:

You’re hurt, no where to turn. Maybe Eve? Rex? No, too far. You’ll never make it.

You see his house.

Mark. Invincible.

Would he even open his door? Or would he just slam it in your face?

The world was spinning.

Or maybe that was just the blood loss.

Your arms trembled as you slapped a weak hand against Mark’s bedroom window, the glass cool against your burning skin. Inside, the faint outline of his sleeping figure was barely visible through the haze of your vision.

“Mark!” you hissed, voice cracking.

Nothing.

A frustrated groan tore from your throat. Of course! He was a heavy sleeper.

“Fuckin’ dumbass,” you muttered, though the insult lacked any real bite. If a doctor asked you right now, “On a scale of one to ten, how much pain are you in?” you’d probably throw them through a wall for wasting your time.

You balled your hand into a fist and slammed it against the glass again—harder this time.

*Crack.*

The window shattered under the force, shards raining onto Mark’s floor.

“Oh.”

Turns out, when you’re bleeding out and half-delirious, controlling your superhuman strength isn’t exactly a priority.

Mark jolted upright, eyes wide with alarm. “What the fuck are- ?!” His voice cut off abruptly as he slapped a hand over his own mouth, glancing toward his door. Right. His mom.

“Why the hell are you here?” he whisper-yelled, scrambling out of bed. His feet barely touched the floor before he was at the window, shoving it open. “And why did you break my window?!”

“Thank god,” you breathed, swaying slightly. “I thought I was gonna have to hover here all night—”

Your vision blurred. The edges of your consciousness frayed like a frayed rope, darkness creeping in. Just as your eyelids fluttered shut, Mark’s hands shot out, gripping your forearms.

“Shit—I got you, hold on—”

With a grunt, he hauled you inside. Your body hit the floor with a dull *thud*, sending a fresh wave of agony through your ribs.

“Dude, my mom is sleeping!” Mark hissed, crouching beside you.

You let out a weak, pained laugh. “Geez, how about ‘Are you okay?’ Or ‘Why are you covered in blood?’ Or—I dunno—‘Are you dying?’”

Attempting to sit up, you winced as your spine protested, a sharp spike of pain shooting through you. You collapsed back onto the floor with a groan.

…Actually, the floor wasn’t so bad. Cold. Solid. Maybe it would soothe the fire licking at your skin.

“I would’ve even taken ‘Why aren’t you at the GDA?’” you muttered, tilting your head to look at him.

Mark’s expression softened, worry etching deep lines into his forehead. “Okay, yeah. That was a dick move. I’m sorry—you just fuckin’ spooked me.” He shifted uncomfortably, eyes scanning the gashes and bruises littering your body. “Are you… okay?”

His hands hovered over you, trembling slightly, like he wasn’t sure where to touch without hurting you further.

You smirked. “Nah, I just love lying on the floor.”

A laugh tried to force its way out, but it turned into a wheeze halfway through. Ow.

“Hey, hey—careful,” Mark murmured, his touch feather-light as his palm pressed gently against your sternum.

You swallowed thickly. “I… Do you have a med kit?”

“Uh—yeah. Yeah, my mom kept one from when she used to patch up my dad, but I—” He ran a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. “I don’t really know how to—”

“’S’okay,” you slurred, fighting the heaviness in your eyelids. “I can walk you through it. Just… get it before I pass out again.”

Your fingers twitched toward his wrist, brushing against his pulse point. Warm.

“Please?”

Mark’s breath hitched. Your eyes were half-lidded, glazed with pain—in any other situation, they might’ve been mistaken for bedroom eyes. He shook his head sharply, as if dispelling the thought, before scrambling to his feet.

“Be right back. ”Don’t die.”

“I’ll try”

You hummed in acknowledgment, but the darkness was too inviting. Your eyes slipped shut.

The next thing you knew, a hand was shaking your shoulder.

“Hey- hey! Are you dead? Please don’t be dead. I really don’t feel like explaining why there’s a dead person in my room.”

You cracked an eye open. “Oh, wow. Not even sad I’m dead, huh? Just ready to bury the body?”

Mark exhaled sharply, relief washing over his face. “More like I don’t wanna explain to my mom why her son—who just got back from college—is suddenly a serial killer.”

You snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure she wouldn’t be thrilled if you took after your dad.”

Silence.

“…Too soon?”

You winced. “My bad. Pain makes me a jaded fucker.” Your voice dropped. “I wish I had a family as tight as yours.”

Mark’s jaw tightened. “Yeah, well… it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

You blinked. Then grinned. “Mark Grayson making a pun? Has the world gone mad?”

He frowned. “What?”

“Cracked?” You coughed out a laugh, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Considering I definitely have cracked ribs right now?”

Mark rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “You must be feeling better if you’re able to lift yourself and make shit jokes.”

You choke back a laugh as you wriggle out of what is left of your costume off your body. You scoff as Mark’s breath hitched, turning away from your indecency.

“Still a virgin?” you teased, reaching for the med kit.

“Still a bitch?” he shot back.

You smirked. “Touché.”

Mark sighed, rubbing his temples. “Can you just tell me how to patch you up? I’d like you out of my house before sunrise.”

“Right.” You fumbled with the kit, hands shaking. “Okay, take this gauze and press it here to stop the bleeding. Then I’ll thread the needle so you can sew me up.”

Mark paled. “Sew you up? I can handle basic first aid, but I’m not playing surgeon tonight.”

Your fingers missed the wound entirely, and a frustrated tsk slipped out. “I said I’d walk you through it. It’s fine.”

“You can barely hold your hands steady,” Mark argued, snatching the kit back. “Let me just—uh—” He rummaged through the supplies. “Liquid bandages. Here.”

His fingers brushed your side as he leaned closer, applying the adhesive with surprising gentleness. “Most of the big cuts are already healing,” he murmured.

You grinned weakly. “Might not have Viltrumite recovery, but close enough, eh?”

Mark grimaced at your smile, your bloodstained teeth made his stomach turn “Jesus.”

A comfortable quiet settled between you, broken only by your occasional hisses and Mark’s muttered apologies. His hands were careful, methodical—like he was afraid you’d shatter under his touch.

“Instructions say to wait five minutes before it’s waterproof,” he said finally, sitting back. “After it dries, hop in the shower. I’ll lend you some clothes so you can leave after.”

He stood, moving toward his dresser.

You watched him for a moment before sighing. “Trying to get rid of me that fast?”

Mark stiffened. “Yup.”

“Then, why are you giving me a reason to come back? ” You teased, gripped the wall, hobbling toward him as you motion towards his clothes.

He didn’t turn around. “I’m not.”

“You don’t want the clothes back after y’know I wash them of course”

“Nope.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, rubbing your temples before you speak.

Your chest tightened. “Mark, I said I was sorry.”

“Sorry, doesn’t cut it.” His voice was sharp, but you could hear the hurt underneath.

“Mark—”

“No. Don’t ‘Mark’ me.” He finally faced you, eyes burning. “I confided in you. You were my teammate—” His hands clenched. “You were my friend.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut.

You reached for him instinctively, fingers grazing his cheek. “Mar—”

“Get your fucking hands off me.”

The venom in his tone sent a chill down your spine. That was the voice he used on villains. On traitors.

And now, it was the voice he used on you.

“You have to see it from my perspective!” you snapped, gripping his collar. “Your father was one of the strongest heroes we had, Mark! He killed the Guardians! He was a double agent for 20 years fucking years before he attacked—how was I supposed to know you weren’t the same?!”

Mark’s eyes flashed with guilt, then angry pushed “Don’t you—”

“Especially because he coincidentally decided to fuck the world up right when you got your powers!” Your voice cracked. “It was fucked for Cecil to put that shit in your head. I know that. And I hated myself for taking their side. I still hate myself for it.”

Your arms wrapped around yourself, nails digging into your skin.

“I thought I didn’t have a choice,” you whispered. “I had no one but him and the government.” A bitter laugh escaped. “Had being the key word.”

Mark’s breath caught. “Is that why—?”

You couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t bear the pity in his eyes.

“Yeah. He didn’t… take it well when I said I wanted to leave.”

Mark’s hands twitched at his sides before he stepped closer. “Did he do this to you?”

Your brain racked itself for a response, Mark wasn’t waiting, hands zip to your shoulders.

Mark’s grip on your shoulders tightened. “Did. He. Hurt. You?”

You whimpered. “Mark—you’re hurting me.”

He recoiled like he’d been burned. “Shit—I’m sorry, I just—” His hands hovered. “Did he?”

You swallowed. “No. I was pissed. Went on patrol. Found trouble. Got fucked up.” You exhaled shakily. “Usually, I’d go to the GDA, but…”

Your voice trailed off. You’d left your entire life behind for your morals. For him. And now you were standing here, pouring your heart out like some guilt-tripping mess.

“I should go,” you muttered, swiping roughly at your face. The words tasted like ash. “This mess is mine —not your problem. Thanks for… y’know. The patch job.”

You lunged for the window, ignoring the scream of protest from your ribs. Just get airborne. Just push through. But your legs betrayed you, buckling like paper under the weight of your own hubris. The sonic boom you’d aimed for sputtered into a whimper, gravity clawing you back toward earth.

Mark’s house grew terrifyingly large in your plummeting vision. At least you're aiming for the yard.

Strong arms intercepted you inches from impact, the sudden halt stealing your breath.

“Yeah,” Mark murmured, his voice vibrating through your back where it pressed against his chest. “You’re definitely staying over.”

You craned your neck. The dim streetlight silhouetted his hero gear—the sharp lines of his reforged Invincible suit, goggles still faintly glowing from the chase.

“Aren’t I glad to see you?” you rasped, forcing levity into your voice.

He huffed, the sound warmer than it had any right to be. “Dunno. You ran out pret-ty fast.”

“Costume change just to come get lil old me?”

“Well, you can get a little squirrely, I didn’t know how far I would have to chase you.”

His feet plant on his roof as he bridal carries you inside,

“Alright- uh, so the bathroom is over there and I left you some clothes here to use.” Mark motions with his head.

“I think you can put me down now, in-vin-ci-ble” Your smirk widens as Mark's face turns beet red as he drops your legs softly.

“Yes, right right right. Sorry sorry- uhm. I-i’ll stay here“

Mark awkwardly shuffles to his bed, hands in his lap as he watches you slink into the bathroom.

-

The shower scalded away the night’s failures. You lingered until the steam thinned and the water ran cold,

Mark’s silhouette was a shadow against the moonlit window, his shoulders slumped in a poor imitation of relaxation when you emerge,

You can tell he's pretending he doesn't notice your there, he was a lousy liar, his body too honest you watch as it shifts feeling his eyes on you. You cough to get his attention

“Clothes are over there,” he blurted, jabbing a finger at the dresser without turning. His ears burned crimson.

You smile, nodding as a thank you, The towel hit the floor with a damp thud.

He choked. “Jesus—warn a guy!” His body makes a 180 to the wall barring his view of bare legs.

“Pfft, Mark, it’s fine,” you snorted, flapping a dismissive hand even though he’s still stubbornly facing the wall.

“ I - mean are you sure I-just, y’know your privacy and, and stuff!” You giggle as Mark's hands karate chop the air as he intensely monologue.

Even his posture screamed guilt—one foot pivoted toward you like a compass needle, betraying him entirely.

“Privacy’s a luxury where I grew up, Flyboy. “

“Still—you don’t just do that without warning someone!” Mark’s protest cracked mid-sentence, his head twisting to steal a glance over his shoulder before committing to facing you fully. ”Plus,

You’re not with them now. Remember?” The edge in his voice bled into something softer—an oath masquerading as a reminder.

The words hung in the quiet of the moonlight. “You get to choose what you want to be now.” Your name—always a weapon in others’ mouths—feels soft, malleable on his tongue as he stepped closer.

You curled inward, arms wrapping around yourself. “I-I don’t… I’ve never had choices before.“ The admission clawed up your throat, raw and bloody.

Well now, you have plenty of time to figure that out.” His eyes breathe hop, taking a hold on you as his gaze softens, mellowing the heat of the unknown for you.

”Its late, we should lay down.” Mark smiles at you as you nod. .

The floorboards creaked as you knelt, laying flat.

“What’re you—?”

“Laying down to go to sleep?.” You shift on the floor, wincing as your ribs protest. “Goes great with existential crises.”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s fine! Feels just like home!”

Mark dragged a palm down his stubbled jaw, the *click* of his molars grinding louder than his words. “If you sleep on the floor, I have to sleep on the floor.”

You square your shoulders, chin jutting. “Your roof, your rules, right? I rule that you get yourself into that damn bed, and I stay here. Not like you can make me”

A beat. Then—

The grin that split his face wasn’t boyish. It was predatory, all white teeth and dilated pupils.

“Oh, no. I can make you.”

He moved faster than your battered reflexes could track. One second you were glaring up at him—the next, his arms banded around your waist, hauling you onto the mattress.

“Mark Put me down, you asshat!”

“ Issa compromise,” he declared, legs tangling with yours to pin you in place. His knee brushed dangerously close to your thigh.

You squirmed out of his grasp. “You’re insufferable.”

Your glare could’ve scorched planets as toss it over your shoulder you lunged for the bed’s edge.

His forearm banded across your ribs, hauling you backward into the crater of his body.

His palms splayed hot against your hipbones, thumbs digging into the hollows like he was mapping fault lines. You arched, but his grip was tectonic—unyielding.

“Nope, no escapin’”

You grunt wriggling once more, his knees caging your thighs as he wrestled you flat.

“Goddamnit, Mark! You are so-“

The contact was accidental. Had to be. But when his knee brushed that electric junction between your thighs, your breath shattered into a gasp—sharp, fractured. Mark stilled, arms iron bands around your ribs as he hauled you backward into the heat of his body.

"I win," he purred, lips skimming the helix of your ear. The vibration unspooled something primal in your gut.

"Y-you’re a dick“ you hissed, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

“Ah yes.” Mark chuckled, as he nosed the frantic pulse at your throat. ”I’m a dick for making sure my friend doesn’t sleep on the floor.” His knuckles grazing the waistband of your borrowed sweats.

His head tilted to meet your eyes “How terrible of me?” he grins.

Asshole.

