#I can’t be the only one that thought they looked similar

[occamstfs]

Keep On Trucking

Jonah thought he'd hate the rental truck he got when he flew back home. But after throwing on a hat he found in the cabin it seems like he's liking the thing more with every passing mile.

Thought we could do with some more sentimental southerner TFs so here we are ! Happy surprise that it coincides with a certain Texan AOTY ;) Sweaty, strong, and sweet, hope you enjoy Jonah's journey to a new home in the country! -Occam

It must be some form of cosmic comedy that Jonah’s only rental option was this wretched gas-guzzling juggernaut. Sitting a good fair few feet above every other car on the road, the truck that’s been foisted onto him simply demands attention. There’s a tight-lipped grimace on his face as the laundry list of insults he’s hurled at people who drive these fragile masculinity-mobiles over the years rush through his mind.

He’d never say them to a driver of course, both from a general fear of confrontation and a healthy fear of large loud men. His insults thrown never escape the glass panes of his Elantra. Nothing more than playful jibes to help work through the fear of sharing the road with drivers who could literally roll over him, and oft seem to want to. Just barking self-soothingly, like a chihuahua at a caged great dane.

His self-consciousness at plowing down the highway is interrupted however as a small car quite similar to the one he drives back at home veers towards him. Thankfully the road is not too crowded as he swerves to avoid the red speed-demon who flips him off before shooting ahead, surging into the distance to escape the sound of Jonah’s horn blaring. 

The nervous young man clutches at his shirt as he feels his pulse in his head. Eventually he sees the red pinpricks of brake lights disappear and his hands stop shaking from the near-collision. Sighing, he tries to steady his breathing and hopes the rest of his nerves will follow suit. Only then does the strangest thought occur to him ‘Thank god I was driving a truck.’

Jonah rubs his smooth jaw and grumbles to himself, “I guess there are some upsides to driving a freakin’ tank, ugh.” As he puts it to words he can’t help but continue thinking on the matter, besides maniacs like that little punk, people are probably way more likely to respect me on the road driving this thing. He wistfully stares at the road ahead lost in thought, though before taking the leap further to the lofty thoughts that people are more likely to respect his masculinity and authority in this beast, he shakes it off and clears his throat.

“Ugh I need a coffee or something.” Squirming in the seat slightly, only then does he notice the continued discomfort from his brush with danger; He’s sweating up a storm. Cranking up the AC as high as it goes he wipes his brow and tries to push sweaty hair out from his face. When a heavy drop falls into his eyes causing him to shout a hearty “fuck!” He pulls over to the side of the road and searches for a headband or something to solve this issue, “God why’s it so hot in here!”

Looking down at his now clearly sweat-stained shirt he groans, no way is he going to show up to his hometown friend’s party looking like such a slob. He briefly considers using the sweaty top to hold back his hair but thinks better of it, giving it a sniff he finds his deodorant has not been nearly as effective as it usually is. Frowning and going straight to the source he smells his pit and immediately cringes away, “Man what is up with me today? It’s like I forgot to put it on.”

Distracted by his strange overheating, the still-present need for a headband, and now wondering what on Earth he’s going to wear to his friend’s, Jonah doesn’t notice how, beyond the bizarrely more powerful scent, he has begun to change. The few thin curls in his armpit have multiplied without his notice, stretching longer and spreading beyond their usually trimmed patch. Each new strand drips with sweat, permeating his new musk as he scrambles about the cabin looking for some bandana or hat.

“Duuuuub-” Jonah’s hand bumps into the brim of a hat which he quickly yanks out from the dark recesses of the rental truck only to tilt his head as finding a tacky camo baseball cap, “eugh-” After rubbing his hand through his sweaty hair once more, he grimaces and throws it on anyway, “sorry to whoever's hat this is-” It’s not like he’s going to be seen in the kitschy backwater cosplay, he just needs to make it to a store or somewhere where he can buy a shirt and hair tie, then he’ll be scot-free.

Checking the time with a gasp he returns to the open road without much thought at all, leaving him totally unaware as his hair begins to creep into the cap. Long dirty blonde curls shorn to almost nothing, shortening into some short masc choppy look that doesn’t even have a name. Far from his mind’s eye the idea of going to a barber for years buries itself and begins spreading tendrils towards other inactive memories, “Been a few weeks Rob- Just give me the usual.” Were he to picture the memory he would surely see a man who is not himself in the mirror.

The mirror? His eyes glance to his rearview and he gasps as he sees it’s suddenly angled way off. His usual anxiety quickly makes itself known in his sweaty chest. Eyes wide and on the road he doesn’t look down to catch as each quivering heartbeat leaves his chest wider, sticking out further as disparate strands of muscle begin to bulge. In the few half-seconds of him checking his other mirrors Jonah’s chest begins packing on quite the impressive pecs. “Musta- er Must’ve bumped it or, something?”

Going to adjust the mirror his usually careful hand forcefully bumps into it, grunting he wonders how. He didn’t even lean forward, which he knows he had to do when he first got in the truck. His arm would have to be almost half a foot longer. Throwing his hazards on he quickly pulls over once more, again neglecting to notice his changed hair in the mirror as he instead gasps in shock as he sees the arm of a behemoth dangling from his shoulder. 

In the minute since throwing on the ratty ball cap his arms have begun to grow. Every twitching movement on the wheel, every extension, even the slightest adjustment of his now less-than delicate fingers has been sending waves of change across forearms to which the idea of muscle definition is anathema. His mouth falls open as he takes notice of biceps that would have easily erupted from the sweat-stained shirt he had on, or rather, any shirt he owns. 

Jonah tries to process the meaty hands at the end of meatier arms, staring at the movement of individual muscle fibers under tight, suddenly tanned skin. He gulps as he sees them twitch with every accidental movement, power he can hardly understand coursing through them. His lip quivers into a grin as the idea occurs to flex them and he raises his arm to do so, exposing his tangle of pit hair and allowing sweat to drip down his chest.

Though just before getting the chance to truly indulge and delight, feeling the cold rivulet racing down his side he looks down to discover the new weight hanging on his chest. His eyes shimmer with wonder as he stares at pecs as sculpted as Michelangelo’s David now bulge from under his neck as it too thickens with another harsh swallow. His voice drops while his rougher hands go to cup his pecs, rubbing the few apparently shaved hairs as they begin their regrowth.

Despite his usual lucidity and rationality, something about seeing the rugged arms and chest of a man twice his size, something about feeling the strain of new biceps moving or seeing his handful of almost invisible chest hairs darkening alongside a congregation of new curls, his mind is awash with instincts that don’t seem his own. He smirks as he looks at his reflection in the now-adjusted mirror, higher in the seat both from his body lengthening as well as from sitting straighter with pride, he scratches at the stubble appearing on his chin and turns back to the road thicker brows furrowed into a cocky sneer, “They’re gonna be all fuckin’ over me at this party.”

Dragging his attention from his bulking body back to the road, Jonah can’t help but continue thinking about what a stud he’s becoming, what a stud he is. So focused on the strength ambient within him, delighting on the sensations coursing through him as he playfully flexes his arms and chest, that he hasn’t chance to notice his thoughts truly changing alongside his form. Suddenly a Texas-shaped bottle opener dangles from the set of keys that look far too beat up for a rental company to hand out. Obviously of course, why would a rental company have his truck?

One hand on the steering wheel, Jonah can no longer resist groping at the growing bulge that strains his pants. While it’s been certainly hard since the first glimpse of his bulging bicep, as his pride grows so does what may as well be the source of his masculinity. With each clumsy rub and grasp of his package as it threatens to break free from his pants, he continues to become the man to match his apparent wheels.

So too does his truck slightly shift to perfectly display the man that now identifies as its owner. The floorboard where a ball cap was hidden is littered with detritus from living in the country. Dirt paints the once spotless chassis of the vehicle and at the same time, hair thickens on his form as pubes inch above their brief containment, connecting with a treasure trail that begs to expand.

His balls throb as his once imperceptible treasure trail indeed races to cover the whole of his stomach before racing up to a chest that yields to its own mouth-watering pattern of fur. Pits still dripping with sweat lengthen and spread tantalizingly close to meeting with his garden of chest hair.

Jonah grunts as his new bulge grows large enough that the constriction is outright painful. Freeing his impressive rod it becomes clear that his accusations of redneck truckers compensating could not be further from the truth, in his case that is. His seat creaks under his weight as he squirms to pull his pants down to his knees, freeing bulkier thighs and a perfect bubble butt as both are similarly painted with haphazard brushes of hair. Inner thighs coated with curls add to the rugged forest around his pre-dripping package while new curls on his ass tickle against his warm, sweat-covered seat.

Halfway to masturbating he bites his lip as he tries to restrain his desires and continue driving, though the pushing down of his rigid rod so easily shifts to tugs and thrusts. His sticky, wanting breaths fertilize the growth of stubble on his face that will never vacate and a mustache sticking to his upper lip that will always be just a tad thicker. Meanwhile his calloused hands continue to tantalize a cock  edging closer to a release that he will not let yet arrive. Moaning from the intense need of his loins he grits his teeth and powers down the road voice deep and clearly accented as he whispers to himself, “Gotta save mah spunk for the party…”

Still with each slow grasp and pull towards release, his form continues to pack on weight and slick with denser forests of hair. So too does his outfit change to match his new life, with each half-thrust into his hand the brim on his hat widens, its cheap camo-green fading as it becomes a Stetson that any man of his stature demands. Slightly dressy pants stain blue and roughen into jeans while his shirt disappears entirely.

Finally, shoes that have given up the ghost long ago to feet that would cause anyone’s eyes to widen begin staining brown and reforming. Long, hairy toes that stick out from the once tennis shoes are corralled into the dark, expensive leather of genuine cowboy boots. The new soles click against the pedals of his truck and his thicker brows continue to furrow as he struggles not to cum at the sound of his beast rumbling down the road.

At long last Jonah comes up on the turn to his friend’s little shindig and he sighs in relief at making it before he spills a load on himself. Turning down a long dirt driveway he narrows his eyes as he feels something amiss, would’ve sworn his friend lived in a suburb or somethin’. But then he blinks and remembers obviously not. His boys’d never wanna share their streets with self-important, pretentious pricks. 

