#I refuse to do digital rn

[crazymanicherelmao]

I made more

[theartingace]

Murderbot meets ART (who knew transports could be smart enough to be MEAN)

[artsy-cactus]

#stress relief! drawing the worm women from your nightmares!

[tinned-beef]

aidan is so silly because what is he wearing

[bordonfreeman]

HERE ITS DONE GOODBYE SEE YALL NEVER IM GOING TO SLEEP FOR 5 THOUSAND YEARS

[hivemuthur]

Bestie. I know your requests are closed but I’m champagne drunk rn and I had to get this to you before the thought slips through the little wrinkles in my brain. So don’t answer until you want to answer.

party4u by charli xcx. Idk I’m always blasting charli but today something about this song just struck me. I feel like it could be either Viktor or the MC from Nothings New. Throwing a party for something seemingly random just in the hopes that the other would show up. The pining, the trying-hard-but-trying-not-to-be-noticeable-about-it. (Hope you walk into the party, cause I threw the party just for you)(called your digits but the phone kept ringin/wish I knew what you were thinking)

And then the blatant laying-bare-of-the-feelings ughhhhhhhh (if you saw my tears would you touch me? / kiss me on the mouth, say you love me?)(why you treating me like someone you never loved?)(all I’m thinking all I know is / that I hope you knock on my door)

Idk I just can’t stop thinking about it and I feel like only you could do something Viktor-related but also based on this song justice. You have this way of writing angst and feelings that I normally am afraid to explore (dread, anxiety, jealousy, anger, acknowledging the ugly parts of ourselves (like with The Ugly Thing)) in a way that is so delicious and makes me WANT to explore them.

Bestie, how do do you KNOW ME so well . Thank you for making a playground for me, seriously. I hope you can tell I loved this.

Come So Close That I Might See

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! a freeform of what was requested. Implied, but not included in the plot: Jayce and Viktor score a grant for their further science developments, silly Viktor offers to throw a party instead of just grabbing beers. AU Modern Era if you squint (like, phones are mentioned). Contains a lot of fluids :v

word count: 4K

author's note: not me incorporating sex into the request by default and then checking with the requestee only when I got to the condom part :v I also spent a lot of time on forums to get the Czech phrases accurately and it made me giggle how many Czech people went to forewarn the person asking that love confessions in Czech are dead serious and if they have a Czech girlfriend they want to say it to they have to MEAN IT (as a cynical, brooding, judgmental Slavic cunt I wholeheartedly agree). Translations at the bottom and title is from Mazzy Star.

This gets pretty gross, both in terms of sentimentality and bodily fluids, you have been warned!

artist on X (I'm addicted)

—

Never before had he so much as brought his teeth close to his fingers—unless it was to take a bite of something meant precisely for eating—yet now he finds himself absentmindedly gnawing at a particularly stubborn cuticle while staring at the tiny grey tick next to his message, waiting for it to turn green, waiting for it to become three jumping dots. Radiating unease, Viktor sighs out a rattled breath and props his chin on the heel of his palm.

Jayce huffs in the background, stacking the freezer with water poured into plastic containers, hoping it will turn to ice before the first person complains about the heat. It’s one of those unbearably sticky days with no sun, the clouds trapping the air, refusing to let it move, offering no reprieve to the sweaty—until, inevitably, it all gives way to a raging storm by nightfall. Curtains billowing and thunder roaring, hurried window-shutting and water pouring in through the cracks—tonight’s entertainment is already set.

Viktor does little to help, and Jayce doesn’t mind. After all, Viktor’s offer had been a timid one, seeming to stumble out of his lips before his brain could fully calculate the potential disaster of inviting people over. Any excuse would have sufficed, yet scoring a grant was big enough occasion to keep Viktor from backing out.

So he sits with a book, his phone resting in the book’s mouth, dimming every three minutes before he taps the screen again, worried he might miss your reply. He still doesn’t know if this reckless idea will come back to bite him on the ass—if you don’t show up he will have to spend the evening smiling at strangers, pretending to be overjoyed about this opportunity while, in reality, his soul withers away.

“I’m sure she’ll come,” Jayce says finally, three bottles of rum balanced in one hand, his right arm wrapped around a bucket of melting ice that stains his dark blue T-shirt. “Mel will be here—she’ll drag her in.”

“That’s a joyous picture to anticipate, isn’t it?” Viktor hums as calmly as he can, yet his finger is gnawed raw, an ugly shade of red. He scrunches his eyebrows at it, deciding it’s about time to leave it alone. “My friend dragged in to see me by force?”

“Figuratively. I don’t think Mel is that strong,” Jayce teases, setting the dripping bucket on the table, bottles clinking inside. He crouches close to Viktor’s legs. “If not, we’ll try to have a good time anyway. We deserve it.”