You feel your face is a nuclear plant right now.

He has to know right? That he’s turning you on? That you're basically soaking the brand-new pants he gave you?

“Y-y- I- “ Your words dissolved into a choked stutter, palms slamming over your burning face as you twisted away.

“Hey? Oh— shit. Did I crush your ribs or something?”

“No– you didn’t I just—“ You bite your lip, not exactly first-date conversation material to tell him you want him to fuck you senseless? You swallow the confession, reaching for the closest lie instead.

“I- uh.. can feel..” you squeak,

You turn to look at his face again, eyes moving between his mouth and then his eyes as Your teeth sink into your bottom lip.

“I can feel you- against my ..-butt..”

You mentally scream into the void, what are you 5? as if your brain short-circuited mid-crisis. Ass was right there. Ass was obvious. Why didn’t you say ass.

“I-“

Mark is short-circuiting too, lips stuck on a half-formed syllable.

“I am so sorry- I just and we uh, it’s -“ his body launching upright so fast the headboard rattled. Palms slapped the air in surrender, then cycled through all the gestures of sorry he could muster.

A quiet huff of laughter escapes you as you watch him unravel - his hands conducting an invisible orchestra of panic, gaze ricocheting between your face, the ceiling, and some fascinating spot on the bed sheet that might hold the secrets of the universe.

You slip your hand up to his cheeks, “Mark, it’s okay.”

His entire body stills—that terrifying, pre-battle freeze—before his gaze locks onto you.

“I-..I liked it.” Your lips curled into a smile, suckerpucked his heart.

Your mouth brushes his cheekbone - just a whisper of contact,

Your lashes dip—not from shyness, but from the weight of this moment, the gravity of him.

The kiss you press to his cheek is featherlight, barely there, yet it sends a current through both of you.

No script for you. no rehearsed lines—just instinct and the way your pulse roars in your ears.

Movies never showed how soft skin could be, how his breath would catch, how right it would feel when he leans into your touch like you’re the only solid thing in the world.

The first real contact of lips ignites something primal in your veins.

Not fireworks - that's too tame - this is a supernova erupting behind your ribs as Mark's tongue slides against yours, your teeth clashing against eachother.

He braces above you, the solid heat of his body pressing you deeper into the mattress as one broad hand slides down the arch of your spine. When he finally breaks for air, his breath comes in ragged gusts against your swollen lips. Your hands skate lower—hesitant, then hungry—nails catching on the hem of his shirt.

“Do you want to-? I mean we can stop here I don’t .. I don’t want you to feel rushed, okay?”

“You said I get to choose now, right? Right now, I choose you.”

The words leave your lips repeating the vow he spoke before, rough at the edges but unshakable. Before he can react, you surge forward—capturing his mouth in a kiss that’s all heat and no hesitation.

You didn’t even have to ask, he rips it off without a second thought, and you reach to do the same before he stops you.

“No.. keep it on, I- .. like how my shirt looks on you.”

A grin appears on your face as he leans in to kiss you again, his hands once again finding your waistband, this time slipping your pants, his pants off your legs, and you kick them off.

You palm his member through his shorts as you groan into his mouth.

“Fuckk-“ Mark's words slip through your mouth before allowing his hands to slip down your stomach to your folds.

Your thighs clench as hands fumble, to find your clit, hips buck in response, your whines fueling his attack.

“Feels like your thighs are gonna break my wrist-“ A small chuckle at your dismay.

You offer a whimper as a rebuttal between your lips as you widen yourself, pushing harder against his clothed crotch.

“Not fair-“ you pat your way back up, slipping your hands into his shorts, your hands making contact with his burning hot skin. His cock, feels strong, solid.

“Holy shit- your-- your hand, oh fuck.” You watch as Mark's eyes squeeze close, brows knitting together as the pleasure flows through him.

His hands grip your wrist as he grinds down into your hand.

“Sorry- fuck. ss’feels so fuckin’ good-“ his whimpers fuel your core with desire, you pull away as Mark keeps bucking at your hand, and he whines at the loss of your hand.

“Nonono- why’d you?” He pouts as he starts to rub your clit once more, and you buck again.

“Take- ah! Take off your pants, I refuse to be the only one naked here.”

“You can still talk in a full sentence, I guess I haven’t done my job clearly yet”

“What are you talkin’ about?”

Mark offers a smirk as he slithers down your body, His hands slip up your shirt softly cupping your breast,

His lips graze your waist as he sinks into your heat.

A tentative lick sends your body in a state of shock, your head throws back a moment before you steady yourself to look at him again.

“ That felt-“

“Heavenly?” His mouth hungrily at your clit, Licks tantalize, each one deeper than the last your hips try to buck up his hands grip your waist, pinning your place, heavy pants feel the room as you grip his hair earning a moan that vibrates your clit, and as an ever delicious way.

“God, You taste so fucking good, I could keep eating out for days” his fingers prod your hole, circling its edge before slowly stretching your cunt, you swear you can hear god calling your name as he fucks his fingers deeper.

An intense pressure is building inside you, clawing at you as you grip the sheets of the bed, “Ma-shit what- something, what-“

Mark groans in response, his fingers moving as he sucks on your clit, your eyes shut.

“I— I feel like I’m going to - hn-feel“ your hand reaches for his hair again, earning slurps from Mark's punishing mouth “I f- I—-i’m gonn- burst!”

An overwhelming surge of energy pluses over you, as your stomach twists, your eyes roll back. Your mouth chants Mark’s name like a mantra.

You struggle to breathe as you come down from your high, hazy vision as you see Mark hovering over you with slight concern on his face.

“Wha- what was that?” Your eyes blink slowly as your vision begins to clear.

“Uh- well, that was- you came, I think? Honestly, I’ve never- seen someone do that when they cum?” Mark rubs the back of his neck as he speaks.

“Do- do what?” Your head cocks to the side as mark bewilderment grows,

“You don-?” His mouth splits into a grin, “I made you cum so hard that you have memory loss?”

“I-“ creeping embarrassment reels in your mind, “Shut up! It’s - I don’t have experience like you!”

“Cleaaarly? And you called me the virgin?”

You lunge forward and shove him with all the force you can muster.

At least you tried to, but he doesn’t move—doesn’t even flinch. It’s like trying to push a brick wall. That infuriating smirk still clings to his face, calm and smug,

“Just tell me what happened!”

“Fine, fine-, when you came, you caused a power surge, knocked out the power in the neighborhood for a good minute.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He deadpans.

“Huh, didn’t know I could- do.. that? I didn’t think my powers were electric as well?”

You open your mouth to speak, words getting caught in your throat as soon you look at Mark.

Your head turns instinctive, as shame burns your ears.

“Uh. So I know it caused a power surge and all when I came but-“ you face him once more,

“can- can we continue, please?” Your feet shuffle under Mark as he chuckles at your out-of-character shyness, though not unwelcome.

His fingers curl beneath your chin, tilting your face up until you're drowning in those puppy eyes, “As much as I would love that, I ..like you, I don’t want to overwhelm you, especially with what’s going on so much going on, I-“ The words fracture as his smile does, “I feel like I’m taking advantage.”

Your palm seals over his racing heart, your other lays on his cheek, “But you aren’t- I wanna be here, with you, Mark.”

“I know, and believe I want nothing more than to take things fast with you but, ” his thumb swipes across your lips, “But, you have no one to tell you this. When I was in your position -uhm, similar situation? Yeah.. in a similar situation, everyone told me to slow down, to wait.”

A shuddering breath escapes him as his eyelids lift, They flutter heavy as his gaze finds you “You’re gonna experience a lot of new things now that you're not under Cecil’s control. I need…no- .. I want to be that person for you, help you slow down, take in the little things in your new life.“

Your breath catches, as realization settles over you.

He’s right, things are different. You are different.

No handlers. No missions. Just you.

You are not alone, Invincible will catch you if you fall now. The ground is softer when it’s him.

“Okay. I trust you.”

“Okay.”

The slow collision of lips mend the promise between words.

“Okay, I’m getting sleepy again, let’s lay down.”

“Agreed”

A soft hum of agreement as he pulls you back against his chest, his nose finding its familiar spot in the crook of your neck. His arms lock around you like living seatbelts,

The realization comes slowly, sweetly it repeats:

No mission clock ticking down by the bed.

No weapons within easy reach.

Just Mark's steady heartbeat against your spine and the quiet creak of the house settling around you.

You fall asleep to the rhythm of his fingers tracing idle patterns between your shoulder blades.

“I got you.”

-

The door's whine of protest came a half-second before Debby's singsong voice.

“Mark, I hope you’re hungry. I cooked pancakes and eggs! I tried out a new recipe, so tell me if-“

The sentence died mid-air as your spine met the headboard with a thunk, blankets yanked to your chin in reflex.

“Uh- hi, Mrs. Gray-uh- Miss Debby..?” Your voice pitches up an octave as you yank the sheets higher again , toes digging into Mark’s calf in a what the hell kick that would’ve sent a normal person flying.

Mark jerks awake with a noise halfway between a snort and a choke, hair sticking up in sleep-mussed spikes. He blinks at the doorway like he’s trying to decrypt an alien language.

“Hm- wha, why are you?” His eyes are rubbed from sleep as he turns the door.

“MOM?” He bolts upright so fast the mattress protests, voice cracking.

“ Shit- I mean shoot, I am so sorry I can explain I promise- they were hurt, and we -“ His hands flap between you and the first-aid kit still open on the nightstand like it might magically explain everything.

Debby’s smile doesn’t even twitch.

“Just come down to breakfast when you're ready, don’t let the Pancakes get cold!” she sing-songs, already retreating. The door clicks shut with devastating calm.

“I guess that went.. pretty well?”

Mark collapses backward with an arm over his eyes.

“Oh my god, I’ll never live this down.”

[touchme-teezme]

I'm Sorry.

PAIRINGS | collegeboy!seonghwa x fab!reader

TAGS | plot with some porn, strangers to lovers, one night stand situationship, idk man he came over to build legos, there’s some attempted flirting and teasing, lots of making out, lots of tongue, unprotected vanilla sex, seonghwa lowkey a bop, bruh i am so bad at tagging bye i give up

RATING | NSFW 21+ (Minors pls DNI/if it makes you uncomfortable don’t read thx)

SUMMARY | Seonghwa needed a break. He also decided something had to change — and that led him to a few unexpected places in one night, including something dangerously close to his disaster feelings and while you were clearly the escape, he ran the other way.

AUTHOR’S NOTE | …hey…. how y’all doing?… sorry i was getting cheated on and also started a really important internship. It just ended (the internship and the relationship) so… we’re so…back? Thank you for being so sweet in the inboxes, this was a long one. i finished editing during valentine’s day i think? i was thinking about hwa’s slutty fingers after seeing that one concert video and ugh my mind went places oK omg i will shut up now. Bye, enjoy.

Inspired by 'Do You Like Me?" by Daniel Cesar. I have been listening to that NEVER ENOUGH album so much lately.

💌 click here to see my Love Interrupted series masterlist [ot8] — check out the other parts!

This was going to be the first and last time Seonghwa ever took advice from Jung Wooyoung.

In his defence, he’d hit a new low. Lower than rock bottom. Which is why the resident exemplary student, honour roll with a self-imposed 9 p.m. bedtime was standing outside the hottest nightclub in Itaewon, sporting a fresh haircut and an outfit entirely stolen from his roommate’s wardrobe.

His dating life chewed him up and spat him out, and now he was determined to do the absolute most to cope. He was hurt and hell-bent on distraction from whatever the fuck was even going on in that part of his life.

How he ended up getting ghosted by his situationship wasn’t nearly as baffling as how Wooyoung had somehow convinced over half their friend group to spend their Friday night here, of all places. They weren’t really party people — well, half of them weren’t. The ones who were into it had conveniently been excused from showing up.

Yunho, on the other hand, had been on the dance floor non-stop, while Wooyoung played hype man from the booth, cheering him on like it was a solo concert.

Wooyoung nudged Seonghwa’s shoulder with his knee from the top edge of the booth like a gremlin surveying chaos.

“Dude, she’s been staring at you all night.”

Seonghwa shot him a flat look. “And?”

“And,” Wooyoung slid down from his perch and dropped onto the seat beside him with a dramatic sigh, “Yunho and I are taken, and those two are a lost cause.”

Seonghwa glanced across the table. Hongjoong looked like he was losing a battle with sleep, while Yeosang scrolled through his phone, sipping from Hongjoong’s drink. He hadn’t smiled once all night — clearly here for the same reason Seonghwa was: moral support. But the chaos of the club made heart-to-hearts impossible.

“That leaves you,” Wooyoung said matter-of-factly. “Dude. She’s hot and interested. You’re hot and miserable. Classic rebound opportunity.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Maybe,” Wooyoung shrugged. “But I’m also right. Just look.”

He reached over, grabbed Seonghwa’s chin, and turned his head toward the bar.

And there you were — leaning back with easy confidence, swirling your drink, eyes locked on him with a smirk that stole the air right out of his lungs.

“Trust me,” Wooyoung grinned. “She’s perfect for helping you forget that loser.”

This would go down as the second and definitely the absolute last time Seonghwa ever took advice from Jung Wooyoung. Five minutes later, he’d been kicked out of the booth with one order: Don’t come back without her number.

That’s how he found himself now, seated next to you, drink in hand, trying to remember how to function like a normal human.

“Not a fan of clubs?” You asked, leaning slightly nearer to him to yell over the loud music.

“I hate it. I think I’m having an identity crisis,” He blurted out as he shook his head, the liquor loosening his lips faster than his brain could catch up.

You laughed, but not unkindly. “I'm sorry to hear that. Well… I don’t live far if you wanna have some peace and quiet.”

“Oh. Uh…”

“I…have a cat, too. She loves company if you like cats.”

Your invitation slipped past his defences smoother than the drink in his hand. One last sip, and he was already on his feet—jacket in one hand, your purse slung over the other shoulder.

That was all it took.  Seonghwa couldn't help but wish it was the way you were looking at him or how your skirt was riding up coincidentally the longer he sat next to you. But nope, it was the thought of being able to distract himself and pretend like this night out never even happened and getting him far away from whatever this hellscape was.

Clubs really weren’t his thing.