Parking in the grass alongside a handful of other trucks, Jonah grunts as he forces his cock down his jeans, its outline quite the clarion call down his pant leg. Buttoning up and cinching a gaudy belt-buckle, Jonah steps out into the party, grabbing a couple of six packs of Lone Star and waddles over to the gathered crew. Taking a deep breath of the cold dusk air as the sun begins to sink past the horizon, though beneath the smell of the woods there is a clear undercurrent of sweaty bodies and something richer, saliter.

Depositing beers that were once a host’s gift and some seltzers, Jonah turns to be greeted by cheers of burly men that seem to have already paired off. Scratching his stubble as he looks for his own quarry his eyes alight onto one shy looking twink standing to the side. Seems he didn’t get the memo that this isn’t some post-ironic gathering, not even wearing a cowboy hat. 

More than ready for some fun, Jonah grabs a discarded hat on the table and wanders over to the lone man. The twink eyes him with a wry smile as he can’t miss the obviously altered gait, they then widen when he recognizes the man as Jonah, “J- Jonah!?” his mouth drops open and his eyes glaze over as something readjusts, “You’ve really, uhm- filled out?” Though even as he says it the idea of the late-comer looking any different than this seems incorrect. 

Jonah ignores the man, Anton, and deposits the hat on his head, leaning down he whispers in his ear, “Evenin’ Ant. You wanna go have some fun?” Anton’s mouth waters as the larger man stands close enough to wash him in musk before deliberately jabbing him with his thick bulge. He babbles something as the new hat blurs his thoughts a tad though it’s more than clear that the thin man, bored out of his mind, has been looking for excitement that only Jonah could bring all night.

Arm around Anton’s shoulder, Jonah escorts him to the back of the nearby barn, already littered with cans and clearly stained by haphazard bodily fluids. Neither man cares as they begin to use the wall just as seemingly every party-goer before them has. Jonah pushes him against the wall and the pair indulge in each other as if there were nothing else in the world. The hat falls from Ant’s head as he begins to change with or without it. His trimmed pubes rapidly stretch above his hairless waistline, racing to connect with chest hair that isn’t even there yet.

His waxed face scratches against Jonah’s itchy jaw and his mouth waters with hunger and jealousy. Before he can even consciously wish for something similar, his own face is overcome with the burning sensation of pores expanding into stubble that has never been given the chance to seed bursting forth. Soon enough his entire face is overtaken by thick lancing curls of a beard. After not much time at all the pair are worked up enough that making out is not nearly enough.

Even as his suitor puts on weight and muscle mass, Jonah easily hoists him up and finally makes use of his new heavy cock. It’s not clear how long the pair exercise their new forms behind the barn. Ant’s rushed initiation into the world of assless chaps and hairy backs and Jonah’s final steps into the hard-working world of farm living last forever and no time at all. Though by the end both men are thoroughly consumed by their new hairy, muscled selves. 

Their hairy bodies rub against each other as new lives together bloom in their minds. Maintaining a small homestead in the town they grew up in, often traveling into the nearby city to show city-folk that country boys ain’t all bad and making it clear to any small minded townies that they better treat their fellow man with respect or get what’s coming to them.

As they reach what must be the apotheosis of their new forms both men lose control at the same time. Awash in the heightened sensation of their new powerful selves and lost in love for each other stronger than they ever thought they’d achieve, Ant and Jonah stumble out from behind the barn.

Ant walking with a gait that can only mean one thing since they certainly weren’t horseback riding. The pair are jeered at by their fellow country queers and finally enjoy the party. It’s a joyous celebration of the first day of the rest of their lives surrounded by their fellow odd folk. When Jonah’s eyes fall back upon the truck he’s been driving for bout a decade now he can’t help but smile in contentment. She ain’t the prettiest wagon in the west, but she got him here. Surrounded by butches and bears alike Wade sits on a bench and pulls his man onto his lap, “Gonna be a good night Ant.” The pair crack open beers and drink in the new world around them, eager to see what their lives together have in store.

[livfastdieyoung69]

OH OH YK WHAT I NEED BAD? KO SIBLING X CODY OOOOO I NEED IT I NEEDDDD IT

NEW BEGINNINGS

(Cody Rhodes x Non-described!Owens!Reader, can be read as adopted or not)

Anger issues and complaining runned in the Owen’s family. It was what your family did, most of you on the side, but your brother, he did it for his literal career. Like seriously, Kevin just complained for a living- he got on a microphone and yelled. As jealous as you were, it wasn’t your gimmick unfortunately. The two of you grew up side by side, falling in love with wrestling together, and eventually even growing in the business together. Though you had pretty similar styles, Kevin loved being in the WWE and everything he stood for there, and you loved being in TNA, and all of the accomplishments you’ve made in the company.

Though you were on separate paths, whenever they happened to cross, you’d sit down and have lunch, or dinner, or whatever else you could manage and do what Owens’ did best- complain together.

“How’s working with all of the Bloodline guys, still?” You ask after taking a gulp from your soda. Before you can even finish, he’s rolling his eyes and groaning with a mouthful of cheeseburger.

“Still fucking terrible. There’s more of them! Like an endless amount, they just keep popping up out of nowhere, and the more that come, the crazier they fucking get,” His exasperated sound makes you laugh. “I’m serious!”

You shake your head while he takes another massive bite out of his burger.

“Who’d you just work with? Uh, what’s his name? That woo woo woo guy? Zak Ryder!” You nod, taking a bite of your own food after muttering the ‘You Know It’ part of the catchphrase.

“He’s Matt Cardona now- that’s his actual name. He’s a nice guy…a lot, but nice. Like so much, really, all smiles and enthusiasm all the time. When Chelsea won the title, he brought a replica the next day and everyone thought it was the real one.”

This was how it usually went- catch up through each others feuds and how annoying everyone else was, and eventually the chatter would die down and you’d eat for a little, and then someone would pick up an actual conversation. The only problem here though, was there was one more feud of Kevins you were trying to avoid, but it was kind of hard. He was a massive deal in the company and a massive part of Kevins life right now.

“I know what you’re doing.” Kevin states causally, leaning back in his chair after starting on his fries.

“What?” You try to laugh it off, but you don’t look up from your own plate.

“Cody. You don’t wanna ask me about him.”

“….I just figured you’d want to keep your mind off it with the match at the Royal Rumble coming up.” You try, but he shakes his head. That was still in a couple weeks.

“Dude. I know you’re a fan- you literally still have the shirt from when he did the Dashing thing years ago. You liked Stardust, you know who else liked Stardust? No one.“

“Okay, I get it, you don’t have to publicly shame me about it. You can complain about everyone else, that’s my exception.” The two of you are quick to go back to silence while you try to finish your meal, and he chugs down another soda. The man ate ridiculously fast, nothing could stop him.

“You know,” He broke the quiet again. “You would really like WWE. Paul keeps bugging me about talking to you.”

“So you’ve told me,” You shrug. “I don’t know. TNA’s my home at this point, I can’t imagine leaving.” A laugh rips through you at a sudden thought and he nods his head for you to continue. “Maybe, maybe if you got Cody to ask-“ His eyes close with a sigh, and he immediately starts shaking his head, which only makes you laugh harder.

“Don’t push it.”

That had been about a week ago. You’d both gone back to your regularly scheduled program, him on Fridays and you on Thursdays. His feud with Cody continued, with a whole bunch of shit happening over there, and you moved on to work with other TNA superstars. After another long Thursday night you’re ready to conk out from the very fun, but tiring, on top of the night of wrestling, celebration with Joe Hendry for his new, recent title win (you’d already given your condolences to Nic).

As soon as your head hits the pillow, your phone rings. And you know it’s Kevin because you had set his theme song for his ringtone.

“What’s wrong?” You answer on the first ring. It’s late, and this is unusual, the first thing your mind goes to is that something happened.

“Did you see the news?”

“What fucking news Kevin, you’re freaking me out-“

“WWE and TNA signed a contract, anyone can go anywhere,” He rushes out, your name following it. “Anyone can go anywhere.”

You aren’t even sure what to say, and the phone line goes quiet while you stammer before Kevin interrupts.

“I gave Paul your number- he wants you in the Rumble.”

And now, here you were. This was fucking crazy! Of the entire TNA roster, you, Joe Hendry, and Jordynne Grace had been picked to join the Royal Rumble. Everything was so different here, you could see why Kevin liked it. Everything reminded you of him, and to be able to see him this much was so great. You traveled together, for the first time since your teenage years, and with all of the excitement you felt that young again too.

The Guerrilla was packed. It was great to see people you had worked with in the past, like Naomi and AJ Styles, but it was also great to meet new faces. Maxxine Dupri was the nicest person you had ever met, and so pretty. And you finally got to meet Chelsea! She wanted to keep in touch in case Matt tried to take her actual belt next time, apparently she hadn’t known he bought the replica.

Right now, the women’s rumble was seconds from kicking everything off so it was mostly women in the area, but a couple guys were wandering around too. Joe Hendry had stayed near you, which both of you were thankful for, he was actually a pretty shy guy behind cameras and you hated being alone around so many people. Jordynne and Naomi were a lot more acquainted than you were with her, so they snuck off to the side to have a chat.

The match was quick to begin with Iyo Sky and Liv Morgan before others started to quickly fill in. Your number was later on, you’d gotten 22. You didn’t want to be so late, and had tried to fight Paul about it but he was adamant the crowd would be excited, plus you had enough spots behind you to stay in for a while. The crowd started to wear out in Geurilla, and eventually you found yourself in the small room everything led to, with about ten other entrants, Maxxine had just went through the curtain at number 14.

“So,” Kevin strolls up from behind you with a bowl of something from catering. “I don’t want to hear a single word of this. But I called in a favor.” Your eyebrows furrow as you turn to him, and he holds up a hand. “Not a word.” And then he walks out. What the fuck?