Jayce pats his knee, and Viktor fixes his eyes on something in front of him that isn’t Jayce, saving himself from the feeling of being picked apart piece by piece, examined from the inside out. A dreadful sensation, if anyone were to ask him. Everyone around him, save for you, thinks they’ve mastered the skill.

“No promises,” he says, sucking in some of the stale air and setting the book aside, though the phone remains in his hand. He should shower really, wear something that makes him look effortlessly put together—something that invites touch and makes him hug-worthy. But the idea of meeting his reflection sits in his stomach like lead. Whatever all those people, with their prying eyes, fail to notice, he will see in the mirror. And worse—you will see it, too.

It’s so unbearably hot that he takes the coldest shower he can without wrenching the air from his lungs. Cold enough that stepping out into the bathroom’s warm embrace is almost a relief. A quick shave, hair left wet to milk out as much of this fresh feeling as possible, knowing grime will coat him head to toe as soon as the apartment fills with faces attached to sweaty bodies.

Each buzz of the door has his heart flipping in his chest, and he scowls every time the person Jayce greets with a sticky hug is not you. He tries not to look disappointed when guests pat his shoulder and offer their congratulations, tries very hard to be grateful for having friends in the first place—but part of him deeply regrets that his brain didn’t catch the reckless blurt of “Or let’s have a party?” in time.

He’s on his third rum and coke, and maybe that’s why his defences are lower when he goes to answer the door this time, Jayce busy in the kitchen. The door swings open, and he’s greeted by Mel’s perfect face—utterly unbothered by the heat, only her forehead covered in a satin-like sheen, as if designed to enhance her beauty rather than ruin it.

And behind Mel is you, far less heat-resistant, yet for Viktor, far more beautiful. Cheeks flushed a healthy red, shoulders sun-kissed, draped in barely-there straps of a barely-there blouse, and his heart drops all the way down to where his second heart is, beating for you and you alone.

Mel, dignified as always, only ghosts a kiss near his cheek and hands him a bottle of wine before stepping inside, ready to kiss Jayce properly. You linger awkwardly in the hallway, kicking off your shoes before Viktor can tell you not to.

“Hi,” you say stupidly, waving at him.

He waves back, puts his cane on the coat rag, arms spreading just enough—not quite an invitation, not quite begging, but close.

“Are you sure? I’m very gross.” You glance warily at his crisp white shirt, wondering how he’s managed to look so sharp while everyone else sports the look of a wet rag. Sleeves rolled up neatly, showing off the freckles on his taunt skin, veins poking out, swollen with the impossible temperature.

“I don’t mind,” he mutters, already pulling you in. He feels the opposite of minding.

You smell of fresh perfume mixed with sweat, and when his hand comes to rest between your shoulder blades, his lips barely brush against your skin, the wine bottle presses against the small of your back. Viktor hopes some of your sweat will sink into his shirt, making you stay with him a little while longer after you leave.

How many times you've been at it, you don't know. It's always on the verge of something serious—yet the closer it gets, the faster Viktor pulls away. The tension between you has lingered since the moment you met, but you have no idea when it settled into this uncomfortable friendship. So distancing yourself, for a while, seemed reasonable. Now, with him wrapped around you, you don't know if you'll find the strength to leave.

You breathe him in, and the uneasiness seeps out of you in an instant. You’re not even that hot anymore. Goosebumps rise on your skin where he touched, and you can feel his lips curl into a smile.

“Congratulations,” you mumble into his chest, and he only hugs you tighter.

He plucks his cane from the empty coat hanger, hands you the bottle and leads you to the kitchen. Jayce pours you a drink, and the four of you sink into a conversation bordering on comfortable. How many times Jayce has to bite his tongue to keep from blurting out that the party was Viktor’s idea, only he knows.

The chatter eases into jokes and laughter at some point, and you can feel the alcohol warming your insides to match the heat outside. Air begins to stir as the predicted storm gathers, the kitchen growing more and more cramped. When a thunderclap cracks through the air, startling someone next to Mel, the contents of her glass spill onto your chest.

“Mel, do you have to? Always? When I’m wearing white?” You jump back instinctively, and Viktor’s fingers wrap around your elbow.

“Oh, darling,” she laughs, scrunching her brows in apology. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” And indeed, it’s a curse—you should never wear white around her.

“I’ll give you something,” Viktor says quickly, already on a mission.

“I can get it, you don’t have to come upstairs,” you stop him with a hand on his shoulder and a smile. “If that’s okay,” you add, asking for permission to rummage through his closet alone.

He swallows and nods, searching for any good excuse to follow you—but at the moment, even his big brain can’t conjure one.