He barely registered the triumphant double thumbs-up from Wooyoung or the way Yunho covered his dropped jaw as he watched the two of you walk out together.

Seonghwa’s heart pounded so hard it echoed in his ears. Taking a cab to your place with a confident, effortlessly cool girl like you was far outside his usual playbook. For a second, he wasn’t even sure what to say.

Thankfully, conversation came easily to you.

The ride melted into light chatter about university — shared gripes about professors, mutual hatred for certain classes. You discovered you were in the same course but at rival schools, which only added to the banter. There was laughter, playful jabs, and an unexpected comfort that settled between you.

By the time the cab pulled up to your place, Seonghwa was far more at ease than when he’d left the booth.

Your apartment was warm and cosy, lit with soft golden light that cast slow-moving shadows across the walls. Seonghwa stepped inside and hesitated in the middle of the living room, awkwardly stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, unsure of where to stand or sit.

You smiled as you hung up your coat, amused by his stiffness.

“Relax. Make yourself at home.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. Sorry.” He took in the space again, then gave you a sheepish look.

“So… is this the part where you admit you don’t actually have a cat?”

“Would you be mad if I did?” you teased, stepping a little closer.

His heart stuttered. He opened his mouth to respond, but then-

“Oh, shit!”

His eyes went wide as they landed on something across the room — a pristine box of a Lego orchid set sitting on the coffee table. He practically rushed over.

“I’ve wanted this for so long!”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped, his excitement too endearing to be upset over what the box represented.

“Oh, yeah. It was a birthday gift for someone… but I never got to give it to him. I was going to return it tomorrow or something.”

He glanced down at the box in his hands. “Have you ever built a set before?” he asked suddenly.

“I don’t have the patience for Lego,” you admitted.

He held out a hand, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “This one’s easier than my last build. We’ll be done in no time. I promise.”

Somewhere between sorting bricks and swapping stories, Seonghwa realized he was actually getting to know you. What started as throwaway chatter had spiraled into a shared spiral; bad dates, worse decisions, and the Valentine’s Day disasters that landed you both at that club.

Now sitting cross-legged beside you, he was down to the last few pieces, fitting them together with ease —until your voice cut in again.

“I still think it’s insane how yours just ghosted you,” you voiced your opinion once his story was over as you laid on your stomach, “If I was in that position, I’d be running for a second chance, like that wouldn’t have even been a question.

Seonghwa’s hands faltered, fingers tightening around a tiny brick as he felt heat rush up to his cheeks. He let out a breathy laugh, snapping one of the last pieces into place. Then, a shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe it was my fault. I come on too strong sometimes and… it just didn’t work out.”

“Which is exactly why I think it’s crazy,” You clarified, with your chin resting in your hands, propped up on your elbows. “Like, if I had you chasing after me? Wow.”

You were only yapping away, if anything it was to keep yourself awake. You let out a quiet chuckle at the absurdity of saying something like that to someone you literally just met, but you caught the way he was looking at you. And maybe… the way you said it didn’t sound so hypothetical anymore.

His fingers tightened around the last brick in his hand, looking down at it.

“…What would you do?” he suddenly asked, the words slipping out before he could think them through. “If I was chasing you?”

You shrugged, still focused on finishing your flower, but there was something different in the air now. You could feel it. The way his voice had dropped, how his eyes lingered just a moment too long.

“I don’t know… anything you’d want. Like, come on.” You tried to brush it off with another laugh, but even you could notice the shift in the air between you both.

“Come on… what?”

He didn’t laugh back. Instead, he leaned in a little, just enough to close the space between you. His gaze was intense as it focused on you but the question still hung in the air.

You slowly looked up at him, you knew exactly what he was doing.

“Seonghwa,” you whispered, barely above a breath.

He huffed a quiet breath, trying to ground himself. “You didn’t invite me here for some peace and quiet, did you?”

You felt your carpet under the palms of your hands as you sat up, still watching him. “Technically… I invited you back for peace and quiet away from everyone else.”

“To do what?”

“You really want me to spell it out for you?” You couldn't bite back that smile. “Me inviting you is one thing, but why did you come?”

He didn’t respond, just held your gaze. You leaned in and your fingers found his jaw, light and slow. With that, you closed the gap, pressing your mouth firmly against his. Your hands roamed down his hard chest, tracing the contours and marvelling at how he flexed beneath your touch.

A low moan escapes his throat as he returns your kiss with equal fervour, his hands coming up to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your tongues moved together, exploring every nook of each other's mouths.

The kiss momentarily broke for him to trail his lips along your jaw. You slowly rose up from your knees with his guidance. His hands firmly on your sides with no signs or intentions of letting you go just yet. His lowered eyes focused on you as you helped him out of his black tank top, throwing it off over the jacket he laid out neatly on your couch.

You took his hand straight to your bedroom door. Opening it, your tuxedo cat jumped out before making its way to the zip line for the kitchen where her bowl of water and food was waiting. You turned to Seonghwa who looked back at you, delightfully surprised.

“So you do have a cat.”

“I was lying about her being a fan of people though,” You shrugged. “Come on.”

He smiled as he looked down at you, his gaze locked on yours with a mix of curiosity and anticipation and as you both reached the edge of the bed, you gently pushed him down onto the mattress.

His lips pressing together nervously as his eyes drank the sight of you stripping down.

“Have you ever done anything like this?”

“Yeah… just not… it’s been a while…” Seonghwa was blabbering.

He was in the middle of an internal battle, wondering if this was a mistake. You were just nodding along to his words, finally slipping out your skirt before straddling him, hooking your arms behind his head to continue kissing those lips of his.

Seonghwa was without a doubt a kisser. He knew exactly how to do just how you like it, how to hold you and move his tongue – the way he moved with yours with practiced precision sent shivers down your spine.

It was no wonder you were already getting soaked between your legs, and he wasn’t even naked… but he was hard, and from how he was rubbing it up against you, you could tell he was more than eager.

His kisses felt tender yet intentional, and it was driving you insane. He was holding down the sides of your throat to kiss your neck and collarbones.

“Fuck, Seonghwa please—“ You reached down to the bulge clearly wanting to be freed, looking up at him when he had you pressed against the mattress on your back.

It felt good to be wanted and to be desired. He wasn’t lying when he said it had been a while, especially with someone like you, who carried yourself with such certainty.

“Shhh… let’s take our time.”

His hands found their way onto the mounds beneath the lace of your bra which he had pushed above your breasts teasing your left nipple with fingertips he had wet with his tongue. Your knees pressed together, as he showered the other one with feathery kisses.

He took your hand from behind his head, intertwining it with his fingers before planting it right above your head. When his skilled tongue found its way against yours again, you had to let out a deep moan in his mouth — especially with his fingers teasing your slick folds through your panties.

“Oh my god…” You rubbed up his arm in encouragement.

“Where do you want me, beautiful?”

You swear you could’ve melted from how gentle his voice was and how his eyes were glossing at you.

“Anywhere.” You unhooked your own bra out of sheer impatience, getting chills from how he smiled at your shamelessness. “Everywhere.”

“Let’s start… here.” His hands dipped in between your legs.

Seonghwa's hands moved with a confident grace, exploring every inch of your core with a precision that spoke of practiced skill. His thumb traced gentle circles over your clit, eliciting a soft grunt from you as the sensation washed over you. Your core tightened in response to his focused attention, and your hips began to move involuntarily, grinding against his fingers.

You were lost in a fit of absolute pleasure and enjoyment, your body arching off the bed as Seonghwa's fingers delved deeper into you. In a moment of pure instinct, you grabbed his chin, pulling him closer. His mouth was open, and before you could think twice, he sucked your fingers into his mouth, his lips and tongue working over them with a hunger that mirrored your own.

You noticed the glint in his eyes as he watched you, his gaze flickering between the action and your reactions with a possessiveness that lit up his eyes. "Are you just going to watch?" you asked, your voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and challenge.

Your fingertips brushed his smile, his lips brushing against yours as he leaned down. "But I like watching you," he murmured, leaving open-mouthed kisses down your neck. His fingers continued their tormenting, curling and twisting inside you in a way that had you squirming beneath him. He could feel your wetness coating his fingers, and it only spurred him on further.

"I n-need a little more," you whispered, but your words were swallowed by the intensity of another finger joining the first, and everything around you seemed to fade away.

Seonghwa groaned, quickly undoing his button and fly with one hand, while the other ensured your legs remained parted. Before you could compose yourself, he dropped his head and began lapping at your clit as if he were starving. At first, it was just his tongue and lips, but when you felt his fingers curl back in, you let out a loud moan of pure pleasure. You didn't even notice his growls of approval as he continued the motion, flicking his tongue faster and faster, as if you might run away at any moment.

The sight and feeling of having such a beautiful face devouring you distracted you from how he was advancing towards you, appearing in front of your face just to dip down and kiss your chest. Distracting you, he was getting ready to take out his hard-on, pumping it in his hands, coating it with your own slick.

“Do you have uh…” He started to ask, but you cut him off.

“Don’t worry about that, just… now… p-please,” you urged, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled a little at you, leaning down to hold you with one arm snaked around your waist and the other hooked under your knee as he laid you both on your side. Holding onto him by his broad shoulders, you braced yourself for what was to come.

“Ah, fuck..”

He took your lips between his as he finally had you around him. The way he teased your bottom lip with his teeth, the way his tongue had explored every crevice of your mouth — it reminded you just how much you personally missed the feeling of being this intimate with someone.

Seonghwa groaned into another kiss, his tongue dancing with yours as he rolled his hips, grinding his slightly curved cock deeper into your stretched folds.

"Mmm,” he murmured against your lips, nipping at them playfully before trailing his mouth down your neck. "Is this what you wanted?”

You bit back a grin, nodding aggressively as you continued to moan out all while his shaft slipped in and out at a steady pace with your hands clutched onto the back of his neck.

He caught a pert nipple between his teeth, tugging gently before soothing the sting with his tongue. “You smell incredible, I’ve wanted to tell you that all night.”

You scrunched your nose, “I smell like the club.” Cigarettes and liquor.

To emphasize his point, he buried his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply before placing an open-mouthed kiss there. “I mean your skin, babe. Fuck me…” He suckled lightly, intent on leaving a subtle mark.

"How does that feel?" He asked in a low, seductive rasp as he continued his sensual stroke a little quicker.

Your breathy silent approval ignited something primal in him.

“Yeah? Faster?” He complied, increasing the pace of his thrusts. The new rhythm had him driving into you harder, deeper, the thick ridge of his cockhead kissing your cervix with each powerful snap of his hips.

It was wild how he seemed to anticipate your every move before you could even react or give him instructions. The fluidity of his actions felt almost surreal, which sounds absurd when you consider how quickly everything unfolded. You had just met this stunning stranger, with hair flopping over his eyes – you were building brick flowers merely moments ago and now here you were focused on a different set of bricks.

One large hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as the other tangled in your hair, resting his forehead against yours intimately as he pounded into you. His lips brushed yours in fleeting, feverish kisses between ragged breaths.

"Yes, just like that," you grunted, feeling the sweat on his brow against your forehead. “Whatever you want, just take i-it.”

You felt Seonghwa's hands curve around your skin, to press down on your stomach. As his fingers dug in, it was as if they were anchoring you to the moment, making it impossible to escape from under him. Not that you even planned to.

He rocks into you with an increased urgency, driven by the overwhelming desire of how your body is responding instinctively. His eyes locked on yours, a mix of possessiveness and adoration that made your heart race. The way his muscles flexed with each thrust, sweat glistening on his skin, and his lips parting in a shameless moan.

"I-I’m…i’m almost there," He rasped, while his hot breath fanned over your skin.

Just as you're teetering on the brink, he slams into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt. With a guttural roar, he stills, his cock twitching as he fills you.

When the pulses gradually slowed, you couldn't help but marvel at the sheer intensity of you both unravelling at the same time. His lips sought yours in a tender, lingering kiss, pouring all your affection into the simple gesture.

"Oh my god…" he breathed, still reeling as he brushed a strand of sweaty hair from your forehead, his thumb tracing the delicate curve of your cheekbone.

“God…” You chuckled, feeling a blush creep up your neck. “I needed that so badly.”

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with amusement with an eyebrow raised as your bluntness, “Glad I could’ve helped–”

You placed a finger to his lips, silencing him momentarily before you flipped him over to straddle his chest. Your eyes sparkled with mischief despite the exhaustion etched on your face. He knew exactly what you were thinking, and the sight of you climbing atop sent a thrill through his veins. His semi-hard cock twitched in anticipation as he idly watched you position yourself and slowly shift downwards, making sure to plant butterfly kisses all over his lower abdomen as you made your way down his happy trail.

You looked at him with a playful smile, your eyes glinting with excitement that you were going to taste yourself off him. Then you leaned in, capturing his cock in a deep mouth. Your tongue danced with the tip, exploring every inch of it as you savoured the taste of yourself and him. He groaned softly, his head falling back against the pillow as your warm, wet mouth enveloped his cock.

You took your time, lavishing attention on every inch, your tongue swirling and dancing along the sensitive underside. The sensation of tasting yourselves together was intensely arousing. He threaded his fingers through your hair, guiding your movements as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper with each pass.

"Mmm, shit, that feels incredible," he praised, his voice thick with pleasure. "You look so good with me around your mouth."

You hummed in agreement, the vibration sending shivers up his spine. You picked up speed, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked harder, your saliva coating his shaft.

"Don't stop," he gasped, his fingers threading through your hair, guiding your movements. You could feel the tension building in his body, the muscles in his legs and arms tensing as he neared his climax again.

With a final, powerful thrust of your throat, he let out a guttural roar, his cock pulsing in your mouth as he released once more. You swallowed eagerly, savoring the taste of him, and then pulled back, licking your lips clean. You looked up at him, your eyes sparkling with satisfaction and a hint of mischief. He was breathless, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

"You're something else.” he whispered, his voice filled with awe and admiration as he watched you clean after yourself so well.

You smiled, leaning into his parted lips.

The whole thing was deliciously reckless… Yet, easy. It started off as one of those nights where the music was too loud, the drinks too strong, and yet somehow it led you here – it led him here. Seonghwa didn’t plan on meeting anyone, let alone ending up tangled in someone’s sheets, laughing at your terrible jokes between kisses that felt way too good to stop for the rest of the night.