You don’t have time to think about that anyways, now you’re wishing Jordynne (number 19) good luck as the buzzer rushes. After her, is the great return of Alexa Bliss, who is granted the biggest pop so far, which Zelina Vega follows, and then all that’s left in front of you is the grey curtain covering the biggest opportunity you’ve received in your life.

That was both the longest and shortest minute and a half of your entire life, but when the crowd counts down, and the buzzer rings out, and your music starts playing, you’ve never heard anything louder. You fight to your last breath, and then you keep fighting. You make it pass Nia Jax’s mass elimination, and lots of other attempts, and somehow, its just you and Charlotte Flair. You give it your best, but the nerves get the best of you, and Charlotte ends up throwing you over the rope.

As disappointed as you are, you made it farther than you could’ve dreamed of, and as the fans yell for your attention while you walk back up the ramp, you can’t help but be proud. You walk through the curtain to find your fellow (past, and present) TNA stars cheering you on, and you’re too busy taking the praise with embarrassment and a shy gaze to the ground, that you don’t notice Kevins favor until you’re snapping a picture with HHH for media.

In all of his glory, standing directly across from you all the way across the room, is Cody Rhodes. Clapping. And staring at you, with that one smile. Y’know, the one, the Dashing Cody Rhodes shit eating grin.

“Oh my God, Kevin,” You mutter under your breath when the pictures are over and you can turn away. “What the fuck. Kevin. What the fuck.” Kevin is no where in sight, and Paul is laughing at you so hard.

“Heard you’re a pretty big fan,” You can hear him approaching from behind you and there’s nothing else you can do but face him and hope not to embarrass yourself any further.

“I’d say I’m an avid watcher, if that’s what you’d like to consider me, yes.” He’s still grinning at you like that, and it’s making this so much harder. The rest of the room is funneling out.

“Oh, okay, okay. Just a big Stardust fan, then?” Your lips purse into a fine line when you find you have no explanation.

“How much did he tell you, exactly?” God, you’re never coming back to this company ever again. Only to get back at Kevin for this. He shrugs.

“I’m just teasing, don’t worry,” His grin relaxed, and suddenly he looks more like the American Nightmare Cody, and his hand is resting on your shoulder. “I’m a pretty big fan, too. You were great out there.”

“Oh, I tried my best, thanks,” Your face is heating up again, and you try to push it off.

“Really, you were great. I hope I get to see you around some more.” You still can’t find any words, and the room seems to be getting hotter by the second. “Or, out of it either. Not to be this straight forward, and feel free to tell me to back off, but if you’re around tomorrow, I’d love to take you to dinner or something.”

“Uhm, uh-“ I’m between your sputtering you find yourself laughing. “You’re about to go fight to the death with my brother.” He laughs, looking down at his ring gear, and nods his head, because yes, he’s going to go beat the shit out of your brother.

“I’m guessing that’s a back off?” He looks back up through his eyelashes with the grin that makes you melt.

“No, no, please, bring him to hell and back.” You grin back, before nodding shyly. “Dinner would be great.” Before you have the chance to keep talking, Pauls calling him over, and he gives you an apologetic look and tells you somehow, he’ll get ahold of you before he rushes over to HHH. Kevin comes in shortly after, and laughs at you with no clue that his worst enemy thinks your fine as hell, and that you’re going to go chase Jey Uso down for his phone number. You sit in the Guerrilla for just a second longer and watch them both disappear behind the curtain before you run off to take a shower, and text everybody you’ve ever known that Cody Fucking Rhodes just asked you out.

Maybe you would be coming back to WWE a couple more times.

Wow look at me goooo it feels like its been so long since i wrote for Cody (prolly cuz it has been)

I’m hungry, sick, and tired but I’m ignoring all of my problems and sat down during raw and couldn’t stop so here you go ig

Enjoy this you probably wont get much more from me this month but im gonna try my best i think the seasonal depression hit me mostly last month but its supposed to snow on Wednesday so that’s when we’ll really see

[sweetinsaniiity]

Thanks for the tag, Yumi! (@thecarnivaloflies)

(I think for yours, there’s two types of people that read your username - people that know Lord of the Flies, or Ateez. In my case, I know both and I’ve never read flies lmao now I can’t unread it 💀)

Anyway, mine came directly from a song, but a bit of a TMI first - before Kpop, heavy metal was my jam. I mean it still is to this day, but I digress. There’s this song called ‘Dear, Insanity’ by one of my favourite bands, and it was actually my original username here when I made this specific account in high school, dearinsaniiiity for those who actually remember.

But when I actually started writing, I changed the ‘dear’ part to ‘sweet’, first reason being that all my life, I’ve always been told that my face looks ‘sweetly insane’ (I actually dk what that means 💀) I have a very intimidating aura, and most of it is because of my facial structure. I have similar features to San, namely the high cheekbones and cat eyes, which makes me look “mean” even though I have a sweet-looking face. So yeah, that’s why lol I thought it was fitting. And the second reason is that in Dear Insanity, it never mentions the word ‘dear’, only ‘sweet’.

That was a rant and a half lmao thanks for reading xoxo

Link if you wanna see what my eyes look like lol

Tagging: @arilevenatz @xomakara @unholywriters @spacequokka (I’m actually curious about this the most)

Tag game🎉

Tag your moots and ask them where they got the idea for their tumblr accounts name!

For my name it was a nickname I was giving back in middleschool! One of our teacher had a system where we worked with 'wifi' eachtime we talked in class we lost a bar of the "wifi" (was a weird joke and we never held count on that) All the kids usually joked if they needed 'wifi' , they would borrow mine if they wanted to talk more. (I was incredibly shy in middle school, I only talked to like 3 people at school;^;)

They called me Ms. Wifi because of that. I just thought it would be funny if I put 'miss' instead of 'ms' because of my terrible actual wifi connection I have at home lol.

That's my story! Now moots, only if you guys want to, tell us your story.

Tags-> @slipping-lately @firequeenofficial @noagskryf @twinklstarrrr @halfbakedspuds @polterwasteist @rokushi-san @mygedagtes +anyone that sees this and wants to do this as well

[venusflytrapm]

unediteddddd touya x fem?reader, enjoy!!

Showering is supposed to be a relaxing experience, you’ve described it as a way to feel brand new. 

Touya feels anything but relaxed as he stares at himself in the fogged mirror. It’s funny, really, how the blurred version of his form is similar to how he sees himself. His head is clouded with regrets, and the feeling of his skin so baby-soft due to the humidity is bringing him back to his childhood memories where he had kiddish dreams of being an astronaut or firefighter or something.

Or something. 

He doesn’t remember. 

He’s not staring at himself long before the sound of someone yelling brings him out of his thoughts. His brows furrow immediately, playing the part of the annoyed older brother. He can’t comprehend who yelled and what they said but he knows he going to go out there and act brash as he always does. 

And before he knows it, he’s stomping down the stairs in his blue flannel pajama pants and dingey band tee. He rounds the corner and to his surprise, there you’re standing; chatting with natsuo at the front door.  

Suddenly the outfit he’s wearing isn’t good enough. He’s not one for putting effort into his appearance… but the moment he sees you he doesn’t feel like being himself is good enough. 

The grin on Natsuos face makes his stomach churn, if you weren’t there he’d probably punch him, but he can’t act like that in front of you. He has to hold on to the little bit of nonchalant-ness he has left. 

“Your girlfriend’s here,” Natsuo teases, “Did you ask mom if she could come over?” There’s a shit eating grin on Natsuo’s face.

Touya steps over in two strides and whacks the back of Natsuo’s head. “She’s not my girlfriend.” He grumbles. 

You’re not hurt, or at least you pretend not to be, when you take a step and glance at Touya with a shy smile. “He didn’t know I was coming, sorry.” You say to the younger brother. There’s a twinge of a giggle in your voice, and for a moment Touya thinks you might be laughing at him. But the sparkle in your eye as you look him over tells him otherwise.

Natsuo takes that as his cue to leave, he’s rubbing the back of his head as he walks around the corner. Touya couldn’t care less about the dweeb. 

“What are you doing here?” He sneered, grabbing your hand to pull you towards the stairs before anyone else sees you. 

You let out an actual laugh at that, not like how you were giggling before, and don’t make any moves to follow him.

“I wanted to see you, I didn’t see you in class yesterday.” You pull on his arm to bring him back to you. He happily obliges, his face merely a few inches from yours. He wipes off that older brother gaudiness the moment you do something like this. 

You can see the fluffy white lashes that contrast to his dark hair perfectly, and you’re smiling at each other in the nook of the small foyer; for a moment that feels like enough. 

“You know we have to go to my room before we’re interrogated again.” He murmurs. 

You bring your hand up to run your fingers through his wet hair, humming. “Don’t you mean interrupted?”

“No, I mean interrogated, those fuckers have too many questi-” 

“Y/N?” A meek voice asks and a groan falls from Touya’s lips almost immediately.

You’re grinning and pushing Touya to the side. “Sho,” you bend down and catch him in a hug. “I got you a gift, it’s in my car.” 

“Where’s my gift?” Touya asks with a pout, glaring at his younger brother who just stares and stands stiffly. 

“You don’t deserve any gifts.” Shouto speaks up before glancing back at you. “Can we play mario kart?” 

“Sure! Only if Touya can play with us too,” 

You do that often; trying to include Touya in these sibling bonding moments that he would usually avoid. 

You both spend the majority of the evening playing video games with his siblings. Natsuo falls to his knees in despair after his thousandth loss of the night and thats when Touya decides you’ve both had enough for the night. 

There isn’t enough time to react before he’s pulling you off of the couch and dragging you towards the stairs. You’re attempting to swat at his back but he’s ignoring you, determined to get you to the sanctity of his room. 

You’re about to scold him for being ‘so rude’ to his siblings but his hand is on the doorknob to his room before you can get a word in. Your mind flutters with how fast he pulls you in it’s confines. 

The moment the door shuts, your lips are on his. 

If anyone else were to see this after he adamantly insisted that you weren’t together they’d think he were a liar, which he is. He’s content with being a liar as long as you keep kissing him like this. 