You drag yourself up the stairs, and the further you get from the noise, the more you realise how loud it was in the kitchen. It feels briefly odd, stepping into Viktor’s bedroom—you haven’t been here in such a long time. But as you cross the threshold, everything looks just as you remember. Maybe a few more notes scattered here and there.

You close the rattling window by his desk before the rain can soak into the papers, then move to his walk-in closet. As soon as you step inside, the scent of Viktor floods your senses, and despite yourself, you breathe in deeply.

Somehow, this feels safe. You run your fingers along his clothes, searching for your favourite T-shirt of his. But you linger unnecessarily long on his jumpers, bringing them close to your cheek and inhaling the scent of his washing powder. You’ve smelled this so many times, and it’s never enough, really.

You don’t know how much time has passed since you left the kitchen, but a voice knocks you out of your daydreaming.

“You alright?”

“Viktor.” You jump away, snagging a T-shirt in the process to make it look like that’s all you’ve been doing. “Shit, you scared me. Yes, I just—” you gesture to your chest, where a red stain from Mel’s wine blooms, “should probably clean off first.”

He nods, still lingering in the doorway, and you just stare at each other. Finally, Viktor speaks your name softly and props his cane by the wall. He means to say so much more than that, but he hopes you will see what he saw in the reflection today—and that you will understand.

And because you do, you reply with a warning.

“Viktor, no.” You shake your head and clutch his T-shirt by the collar in your fist. “How many times have we been at this?”

“Too many,” he breathes, closing the little distance between you in a heartbeat. His hands clasp around your hips, and Viktor rests his forehead against yours, whispering, “Too many. Make this the last one.”

“I’m—” you mutter, placing your palms on top of his. Scared is what you should say. Unsure would also fit. “Sticky,” you say instead.

He takes it as an invitation. In no time, your shirt is rolled up to your armpits, and even if you folded yourself in half and squeezed into his shelves, there would be no avoiding it. Viktor leans in and kisses your navel.

“I don’t mind,” he says, his hot breath mingling with your skin.

His tongue meets your stomach, and your spine stretches as you suck your belly in, only making the route for him longer. Timid at first, something inside him snaps when you moan and wrap your fingers into his hair. He presses his face into your belly, inhales deeply, and kisses with his mouth open until the sticky of Mel’s wine is exchanged for the sticky of his drool.

You tug him up by the hair, and he’s up immediately, pushing you further against the shelves, his torso flush against yours. Your stained shirt smears against his crisp white one.

“Viktor,” you mutter, stopping him from kissing you with a firm grip on his cheeks.

“What?” he asks, surprised. “Do you want me to stop?”

You take a shaky breath and burn your eyes into his, trying to dig out whatever courage you need to settle the needy thing thundering in your chest.

“Viktor,” you say again, buying yourself time. “If you’re messing with me again, I swear to God, I will eat your heart.”

“I’m not,” he says solemnly, a smile playing on his lips—possibly at the dramatics. But if he were being honest, he’d throw it away himself, the heart. It only causes trouble.

An ardent look lingers in his eye when he finally adds, “You can eat it anyway.”

You groan and wrench yourself away from him, suddenly feeling the suffocating heat striking back at you. He follows, leaning against the doorframe and watching as you pace up and down the room.

“What are you thinking?” he asks when you stop and sit on his bed.

“I don’t know. What are you thinking?”

“I—” he hesitates. Takes a few wobbly steps toward you, and when the mattress dips beside you, your legs touch. His hand skims along your inner thigh, and he leans in to kiss your neck. At least he doesn’t look so well put together anymore—his hair is mussed, his cheeks flushed pink, his shirt stained and rumpled where it’s come untucked.

“I want to lick your stomach some more,” he murmurs. “And then kiss you properly. And then—” His lips reach your ear, whispering filth that has your toes curling.

Somewhere in the apartment, the wind forces a window open, knocking something over—possibly a plant pot—causing a startled yelp from at least three voices below. The sound carries up to the bedroom.

You snap your head toward the door. It’s still ajar.

Viktor’s hand slips from your thigh as you get up, and he almost whines, reaching out to stop you—until he sees you’re turning the lock. Then you face him, all serious and reverent.

“I meant what I said,” you tell him, your voice weak.

“I am aware.” He nods, extending his arms toward you.

You come to straddle his lap, and he wraps himself around you. Your fingers pull his hair back from his forehead, and the way he looks at you is just unbearable. He rocks you back and forth to the rhythm of the song playing downstairs.

“I ruined your shirt,” you hum, pressing your thumbs to his temples.

He closes his eyes and hums back, “Good. I hate this shirt.” Wraps himself tighter around you and yanks you over, your back bouncing against the bed with a faint pop.