By the time the sun started creeping through the blinds, you were both wrecked in the best way. Not just tired, but happy-tired. Wrapped up in each other like it was the most natural thing in the world — just easy conversation, lazy kisses, and that warm, quiet buzz of maybe-this-could-actually-be-something.

“So, what do you think about dinner? My place this Saturday?” you asked, looking up at him.

“Isn’t it Saturday already?” he replied with a chuckle.

“Then I guess you’ll have to stay.” You muttered with a cheek pressed against his chest.

He let out a small laugh, pulling you closer. You drifted asleep first, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your back as his chin pressed lightly down the top of your head. He wasn’t tired yet, but he had a few things on his mind until his phone started going off in the other room.

He carefully untangles himself from you. His movements were quiet, practiced. He slipped his boxers on and cracked the door open to quietly head over to shut that stupid thing off.

It had to be one of the guys. That’s what he told himself. It had to be them asking if he got your number, if last night was good, if he was even still alive after stumbling out of there with you.

That’s why it came as a shock when he finally registered what he was reading on his phone.

DO NOT ANSWER Missed call (2)

DO NOT ANSWER I know I’m probably the last person you want to talk to but Donghyuck said he saw you and your boys last night and… that you left that trash place with someone?

Did not know you were that kind of person…

Can we talk? I need to see you. I’m at your dorm.

It didn’t matter if it was inappropriate, offensive, or downright insane to come back after all the mental acrobatics Seonghwa was put through because his body was already moving, back to your room to quietly pull on the rest of his clothes. Every few seconds, he glanced back at you, at the way your hair fanned across the pillow, at the warmth still lingering in the sheets. With a quiet sigh, he grabbed a sticky note from your desk.

Seonghwa wasn’t sure what felt worse: leaving you, or running back to the person who only came back when he was one foot out the door, just to prove how wrapped around the finger he was. He didn’t know how to feel about any of it — but knew that he had to go. Because even if this could’ve been the start of something real, something he might’ve actually needed… he thought he needed to be there, chasing the comfort of old chains that he knew all too well.

By the time you woke up, the first thing you noticed was the emptiness beside you. The second was the way your lips still tingled from the night before, still smiling as it remembered what he tasted like and how he treated you, recalling everywhere his lips grazed, even though he had already left. He had been for a while, he could’ve woken you. He also could’ve taken the Lego orchid with him. The day was almost already gone by now, but a part of you was looking forward to seeing him again later.

It wasn’t until you reached for a glass of water that you noticed the note, neatly pressed under a fridge magnet in the kitchen that the hopeful smile you carried around your apartment dropped instantly.

"Thanks for last night. I don’t think I can stick around for that dinner. I’m sorry."

The words weren’t sloppy or rushed. He had taken his time. Like he meant it. Like that had made it better.

[five-rivers]

Tuck's Labyrinth

[Phic Phight Phill Phor @mistythefifth!]

Tucker was a lot of things.  A genius.  A first-rate bachelor.  A carnivore.   A snack.  A geek.  Unbelievably handsome.  An Esperantist.  God’s gift to women (and men of good taste).  A gamer.  Cool beyond cool.  A hacker.  Eminently eligible.  A ghost hunter.  Drop-dead gorgeous.  A hobbyist archer.  A magnet for Cupid’s arrows.  The reincarnation of an ancient and possibly evil pharaoh.  Bootylicious. The best friend of the personification of memento mori and also Danny Fenton.  And, most importantly, too fine.  

He was not, however, in any way equipped to deal with this.  

“It's so obvious,” said Wes.  “If you'd just open your eyes–”

“You're the one who needs to open his eyes.  Or at least get checked for colorblindness.”

“Do you hear yourself?  If even you think it's reasonable to mix up Fenton and Phantom just by swapping colors–”

“Uh, one, it isn't, and, two, I was talking about coming to school wearing… that.”

Paulina pointed a manicured fingernail in the direction of Wes's clothing, which was, in her defense, a particularly eye-searing combination of flannel plaid jacket, striped t-shirt, novelty camouflage pants, and bright orange boots.  Even Tucker didn't dress like that.  Regularly.  Wes hunched in on himself.  

“It's laundry day,” he said. 

“Your mama's washing your shoes too, huh?”

“Shut up,” said Wes.  “I don't need to take this from a necrophiliac.”

“You–!”

Tucker couldn't take much more of this.  “You guys do know that there's an actual evil ghost in here somewhere?  You know, the one who turned the school into a maze and trapped us in it?”

“I don't know what you're worried about,” said Wes, “Fenton's not going to leave you here.”

Paulina scoffed.  “Fenton's hiding in a closet somewhere. Mi amor, Phantom, on the other hand, will beat up that nasty ghost and sweep me off my feet at any moment.  You can thank me now.”

Tucker loved Danny like a brother, but these guys had way too much faith in a guy who'd once lost a fight with a grocery bag.  (Long story.)

“That's great,” said Tucker.  “But may I remind you: giant maze.”

Wes rolled his eyes.  “Mazes are easy.  You just have to make all right turns.  You can stop the performance already.”

“My what?”

“You know, hyping up your lying friend.  Being a ghost doesn't make him cool.”

“Nothing could make any of you cool,” said Paulina, “but Mr. Delusional is right.  Mazes are easy.”

“You're calling me delusional, when you're–?!”

“Okay, okay,” said Tucker.  “So, three things.  One, the right hand turns thing is only good for getting out of a maze, not for finding people in it.  Two, it only works if you start with a wall that connects with the outside.  And, most importantly, for it to work, you have to actually be doing it.”

Tucker was definitely channeling Danny, or maybe Sam, but there was such a thing as being too laid back.

“Well, we're not stopping you,” said Paulina, examining her fingernails.  “Go run off and do whatever.  I'll tell Phantom when he comes to rescue me.  Probably.”

“Hey, wait, no, Fenton's coming for him–”

Yeah, Tucker wished he could leave.  But these two had no ghost fighting experience, would throw themselves at a ghost if they thought it would get Danny's attention, and would throw themselves at each other if Tucker wasn’t here.  Heck, they were doing it with him here. 

Sam probably would have left, which meant that he was channeling Danny.  

This was terrible.  How did Danny do this?

“Look,” said Tucker, interrupting the argument.  “Even if you think that we’re going to be rescued, we don’t know when and we don’t know if there are other ghosts around who could attack us.  We need some kind of a plan.”  

Paulina and Wes stared at him.  

“Other than just waiting to be rescued,” clarified Tucker.  He waved at the ‘room’ around them.  “We aren’t even somewhere we can barricade, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t see a drinking fountain or a bathroom anywhere.”  They were, in fact, in a fairly featureless stretch of hallway, complete with lockers, slightly-cracked linoleum, and buzzing fluorescent lights.  The locker numbers were non-sequential and had three more digits than the highest-numbered real lockers at the school.  

“I never go to the bathroom at school,” said Wes.  “That’s where they get you.”

“Dude,” said Tucker.  “Like, how?  Do you not drink or what?”

“I don’t drink at school.  If I did, I’d have to use the bathroom.”

“No wonder you’re so crazy,” said Paulina.  “I’d say that you should just go to the bathroom with your friends, like a normal person, but you don’t have any of those.”

“I do too!”

“Yeah?  Who?” asked Paulina.  

Tucker listened, too.  And took out his PDA.  This would be good data for his all-school relationship map.  

(Hey, it was an important multi-function tool.  How was he supposed to know who to ask out without it?  Or who to blackmail with what if someone more credible than Wes Weston found out Danny’s secret?)

“I’m not going to tell you.  You’ll just say that they aren’t real.”

Ooh.  That was just sad.  Tucker put his PDA away.

“Well, now I am,” said Paulina.  

There was a sudden, startling chime from the PA system.  Tucker looked around, trying to find the speaker.  

“Hi, so, first off, don’t panic,” said Danny’s voice.  

That… was maybe not the best way for Danny to start.  Jeez.  

“Oh!  Oh!  It’s Phantom!” said Paulina, bouncing distractingly.  

“It’s Fenton,” said Wes, “and it’s about time.”

“And, secondly, no, I haven’t found the office.  I’m possessing the PA system.  And, no, I can’t hear you, unless you find one of the PA buttons and–”

There were a series of beeps, followed by shouting, followed by a screech of feedback.  

“--ough of that!” said Danny, getting control of the system again.  “So, if you can get to a button, I can hear you, but I can’t teleport you out, so that’s kind of pointless.  Unless you’re being attacked or something.  Which could be happening.  This guy named himself Daedalmouse, which sort of implies the existence of a Mousotaur, and I’ve been fighting a lot of ghost rats trying to find him.  I’m pretty sure that finding him and beating him up will undo the whole labyrinth thing, but I don’t know how long it will take – yes, I know about the right hand wall trick, but that only works for getting out of mazes that are, you know, following the laws of physics, and not finding crazy ghosts that aren’t following the laws of physics.  I’ll try to check in by possessing the speakers every couple of hours, but in the meantime, hang tight, find places with water, all that survivalist stuff.  If you find a way out, go for it, but no Icarus stuff.  Icarus,” mumbled Danny, sounding distracted.  “Icarus.  Icar-mouse?”  The PDA system chimed again, and then fell silent.  

Except for everyone mashing the buttons, but that was just unintelligible noise and didn’t count.  

“The ghost is named Deadmau5?” asked Paulina.  “What a rip off.”

“He said Daedalmouse.  Like Daedalus?  From Greek mythology?  Ringing any bells?” asked Wes.  

“Whatever,” said Paulina.  “I bet you don’t even know who Deadmau5 is.”

Tucker breathed in slowly through his nose.  “Let’s at least find one of the call buttons so that we can, you know, call for help?  Hello?  Wes?  Paulina?”  Tucker sighed and adjusted his glasses.  “Or so that we can call Phantom when he gets on next?”

“Please, like you need the announcement system to call your best frie–”

“Yes, and then once Phantom knows where I am, he will come and rescue me,” said Paulina, skipping down the hallway.  

“Sure,” said Tucker.  He started walking.  He didn’t want Paulina to get too far ahead.  “Are you coming, Wes?”

“You could just call him,” said Wes.  “On your phone.”

As a point of fact, Tucker had already tried that.  It didn’t work.  “I don’t have Phantom’s number, Wes.”

“I hate you so much.  All of you.”

“I know, Wes.”   

.

“Oh!  Look at that!” said Paulina, pointing around the corner.  

Tucker ran forward - well, jogged, they’d been walking for a while, vainly searching for a classroom door - thinking she’d seen a ghost.  She hadn’t.  

They all looked at the vending machine, hungrily. 

Paulina ran forward and punched in a number on the vending machine keypad, then stopped and turned back to Tucker and Wes.

“Do, like, either of you have any money?”

“Aren’t you rich or something?” asked Wes.  

“Which is how you know I’ll pay you back,” said Paulina.  She flipped her hair over her shoulder.  “I can’t believe that the one time I leave my purse in my locker during school, this happens.”

“Is it still school property if it’s in a nightmare ghost maze?” asked Tucker, because there was jerky in there, and his ultra-predator instincts needed fuel, darn it.  “We can always say the ghost broke it.”

“Okay, but, like, how?” asked Paulina.  “I’m not breaking my nails on this thing.”

“Just move,” said Tucker, pulling out his PDA and nudging Paulina to the side.  He probably had some dongle or other that would connect to the vending machine.  Not this one…  Not that one…  There, he could slide that into the card reader and then just run the program.  He hadn’t tested this before, so he had no idea if it would–

Tucker didn’t have Danny’s ghost sense, but after over a year of ghost hunting, he’d picked up a few things.  Like when a ghost was about to cream him.  Unfortunately, he still didn’t have much of a skill set when it came to what to do when he noticed a ghost was about to cream him.  He looked over his shoulder.  

Yep.  That was a giant ghost rat, all right.  

He dropped his PDA, then threw himself to the floor as the rat jumped straight at his head.  It hit the vending machine, sending it crashing to the floor.  Paulina screamed and ducked around the corner.  Wes stared, frozen.  

Tucker shoved his hands in his pockets and pulled out his lipstick laser.  He spun the top and started firing.  The rat yelped.  He loved this thing so much.

But giant ghost rats had thicker skin than the typical animal ghost, because it jumped on Tucker, knocking the laser out of his hands.  He and the rat rolled around, wrestling.  

Man, all this scene needed was some fire, and then it’d be straight out of that one mov–

Paulina came screaming back around the corner, carrying a large cork board over her head.  It was covered in motivational posters with slogans like ‘If someone tells you that you cannot become immortal, they are liars,’ ‘Doesn’t it make sense that a lot of witch hunts are witch hunts because it’s your birthday?’ and ‘If we all work together we can make the north pole collapse under its own weight.’  

She slammed the board down on the rat’s head and it sort of staggered off Tucker, twitching.  It was a good thing it was too stupid to go intangible.  Paulina had used enough force that Tucker would have some broken ribs if the rat was smart.  

But the rat’s disorientation was momentary.  It turned back to Paulina and Tucker, teeth bared.  Which was when Wes started shooting the rat with the lipstick laser.  The rat yelped and twisted to face him, levitating up into the air, which in turn gave Tucker enough time to roll to his feet and activate his wrist ray.  

He didn’t like the wrist rays as much as the lipstick laser, they were harder for him to aim, but at this range, that hardly mattered.  After being hit a few dozen times, the rat ran away, squeaking.  

“Thanks,” said Tucker.  “That was–  Thanks.  Can I have that back?”

Wes, pale faced, handed the lipstick laser back to Tucker like it was a loaded gun…  Which wasn’t exactly inaccurate…  

“That was so gross,” said Paulina, holding her hands out in front of her as if they were contaminated.  Tucker didn’t know what her problem was, she hadn’t even touched the rat.  

“Yeah,” agreed Wes, who hadn’t even been near the rat, breathlessly.  He was getting some of his color back, though, so that was good.  Tucker never knew what to do when people passed out.  Unless those people were Danny, in which case what to do usually involved evacuation, ghost first aid, and deciding how many days to tell Danny he’d been out for when he woke up.  