The way your lips grace his, soft and tender, is a way he can’t describe. The feeling it gives him is something he didn’t know he’s waited for all his life; something he’s needed and doesn’t think he can live without. 

Your arms are hooked around his neck, his hair hitting your cheeks as your mouths move against each others. There’s not much tension in your kiss. It’s passionate but not in the way you’ve seen portrayed in movies. There is so much tenderness coming from a guy who’s always so bold and brazen. And even he’s surprised by the gentleness he’s treating you with. 

The kiss lasts so long that you don’t remember to catch your breath. By the time you do remember, you both are panting like dogs in summer heat.

You’re winded, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath from your little embrace. 

The drip from the leaky faucet of his shower can be heard from where you’re standing. You glance over in the bathrooms direction to make sense of the noise before his hands are cupping your cheeks, engulfing your vision to the point where you can only look at him.

It’s romantic, you think as you’re standing there, gazing into each others eyes. Your cheeks are warm in his hands and you have a soft throbbing behind your eyes that tells you to shut them.

Without a word, Touya pushes you back on the bed. You land with a dramatic huff and glare up at him. You’re about to speak but the words die in your throat as he climbs on top of you.

You think that maybe he’s about to take things further–you wouldn’t object to it–but he doesn’t. He throws himself on you, weighing you down like a boulder. You smile at him and wheeze at the sudden volume of his body. 

He puts his hand over your face to disrupt your antics. “Stop it.” he says, no bite behind the words. 

Before you know it, there’s a blanket over the both of you. It’s the one you had gotten him for his birthday and you can’t help the warmth blossoming in your chest when the soft fabric engulfs you both. 

His legs tangle against yours, hooking your body against his side. He looks over at you and you at him. He can’t help but glance down at how your bottom lip is caught between your teeth. 

“Stay the night?” Its a question but you know he means it as a statement. 

You breathe out a tired laugh, your eyes fluttering shut.  “I will.” 

He can’t help but think the blurred version of his reflection starts to get clearer when he’s with you.

[circle--of--confusion]

We Are Here For Your Praise

Summary:

Cult Leader!Terzo AU Reader hears about a mysterious band called The Ghost Project. With her curiosity piqued, she attends with some friends. Along the way, the mysterious Papa Emeritus the Third plucks her from the crowd and she is taken on a wild ride. He gets into her mind via black magic and she's unable to resist the temptation.

A/N: Another installment in the Cult AU from the brilliant minds of @ficandkaboodle and I. We present: Reader's origin story!

I hope y'all enjoy!

Paring: Papa Emeritus III / Fem!Reader

Words: 4.6k

Tags: MATURE; black magic, manipulation, mind reading, dubious consent, cult vibes, bondage, shibari, rituals, dom/sub dynamics, subdrop

Read on AO3

MASTERLIST

Nestled in the middle of any city in the world, you may find an underground band singing to the masses. Or at least the couple dozen people that heard about them in time to go watch. There’s a new, exciting prospect making their way around the world. Music enthusiasts and spiritualists murmur online and in clubs about The Ghost Project. For years now, they’ve managed to spread the word of their lord below, The Olde One, to grow their ranks. If they can have an offer extended to them, curious fans can even join and live in their ministries, the central hub where one can learn more about Lucifer and the Satanic teachings the leader speaks of.

It's intriguing to say the least. The current frontman, known as Papa Emeritus the Third, has rapidly made himself known amongst your circle of friends. Anyone who’s seen their shows speak of dark music, bombastic and heavy sounds intermixed with soft, intimate moments. He’s alluring, so you’ve been told, and he seems to get into your mind when his merry band of ghouls perform alongside him.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to go to a “Ritual” your friends said they were called. It doesn’t help your nerves that all you read online are things mentioning how he lures audience members on stage only to have them tied up, presented to the Papa himself as he performs a blood ritual honoring their Dark Lord.

Your friends say “concert”, you say “cult”. Still, though, a thought pops up in the back of your mind.

What’s the harm in going just once? Call it morbid curiosity.

◊◊◊

Your breath floats in front of you as you walk along the sidewalk to the concert venue, talking amongst each other.

“I’m so happy you’re coming!” One friend squeals. “Papa is amazing.”

The other grabs your shoulder and squeezes. “Trust us, he’s breathtaking in person!”

The chill in the air does nothing to calm your nerves. You’re not sure if the shiver in your body is from the near freezing temperatures or if it’s from the foreboding thought in your mind that you’re willingly walking into a trap.

Your friend exchanges the three tickets for wristbands and after getting a stamp on your hand, your small group walk further into the club to stakeout a spot on the floor close to the stage. You feel underdressed in the borrowed band t-shirt and jeans compared to your two friends who sport a more elaborate getup. They have on layers of lace and fabric, painted eyes and chains decorating their bodies.

“We’re going to go get some drinks before the show starts.” Your friend chimes in.

“Stay here? Keep our spots warm for us?” The other winks.

You nod your head, throwing them a thumbs up. “Sure!”

It’s intimidating standing all by yourself around the other Ritual attendees that file in. Some look like you, casually dressed, and it allows a sigh of relief to float from your lips. Not everyone is in a theatrical outfit and that helps to settle your nerves. Still, you can’t help but feel out of place alone near the front.

A woman looking more like what you’d imagine when hearing the words “satanic nun” slides up next to you, introducing themselves. She wears what you can only assume is a habit, more revealing and low-cut, along with a simple veil. A similar looking necklace, almost like a rosary, to what your friends have hangs from around her neck. The habit has a thigh slit on one side and you can make out the dark peek-a-boo of stockings with garters.

“Hi there, stranger. You seem a bit overwhelmed!” She says, smiling towards you.

Your eyes open wide in surprise, stuttering out a response. “I, ah.” Your mouth feels dry. “It’s my first show.” Your hand awkwardly gestures to the stage.

She laughs, swatting her hand in the air. “I figured as much.” She leans towards you a bit. “Papa has been rehearsing non-stop for this leg of the tour. You’re in for a first-time treat.”

“Oh! Are you, um, a member of the ministry?” You point to the stage.

She nods. “Yes! I’m a devoted Sister of Sin. Sister Claire to be precise.” Claire smirks.

The lights start to dim and you look around briefly to the bar. The two friends you came with should’ve been back by now but then, off to the side, you see them speaking eagerly to a man in an all-black pseudo missionary getup. Your eyes roll as you turn to look at the stage. At least there was an actual Sister of Sin there in case you had questions while your friends were otherwise preoccupied.

A group of masked figures take to the stage causing an eruption of cheers from the crowd. You hesitantly clap along, looking to your right at Claire nodding encouragingly. A fast-paced tune begins from the guitars and drums, kicking off the show. From the wings, a man in a flutter of fabric glides to the front of the stage.

Papa Emeritus the Third.

His outfit glitters under the lights, mitre adding to his looming figure above you on stage. He commands the crowd already, pumping up the energy of the group. Square Hammer, you remember, from the crash course your friends gave you on the way. It’s a good tune and you’re cheering along to the beat, wooing and clapping along with the audience.

He smoothly transitions to the next song, a bass-heavy start. Your toe taps to the beat as your head begins to nod along to the song. He’s gesturing his arms out to the crowd, basking in the attention and adoration so freely given. Papa plays with a small smirk on his lips, closing his eyes and reveling in the love. His eyes, one green and one white, look out towards the crowd, landing on you briefly and a gasp escapes your lips. His eyes scan through the rest of the crowd before settling back on you, holding contact through the lyrics you will wear your independence like a crown reverberating through your head. Papa growls low as he drifts off to look elsewhere.

A few songs pass, one with him asking his devoted flock if they like drinking blood.

“Because I do.” Papa teased, earning a cheer from the crowd. 

Halfway through the set, he ends the first section with triumphant surfer rock number that had you jumping along to the excited ghoul stomping along to the rhythm. You cheered enthusiastically, now feeling loose from the fun energy cultivated through the show. A slow musical interlude fills the gap before the beginning notes have the audience already screaming out in anticipation for the next song.

The way he sings to the audience, his body language is smooth, precise. He watches over the crowd and his words seep into everyone’s soul. The lyrics, I feel your presence amongst us. You cannot hide in the darkness, float through into mind.

You relate too hard to that.

Nothing feels fulfilling in your life. Your friends that brought you here even ditched you. The words of the song stick to you and there feels like a pull to him, a pull to get closer.

From now our merge is eternal!

His eyes flick over the audience is if to search for someone. He finds the sibling, Claire, and smiles. She grabs your hand, rising to his as Papa kneels to the edge of the stage, reaching out towards you!

You couldn’t! Your mind argues.

It feels like another voice chimes in. Take Papa’s hand. Accept His gift.

Claire nudges you and soon the smooth leather of his glove meets your hand. He holds you in a soft embrace, looking deep into your eyes as the band plays on. His green eyes, inviting and serene, contrast with the stark white of the other.

Can’t you see that you’re lost without me.

His eyes, now up close, are overwhelming as he focuses on you and you alone in this moment. The lyrics float into the space along with the ghoulish band. Right now, it’s just you and Papa in this dark room.

I can feel the thunder that’s breaking in your heart, he sings and it feels like he’s singing directly to you, serenading the deepest fears and desires in your soul. Loneliness. The deep yearning desire to find connection nestles in your heart. You want someone to share your life with, someone to come home to at the end of the day. Your friends, merely surface level if you’re being honest, don’t fill the void.

Maybe that’s why tonight sounded so compelling. Maybe somewhere in the back of your mind, you needed to be here.  

You’re so alone tonight, cara. Let me be here for you. Papa stares deep into your eyes and it feels as if it’s just you and him in the room. Did he speak those words out loud? Is this your brain filling in the gaps or has he snuck into your mind through some dark magic?

The sounds of the band with the cheers of the fans fade back into your senses as he slowly drags his gloved hand through yours to stand back up to finish the song to the crowd. Reality floods back to you and your hands fly up to clap along with everyone. Papa stares down to you, smiling slightly. His eyes, kind towards you, comfort any worries from before. It’s too easy to get lost in the feeling of his attention.