“Sorry,” Viktor chuckles, embarrassed, and kisses your cheek sweetly.

And he keeps his promise. Rolling your shirt back up, he glides his lips down your chest, along your sternum, until he reaches your solar plexus. He sucks your skin between his lips, breathing in the scent of his own dried spit mixed with wine.

You squeal at the sensation, hooking your foot around his hip. He yanks it away, tossing it aside, his hands clasping around your ribs as he plants hickeys onto your belly. There are so many things Viktor wants to say, but his tongue is too busy.

He wants to thank whatever force shaped your stomach so that his nose can fit there entirely, breathing in whatever happens beneath your skin. He could also thank whoever nudged Mel’s hand into spilling wine over you. And he could thank you for all those mornings when he wakes up drenched in thoughts of you, staring at the ceiling, the vignette of your kind hands is the only thing that stops his shoulders from hulking sullen.

He runs his fingers over the grooves where your ribs erode into hollows, licking there as well. And he wants to lick lower, where your skin disappears under the waistband of your shorts, into the subterranean darkness between your thighs. He wants to feel the pulse of your second heart on his tongue, to see if it beats for him as strongly as his beats for you.

As soon as his lips unglue from your skin, fingers hooking into the material to slide your shorts down, you tug at his hair again—reminding him of your lips. And that’s fine, because all he wants is to kiss all of you tonight. So he obeys, raking his hands up your sides before cupping your face, finally sinking his tired tongue into your mouth.

And oh, he still tastes of rum when you suck yourself off him, wrapping your legs tightly around his hips. His lips are love-bitten and swollen, and yours are just hungry for his. Suddenly, you hate his fucking shirt too. You pull at his buttons, and he chuckles, undoing them so deftly with one hand that it leaves you embarrassed.

You prompt him further—tugging at fabric, pulling impatiently, whining whenever the material refuses to simply give in and vanish. Clothes are discarded onto the floor in a flurry of awkward shimmying and frantic kicks, until he hisses at the faint pain the hurried movement has caused him. There is a bit more grace in you when you pull your top over your head and get rid of your shorts.

Soon, his body full of tumbled bones is naked against yours, pliant and warm. And you wonder how, even in this unbearable heat, Viktor’s flesh never goes soft. It’s always tense, always sharp angles, even as he wraps himself around you in a brief reprieve of a hug. He breathes you in deeply, gulping down whatever scent he’s left on you, his cock pressing heavily against your core.

And he doesn’t even know anymore if he wants to fuck you stupid or just hold you until the sun bleeds red through his blinds.

And the worst part of this dilemma is that he has to momentarily part from you to reach for a condom on the nightstand—and even if it will take mere seconds, he cannot stand it.

He feels so scrutinised under your gaze when you watch his trembling hands. Your fingers come to pluck the little wrapped thing from him, pushing him back against the bed frame. You break the foil, holding it between your thumb and index finger, then lean in to kiss his weeping tip. His head lulls back, eyes fluttering shut as you unroll it down his length.

He already looks so fucked out that you waste no time—taking him in hand and sliding him inside with a slow, burning stretch. His palms hover over your hips, catching you, steadying you. Once he’s buried to the hilt, a certain calmness washes over him—finally, he is hugged from all sides. Your arm wrapped around his neck, your pussy wrapped around his cock, your fingers wrapped around his as you inspect the wound he inflicted on himself earlier.

“What happened here?” you ask, kissing his knuckles.

“I…” His breath hitches as you take his fingers into your mouth. “I got impatient.”

“What about?”

He gives you a pained look and buries his face in the crook of your neck, fingers toying at your lips.

“You,” he admits, stretching out your lower lip. “It feels dreadful to say, but I almost ate my hand waiting for you to reply.”

“Viktor,” you whisper, placing a hand on the back of his neck, running your fingers through his hair. You clench around him, and he gasps, pushing his nose further into your shoulder.

“Don’t torment me, please,” he breathes. “I know I deserve it for all the torment I’ve caused you, but I’m not sure I can survive it.”

“I don’t intend to,” you say softly, rolling your hips against his. He groans, arms tightening around you. “I already told you what happens if you’re fucking with me.”

And then—that smirk you love so dearly. From between his lips, his tongue flicks out to stroke over your skin, traveling up your neck to your ear, where he whispers, “I trust we are differentiating between the categories of fucking.”

Your hips roll again, and his smugness unravels into a deep, sonorous moan. You take it from him greedily, sealing your lips over his. You kiss him open-mouthed, and Viktor responds with a palm crawling toward your clit, gliding over the plane of your licked-clean belly. It finds its warm home, and this time it’s your head lulling back, your mouth moaning as he plucks your hand off his shoulder, entwining your fingers together.