“Could’ve been worse,” said Tucker.  “Luckily, you had me.  Tucker Foley, too fine.”

Paulina and Wes stared at him, lips starting to curl.  Tough crowd.  

How did Danny do this?

Tucker shrugged, discarding the thought, and walked over to the vending machine.  He rescued his PDA - the reinforcement upgrades were really paying off! - kicked the machine to shake off some of the broken glass, and reached in to pull out a packet of jerky.  It had his name on it.  Metaphorically speaking.  

“Are you really going to eat that?” asked Wes.  “That thing was all over you.”

“Well, yeah,” said Tucker, peeling open the packet.  “But it was dead, so…”

“It could have the plague,” said Wes.

“Then I’m already dead,” said Tucker.  “Since it was all over me and all.  Ooh, this type has cheese in it.”  He took a bite and the walls shimmered.  The next thing Tucker knew, he was standing on the front lawn of the school, along with the rest of the student body.

“We’re out?” asked Wes.  

“Phantom saved us,” said Paulina, clasping her hands together, her previous disgust forgotten.  “I knew he would.  Next time, I’ll have to give him a hero’s reward.  Fate is so cruel, to keep us apart.”

Wes scoffed.  “He literally sits two rows behind you in almost every class you have.”

Tucker took a deep breath, anticipating the argument, then turned and walked away.  They were out of the maze.  It wasn’t his problem anymore.  He could enjoy his jerky.  

High overhead, Tucker heard Danny scream.  “It was about the ‘mice’ finding the cheese in your stupid maze?  Why the heck are you Ancient Greek themed if you’re just a mad scientist?!”

[biggerb0at]

Also if you do go to the blogs they are all the same its nothings there but the scam

Its all the same pictures used the same looks the same background all AI one used an obvious video ai cause seriously the inside of their house wouldnt look like that and you would not have a perfect after video following the same trail and remember when even staff talked about it yeah its likely because they can see where its from and it is not near gaza

Honestly ask yourself two questions

1) how would i ask for help in a situation like that and RESPOND TO PEOPLE( still havent gotten any reply back when i ask them unlike the real pleads for help posts on here) l you know the legit pleas on here and they all respond differently

2 how would I exploit people during this, cause scamming is real easy to do ive gotten scammed by an ex mutual on here they were pretty convincing because they did act like a normal blog here, but now your aim is to bot you cant like a normal tumblr blog only respond to someone that claim a easy to fucking pass vetting system yes its that fucking easy to get vetted and just make a few scripts and boom everyone in the search bar gets asked

Also some additional thinking

Remember tumblr has a huge bot problem and how the bots behaved

Honestly the biggest flag is how little there is to their blog like im following someone that still asking for help and guess what they reblog it they update they answer and if they ask for help they dont make it sound corpo bot of “i hope you’re doing well” THATS A EMAIL OPENER CHATGPT GIVES OUT.

But most importantly if you want to help people there are charities out there sending help to gaza which is kinda sad you dont see them anymore since the bots took over.

I miss when I would get Tumblr asks that actually said things and weren't just digital panhandling scams.

[074calicocat]

FOR ME ؛ ଓ

cw: joel is very casually called daddy here because idc, that's literally daddy right there. minor mentions of blood/head injury. a little corny tbh 🥀

notes: even if this is about Jackson!Joel, episode two never existed and if you say different you're getting hashtag blocked (joke). life has me by the balls in a very unsexy way but I wrote this on the train in my notes app. "omg you write fanfiction on the train??" I once saw someone beat their meat on the train, I promise you this is fine.

"What would you do without me, Joel?"

Joel is just there. On the couch, head tilted back as he holds a clump of snow to his head. The sight would be almost comedic if it wasn't for the fact the snow was marred with flecks of blood. His blood.

It's not even noon. You told him to stay in bed as you ran some errands in town but when does he ever listen? it's like talking to a brick wall.

You kick off your boots and pad your way towards him, his disgruntlement clear as he tries to turn away from you. But he just looks like a fussy child avoiding their mother, his lips pulled down into what looked like a pout. "I'm fine. Really."

"What happened?"

"...Slipped on the steps. They're fucking iced over."

If you were a shittier lover, you might have laughed. But instead you're making your way between his legs to pry his hand off his face.

Joel is like a feral stray cat. Even if you've been his for so long, he tenses up at your touch, like he's about to strike you. But his fists never come and with a drawn-out sigh he lets you care for him, moving his hand and brushing the snow away so you can get a look at the gash on his forehead.

Huh. "It's actually...not that bad. Like, I've seen you take worse so you're gonna be fine."

"That's it?" There's a hint of snark in his voice, but the gentle grin on his lips says something different. "You're not gonna patch me up or anything? No get-better-soon kisses?"

"You ask for too much," you scoff but soon enough you're in his lap, straddling his thigh as you cup his face. "I keep telling you to take it easy, Daddy. You gotta relax, you've gone through a century's worth of hurt."

And he's doing that thing again where his face goes all stiff. It hurts to see it. Some habits can't be unlearned so easily. His cheeks can round out and he can gain some tummy, but the need to just do something can't go away so easily. The guilt of being able to rest when others are gone from this world can't go away so easily. Even with all your honeyed words and soothing caresses, there's only so much you can do for Joel.

"Take it easy, Daddy. For me." You card your hands through his hair, silently admiring the silver streaks in them. Despite all odds, look at him. Still alive and kicking and fussing. Joel has always been stronger than what you could ever be. "I love you."

You lean in and press your lips against the cut and taste his blood. It's fairly metallic but still sweet as ever. That's your man- that's your daddy. You love him even if he snores painfully loud and often elbows you in the ribs when you sleep together.

A beat of silence passes and he finally eases into your hands, his nose brushing against your palm. Vulnerability seeps into his expression and the crinkle between his brows goes away.

It's a good look on Joel.

[theglassofmiddleearth]

Evenfall

Imagine you wake up in Twilight as a random side character. (Part 6)

Nullification!reader Human reader! Fem reader! SideCharacter Bella! Isekai au! Edward Cullen X reader. Eventually Jacob Black x reader. (2 endings.) (All characters will be written less creepy and one dimensional than the ones in the books.)

Previous

That night, Edward’s golden eyes and the green meadow made an appearance in her sleep. The warm dream of the meadow in the day was cut short by her alarm, blaring at 6:30AM. Y/N had wanted to wake up early to surprise Bella and Charlie with pancakes.

Rubbing her eyes after slamming her hand onto the reset button of her alarm, she stumbled blindly into her bathroom to begin her morning routine.

The first one up surprisingly was Bella. Y/N had been flipping a pancake over as she stepped into the kitchen.

‘Morning! Do you take syrup or butter on your pancakes?’ Y/N smiled welcomingly.

‘Hi, uh, syrup is okay.’ Bella smiled shyly. Her skin was pale, her eyes were wide and brown, just like Charlie’s.

Huh. She wasn’t anything like Kristin Stewart. This girl was… Exceptionally ordinary. Not that of course there was anything wrong with that. But in a way, her ordinary features came together to make an easy on the eyes face.

Y/N could see the appeal. Bella somehow reminded her of an animal that she would want to protect. Like a lamb.

‘I’m Y/N by the way! I’ll be here for the rest of highschool.’ She grinned, setting down a stack of warm perfectly circular pancakes onto a porcelain plate.

‘I’m Bella, I’m Charlie’s uh, daughter. I don’t know how long I’ll be here.’ Bella trailed off, cutting into her breakfast.

‘Wow, these are.. Really good!’ Bella’s brown eyes darted up to Y/N’s pleased face.

‘I’m glad you like them! Let me know if you want more!` She turned back to the stove, turning down the heat and pouring more of the beige, vanilla smelling mixture into the pan. Y/N was glad that Bella liked her food. She was even more happy that Bella was being rather friendly to her. Maybe the story line really could play out normally!

‘I knew taking you in would be a good idea. Pancakes for breakfast, who woulda’ thought?’ Charlie rubbed his eyes as he walked into the kitchen, his uniform already on. His hair was slightly unkempt but it only added to an appeal that Y/N squashed down.

‘Morning! I’ve got a stack over here with your name on ‘em.’ Y/N handed him a plate and gestured for him to sit down.

‘You’d you sleep Bells?’ Charlie asked tentatively, poking at his pancakes. 

‘Pretty good actually! Dad I actually have something to talk to you about.’ She looked guilty. Oh dear.

‘What is it?’ Charlie cut into his pancake with a fork, shovelling a piece into his mouth.

‘Well, I was thinking about going back to Floria. Mum could travel with Phil and I’m old enough to live on my own. I’m seventeen years old dad I can handle it.’ Bella said without empathy.

‘Bella, why don’t you give it a week? You can see if you like the town and the school.’ Y/N interrupted, seeing Charlie's distressed look. It seemed as if Bella was more adamant to go home than she was in the book.

‘If you make breakfast for the entire week I might consider it.’ Bella joked, standing up with her plate. ‘But I'm quite certain I want to stay in Florida. I’ll stay the week though, don’t worry. She placed her plate in the sink.

Y/N gave Charlie a subtle wink, to which Charlie gave a quick grateful smile. 

‘You want a ride to school?’ Bella gave Y/N a cheerful grin, sitting back down at the table.

‘Oh, that’d be really nice actuall-’ Y/N was cut off by the ringing of the door bell. ‘Huh, are we expecting anyone?’ Y/N blinked, digging into her breakfast. The pancakes were warm and fluffy with just a bit of crisp at the edges. Charlie stood, pushing his chair back. He absentmindedly rested one hand on his utility belt.

‘Edward?’ Charlie’s gruff voice came from the front door. He sounded surprised, irritation seeping through his tone.

‘Morning Chief Swan. I just wanted to drive Y/N to school if that was okay.’ The sweet voice of Edward filtered through the house.

‘Who is that.’ Bella’s eyes narrowed. She sounded… annoyed?

‘Oh, that's my friend Edward! He uh-’

‘Morning Y/N/N. You ready to go?’ Edward’s brilliant smile greeted Y/N from the doorway. ‘Cute apron.’ He chuckled, grabbing Y/N’s backpack from the kitchen floor.

‘I was gonna give her a lift today.’ Bella stood up, her tone was ice cold, freezing the room’s tension.

‘Who might you be?’ Edward gave a fake smile, his jaw clenched in disgust. Y/N stood quickly, placing her arm on Bella’s shoulder.

‘I’ll ride with you! Edward I can ride home with you, is that okay?’ She walked forward, tentatively grasping Edward’s arm and squeezing reassuringly. The leather jacket he wore did well to cover his bitterly cold skin. This seemed to calm him down. Edward shifted his golden eyes down through his eyelashes, fixing Y/N with a soft look. 

‘I want to show Bella around, it's her first day of school. Besides, we have pretty much all our classes together Ed. Just for today, hm?’ Y/N didn’t want things to escalate. Seeing as for some reason it looked like Edward was ready to tear off Bella’s head and Bella was ready to shoot Edward’s off.

‘I’ll see you soon okay?’ Edward relented, placing this time, a kiss to the crown of her head before she could react. His eyes were glinting with a smug amount of pride to which Bella was rolling her eyes at. 

Huh, it seemed like they hated each other? That was strange. 

‘Friend huh?’ Bella snickered, nudging Y/N’s shoulder teasingly, picking up her bag and walking toward the front door.

‘Yep! He uh, he's a little overprotective?’ Y/N winced, not knowing how to specify their particularly complicated relationship. ‘He’s the first friend I’ve made since coming here I guess.’

‘Well, you’ve got me too now! Hopefully we’ll have at least one class together!’ Bella opened the front door for Y/N, gesturing for her to walk out.

Edward was still waiting there, sitting inside his car with it running.

‘Is he going to follow us to school?’ Bella frowned, looking irked.

‘Uh.. probably I mean we all go to the same school!’ Y/N rubbed her neck sheepishly.

Bella opened the passenger side door for Y/N. ‘Hm, I don’t like that guy. He feels toxic.’ Y/N was stunned. She swore she could hear a noise of indignance come from Edward’s car. In fact, she could see the way Edward had rolled his eyes, his lips curled into a snarl.  

-

The drive to school was filled with Y/N and Bella’s constant flow of easy conversation. When they got to the school, Bella had been able to get her documents and papers swiftly and Y/N had walked her to her homeroom.

As Y/N walked back to her own homeroom she was met at the doorway by a disturbingly calm Edward.

‘Hey, did you wait long?’ Y/N walked through the door, heading to the back of the room.

‘It felt long.’ Edward murmured, sounding content. ‘Thank goodness her stink didn’t rub off on you.’

‘You said you hated white chocolate? That was kind of random.’ Y/N laughed, sitting down dropping her bag onto the floor.

‘It’s overly sweet, it was only really made to use up the remaining stock of milk powder and cocoa butter in the nineteen thirties and there isn't even any actual solid cocoa in it.’ Edward shuddered, sitting down next to Y/N.

The classes came and went. They were studying Wuthering Heights in English Lit just like the original plot. They breezed through their morning classes before lunch came.

‘Y/N!’ Bella’s voice called out from behind Y/N and Edward.

‘For goodness sake.’ Edward grumbled.

‘Edward.’ Y/N shoved him. ‘Hey Bella! How were your classes!’

‘They were good! I made a friend. Her name is Angela Weber! She invited me to come sit with her and her friends during lunch!’ Bella caught up to Y/N grinning broadly. 

‘Thats amazing! Did you also meet the guys?’ Y/N gave her a knowing grin.

‘Nope, they all ignored me thank goodness. Do you think they can tell I like girls?’ Bella gave Edward a sly look.

‘Hm, I’m not sure but honestly most of the boys here aren’t really worth noting.’ Y/N smiled, stepping toward the cafeteria. She could feel Edward, closely pressed to her side. His face was contorted into scowl that was somehow still beautiful.

‘Did you wanna come sit with us Y/N?’ Bella smiled, nudging Y/N slightly with her hip.

‘I think-’

‘Y/N!’ Rosalie appeared before her looking excited, Emmet next to the blonde haired girl. ‘Who's this?’ Rosalie’s stunning smile dropped as she noticed the brown-haired girl in the mix. It seemed as if they wouldn't get along in this plot line either.

‘Oh this is Bella! She’s Charlie’s daughter!’ Y/N smiled, placing an arm behind Bella’s back.