“My dear flock! How are we doing tonight? Have I entertained you sufficiently?” Papa slyly calls out to the audience. A bevy of cheers yell back his way and even you holler as well with a yes.

Am I living up to your expectations, tesoro?You can almost hear him ask you specifically, his voice reverberating in your skull.

“Honestly, I think Papa is much better live.” Claire yells to you over the noise, pulling you out from your mind. “He just gets better as the night progresses.”

You nod towards her before looking back to Papa, eager to see how he moves around on stage from your spot. “Yes!”

Claire taps your arm. “You know… there’s another part of the show, typically done by the sibling chosen for Cirice.”

You tilt your head. “What would I be doing?”

She points off to the side, a hall leading towards the side wings of the stage. “Come with me? I can show you and explain without all the noise.” Claire smiles, pointing a finger up, swirling it around.

She seems non-threatening enough to follow and the prospect of more with Papa sounds enticing. You look to the stage where he sets up the next song with an instrumental that leads in to a soft guitar trilling out to the crowd. Don’t turn back from the exciting possibilities life offers to you, tesoro his voice smoothly calls in your head when he glances over. You gasp then look back to Claire.

“Take me with you.” You nod, following the Sibling as she leads the way.

◊◊◊

“And now, my lovely flock, we come to our penultimate song of the evening.” Papa frowns to the crowd. A chorus of playful boos fill the room. He waves his hand and then puts his fist on his hip. “If you don’t play nice you won’t hear anything at all.” He smirks.

The chorus of boos quickly changes to apologies and praises. “We’re sorry! Please finish the set!” Someone yells.

Papa hums. “Well. You all have certainly been a wonderful crowd so far.” He turns his head to the right, finding you waiting in the wings. “And how would I leave you without giving you something incredible to see?” Papa beckons you closer, gesturing you to walk on stage. Some people cheer, knowing what comes next. His chasuble flutters from the movements of his arm.

You look from him to the audience feeling a bit self-conscious. The items in your hands almost feel like they might slip out of your grasp but then Claire takes your elbow and walks you forward with a gentle hand. What am I doing? You wonder that you’ve made the wrong decision.

Papa rises a hand to cup your face. “You’ve made a wonderful choice tonight, my sweet lamb.” He turns to the crowd. “Hasn’t she?”

You double-take to him and his smile soothes any worry cropping to the forefront of your brain. Claire nudges your side and you come-to, rising your right hand to present the silky purple rope to him. Papa takes the bowl in your other hand and passes it off to a stagehand, also dressed as one of his ghouls. A small cushioned stool was set in front of you and he gestures for you to kneel upon it.

“A blessing, first.” Papa explains, looking out into the silent, enraptured crowd. He removes his right-hand glove and dips his fingertips into the bowl. A thick, red liquid coats his fingers and he marks your chest, upper arms, and forehead. Latin flows flawlessly from his lips as he looks over your skin in focus.

You watch him, mesmerized in his proximity. He smells like the incense burned earlier mixed with the cologne he must’ve spritzed on before the show.

“Nema.” He nods, looking out towards the audience. They echo the words back to him. Papa gestures for you to stand now and then the abrupt sound of the bass guitar fill the theater.

As the rest of the band chime in with their parts, the whole room pounds with rapid notes and the sound swirls around you. Anxious, you turn to look at Papa who extends out his hand, now back to wearing the glove, and you put your hand in his. He rises your knuckles to his lips and places a small kiss, washing your nerves away once again.

Stay with me, my lamb. You are in safe hands. his voice echoes in your head. Papa turns to the audience, calling out the first lyrics of the song.

Lucifer! We are here, for your praise! Evil one…

Watching him this close, you can see all of his micro expressions. He’s beautiful, you think. His paint hides his face but you could watch Papa forever. You want to get closer, your hand twitching by your side yearns to touch him.

Our congregation sings infernal psalms and smear the smudge in bleeding palms!

Papa rises his hand and holds your chin in his palm, thumb brushing softly over the edge of your lips. He lets go as the soft drone of chanting call out to the room from the ghouls as they play. He begins to unfurl the purple rope from his hand, gesturing for you to stand before him. Soon, he’s wrapping your body in the soft rope starting with your wrists.

You’ve never been… tied up before. Is this going to hurt?

As I said, cara, you’re safe. Tell me immediately if anything feels wrong.

Shocked, you blink up at his gentle words in your mind. “Are you in my head?” You whisper the question, knowing he can’t hear anything over the din. Nevertheless, he hears you.

He takes a moment to stop with the rope to drag the tip of his gold nail over your face. He’s soft, moving with precision, and your eyes flutter for a few seconds. Is that so bad?

There’s a small shake of your head and Papa smiles. His teeth look like those of a predator but his hold on your mind, the soft way he handles you, wash away any potential fear you should be feeling. “What do you need from me?”

He points to your arms. Hold your hands to your chest, cara. Good. You’re obeying so perfectly. Papa runs the rope around over your shoulder and brings it up from the bottom on the other side of your back. He moves around you, tugging here and there.

Every small praise he gives you causes your heart to quicken it’s beat. “You’re very good at this.” You mumble and he smirks to himself as he drags a gold nail down your bare arm before moving your hands to rest in front of you in a prayer pose. “Your hands move very well with the rope.”

I’m good at a lot of things, many of those involving my hands. Papa grins and his eyes crinkle at the corners.

A warmth settles low in your stomach at that and your face heats up. You tilt your head down to hide the smile but Papa tuts, bringing a finger to your chin to move your head back up so he can see your face.

Be a good little lamb for me and I can show you. He stares deep into your eyes, waiting.

You nod. “I can be good.” Papa smiles and you feel on top of the world. You feel warm, pliant as he moves the rope around you for the last few parts of the demonstration. Eventually he’s asking for you to kneel down again and your legs follow the command without a thought, bending down to rest your knees onto the cushioned stool.

Your hands are positioned into a prayer formation. The rope tied securely around your upper body feels almost like a hug. It feels like a hug from Papa. The muscles in your upper body relax and the small constriction feels comforting. Your eyes drift closed, lulled into a sense of security under Papa’s care. You could easily drift to sleep where you kneel but you choose to look up at him with half-lidded eyes and a dreamy smile.

The ghouls shift slightly, noticing their leader moving back to the microphone. He waves his hands, gesturing to the crowd his return. He flicks his palms out to face the crowd before leaning into the microphone.

Sathanas! We are one! Out of three, trinity!

He growls into the microphone, yanking his head back as the last gravely lyric comes from his lips. Papa turns to you as the ghouls play out the song, chanting the chorus repeatedly. A ghoul comes by again with a goblet and he takes it, blessing the liquid inside.

Next thing you know, he’s lowering it to you to drink. Your lips part instinctively and the sweet wine hits your tastebuds with a hum. You close your eyes and enjoy the flavors on your tongue and when he pulls it away, Papa wipes up any spilled droplets around your mouth and chin. Once the song finishes, he’s taking your cheek into his palm, gliding the nails of his glove from your ear down under your jaw to your chin. It tickles and you laugh softly, opening your eyes finally.

Time to wake up, cara mia. You were wonderful. He smiles and you smile back.

“Thank you.” You whisper.

Papa takes the mic. “Please, give it up for my lovely volunteer tonight, eh?” He gestures for you to rise from the stool and slowly, you do. He places the microphone back into the stand and walks over to you, holding out his hands.

My perfect lamb. He coos, taking your face into his gloved hands.

The leather is soft against your skin as he gets closer to you. Soon, before you could say anything, Papa is kissing you. He’s soft but sure, pressing his painted lips to yours and you move yours slowly in tandem. His tongue is gentle as it probes forward and without realizing, you let him in. He licks into your mouth, tasting the flavor of your mouth and the wine still on your tongue. Papa rubs your cheek with his thumb to soothe any worries.

You taste divine, tesoro.

You blink at him a few times as he pulls back, head spinning. Papa smiles back at you looking satisfied. His eyes drift down to your lips, now smudged with his paint as a reminder for you. He bites his lip and groans slightly at the dazed look on your face.

You feel dizzy as Sister Claire is pulling you from the stage. She guides you to the room you came from to undo the rope around you and make sure the come-down isn’t too harrowing.

◊◊◊

“You did so well up there,” Claire says. “Papa was very impressed with you.”

You hum in response, brain stuck in a fog. “That’s… nice…” You say under your breath.

She nods, walking around the room to gather supplies. She hands you a bottle of water, already opened for you, and a snack. “Oh! And I should mention,” Claire begins. “Papa gifting you with a kiss means something. When he comes backstage after the Ritual has ended, you can have a private conversation with him as a reward. It doesn’t always happen so you should feel very lucky!”

You stare forward as the sounds of her words feel muffled. She feels far away but you can still understand Claire. You look up to her. “I can see Papa again?” You smile, hopeful at the idea of more time with him so soon.

She nods, moving a small green box in her hands. Claire takes out a sleeve of what looks to be cookies and removes one before putting the box down to the side. She offers it to you, explaining how you drank wine, now you need the “wafer” to complete the ritual. It tastes like chocolate and mint.

Claire sits down next to you, wrapping an arm around your back as the two of you sit in silence while the muffled sounds of Papa float through the walls.

Claire smiles. “You were stripped of your burdens and gave yourself freely to Papa and His guidance today.” She passes you a dark purple business card with a phone number written on it in gold ink. “Call us when you’re ready to see the light.”

“When will I get to see him again.” You ask. The entire night is all coming back to you. Your friends, what did they think of all of that? Are they still here or did they run off with that guy? Who was that guy? Another member of the ministry maybe. Were they given an offer?

Your body feels exhausted and your eyes feel heavy. A wave of restlessness courses through you and the seconds feel like hours as the time passes before you can talk to Papa again. You just want to see him, if anything. You want to know he’s there with you and not onstage finishing the Ritual. Every nerve ending in your body feels like a livewire.

You rub your wrists as you lean over on the couch, elbows resting on your knees. You stare into the carpet as the only thing you can focus on right now is that of the ticking clock on the wall. Your eyes fall closed and your body feels as if it’s slipping into sleep.