You grind down into him, bracing yourself on your handholding, hearts beating fast and breaths growing hoarse. His cock slides in and out of you in time with your hips and when you look at him he’s all there, present, eyes fixed on you, the focus of his hand between your legs is unwavering. Big brain pays off in times like these when the ability to multitask is worth more than any healthy muscle. And Viktor does little to no work with those, only guiding his hips upward gently each time you come down to slap your ass against his thighs.

He's either learnt it all from years of observation and the half-truths exchange between you, the almost-kiss moments, the falling-asleep-together-by-accident moments, the I’d-rather-watch-crap-with-you-than-get-laid moments, when each of you chose the insufficient each other over another one night stand, or his cock was just made for you.

And you already suspect all those moments were worth it before you are completely certain. Before he twitches inside you hitting the sensitive spot that has you gasping for air and his fingers on your clit speed up, he does another thing. He looks at you longingly and his mouth parts and it’s barely a murmur, a secret gifted to you and only you, even though everyone knows already.

“Ma lásko,” Viktor rolls off his tongue. “Miluji tě,” he whispers, kissing your knuckles. “Byl jsem hloupý,” comes next, and even though you don’t understand, somehow—you do.

“Prosím, odpusť mi. Moc tě miluji,” he murmurs, offering his heart for you to devour if you so chose—but you only tighten your grasp around his fingers and press your lips to his forehead, hoping to do his native language justice when you repeat after him, “Miluji tě.”

This almost undoes him entirely, and to ruin him further, your cunt tightens by the second as you clench around his cock, creaming all over his fingers. But Viktor keeps up, thrusting his hips upward to meet yours, drinking in the sound of his own name falling from your lips as you spasm and tremble on top of him, squeezing his hand until his knuckles turn pale. He kisses you through it, moaning into your mouth as he feels himself teetering on the edge—until a thought invades him abruptly.

He pushes you gently onto your back and crawls on top awkwardly before you can complain about the sudden feeling of emptiness. Enters you again and fucks into you a few more times before pulling back out, sliding the condom off, and stroking himself until he paints your belly in hot white. Eyes hooded, you watch his face—flushed and sweaty, mouth hanging open beautifully, brows scrunched as he pumps the last drops of cum onto your skin. Then, he collapses beside you, kisses you gratefully, and runs his hand over your stomach, smearing his seed all the way up to your breasts and neck. It then spreads across your cheek, drying out like an egg white, tightening your skin before Viktor slides his wet fingers up into your hair.

A laugh, stupid and fucked-out, escapes you as you ask, “Are you going to lick me clean now?”

But Viktor says nothing—though you know he would if you asked. Instead, he wraps an arm around you, pressing your stomachs together with a wet slap, hooks a leg over your hip, and kisses your swollen lips. “Miluji tě,” he repeats, as if saying it during sex doesn’t count.

“Miluji tě,” you whisper back, and he chuckles at how awkward yet sweet it sounds from you. “And thank you for throwing this party.”

“It was only for you,” Viktor says, deciding that honesty is worth more than saving himself from embarrassment. And thankfully, you choose not to tease him further—since, at last, his heart is laid bare before you. You’ll eat it next time all right, just not the one that keeps him figuratively alive.

—

*ma lásko - my love *miluji tě - I love you *Byl jsem hloupý - I've been stupid *Prosím, odpusť mi - please, forgive me

[zevrra]

i know you're on a prof!jayce kick rn so i raise you prof!jayce punishing you for getting a bad grade on a test :3

AAAAAA UGHHHHHSKSHJDHJHSHJDHHUAA,,

so uh yeah,,,i had fun writing this ,,,

[prof!jayce x fem!reader / nsfw / mdni]

professor talis definitely had a few ways of punishing you for failing in his class. he had agreed upon being friends with benefits with only one real rule(other than don’t get caught); which was no failing.

it didn’t happen very often but when it did…well jayce was a little harsher than usual. the first time you failed an assignment, he kept you late after class; bent you over his knee and told you to redo the entire assignment. where he could watch over your work. and for every wrong answer, he spanked you.

his big hands skimmed down the small of your back, over the round of your ass, and between the plump of your thighs. trailing his fingers along the curve of your cunt, where he started with slowly rubbing circles along your panties. he teased you as he watched over your work, forcing you into desperation with the more he slipped his fingers against you. he listened closely to your answers while his eyes would skim over the answer key as you went, the first wrong answer he tore his hand away from your cunt and full palmed spanked you.