‘Yeah, we live together.’ Bella smirked, resting her head on Y/N’s shoulder. 

‘Huh is that so.’ Rosalie set her perfect lips into a thin, unwelcoming smile. ‘Well, Y/N/N’s promised to sit with us so-!’ Without finishing her sentence she whisked Y/N away, leaving Bella, Edward and Emmett behind.

‘I’ll see you Bella!’ Y/N called from over her shoulder, feeling sorry for her but Rosalie had superhuman strength (literally) and she could not leave.

‘Don’t take it personally, she doesn’t like to share.’ Emmett said, shrugging before turning to follow the two girls whereas Edward had already left without a glance.

‘Man she smells kind of funky.’ Emmett wrinkled his nose, giving Y/N a small smile. ‘Nothing like our Y/N/N huh?’ The three sat down, Y/N sandwiched between Edward and Rosalie.

‘Don’t be mean to her. She’s nice. Please?’ Y/N pleaded, sighing as she slid down the back of her chair. ‘She’ll be here the whole week but I’m not sure if she’s staying.’ Y/N got up to head towards the lunch line when she was interrupted by Alice.

‘Hey! Me and Jasper decided to grab you a tray! We’ve never been in the line so it was kind of exciting!’ Alice set down the tray of food on the table and ushered Y/N back into her seat. Y/N flashed a grateful smile to Alice and Jasper before sitting down.

‘Thank you so much. I was dreading standing in line to be quite frank.’ Y/N popped a piece of fruit in her mouth.

‘No problems Y/N’ Jasper said in his signature southern drawl. It looked like Jasper was a true gentleman through and through

‘Honestly I hope she doesn’t stay for the entire week.’ Edward grumbled, resting his head on his fist. ‘She stinks up your house and I have to be extra quiet.’

‘Extra quiet doing what?’ Emmett joked, earning a smack from Rosalie.

‘Yeah, why did he rush home to change his clothes?’ Jasper chimed in, sharing a cheeky smile with Alice.

‘Oh, we were just hanging out! There isn’t really much space in my room so I let him sit on my bed.’ Y/N wrinkled her nose at the watery mush of rice that was next to her vegetables.

‘You don’t have to finish that, we can go get some food after school.’ Edward whispered, his breath grazing her neck suddenly.

‘With what money.’ Y/N laughed, rubbing at her ear.

‘I’m rich, handsome and young, remember?’ Edward snickered, leaning back in his chair. ‘We’ll get something to eat.’

‘We?’ Rosalie smiled excitedly.

‘We, as in me and Y/N.’ Edward huffed, shooting Rosalie a dirty look.

‘Rose can come! Everyone can come, right? They're your siblings Ed.’ Y/N rambled eagerly. ‘Oh, is it okay if I call you Rose?’ Y/N turned back to Rosalie who was nodding animatedly. 

‘Yes! Yes. That's so cute!’ Rose enveloped Y/N in an unexpected hug. Just like Edward, she was cold to the touch, but the gesture was warm enough.

‘She knows that we’ve all called her Rose for decades right?’ Edward rolled his eyes.

‘Yeah. Guess you have to be a cute girl for it to have any effect.’ Emmett chuckled, gazing lovingly at his mate.

‘Can we Edward?’ Y/N took a page out of Edwards book and gave him a wide eyed, hopeful smile.

‘How about this, the dance is soon I believe. We’ll go shopping together, all of us. But tonight, it’ll just be you and me, hm?’ Edward ignored the loud protests of Alice and Rosalie whilst tucking a strand of hair behind Y/N’s ear.

‘Well, I-’

‘We can get pasta.’

"Guys, can I go?’ Y/N turned quickly, looking at the two girls with an innocently imploring look. Alice sighed and nodded, turning to Rosalie

‘Yeah, they'll end up hanging out without us anyways.’ Alice grumbled, sliding down in her chair and crossing her arms, face pulled into a pout. Edward grinned, seeing the way the night would play out in Alice’s vision. 

‘Y/N/N really likes pasta huh?’ Emmett chuckled, patting Rosalie’s shoulder in consolation.

‘Er, just a little.’ Y/N could feel her face get warm. ‘Right, speaking of pasta. Can you guys still eat? Is that a thing?’ 

Y/N just realised she had forgotten how that process worked. 

‘We can eat, we just can’t digest it.’ Jasper answered, taking a bite from the pizza that was on her tray.

‘So, what does it do, just sit in your stomach?’ Y/N raised an eyebrow, looking at her now bitten pizza, puzzled.

‘Well it means it’ll have to come back out. We don’t have to excrete so it’ll come back up the same way it came.’ He replied, leaning back and putting an arm around Alice’s shoulders.

‘Okay, thank you for letting me know that you’ll vomit up my pizza at some point…’ Y/N mumbled, eying the slice tentatively. Thankfully Edward took notice and silently slid Y/N’s tray away from her and grabbed her backpack with his other hand. Y/N said her goodbyes as Edward led her gently by the small of her back towards her next class.

Of course, the rest of the day went by with little to no mishaps other than Y/N tripping over a ball during P.E. In her defence, it was the same colour as the ground. Other than that and Edward fussing over her for the rest of the day, she was glad to say the school day was over. 

As she and Edward walked into the parking lot, Edward’s grip tightened a fraction. 

‘Y/N! Did you wanna-’ Bella started, running up behind the duo.

‘She and I will be heading to Port Angeles for dinner. She’ll see you when you get home.’ Edward bit, continuing to usher Y/N towards his Volvo. Bella was left fuming, her face pulled into a frown.

‘I’m sorry Bella! I’ll see you at home?’ Y/N called apologetically, waving as Edward all but dragged her to the car.

‘Edward, what was that?’ Y/N pouted, spinning around in his hold.

‘What?’ He gave her a smirk. ‘Didn't you wanna get pasta for dinner?’ Edward tilted his head still giving her a mischievous smile.

‘Hmm?’ Y/N raised a single eyebrow unamused, her arms crossed.

Edward sighed, ‘I don’t like sharing.’ He looked at least somewhat remorseful. ‘I’m sorry.’

Y/N rolled her eyes affectionately, ‘You scared I’ll like Bella or something?’ She joked, nudging him with her elbow.

‘I’ve waited almost a hundred years to find you. I’m not sure how much more waiting I can take.’ He whispered out with his eyes closed, lifting Y/N’s hand to his lips. ‘You have no idea the restraint I’m showing right now.’ His eyes flitted open, gaze flickering from Y/N’s lips to her eyes.

‘A hundred?’ Y/N mused.

‘Well technically I am a hundred and four chronologically.’ Edward laughed, manoeuvring Y/N by the waist to open the passenger side door.

‘If you didn’t stay mentally seventeen I would be rather concerned.’ Y/N teased, sliding into her seat.

‘Yeah well-’ Edward stopped, standing still. ‘Are you calling me immature.’ He raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with a wicked grin. 

‘Maybe.’ Y/N poked Edwards cheek, feeling the smooth skin refuse to dent. ‘Man you’re actually made of diamonds aren't you?’ 

‘If that's what you like then sure.’ Edward gave a lingering kiss to Y/N’s fingers before stepping back and closing the car door.

‘You should call Charlie and let him know you’ll be home a little late. It takes around an hour to get to Port Angeles.’ Edward started the engine.

‘Um, actually how would you feel if we were to have the pasta that your family made last night?’ Y/N fiddled nervously with a loose thread.

‘I don’t mind. The rest of the family are out tonight. The sun is out tomorrow so they’ll be heading out to hunt for the next day and a half.’ Edward rested his right hand on the steering wheel, putting his left hand in the centre console.

‘Huh, I thought they wanted to go get food with me.’ 

‘They would have cancelled for you. Alice was ready to buy out a whole dress store to persuade you into hanging out more.’ Edward pulled out of the parking lot, heading toward a familiar road through the dense forestry.

‘She doesn’t need to do that. I like both of them enough to hang out with them in general!’ 

‘I’m pretty sure she’s just worried I won’t be able to convince you to join the family on my own.’ Edward smiled wryly.

‘You’re not doing too bad on your own Edward.’ She gave him a bashful grin before swiftly casting her eyes back onto the road. Edward’s boyish charm was slowly drawing her in. It was hard not to reciprocate his affections. 

If Edward’s undead heart could skip a beat, it would have.

[bluemantics]

ficlet giveaway prize for @yuutsunaoi of klance "struggling to adjust with their new roles as the red and black paladin." i hope you enjoy!

Shiro was gone, and everything was going incredibly wrong.

"Pidge, go to sleep."

"I can find him."

"I'm serious. You need to sleep."

"You can't tell me what to do, Keith, you're not my mom."

"We need you well-rested for Voltron, and I'm the Black Paladin--"

"Isn't he your brother? Do you even want him back?"

Lance groaned, pinching his nose as he leaned against the wall. He had positioned himself just outside the Castleship's living room after he saw Keith go in, worried that the temperamental fighter would offend their youngest teammate. Lo and behold, it hadn't even taken two minutes before the two started to clash.

While Lance could appreciate how they normally melded, he knew that Shiro's... vanishing would trigger fight-or-flight responses in both of them. Honestly, it was a miracle that Keith hadn't spirited off to some random planet on a panic-induced sabbatical. Or maybe the true miracle was that Pidge hadn't ripped Keith's face off, he wondered, as he walked through the door and took in the scene before him.

Pidge had jumped on top of the couch, face contorted in anger, hands balled at her sides. Her computer was lying forgotten beside her feet. Facing her, Keith was entirely red, thick eyebrows pulled down in distinct rage. At least, that was what he wanted Pidge to think.

It was easy for Lance to note the glimmer of hurt in his eyes. Yeah, that comment about Shiro had definitely landed.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Lance called out, raising his arms. Instantly, both heads whipped to face him, expressions unchanged. "Let's back it up, guys."

Keith straightened up and crossed his arms. "It's fine. Pidge just needs to listen."

"I swear to god," Pidge seethed, "I will tear your stupid hair off your stupid head."

Okay, Lance was always in support of a hair insult when it came to Keith, but he had to stop this.

"No one is ripping anyone's hair. Pidge, I admire what you're doing here. Really, I do," Lance began, gesturing to the computer. "No one else on the team can sort through all the data you're collecting from the lion and the Galrans."

"I know. That's why I have to keep working," she snapped. Lance approached her slowly.

"Okay, but what if I told you that's the reason you need to slow down?"

"That makes no sense." Pidge looked curious, though, and a soft smile pulled at Lance's lips. He'd caught her on the hook easily. Unlike the others, Pidge couldn't be persuaded with placating words or niceties. No, what she needed was a little bit different.

"Logically, humans can't operate at capacity for 24 hours straight. We don't have the brainpower." He knocked on his own head to demonstrate, aware of Keith's eyes fixating on his every movement. Good. Maybe he could take something out of this. "Brains need time to breathe, Pidgey."

"I know that," she huffed, but her eyes softened slightly.

"So, if you know that, you know you're likely not an exception." Lance reached over to her computer and plucked it up, closed the lid, and held it out to her. His heart melted a little at her frown. Pidge was far too young to be losing her family and Shiro at the same time, much less being burdened with their rescues. "You'll find him. I know you will. But you're gonna make a mistake or miss something if you aren't in tip-top shape while you search."

Hesitantly, Pidge's hand darted forward to pull her computer to her chest. Hugging it to herself tightly, she looked between Lance and Keith, apprehensive yet seeming more open than before. Finally, she gave Lance a sharp nod. It wasn't long before she jumped down from her perch and stomped out of the room, the automatic doors swishing shut behind her. Keith let out a sound that sounded like a mix between a sigh of relief and a groan.

"I'm shit," he mumbled, wiping his hands down his face. A chuckle pulled out of Lance's throat.

"A little bit," Lance agreed, turning to face Keith with amusement clear on his face. His lighthearted mood died down, though, when Keith moved to sit on the couch, elbows braced against his knees as he slumped over. "Oh, hey, buddy."

"I can't do this, Lance."

"What? Force Pidge to sleep?" Lance quickly took a seat at Keith's right, crossing an ankle over his knee.

"All of it," Keith muttered. His deep eyes looked thoughtful and weary as they stared straight ahead, fixed on nothing. "People wanted to listen to Shiro. Sure, sometimes they'd disagree, but they eventually came around. They trusted him to know more. I trusted him."

"Hmm," Lance nodded, thinking back. Keith wasn't lying; following Shiro had been natural. He was older, experienced, and had a solid balance of intimidation and empathy. "So you don't feel like you've got that same respect as Black Paladin?" Keith let out a broken laugh, shaking his head.

"Why would they listen to me? I'm a mess. I didn't exactly hide that."

"No, that's not it," Lance pressed. "They just don't think you understand them."

"I don't. They're right."

"Well, you can try," Lance said, gears turning in his head quickly. "Tonight was a good example. Pidge is angry, kinda like you, about a lot of stuff, but especially about losing control. She feels like she's entirely out of control with the loss of Shiro and all the changes in our lions."

Keith was watching Lance, now, eyebrows raised at his explanation. Hopefully, that was an invitation to continue. "So, meet her where she is. Relate to her. Explain things how she'd want to hear it, not in the way you think Shiro would."

"I'm not good at that," Keith responded, shifting uncomfortably. His hands twitched where they rested. "You do that shit way better."

"Well, then, I guess I'll just have to help you. Which is literally my job, by the way." Lance's hand moved between the two of them as he spoke. "I can help you meet them where they are, help them feel seen. I'll show you their communication styles. I promise, it isn't as hard as it seems."

"Okay," Keith agreed, unsure but still affirmative.

"But you have to help me, too. This is a partnership."

"A partnership?" Keith snorted in disbelief. "You hate working with me off the battlefield. You called me stupid at least five times in the last month."

Lance scoffed, waving the notion away. "Well, I'm a mature adult, so I can put aside my qualms with you despite your tragically dramatic hangups." That drew an actual laugh from Keith, oddly enough, sparking little butterfly flaps in Lance's stomach. Weird.

"What do you need?" Keith asked through the slight upward tilt of his lips. Shaking his head, Lance snapped back to their conversation.

"Teach me to fight."