A voice calls out into the room and it jolts you awake. You’re not sure how much time passed. Could be seconds, could be minutes.

“Cara mia…”

Papa!

You move your head slowly in its direction. He stands there in front of you, hand clasped behind his back. Your face breaks into a sleepy grin and when he steps back, you lean forward.  

“Come with me, cara. Let’s talk somewhere more private where it can be just us.” Papa holds out his hand and you take it, rising from the couch to follow him wherever he goes.

◊◊◊

Sleep was hard for the next few days. Your friends caught up with you after the show, waiting for your talk to finish with Papa to make sure you got home. They kept asking you questions, pestering you with comments but it all felt annoying. Your conversation with him was special, it was intimate. You brush them off thinking they don’t deserve to know what Papa said to you behind closed doors.

At home, the events of the Ritual run through your mind all night. The feeling of his hands on your body replay through your mind. His ability to invade your mind so easily should alarm you but it doesn’t. You smile at the praises he gave you, at the soft way he made sure you were okay in his care. When the door had closed in his dressing room, Papa held your face in his palm and looked deep into your eyes.

Your connection with him felt so overwhelming that your breath stuttered. You wanted to drop down on your knees and worship him when his thumb brushed softly over your lips. It looked like he might kiss you again but he leaned back and let you go.

The next morning, your heart ached. You wanted Papa, needed Papa to soothe your soul right now. Getting out of bed felt like a chore and every text message from your friends to meet up went unread and unanswered.

Whatever effect Papa had on you last night, it was taking time to leave your system. You couldn’t shake off the brain fog that came from not being around him. It felt like you were going through the motions with everything, letting the days go by.

A large, paper filled envelope was mailed to your address by the morning after your ritual. You’re not sure how they could’ve found your place of residence but decide not to question it much further.

The envelope was filled with information about their cause along with housing pricing plans:

Gold Tier - $3,000

-private bathroom

-single person room

-extra uniforms free of charge

-personalized and signed note from Papa Emeritus III

-two free merch items

Silver Tier - $2,000

-extra uniforms at half price

-single person room*◇

-free merch item

* Bathrooms are shared with siblings

◇ Subject to availability

Copper Tier - $1,000

-cool hat or free merch item

-shared dorm*

* Bathrooms are shared with siblings

It took three days to dial the number on the business card and then an extra three days to actually press the call button. You chickened out as the dial tone rang into your ears and immediately hung up. On the seventh day, it all finally came together.

“Clergy Initiation and Orientation Department, Brian speaking. How can I help you?” A man’s voice greets you.

“Hello. I was given this number after participating in a Ritual last week.”

Brian hums. “And?”

“I’d like to join.”

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Excellent! Which dorm package would you like to select?” Typing noises float through your phone’s speaker.

You debated this heavily. Ultimately, the prospect of a private bathroom won out and there just so happened to be enough between savings and checking in your bank from your recent paycheck to cover it.

“I’ll go with the gold plan, please.”

There’s more typing and clicking with occasional humming. It stops after what felt like an eternity for Brian to say:

“You will be mailed in the next two days with a moving schedule and upon their arrival on the schedule, a car will show up to drive you to us or to the airport where we will escort you the entire way. Is that clear?”

Your eyes open wide and you rapidly nod but then remember this is a phone call. “Yes! Ok, yes, uh, thank you.”

“If you have any questions, call this number and we will answer them.” A few more clicking and typing sounds come through your phone. “Welcome to the clergy, sister.”

I might toy around with a part two that shows what they might've talked about. Feel free to let me know if y'all would like that.

I hope y'all enjoyed it! Comments and reblogs are appreciated.

[allenkel]

Parker Luck

This is a work in progress fanfic inspired by Dark Matter by mystercyclone on ao3 and pretty much every other work similar to it! So, make sure to check them out!

For now, here's a sneak peek at the first chapter!

    Parker Luck- Chapter 1 (Sneak Peak)

          By: Allen Kelsey

After saying his goodbyes to Ned and MJ Peter returned to Dr. Strange, ready for him to start. “I’m ready… I’m ready.” Peter reassured himself as well as Dr. Strange. He winced, his wounds, cuts, and scrapes all stung and hurt badly, mainly the one on his torso that looked like he was struck by lightning. “Good, but this is going to be risky, the invasion of the multiverse is making this world and everything in it unstable, including magic. Are you sure about this? If this goes wrong...” Dr. Strange looked at Peter, who just nodded in response, determination in his eyes. He really didn’t want to use this spell, not on the kid who fought with him through a war that he didn’t even need to be involved in, the kid who died in Tony’s arms and was brought back only for him to witness Tony die, saving everyone. “Is... Is it supposed to be green?..” Dr. Strange snapped out of his thoughts looking back at the spell, it’s not supposed to be green.. “Oh shit, Parker-” Before he could say anything the spell exploded directly in Peter's direction... It was bright.

When the blast of light dissipated, the kid was gone. “W-where..?” He looked around the world was normal, at least in terms of not collapsing normal. Then he panicked, where’d the kid go? He had his memory of him still, yet the world wasn’t collapsing? Dr. Strange went over the traces of magic left behind, “Oh shit..” shit shit shit shit! The spell became way too unstable and had started pulling in more energy than what he thought was possible from the cracks in the universe, he knew what happened. The kid isn’t here anymore, but he knows he's not dead. At Least he thinks so.. 

*  *  *

Peter felt his molecules and atoms rip apart at the sudden burst of light, then he felt them come together again.

Over and over and over and over-

It hurts.

He tried to grab onto anything and everything not understanding what happened, what's going on, just that he needed to stop the pain.

It hurts

It hurts.

It hurts!-

He felt his lungs burning and he couldn’t breathe but he couldn’t move either.

Why couldn’t he breathe?

He couldn’t move but he needed to breathe! He tried desperately to move, to get his body out of whatever it was that was preventing him from breathing.

He can’t breathe!

He felt big hands grab him pulling him out of something heavy and wet, they put him down on something cold, but he still couldn’t breathe!

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

That's the sneak peek for you all! Also! Just a heads up that I don't have a routine posting schedule so be prpared to either get a chapter or not by the end of the month!

P.S.- Peter's body (NOT his powers) kind of got de-aged because of the whole magic going all over the place, hence the note at the top saying most of this work was inspired by small or big ideas from others and this will be my first really committed fanfic that I am motivated to keep making!

[apathetik12]

Okay, I’m going to explain what I mean a bit better.

Obviously, it doesn’t make sense on a surface level. They seem completely different. What I meant is, you need to look at their dynamics on a baseline level. Okay? Just try and understand my ramblings, please.

On a base level, they match each other’s freak. They’re both fucking crazy and instead of backing away, they get closer. Sure, there’s more to their dynamics and why one is more popular than the other, that was my b for not giving any context, but I mean it when I say that if Stone and Robotnik got just a little bit of emotional intelligence and settled down together, their relationship would be a lot like Tom and Maddie and if Tom and Maddie were to become evil, they’d both go to the ends of the Earth for both their goals and each other. Tom and Maddie are crazy (both for each other and what they believe in) and if they got a bit more unhinged, they’d prolly be just as/if not more destructive than everyone’s favorite evil situationship. If Stobotnik chilled tf out, they’d be in a similar situation to Tom and Maddie.

Tom put away everything for an alien hedgehog he just met and Maddie rolled with it. There was barely any questions or pushback, just understandable confusion. Even though these two are completely different characters than Stone and Robotnik, they share the fact that the other’s flaws and problems are a big part of what draws them in. Maddie was willing to be an accessory for treason for Tom, Stone was ready to throw away his job as a government official for the man that very government was trying to say didn’t exist. Tom’s first thought when there’s something he can’t handle is to go to Maddie, Robotnik goes to Stone when he needs something done for him (normally it’s coffee, but you can assume there’s more). Maddie was willing to die by Tom’s side for a blue hedgehog(who she trusted because he did), Robotnik was ready to die in an explosion to save Stone. Maddie was ready to move away from Green Hills so Tom could live out his dream, Stone took over a whole coffee shop so he could give Robotnik what he wanted. You need to realize that these characters have such complicated dynamics that boil down to “they might be crazy, but I’m crazier” and people only recognize it for Stobotnik.

Obviously there’s more to both relationships. What I meant when I said that people like Stobotnik more because it’s gay is not to push away the fact that they’re also liked because they’re villains (cause that is a big part of it). I’m just saying that if it wasn’t or if Tom and Maddie were also homos, I feel like the ship would get more recognition. (Plus, to point out another reblog while I’m at it: I get the doomed part is a good chunk of why it’s so popular, but I’m also including before the third movie and the fact that Tom and Maddie is how I envision Stobotnik if they were happy for once in their lives)

Hot Take: Tom and Maddie are just Stobotnik if they weren’t evil and were instead domestically married.

People just don’t like them as much because they aren’t gay.

[the-architect-of-ferrari]

What a hug from Carlos Sainz does to a mf

[coyotesinew]

Some recent thoughts about nonhumanity and my relationship to the community + my personal relationship with it that I cleaned up, my writing style is a bit disjointed, I would like to share more of my writing, if anyone would be interested in seeing that :)

[atopvisenyashill]

on reflection the fact that we didn’t see laena claim vhagar, and now didn’t see the moment addam got on seasmoke either? kinda annoying me

[wittywallflower]

Endlessly annoying to me that I see ppl in kooky-patterned button-down shirts and think oh! kitschy and cool! I love it! Tacky touristy aloha shirts? So fun!

But the minute *I* put on a shirt with even the mildest, tiniest, most neutral of patterns I’m like “this is the loudest and most garish garment in all existence”.

[nightly-ruse]

I think I may be a little odd

[crystaltoa]

I’m going to go the second one because I believe there’s a difference between ‘a robot could do this job’ and ‘a robot SHOULD do this job’. Even in a world where robots can emulate almost any human behaviour or skill.