the pain blossomed beautifully; like a burning fire licking across your skin. it ripped a low groan from within your chest, body trembling at the punishment. when you correct the answer, professor talis returns to rubbing his fingers against your core. but when you get the next question right? his thick fingers slide your underwear to the side where he then pushes a single digit inside of you. he’s slow to thrust his finger in and out, curling it every so often, giving you just the tiniest bit of relief from the pain. but with the next wrong answer, he’d stop his fingering all together, retract his hand, and give you a harsher smack across your ass than last time.

and he does this for as long as it takes you to completely ace all of the homework. and by the end of it, you’re ass is certainly a pretty red for him to admire. your cunt dripping and drooling onto the thick of his thigh. the sight must’ve drove him wild because jayce kisses you then before fucking you rough against his desk; forcing you to promise not to fail again.

the second time you fail an assignment, jayce is the quiet kind of upset. where he probably considered calling off any further “engagements” between you two. yet instead, he keeps you late again after class. when the sky is dark and it’s just the two of you inside the campus; he slowly undoes the knot in his tie before slipping off the fabric altogether. turning it around and using it to tie your wrists together. he rolls the sleeves of his dress shirt up onto his forearms as he stands between your parted thighs, contemplating on what to do with you.

he retrieves a toy from within his desk, one you had put there in case of…emergencies. now instead of using it for some fun, it would be used as a punishment for yet another failed grade on your homework.

he refuses to touch you at all. only brushes the tip of the toy along your exposed skin. he begins with just teasing you. constantly circles around the edge of your underwear with the toy, touching everything except for what you truly wanted. but any begging that slips from your lips falls on deaf ears. he wasn’t listening or accepting a single word coming out of your mouth; not this time.

after some time of teasing you has passed, jayce finally removes your underwear and sets them off to the side. and you think maybe he’s going to give you some satisfaction, he had been teasing you for so long you needed something, anything. instead jayce slaps across your needy pussy. the pain tingles across your lower half, forces you to gasp and jerk against your restraints. you sob softly, expecting him to say something but he doesn’t; just stays quiet before returning to teasing you with the tip of the toy. and jayce uses the toy to edge you for what feels like hours. constantly smoothing the tip along your lower half, edging it slowly inside your aching cunt— just the tip— before drawing the toy back out. repeating the motion again and again until you’re practically dripping wet onto his desk. broken moans echo inside the room but jayce doesn’t want to hear it; the hand not holding the toy grabs your underwear he had slipped off of you early, using them now as a gag inside your own mouth.

big, beautiful hazel eyes stare directly into your own as he thrusts the toy fully inside of you. “this is punishment. you’re not to enjoy it.” jayce mutters softly, a sinister glint to his pretty eyes. he leaves you then, tied up, silenced, toy left deep within your aching pussy. he plans to go grab a “quick” coffee but leaves you in the open, hands tied up, with the order to not cum until he gets back.

and he leaves you alone for longer than he had teased you. an hour or maybe more goes by but it feels like an eternity to you and your drooling cunt. it was incredibly hard but you manage to keep your promise not to have an orgasm until he comes back, expecting a reward when he enters back into his lecture room with his cup of coffee. yet he still doesn’t allow you to cum upon his return. he instead removes the toy, tosses the throughly wet item inside the bag it came out of, planning to clean it at home, before he takes back his tie. slips off the fabric around your wrists and tosses his tie back into his bag as well before returning to stand between your thighs. and normally it would end with him bending you over his desk and fucking you into the wood but he doesn’t reward you like that tonight. failing this time leaves you high and dry and he makes that clear. “put your cute little panties back on and go home sweetheart. i will see you tomorrow.” he whispers as he takes out your gag, tossing your underwear into your lap.

and with that, he sends you home on the promise of; no more failing.

but the one time it failed for both of you— it was the first time you had flunked out on a quiz. professor talis was…not happy to say the least. he had this disappointing look to his eyes when he asked you to stay late to help him grade a few other tests from another class. and when the time came, he sits in his chair and places you into his lap, his belt undone and his underwear shoved down— with your panties yanked off to the side and his stiff cock buried deep inside of your cunt. a large hand grips your waist, forcing you to keep still.

a stack of seemingly endless tests is pushed off to the corner of his desk. the very first paper sits before you, barely touched as you sit with him throbbing deep inside of you. this was your punishment; to cockwarm him while staying completely still until you finished grading all of the tests. as if you could focus on anything other than just fucking him. you bite your bottom lip, gripping the pen he had given you for dear life as you attempt to mark wrong and right answers.

and after what feels like an eternity of him throbbing inside of you and you drooling down the entire length of his cock; you’ve managed to get maybe nine or ten papers graded. your thighs burn and your core aches. he sits so perfectly inside of you, shaping you, forming you into a little mold that would forever and always fit him. fuck if your entire body didn’t tremble with the raw feeling of just being full. with him so deep inside, concentrating on anything other than wanting jayce to move was incredibly hard.