"Fight?" Keith tilted his head. "You're our sharpshooter, though. You shouldn't need to do hand-to-hand." While that acknowledgment pleased him, Lance rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, but clearly I'm occupying some different shoes now." He shrugged. "I need to be ready to fill any gaps on the team, now, with one of our close-range guys out of the picture. Plus, I can't always expect that the battles won't come to me, even if you guys try to protect me."

Without pause, Keith sat up, leaning toward Lance. His eyes bore into Lance's with an intensity and fire expected out of the former Red Paladin. "You'll take it seriously?"

A pang struck Lance's gut. "Obviously. I'm insulted you'd ask."

"Fine, then. It's a deal."

"It's a partnership," Lance reminded him, elbowing his side. A grunt of affirmation sounded from Keith, who shoved Lance away with an arm. Letting the momentum carry him, Lance flopped down onto the couch with a pleased sigh.

The whole team had been struggling recently, not just Lance and Keith. Pidge was staying up to run data on Black. Allura spent overtime poring over diplomatic records and contacting foreign planets. Hunk struggled to tamp down on his anxieties during group discussion, nausea clear on his face. Even Coran was less chipper and more focused than before.

But, just maybe, if Keith and Lance could lead the way, the others would fall in step. Together, they could... make it easier. Okay, even.

That was only his privately held theory, though. Voicing it aloud was unthinkable.

"Bedtime?" he suggested to Keith.

"Training," Keith shot back, heaving himself to his feet and yanking the couch cushion out from under Lance. Crashing to the floor with a yelp, Lance stared up at Keith, rubbing his leg.

"Ow, dude!"

"I'll meet you at the training deck in ten minutes. Get changed and grab water."

Lance smirked at his retreating back and shoved himself upright.

Yeah, they'd be fine.

[stekken]

Hmmm, I mean, yeah, I was abandoning the Star Trek context and thinking about if replicators were real in our world's future, but if our future went down a similar path to Star Trek and capitalism ended, it wouldn't be because of replicators. They wouldn't "replace capitalism"; you CAN sell things to people who can just make them appear out of thin air. We do it all the time. A replicator would give physical matter most of the attributes of digital information: permanent online storage and easy reproducibility. Therefore (if they were invented before capitalism ended), artificial scarcity would be enforced on them like it is on digital media, with some tweaks and unique emergent behavior. Why do people pay for TV shows and video games today? Faith in capitalism and in the right of the proprietor to their money, fear of being caught pirating, not knowing how easy pirating is, fear of malware from pirating (both justified and manufactured), they think it's easier, etc etc etc. And then there's monetizing by way of adverts, and the value of selling your users' info, and the value of having customers reliably give your app or software attention three times a day, which can be turned to your advantage in all sorts of ways. Some industries would fight the replicator and die, but investors would be ALL OVER IT. People would jump ship from the industries being made obsolete because the writing would be on the wall, and billions of dollars across the globe would be thrown into figuring out how to use this thing to maximize profit. Every roadblock would be met with an army of engineers, starry-eyed stock holders, government funding, and ambitious startups. There'd be even more enthusiasm than there's been for LLMs and image generation, only it wouldn't be misplaced.

As for this problem of storage being solved by small reusable files that make food unsatisfying and homogeneous, I just don't think that's right. I was writing up something about how the uncompressed scans wouldn't actually have very much relevant information in them, but that's not really the point. The point isn't that this or that argument against good tasting replicator food is wrong, but the fact that these arguments keep popping up like weeds. I think sentimentality toward cooking is leading us to invent ways for the replicator to fail, to exhaust our imagination condemning its ability to prepare meals like humans can. Like, let's say you're right, and smart algorithm-driven psychogustatory compression to cut file size down to a fraction just isn't possible (mp3s can get a 10 to 1 ratio before most people notice a difference). Our sense of taste is just too different from sight and hearing so compression isn't viable here. The replicator (or its cousin) is still used to copy entire humans so exactly that they don't lose their train of thought going in one end and out the other. The human brain has staggering amounts of complexity compared to anything else in the universe (or, since this is Star Trek, anything except other brains). Certainly more complexity, more relevant info to keep track of than a chicken dinner.

But let's put that aside too! Maybe the complexity of any two things becomes equal once you zoom in far enough and have to take every little interrelationship into account, and the difference in complexity only appears when you zoom out far enough to regard the thing as a whole instead of the series of atoms or collection of energy that a replicator would see it as. Or maybe human scans are so large, they only store one at a time, then get rid of it to make room for the next scan, and that's with top of the line machinery that can't be spared for someone's chicken dinner. Ok, but this isn't as significant as it seems: if the file tracks every particle, complexity is mostly a function of mass (that and energy differences between particles, which at scale would be more or less proportional to mass I think). A human's mass is enough for a good number of meals, and that's before you start getting smart. Here's how you can get smart: a side of asparagus is created from a scan of ONE asparagus. Tiny file size comparatively. Sauces, dressing, etc? A scan of a representative sample of the sauce, which would be a speck if it's an even solution. Seasonings? That's nothing. Save one of each grain/particle in the mix and use metadata for the ratios between them. Same for beverages—save a few molecules and you have all the info you need. In this scenario, replicator food would heavily favor separate morsels with dips. It would be different, but it wouldn't taste worse. And that's just for the storage space of a single human body scan. For a whole ship's crew, the cost-to-benefit ratio of extending your storage seems like a no-brainer, especially with how cheap computer memory has gotten in the last few decades.

But this doesn't pass the variety test! you say. And that's because we're all holding replicator food to a standard we aren't holding cooked food to. It seems obvious to me that replicators would greatly increase the variety available to 99 percent of people who use them. Unless you can afford to travel across the world just to have dinner where the microorganisms in the water make the sourdough ~just right~ for your pizza crust, your only option besides happening to live there already is using a replicator. All the regional variety in the world at your fingertips from the comfort of your own home! (Assuming we don't invent obstacles just to make that impossible.) Lots of the complaints in this reblog chain apply just as much if not moreso to fresh food. Can't get your food to taste just like it does at your favorite restaurant? That's a problem in the real world to, except it's harder, more costly, and takes longer to do it yourself. And if people aren't pointing out issues that fresh food has too, they're inventing new ways for replicators to fail. "They'd edit all the fat out." Well, no, maybe they'd gain the ability to do that, and then some people would opt for it—good for them! Most people wouldn't. Why are we inventing problems? I don't think it's just curiosity/imagination fueling this, or people wouldn't be satisfied with the arguments in this reblog chain, because most of these problems are just silly. Really, it's because we don't want people to have access to all the world's regional variety without leaving their flat. The idea of hitting an express key on your magic microwave and getting a five star Michelin meal or a McDonald's happy meal or your grandma's pumpkin pie as it pleases you seems to offend people. I think what people are actually doing, when they wax poetic about buying a tamale that tastes like home and then invent a replicator tamale that tastes like homesickness, is saying that this new technology would disenchant the world.

I don't believe that. I think these arguments sidestep reason and actually win people over with sentimentality. This doesn't satisfy me because I don't care what I'm sentimental about here, I care about what the future generations in this imaginative world will be sentimental about. And they'll be sentimental about the replicator food! These imagined people would never invent these hundred-and-one reasons for replicator food to be inferior unless they fell down some "RETVRN! REJECT MODERNITY!" rabbithole. Replicator food will be the subject of their nostalgia, at least for the average person. They wouldn't see it as a pity if they never got to try freshly cooked food, they know it's the same.

And if we were to imagine, say, the year 30XX, where everyone needs to upload their minds to the machine aboard a nomadic space station or else be destroyed by some bioweapon, everyone will be upset about replicator food being replaced with VR food simulations. I just think our imaginations get way more interesting when we stop trying to sabotage the imagined new technology on the basis of this-makes-us-human-because-that's-how-it's-always-been.

As a side note… I am really annoyed by one thing about Star Trek.

“Replicated food is not as good as real food.”

That’s ridiculous.  In Star Trek, replicator technology is part of the same tech tree as transporters.  Replicated food would be identical to the food it was based on, down to the subatomic level. 

[andforyouevan]

♦: Slow dancing for the non-sexual intimacy prompts, maybe with Henren or Bathena if you're up for it 👀

Okay, but go easy on me, I've never written in either of their points-of-view before lol. I thought a little Bathena fluff might be good right now? I hope you like it. It's also kind of bucktommy-ish because I can't help myself. Hope that's okay.

"Did you ever think," Athena says in that lovely low voice in his ear. "That he'd get here?"

Bobby looks over her shoulder to see Buck sitting in Tommy's lap, tie undone and tuxedo jacket long gone. They've barely been out of site for more than a few seconds all evening, including when Bobby had seen them sneak out of their own wedding reception for about 15 minutes without a word to anyone. He supposes he can keep that to himself as a wedding present. For now.

Athena tightens her arms around his shoulders from where they're dancing to Frank Sinatra. She looks beautiful in a dark purple gown and he can't wait to peel it off of her later.

"That 26 year-old Evan Buckley would ever make it to 36 with a brand new husband?" he asks and Athena laughs. "Well, I had my doubts. Not about Tommy, but you know, our Buck has been through his fair share of near death experiences."

"Well," she says, sounding unbearably fond. "You do have him beat, seeing as you survived the super plague and all."

"Hmm," Bobby says, leaning in for a kiss. "I'm glad we've gotten to the point of joking about it."

"Oh baby," she says, "You know what they say, if you don't laugh, you cry. I'm just grateful we're all here. Seeing Buck and Tommy so happy, everyone is alive and whole."

"Me too," Bobby answers. "I love you."

Athena cups his face in her hands, pressing a sweet kiss to his mouth. "I love you too."

[ghostgirl-22]

Artrick seeing two lesbians making out that look like girl versions of them like almost identical, pats like "dude check it out, they look like us, its literally us" 😭

Dorks lmaooo i love this <3

i threw this in too cause you know pats just gotta feminize him a little.

CW: MDNI, NSFW, unedited though I’ll try to come in later and clean it up

—-

It’s an unseasonably warm Saturday night… one of those nights where it’s still 80 degrees at midnight. They’re in San Francisco and the streets are flooded with people. He’s starting to feel the effects of the weed gummies they took before they left Patrick’s hotel room while they stand line for some nightclub. It’s been disappointing watching all the groups with girls go in at a much faster pace but it’s still early.

“Is it like this every Saturday?” Art asks, gazing around the crowded streets. Everything feels just a little bit heightened now.

”Well it definitely was when me and Tashi were here,” Patrick smirks. He’s gazing at a group of guys shirtless in cowboy hats with sashes on, one of them with a white hat his sash says “Bride to be” all of them walking across the street towards a gay club called Town.

Art’s a little bit overwhelmed if he’s honest. He’s not ventured too far from Palo Alto. He tells Patrick it’s because he’s too busy with work and tennis and school but the truth is he’s kinda having a hard time making friends. He’s so used to Patrick being his built in companion. He never had to venture out alone. A new movie comes out and he doesn’t even have to ask… he just buys the tickets and even if Patrick isn’t interested he tags along. If one of Art’s favorite bands is touring his plans are usually… me and Patrick and whoever else wants to come. But Patrick is always a given.

At Stanford he doesn’t have that. Most of his teammates have other friends or developed friendships in their freshman year. He’s playing with mostly juniors and seniors. Tashi is a superstar who everyone knew or wanted to know from day one so she’s always busy.

No one is mean to him but he does often feel like he’s struggling to find a rhythm. He’s alone a lot of the time and every interaction just feels superficial or like he’s trying too hard to be liked… which is a bit exhausting. None if it comes naturally… and he knows he doesn’t make it easy for people to get to know him either. So used to Patrick who could often tell him how he felt before he realized it himself. Patrick does that He’s starting to realize a lot of the friends he has outside of Patrick he met because of Patrick. Like having him there makes it so much easier for Art to open up… to be… known.

Art can’t admit that to him. He already feels pathetic enough sitting on his hands waiting for Patrick and Tashi to be available.

“Dude,” Patrick says, bringing him out of his thoughts.

“Huh?”

Patrick gestures and Art follows his gaze… not sure what he’s looking at.

“You see that? Or am I just really high?” Patrick asks.

“See what?”

“Over there… our dopplegangers.”

Art blinks and squints. He doesn’t see anything and he starts to wonder if maybe Patrick is just really high and then… two people. One with curly blonde hair and the other with curly black, they’re even dressed similar to what the two of them would wear… both in jeans… one in a dark top with white sneakers and the other in a white t-shirt.

Art giggles a little bit. It has to be the weed because he’s not normally a giggler. He covers his mouth but then he has to laugh again. “We’re really fucking high.” Art says as the dopplegangers disappear inside the bar across the street.

“Dude we should follow them,” Patrick says. “Not in a creepy way…” he adds when Art raises his eyebrows. “I just wanna make sure we’re not hallucinating. Come on, why don’t we go over there? There’s no line.”

“Don’t you think there’s no line for a reason?” Art asks.

”Not everything that is worth doing just cause everyone else is doing it.”

“Huh?”

“What I mean is what if everyone was falling off a cliff, would you?”

”You’re stupid when you’re high,” Art grins.

“Shut the fuck up… you know what I mean. Come on,” Patrick snakes his arm around Arts dragging him away.

Art looks back forlornly at how close to the front of the line they’d gotten. But then the bouncer lets a group of 7 girls skip ahead and he shrugs. “Okay fine.”

The woman checking IDs at the entrance of the place across the street stares at them with a mildly confused expression as they hand her their IDs. Art is a bit alarmed that she can tell they’re fake. But she just waves them in with a sort of resigned look and he breathes a sigh of relief. It’s clear Patrick didn’t share any of his concerns. He walks inside like he’s been 21 for years.

There is a crowd but it’s not overwhelming. The music is loud but it seems like they’re setting up the stage up front for a live band. Patrick approaches the bar and orders two rum and cokes, Art leans in next to him. Patrick closes what’s left of the distance between them. “Dude there they are.”

Art turns to look. They’re a few feet away. Blonde leaning into the brunettes ear. Now that they’re closer Art realizes the blonde is a girl, he can see she’s wearing some kind of lip gloss and her eyes look like they're lined with a mascara or whatever girls use to make them pop. She’s smiling at the brunette grabbing onto… her?