(Content warning: I discuss some pretty heavy hypotheticals relating to medical abuse, eugenics, racism and ableism)

You know the rule that “a computer can never be held accountable. Therefore a robot should never make a management decision” Well, these days, people do delegate management decisions to robots. But the robot lacks human values and understanding of nuance. It is still impacted by biases, sometimes to an even greater extent than a human. And our understanding of bias, equality and equity is constantly evolving and is driven by human values. If you take humans out of the equation, who is checking the AI for biases and reasonable behaviour? Another AI?

Look at politics. Like it or not, a sufficiently powerful politician is going to have to make difficult decisions that will ultimately impact who lives and who dies (decisions on health, war, crime and the justice system, etc.) And a robot politician is going to face the same problems. An AI politician programmed with the objective of letting nobody die is going to fail horribly, since such a thing is likely impossible, even for the most advanced AI of the distant future. So, it will always have to act on the logic that a certain number of humans may die as a consequence of its actions, but that it should keep that number as low as possible using the information that it is given.

An AI is going to boil this down to a system of logic. If the goal is to use the available resources to minimise the number of lives lost, and no human life is inherently more valuable than any other, then it is going to spend the bulk of its resources on areas where it will have the greatest impact and save the greatest number of lives.

Now that sounds good on paper, doesn’t it? But there is a problem: if you reduce the issues down to a multiple choice game, it allows no space for inspiration, creativity, and nuanced discussion of ethics.

if you gave our robo-politician the trolley problem, it would quickly tell you that pulling the lever was the correct option as it minimises the number of lives lost. Okay, you might think. Sounds reasonable. Lots of humans who engage with the problem reach the same conclusion.

But the thing is, the robo-politician will pull that lever again and again and again without ever considering that perhaps it’s possible to change the system so that there aren’t so many people stuck on the tracks in the path of an oncoming train in the first place. If the robo-politician already thinks it has enough information to solve the problem, it won’t seek new information. It won’t try to come up with a better system. It will always be a two-choice logic problem that it already has an adequate solution to.

It’s theoretically possible that a robot politician might actually do an adequate job (at least compared to some human politicians) simply by playing this numbers game and emulating actions of past politicians that have produced good results before.

BUT

If you want meaningful systemic change driven by new ideas, you need human involvement. AI’s ability to at least simulate creativity probably will improve in the coming years, but balancing the new AI-generated solutions with a respect for human values and quality of life is a very complex thing.

Furthermore, there’s a need for nuance that AI may not ever be able to fully grasp. If the goal is only to minimise number of lives lost, in the most economically viable way, you could wind up with dystopian scenarios like the following:

“We want to reduce the number of people who die when receiving medical treatment. Therefore, euthanasia/medically assisted dying is now illegal, because that results in human deaths” (ignoring human bodily autonomy and quality of life needs)

Or conversely, “Keeping some disabled and chronically ill people alive takes resources that could be used for other purposes. Therefore, it makes economic sense to euthanise some of the higher-care needs patients so that those resources can be used to save other lives at a more cost-effective rate.” (Horrendously ableist)

“We want medical resources and funding to go where they will help the most people. No human life is inherently worth more or less than any other. This country has a lot more white people than black people. Therefore, it makes economic sense to focus funding, research, and training of future medical practitioners primarily on the care and treatment of white patients” (Perpetuating or even amplifying existing societal inequalities, dismissing helping minorities as not economically viable)

“We want to reduce the number of people affected by serious health conditions, which puts a drain on medical resources and reduces the number of lives we can save. Therefore, people who carry genes for certain conditions will be deterred or outright prevented from reproducing” (again, horrendously ableist and robs people of bodily autonomy)

“We want to reduce deaths from vehicle and other types of accidents that occur primarily outside the home. Therefore, there are now stricter regulations regarding when humans should be allowed to leave their homes.” (Authoritarian police state).

(Note: The intent here is not to imply that dedicating resources to vulnerable minorities is “objectively” illogical or wasteful. The point is that logic is only as good as the goals and principles behind it, and having overly simplistic success criteria without strong ethical considerations will result in those vulnerable groups suffering further mistreatment and neglect)

Humans have a wide range of needs, values and priorities that vary between individuals. Safety vs Autonomy, Privacy vs Protection, etc. And a politician must be compassionate and responsive to those values, even with all their contradictions, but to do so, human input and participation is required. No one politician, human or otherwise, is going to get it exactly right and please everybody. But a human is still going to have more success in trying than a robot, as it is near impossible to reduce the balance of these issues down to mere numbers and algorithms.

So while I’ll entertain the idea that a robot maybe could run a country, I don’t think anything would ever convince me that they should do so.

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[greenvillainredemption]

More monkey man posting. I wasn’t following the entire plot because I was very tired, wasn’t comprehending some characters’ accents, and the political stuff went over my head. So here’s a lil appreciation post of things I liked because like it’s good but it didn’t fully get me since I wasn’t in the right mood to watch it.

- the flashbacks, how there would be flashes between past and present, but then the fire and explosions could sometimes be seen in the present. Idk if that kind of visual has ever been done before but I’d never seen it done before this and it was very effective.

- the fight scenes. As per my last post, not as gory as I’d had it hyped up to be but the actual choreo and camera work were very cool and fun to watch.

- specifically the elevator scene, had my fave death involving main guy using a knife with his teeth hell yeah

- the mask. I may be biased because monkeys actually scare the shit out of me but it was so scary and I kinda wish he’d worn it more. WatchMojo top ten scariest non-horror movie masks when????

- also him using the glitteriest shoe with a thick ass heel to bash a guy’s head. I just love seeing people use whatever random object they can find as a weapon, and glitter.

- speaking of glitter, the group of mostly-female fighters backing him up in their extravagant bejeweled fits. Usually I’m not a fan of the trope where ‘women can fight but only if they look pretty’, but in this case the fits have cultural/traditional significance, were non-sexual, and the scene actually looked cool as hell. Reminded me of the kyoshi warriors from atla.

[obsesssedblerd]

“Oh, Nanaminnnn!” 

At the familiar, cheery voice, Kento looks up to see no one other than Satoru Gojo, leaning against the doorframe of his office with his usual grin. “Saw with my Six Eyes that you came to fill out those reports here instead of doing it from home. Been so long since you showed your face here and—” He cuts himself off with an excited gasp, then walks closer as his smile grows wider. “You brought my little mochi!”

In Kento’s left arm, his daughter—who had woken up from her nap about ten minutes ago—coos excitedly when Satoru enters her vision, reaching her hands towards him. “Well, hello there, sweetheart! I was wondering when I’d see you again!” He slides his hands under her plush arms, then picks her up, skillfully—and safely, Kento notes—holding her in his arms. Tiny hands brush against Satoru’s blindfold, and he lifts it so his niece can see his blue eyes. They immediately soften when the baby girl laughs when he gently tickles her tummy. 

It’s so cute that Kento can’t stop the corner of his mouth from lifting. 

“Wait—Did I hear that right?! Nanamin’s here?!” 

“Itadori, wait for us!” 

“Kugisaki, you dropped your bag—Oh, come on, guys, slow down!” 

Rapid footsteps approach, then the three first years appear at the door, gasping in unison. 

“Oh, my gosh!” Yuuji, the pink-haired teenager shouts as he points at the baby in Satoru’s arms. “Nanamin, when did you have a baby?!” 

Nobara’s question comes a split-second after Yuuji’s is finished. “Is that why [Y/L/N]-sensei quit a while ago?!” 

Megumi walks to stand beside Satoru to analyze the little bundle in his teacher’s arms. “She’s… adorable.” He mumbles, gently smiling when she wraps her hand around his finger. “Very adorable. She has [Y/L/N]-sensei’s laugh.”

“Isn’t she just so precious?” Satoru asks, proudly showing her off to the first years. “So sweet and friendly, just like her Uncle Gojo.” 

“Hopefully she won’t be as reckless as you,” Kento says as he holds his hands out, and Satoru returns his daughter to him. “[Y/N] and I already believe that she’ll be the exact opposite of me.” 

Yuuji sits beside Kento to get a closer look at her. “She’s so cute. How old is she, Nanamin?” 

“Four months as of yesterday.” 

Nobara crosses her arms and pouts. “How come only he knew?” She asks, gesturing to Satoru. 

“Well, when I had to go away on a long mission, she was only a month old,” Kento explains. “He kept an eye on her and [Y/N] for me; made sure that they were both safe. I’m very grateful. We had plans to tell you about our daughter soon.” 

“Where is she now?” Megumi asks. 

“At home. I wanted her to have the morning and most of the afternoon to herself. I’ll be heading back shortly.” 

Satoru and the students share similar looks with each other, and Kento knows what they want to ask. He pulls out his phone and dials your number. “Hi, baby,” you greet when the line connects, “how’s our girl?” 

“Hi, love. She’s amazing, as always,” he says as he looks down, playfully poking the little one’s nose. “I’m with Gojo and our students. They want to know if it’s alright to come and see you.” 

“We’ll cook dinner if you’re too tired!” Nobara chimes in hopefully.

“Actually, better yet, I can just order something for everyone,” Satoru suggests. 

“And we’ll clean up,” Yuuji and Megumi say at the same time. 

You laugh, then answer Kento, “That’s more than alright. Bring them here.” 

“Thought you’d say that. See you in a bit.” 

“Yes!” Yuuji cheers. “Alright, I’m gonna ride with Nanamin so I can sit next to the baby!” 

Nobara glares at him. “Not if I get to the car first!!” 

When they sprint out the door, Megumi groans before rushing after them. “Didn’t I just tell you guys to slow down? We’re going to the same place!” 

Satoru laughs, then waits for Kento to finish up so they can walk out together. 

—

there was an ask in my inbox requesting a cute drabble for dad! nanami ft. gojo (as a trusted friend of his) and the first years, but it disappeared. hope u like it, anon <3 

[snowballseal]

Pretty Bird

Sylus X Reader

Summary: Sylus is jealous of you giving Mephisto attention. That's it. You tease him when you find out.

Word Count: 2123

Note: Nothing really, hope I did him justice! His dialogue is a little harder for me to nail down.

---

The first time it happens is when you cross to the N109 Zone to accompany Sylus on an “errand”.

The first thing you do when you reach the ornate, empty house - of course - is say hello to your favorite bird.