but you didn’t have to want it for too long before jayce himself is breaking and bending his own rules.

his large hands slide up against the back of your thighs as he tucks your knees close into your chest. somehow, your body bends to his command— he stretches you out, reaches even deeper inside of you, stuffing his cock into every sensitive spot within you. he bites down into the crook of your neck, grunting against your skin. “can’t take it anymore.” he groans, gripping your skin hard enough to leave pretty bruises as his hips begin to move. he sways you with his momentum, using his grip on your thighs to jerk you upwards as his hips lift erratically to meet your body half way.

he fucks into you— unable to hold himself back anymore. it was almost nice to know you weren’t the only one who had been suffering the entire time but the thought didn’t help in the slightest at the moment. the sudden jerking of his hips had your mouth falling open with a silent scream. you were beyond sensitive right now, after being completely full and unmoving moments ago. could feel your pussy swell and you clench around him with a sob; jayce whines into your skin at how tight you squeeze around him. both of you succumbing to the mind numbing pleasure coursing through your veins.

it doesn’t take much stimulation before your orgasm is rushing up inside of you. your pussy clenches tighter around him, your entire body convulsing as you cum with him buried deep. you cry out his name, eyes fluttering with the threat of passing out from the sheer power of your sudden orgasm. somehow you stay awake though, luckily, just long enough to feel jayce reach his own orgasm. hips jerking as he fills you up completely. he cums deep inside, breeds you with a high whine of your own name rolling from his tongue. and he doesn’t stop until your pussy leaks and smears with his white cum, marking you as his.

when he finally stops moving, he unfolds you carefully, tenderly. rests your legs back down against his own, curls his arms around you and gently squeezes as he buries his nose into the crook of your neck. “you’re still in trouble.” jayce huffs in a quiet voice. as if he’s trying to convince you…and himself.

you didn’t want to fail or particularly liked it…but every once and awhile…it was very rewarding.

[searchingforserendipity25]

actually no, the best lawrellini conclave post-canon/au concept i can summon rn is innocent iv attempting to very earnestly match-make his dean of the college and secretary of state.

breaking their vows Would be a sin but considering the byzantine methods they are deploying to avoid being anywhere near each other inside the smallest city state in the world is:

an unnecessary complication to the new pope's ongoing mission to Make Empathic Changes For Good (Intersectional Version), which is going full steam ahead, with the sort of dedication a man who lives life expecting to be assassinated still, and means to make every day count.

oh, they're professional, of course; but poor monsignor o'malley is left trotting up and down the apostolic palace to share messages between their offices, because they refuse to text for post-conclave paranoia reasons (bellini) and because the expectation of replying in a digital format is a psychological torture for the emotionally-repressed luddite (lawrence). poor ray does not complain, but he has confessed to the pope his ankles aren't what they used to be.

they are old men, they are kind and very capable men. breaking their vows is a sin, of course. but to live is to sin inevitably. wasting good love into discomfort is far worse, vincent benítez thinks. they have to talk it out, at least. if he is to trust them to salvage something worthwhile out of the church, he has to believe they can salvage something true out of their friendship.

just kinda sad at this point, honestly.

the thing is. well the thing is. there is no polite way to tell the supreme pontiff you and your bestie already tried the secret romance thing once. and it didn't take.

they had their friends-to-secret-lovers, their shared office, their upstate drives with autumn leaves rusting and good music on the radio.

desperate embraces in the confessional of the new york cathedral. brushing hands and long glances that turned to long pining that turned to a summer of forbidden romance, turned to the anxiety of hiding their relationship to the world.

the rush of joy turned to unsustainable amounts of guilt, the longer it went on. misunderstandings, really: a lot of assumptions without communication. more resentment than either of them wanted to have for each other. the love was there, a great deal of it, but it was far from enough, when it put into question the work they were doing.

twenty years, give or take, since they last kissed in the pantry of a food kitchen in brooklyn, and put an end to the thing between them. they had their sad break up, their ex-lovers-to-friends again arc.

aldo went to paris, lawrence went to rome: they wrote, sometimes. called, met during conferences, meetings, conclaves.

the late holy pope's managed to get them to stop avoiding each other and get their shit together to pull off his own liberal win election years ago. they're fine now; they're good, they're okay. genuinely, mostly.

twenty years. recent events had made clear how much there was still to be understood between them, but they'd recognize each other's breathing in the dark anywhere. innocent xiv had managed to get them in the same confessional, on false and well-intentioned pretenses.

'it is sweet, really.' aldo says, trying to straighten his cassock, trying for wry irony, trying not to guess at the familiar profile, near enough to touch. 'are you going to tell him, or am i.'