The brunette is a girl too. Black curls falling into her eyes. She doesn’t have wild freckles the way Patrick does. At least not that Art can tell in the dim light of the bar.

”Maybe they don’t look as much like us as you thought?” Art says, smirking as Patrick hands him his drink.

“Yeah well…” he trails off as the not-so-doppelgängers start kissing each other. It’s an odd thing to watch because when you can’t see their faces they do kind of look like—

Art feels his stomach flip flop from the memory. Unable to look away, watching the way the brunette is cradling the blondes face, tongues slipping into each other’s mouths. She kisses like— like Patrick.

Art wishes he could stop thinking about that night in the hotel room in Flushing. He’s probably the only one still obsessing over it. Probably because they ended up together and he’s all alone with the memory. A little sick to admit the way he’s thought about Patrick just as much as Tashi ever since then.

He’s dragged from his thoughts by a sudden sharp nudge. it’s Patrick and Art realizes he’s been staring non stop and now their girl dopplegangers are sliding down the bar towards them.

“You guys are almost as cute a couple as we are,” blondie grins, clearly noticing the resemblance.

“I love when the gays come out to a lesbian bar.” The brunette adds and that’s the moment when Art’s slowed down weed addled brain realizes that nearly everyone in the place is female. He turns helplessly to Patrick cheeks slowly heating up with embarrassment and it’s clear Patrick’s just realizing it too but instead of looking properly ashamed…he starts grinning.

“Uh we’re n-not—“ Art begins to stammer his apologies.

”We’ve gotta support each other,” Patrick interrupts throwing his arm over Art’s shoulder. “Besides I usually call him my girlfriend…because he’s just so pretty.”

It’s stupid and Art rolls his eyes but the brunette laughs. “He is kinda pretty.” And the blonde grins, nodding in agreement.

“We’re waiting for our friends. You guys wanna join us?” Blondie asks.

And just like that it goes from odd and humiliating to sitting across from their doppelgangers (blonde Alicia and brunette Nikki actually) and trading shots while singing along to a live cover band. Patrick is just so fucking charming. Art wishes he had even a modicum of that charisma. A couple more girls join them. Surprisingly two of them go to Stanford. They even exchange numbers with Art promising to come watch him play tennis. He promises to go to one of their on campus theater productions.

Five minutes out with Patrick and he’s made friends easily. And that would be fine. That would be enough. But the whole night Patrick’s flirting with him like they’re together. Probably just trying to keep up the facade. It starts out as little things, cupping Art’s cheek, rubbing his hand on the small of his back. Calling him pretty, beautiful. Making the girls call him pretty too.

“God, Patrick,” Art mutters to him, barely able to stand it. It’s got his brain all fucked up (his body too, he’s been nursing a semi for the past hour, shifting to try and hide it from him). Not quite sure how he’s gonna recalibrate back to normal again after tonight.

Then at the end of the night when they’re just about to leave Patrick pulls him closer, an arm wrapped around Art’s shoulder, starts sofly talking in his ear in that gentle tenor “i love when you just go with it… like a good girl. Don’t think too much.”

Art shifts again as his cock fills out fully. Who knew how much he wanted to be Patrick’s good girl.

Patrick starts mouthing at his neck. So drunk. Still a little high. Low rumble of his laugh vibrating along Art’s throat. Laughing like he knows what he’s saying is stupid but he also knows it’s making Art crumble anyway.

Art shivers for the feeling and turns towards him. Faces so close they’re breathing each other in… lips just inches apart…and suddenly they're lips touch. Patrick’s arm still over his shoulder, lips so soft, tongue slipping shamelessly into Art’s mouth. Art hums and feels Patrick smile against his lips breaking the kiss.

Art turns away, heart pounding in his ears before Patrick directs his head back and kisses him again. It feels different than the hotel room. More deliberate. More… everything… everything that left Art tangled up in knots for months. He doesn’t know how long they kiss. Could be 5 minutes… could be an hour. He just knows he’s vibrating out of his skin by the time Patrick eases back. Fingers brushing along Art’s cheek. A little half smile spreading on his lips.

“Damn I’m supportive but save it for the bedroom boys,” one of the girls teases. And it’s only then that Art remembers where he is. Dazed he tries to laugh it off. The whole night feels surreal.

They say goodnight to the girls and they hop in a cab to ride back to Patrick’s hotel. “Nice job, I think you really convinced them,” Art says lightly, still trying to figure out how to come back from that.

“What about you? Are you convinced?”

Art feels his skin burning up. “Of what…”

Patrick laughs. “You think the girls are gonna go home and hook up?” He smirks.

“Dude. Oh my god.”

“What? I mean imagine it… our doppelgängers kissing… then you and I kiss. Our doppelgängers fucking… then you and I…”

“Oh…” Art feels his heart start to beat a little faster.

“That’s right…” Patrick smirks leaning in for another kiss, one hand settling onto Arts lap where it’s obvious he’s not calmed down. “Just go with it.”

[melwnst]

────── ⋆⋅☆ SOLO CHASE, D.W

summary. You meet the brothers on a hunt. After crossing you, you’re not sure if you want to kiss Dean, or kill him.

⭑.ᐟokay so this definitely needs a part two right? I think it’s already in my drafts… this is kind of a prequel I just wrote lol! Please interact and send requests if u have any<3

yes you could consider this enemies to lovers…part 2 out soon:)

word count. 718

supernatural masterlist/full masterlist

──────────୨ৎ──────────

The first time you come across the brothers, you try not to show it, but you feel like your heart might give out. Half of it is because he’s standing right there looking like the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, the other half is because you know for a fact they’re not real FBI agents, and you don’t like sharing.

This case is yours, and if you have to run them out of this town so the case can be yours, you’ll gladly do it, although it would be a shame to let that man go.

The second time you come across them, is after you specifically told them that you wanted them to move on and get on another case. They said that it was fine with them, and yet, they’re still here. You’re infuriated with them, because dean’s stupid smirk makes your blood boil, he’s enjoying it.

The third time, although you agreed to work on the same case but separately and you told them not to cross you, is enough for you. Dean sees you across the hospital hall, he can almost see the red smoke coming out of your ears. He can sense how mad you are from across the room, but all he cares about is the way you walk towards him. You do look like you’re about to murder him, but to him you’ve never looked so beautiful.

You raise your voice at him. Try to reason that this is your case and that they didn’t listen to you, they weren’t supposed to interfere with your plan. He doesn’t hear any of it. He feels like he’s in one of those cheesy movie scenes where the guy looks at the girl, he sees her mouth move, but doesn’t hear a thing because he’s just too focused, because she’s too beautiful.

He nods. At this point it’s all he can do. The smirk still hugs his lips, and Sam laughs at him the moment you turn your back.

‘You’re whipped man.’ Sam’s hand lays on his shoulder.

‘Shut up.’ Dean shoves his hand back and walks away.

He sees you going to your car, so he follows.

He doesn’t know what’s happening, his legs are moving faster than he can even register, and soon enough, he’s right next to you at your car door.

‘Can I help you?’ You turn around, the keys in your hand, eyebrows raised.

‘I wanted to apologize.’

‘You? Apologize? I thought April 1st had passed?’ You give him a smile, a sarcastic one that almost bites him in the ass.

‘Hmm, funny.’ He’s almost hurt now.

‘Look, Dean.’ You start, starting to close the small gap between you two.

‘I don’t think I like you very much. And I think you’re cocky and an asshole. But you’ve helped. Even when I asked you not to, you did. So no apologies necessary. I’m sorry I yelled at you in there, I’m on my last straw from this case, so I appreciate the help.’

Dean’s hands are in his front jeans pockets, he’s rocking back and forth, he almost looks nervous. He doesn’t know why you make him feel this way and it drives him insane.

Your heart beats fast too. You didn’t lie- you don’t like him. But you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t easy on the eyes. Way too easy at first you almost forgot you were mad at him.

‘So, are we still partners?’ His tone almost makes you feel like he’s being a smartass- but somehow, you don’t mind so much.

‘We were never partners, honey. You wanna help? Fine. But I’d still like to keep the solo title for this one. You mind?’ You give him a small smirk, and open the car door.

He nods, and before jumping in, the door separating you from him, you speak again.

‘I’ll see you tonight Winchester.’

He’s not sure if it’s a wink that he saw, because to be fair, you kinda suck at them.

He also doesn’t know what you mean by tonight. Where they’re supposed to meet you? Or what you’re supposed to do together.

But he knows he’ll find you again.

He knows he’ll see you tonight.

And he knows he’s so fucked, because that whole conversation almost made his heart stop.

[vera-vera-vera-lynn]

Need to rant because this post ignited something beastly inside me :P

|| ๋࣭⭑

As a philosophy major, seeing that ad actually drove me fucking nuts, because I know a lot of people in my school's humanities department (as well as some in the Philosophy course itself) would actually use it.

In my city Philosophy is already considered something of a dying humanities major as it doesn't hold as much attractive options as, say, Communications, Psychology, or Political Science—so barely anyone even takes it seriously anymore. In fact, my university came so goddamn close to shutting down the Philo course entirely.

Our department's barely holding it together, and seeing other humanities majors actively thriving despite taking advantage of something like this is such a huge slap to the face.

We have maybe 15–20 students left in the entire programme, and most of them didn't even choose Philo out of genuine interest—they either just got redirected here, or decided on it as a last-minute resort. It's become such a fucking joke what with how people began seeing it as a dumping ground for has-beens and do-no-betters. It's treated as the goddamn lobby for rejects and undecideds; or worse yet, some will stay for a month to a year, only to dip out at the end when they realise how unaligned they actually are with the course. Bitch; if you wanted an easy way out, why are you here?

There's only one constant professor teaching every subject across every year level. And I say the word constant loosely—because while he technically holds the position, he's also our adviser, a.k.a. our last line of defense anytime the department's on the chopping block. The catch? He's part-time. That man is barely hanging on himself, with multiple teaching gigs at other universities; which means we only get scraps of his time, and even then, he's already usually burnt out. He's not just underpaid. The man's old, overextended, and chronically tired. The worst part? He's good. He's actually a damn good philosopher and an even better teacher. If we lose him, it's fucking over. An algorithm isn't going to help you or your professor. You're silencing the very people who've helped you develop your critical thinking skills.

The people here tend to have this preconceived notion that Philosophy is something of a 'high-brow art'—hence the lack of engagement. This is utter bullshit, by the way, because that's just double-edged classism. The whole point of it is critical access to thought—not intellectual gatekeeping. Call me petty and salty for this but this is one of the reasons why I hate it when bitches say shit like 'I'm too small-brained for this'—like, no. You're not. The fact that you're even recognising your own limitations is already a huge move in itself. You just need to put in the goddamn effort.

There's zero funding for conferences or outreach unless we tie ourselves to other, more 'useful' disciplines (our dean does what she can, but God, it's nowhere near enough; and I know damn well what our department is capable of given how much favouritism Psych and PolSci gets).

As the VP of our org, it's humiliating to have to cosplay as other departments just to get a foot in the door. And the worst part is: admin eats this shit up. They love to say things like relevance and fucking real-world application while simultaneously gutting any space we might’ve had to show how philosophy is deeply relevant, precisely because it questions the frameworks everyone else takes for granted.

Don't even get me started on AI. Half the 'cutting-edge' discourse around machine ethics, bias, decision-making, sentience, consciousness, language—all of it—is stolen straight out of philosophy. Hell, some of these LLMs are trained on archives of our papers and books. But none of y'all are hiring philosophers. No one's inviting us to panels unless we're there to play the silly widdle ethics people and make everything sound profound for five minutes before the principal takes back the mic. We're useful enough to train the machine. We're relevant enough to pad your datasets. But God motherfucking forbid you actually pay a specialist to teach or contextualise those ideas.

I felt worse rereading all the points I made considering my dad just piped in and essentially confirmed what I already knew. The bastard saw me typing and fucking laughed, saying it's just not profitable anymore. At one point in history Philosophy was regarded as the greatest of all sciences. Then religion commodified it, and soon after that technology virtually killed it. Who needs it when the people most rewarded for thinking are the ones who do it loudest, fastest, and with just enough fake nuance to sound profound in under sixty seconds?

Genuinely, from the bottom of my heart, fuck AI.

I've been begging my professor to change our output formats for these very reasons. I told him to give all of these fucking essays a break because theoretical knowledge isn't going to solve everything. Nobody gives a shit about deep dive papers on Kant when they can't even pay their rent, much less have the energy for critical theory after working a shift at some minimum-wage job.

I suppose the biggest issue about Philosophy is that it isn't as 'practical' as other subjects are. The main problem with its presence in the modern world is that it's mostly just those writing about things that won't pay the bills, won't solve the climate crisis, and sure as hell won't put food on the table. We're not necessarily equipping ourselves to survive in the world as it is right now.

But neither are we reaching anyone like this, nor are we making any true progress no matter how wonderfully the concept of AI services is presented. We are actually losing relevance in real time. We're sitting on centuries of intellectual legacy and presenting it like goddamn expired toast. Philosophy was revered for its ability to interrogate meaning and question the frameworks that govern society. And now philosophers are being asked to hand its intellectual power over to algorithms and systems that don't even feel.

People forget that that's the real kicker: companies want philosophy specialists to 'work with' AI, but what in the giggling goddamn fuck does that even mean?

Some of y'all say we're supposed to fix AI with the same academia we've spent years honing. But instead of doing the deep, reflective work philosophy was built on, we're now just handing over centuries of intellectual labour, programming our thoughts into a machine, and hoping this utter parasite of a system works. Yes, artificial intelligence may have its benefits—but that doesn't take away the fact that you're letting automatons belittle all the history and all the hard work that built the foundations of human understanding.

Stop pretending like AI can actually solve problems. They don't. They can't. They can get as humanlike as they can, they can mimic our speech and our processes to sharper degrees, but at the end of the day they're soulless machines. They don't have the same capabilities you or I do. Stop it. Just stop.

this ad wants to hire philosophy specialists to train their AI.

in philosophy.

they want to train the machine that can't think on the subject that's literally thinking about thinking.

someone smarter than me write in the comments how the classical philosophers are freaking out in the afterlife

(diogenes brandishing a texting autocomplete feature: Behold, a man!)