“Hey there pretty bird.”

Mephisto squawks, bobbing excitedly on his perch as you bound up to him. You grin and give the crow a gentle scratch on his head. He preens under your touch, mechanical feathers fluffing with another quiet, scruffy caw. Adorable.

Despite his unnerving gaze, which you find to be eerily similar to a certain Onychinus leader, you can’t help but love the little bird. For some reason, it always comforts you a little bit to see him perched outside your apartment, or following you around Linkon. He always tries to act like he’s not spying on you, but you know he is, and you know he’s going to report right back to Sylus. Maybe that’s why it’s comforting.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to sway his loyalties.”

Speak of the devil.

“As if,” you snicker, giving the bird one final scratch before spinning on your heels to face Sylus. He sits across the room in one of his big armchairs, eyes glued to the gun he’s loading, face carefully blank. As always. You saunter over and pop yourself onto the arm of the chair, bumping his shoulder. “You know Mephisto doesn’t listen to anyone but you. I’m just like the fun mom who gives him things.”

His lips twitch ever so slightly, “Mmm, does that make me your husband in this situation?”

Heat creeps up your cheeks.

You are no stranger to Sylus’ flirty nature. That’s how things have always been between you, though it only really gets to you now. Before, when you kind of hated his guts, it was just annoying. Well, maybe even then-

“You wish,” you retort, but there’s no hiding the blush painting your cheeks.

“Hm, I thought you knew me better than that, sweetie.” In an instant, his hand curls around your wrist, giving it a sharp tug that knocks you off balance. You let out an undignified squeak, tumbling right into his lap. And before you can squirm away, Sylus locks an arm over your legs, keeping you trapped against him. Those red eyes freeze you in place, dark and warm with mischief. “Why would I wish for something I could so easily take?”

You stare at him, eyes blown wide, face completely red now. You can’t even form any words in response, which seems to amuse him even more. A smirk curls his lips, and he gives your hip a playful pinch.

“What? Crow got your tongue, sweetie?”

You sputter, finally finding your voice, “Sylus!”

“Good. Now that you’re focused, we can go handle business.” Sylus sets you on the ground, making sure you’re steady before he stands nonchalantly and tucks his gun in its holster. Like nothing just happened! “We don’t want to be late now, do we?”

Before you can even say anything more, he’s heading for the door. It takes a few seconds to shake yourself from your  state of shock, and then you’re quickly following after him.

“Sylus-!”

He cuts you off, that stupid, attractive smirk still on his lips, “And by the way, try not to spoil Mephisto too much, sweetie. He’s grown rather petulant when you’re not around.”

You’re pretty sure your blush sticks around for the entire car ride after.

---

The second time is when you visit on one of your off days. 

When you get there, Sylus is still asleep. You take a moment to crouch by his bed, a fond smile adorning your lips as you take in his peaceful face. You remember when he used to sleep sitting up, so he was ready for anything, but now he looks relaxed. Though you still spot the gun tucked under his bed.

Deciding not to bother him, you quietly make your way back out to the living room and grab a book. It’s about the only way to pass time in the N109 Zone, at least, without getting yourself into anything dangerous. As soon as you sit down, Mephisto flaps across the room and lands on your arm, plopping himself down into your lap like a cat.

A giggle escapes you when the crow throws his head back, looking up at the most awkward angle you can imagine. You give his beak a little rub, and he makes a soft clicking sound, beady red eyes falling shut.

“I swear, it’s almost like you’re a crow with cat programming,” you hum, mostly to yourself. Mephisto ruffles his feathers, though, at the word ‘cat’, eyes flashing back open. You snort, easing a hand over his wings, “No worries, pretty bird, no cats. I’m just kidding.”

He settles back down, seemingly embarrassed by his reaction, which only makes you want to coddle him more. So cute. If only Sylus would be this cute with you. Heat tinges your cheeks at the thought of the tall man resting against your lap, looking up at you with softly narrowed eyes, humming in content as you pet his ha-

Snapping your book open, you throw yourself into the story in hopes of banishing such rogue thoughts. If Sylus knew what you were imagining, he would tease you for years. You really don’t want to feed his ego even more. Mephisto wedges himself between your arm and your side, happy to just fall asleep as you read, oblivious to your inner turmoil.

It doesn’t take you long to actually get immersed in the storyline, though. So much so that you don’t hear the steps coming up behind you.

“It seems you come here more often to spend time with Mephisto than with me.”

You practically jump out of your skin when a strong arm circles your shoulders. Sylus’ voice is a low rumble in your ear, thick with sleep. He leans over the back of your chair, and you narrowly miss the way he eyes the bird in your lap with distaste. He looks far too content curled up on your lap.

“I didn’t want to bother you while you were sleeping,” you hum, closing the book.

He grumbles, sleepy eyes shifting to bore into you. The smallest pout pulls at his lips, and you have to stifle a giggle as you reach up to smooth down his messy hair. Sylus leans into your touch, much like Mephisto did, his eyes flickering shut. Okay, maybe he is just as cute.

“Are you mad I didn’t come cuddle with you?” You tease. Sleepy Sylus is definitely your favorite Sylus. “I didn’t know the big, bad Onychinus leader likes to snuggle.”

“It’s simply to ensure you don’t cause trouble in the N109 Zone,” he murmurs, still just as quick-witted though he’s half-asleep, “I can’t have my kitten wandering around all by herself, now can I?”

“I was just reading, Sylus. No trouble here.”

“Hmm, then you might as well come read in bed.”

You hesitate, fingers tracing along his jaw lightly, “You sure I won’t disturb your sleep?”

Those dark eyes blink back open lazily, a rare, genuine smile dancing in their depths, “Trust me, kitten, my sleep will be much better with you at my side.”

God, you’re weak for this man. Mephisto squawks his complaints as you lift him from your lap, but takes off to his perch without much fight. Sylus feels a flash of victory as you intertwine your fingers. The sensation of your small hand in his eases the strange tightness in his chest whenever you’re apart. He curls his other arm around you possessively, sending the bird a smug smirk.

You catch it this time, lifting a brow as you glance between him and Mephisto. Your brain stalls. Was he…jealous? No way. There’s no way Sylus would be jealous of you spending time with his bird. He’s more mature than that…or maybe not, you realize as he drags you back to his bed, only to lay himself over you like a large cat, using your lap as his pillow. Exactly as you imagined.

Your heart flutters a little, which you’re sure he hears somehow, because he squeezes your waist teasingly. You pinch his cheek lightly before running your fingers through his snowy hair. It’s always softer than you expect.

“Go to sleep, Sylus,” you murmur, voice far too fond, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He hums, and you can feel the sound vibrate through his body. Almost like a purr.

God, you don’t even have a chance, do you?

---

The final time is when you visit the N109 Zone to attend another auction with Sylus. And this time, you catch him in it.

“Where’s Mephisto?”

Sylus’ face sours at your question. You bite back a smile.

Ever since the day you spent napping in his room, you haven’t been able to escape that thought swirling in the back of your mind. So you decided to test your theory. Sylus is always messing with you, afterall. It’s only fair you get a bit of revenge.

“I sent him out to gather intel,” Sylus huffs eventually. Why do you always look for that d***  bird first? “That is his purpose, afterall.”

“Oh.” You feign sadness, letting out a long sigh. “That’s too bad! I brought him some treats.”

“Well, you can leave them here. I’m sure he’ll eat them later,” he says, voice dismissive as he fixes the cuffs of his coat.

“Hmm-” You slowly make your way over to him. Those perceptive eyes narrow on you, watching you carefully while you straighten his collar. “Will he be here later? Maybe I can give them to him after the auction. I miss my pretty bird.” 

Amusement curls in your chest when you see the man’s brows twitch ever so slightly. He’s really annoyed. Now you understand why he loves pushing your buttons so much.

“No, I’m afraid he’ll be busy all night.” You can practically hear him gritting his teeth. Almost there. You keep your eyes focused on his coat, avoiding the intensity of his gaze. He’s trying to figure you out and you’re scared that if you look up, the laughter you're holding back will break loose. Instead, you put on an exaggerated pout.

“That’s unfortunate. I was really hoping to see him tonight.”

Sylus growls. Actually growls in annoyance.

“Would you prefer to have Mephisto on your arm tonight instead of me?” His words come out biting and harsh, tinged with unmistakable jealousy.

The air goes silent.

Before you burst into a fit of giggles. Sylus’ eyes widen when you collapse against his chest, your entire body shaking with laughter. He freezes, though his confusion quickly gives way to realization. 

You were playing with him.

“I suppose this is some form of revenge,” he hums, shaking his head. It’s surprising it took him so long to catch on. With anyone else, he’d be beyond angry, but your laughter is so bright, so infectious, that he can’t stop the small smile that pulls at his lips. When you finally look up at him, tears glint in the corners of your eyes. Who thought this would amuse you so much?

“You’re jealous! The Sylus is jealous of a little bird. His bird.” You bite down on your lip in an attempt to muffle the giggles that keep coming, but it doesn’t do much to help. It’s just too much for you. You never ever thought you’d see Sylus actually jealous of someone, let alone an animal.

Sylus narrows his eyes, though they glow with a certain fondness. “Such a sadist, sweetie, messing with a man’s heart so lightly.”

“Oh, but your reaction was so adorable,” you sing, reaching up to poke his cheek. He playfully bites at your finger, making you draw it back quickly with another laugh. “Just the fact that you could even think I like Mephisto more than you is so silly. I couldn’t help myself.”

“Hmm, then I’m afraid you’ll just have to prove my silly conclusion wrong, won’t you?” His hands settle on your waist, drawing you closer to the warmth of his body. You oblige him, stretching your arms up and around his neck to draw him down.

“Of course. I can’t have my pretty bird walking around thinking he’s second best,” you tease, fingers curling through his hair. “Even if he has a jealousy prob-”

“Quiet.”

Anything else you say is muffled as Sylus finally kisses you.

Safe to say, after that, you make sure to give Sylus extra attention, especially when Mephisto is around. (Though you do still sneak him treats when Sylus isn’t looking.)