'later,' thomas says. he swallows. it would be the easiest thing in the world, to press a hand against the grid of the partition, to pull it back, tug apart the curtains; for the curve of his adam's apple to move against aldo's palm. 'i'll explain it all.'

aldo snorts. 'maybe not all of it, if you please,' and it is enough to make lawrence quirk his mouth. the quality of the air between them alters, just enough for the closeness not to feel too suffocating.

there's nothing to be told, really. nothing to fix. only a misunderstanding. there is no way to explain the distance is not spite or shame, it is just distance. the measure of grace they give each other, now, after spending too long secluded together.

self-protection, yes; but also kindness going both ways. there is nothing to be talked out. there hasn't been anything to talk about for twenty years. if they give it enough time and enough turns of the rosary, one day that will even be true, god willing.

their eyes adapt to the gloom quickly. this part has never been difficult.

it would be the easiest thing. moving in the dark, pressing close, quieting gasping breaths with a mouth or a hand. he tilts his cheek, brushes the evening's stubble against aldo's. lightly, so it does not leave a mark - he has felt the phantom-sense of it before, he always does when they sit near.

the thing is, the confessional is closed from the outside.

but they are, after all, the secretary of state, the dean of the college of cardinals. between the two of them, they have enough master keys to open anything in the palace from the inside out, if either of them truly wanted to get out.

[sleepybbie]

Your Dan Feng thirst makes me so... Oonga boonga.... Thank yew for the meal op 🙏 if I may humbly ask for a blurb of thirst can we have Dan Feng showing Dan Heng the ropes on how to make you—Dan Heng's (and maybe soon Dan Feng's as well)—partner feel great in bed? After all!! What better way to learn how to please your own partner than yourself!!

𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 | dan heng & dan feng drabble

a/n: ahhh another dan heng request! >.< it’s not so surprising to see how popular my first hsr fav has grown ^o^ <3 yet still, i’m excited to see more works of mine regarding him because he’s the most requested in my inbox rn :3

dan heng il x fem!reader x dan feng

warning: smut ;3 some fingering here and there ^^

“i refuse to believe someone like you is my reincarnation.”

DAN HENG clicks his tongue in annoyance, sweat slowly dripping across his face as he pathetically watches DAN FENG spreads your legs apart with his long fingers, perfectly along with scissoring open your cute little clit as you squirm and whine, his tail wrapping around your waist to keep you still.

this was not what he meant when he needed slow guidance on how to please you better, as a sweet lover. his goddamn irritating incarnation however just had to pop out of nowhere and give him a ‘lesson’ on how to take you to a seraphic paradise. you were vulnerable, unable to move from your lover’s incarnation’s tail, your bare back from your disheveled clothes pressed against dan feng’s chest while his other free hand toys with your tits.

“..deciding to want to make love with your beloved when you don’t know how to treat her in bed properly…”

“i don’t need you teaching me how,” dan heng tells him, an angered expression written across his face. dan feng scoffs, his digits rubbing your cunt in slow circles, feeling your fluids drip slowly out from your cavern while you mewl loudly. “then why are you looking so intensely while i fondle her?” the former high elder speaks, his gaze never leaving dan heng’s.

dan heng anxiously swallows a lump down his throat, his aching cock pleading to be freed from his pants as the male desperately tries to refrain from touching himself right at that moment. the sight of you being touched and pleasured by his incarnate, makes him annoyed…yet at the same time, it was quite the sight to witness. your breasts about to pop out of your clothing, lips leaking few drools while your pretty cunt was displayed in front of him, glistening like a gem as dan feng teased your hole with his fingers.

“i must say, she is sort of acting like a woman with sexual innuendos.”

“are you saying she’s a ‘whore?”

“is that how you people call it these days? hmph. then, yes..you’re quite lucky…she’s not lucky however…” dan feng removes his hand from your tits, grabbing your chin to make you face him as he continued to speak to your lover, his reincarnation. aeons, he and dan heng really look alike, but instead—dan feng’s gaze was a little more colder, a little more stern. “she’s supposed to make love with someone who’s supposed to be my reincarnation, whom ends up not knowing how to please a woman.”

dan feng slowly makes you face back to your lover, who’s cheeks were red, panting heavily as he sits there and watches his incarnate prod open your pussy wide, drips of your impurity leaking from your hole as a loud whine escapes your lips. dan heng jolts.

“you—

“if you want to please a woman, it’s best to know how to do foreplay. first, you’d want to rub her clit down, just like this..” dan feng slowly repeats his steady massages down your weeping cunt, watching as you quiver at his touches, long sharp fingers kneading them down, your whines never fainting away. he’s…good. you love dan heng with all your heart, but his incarnation was talented with this. the former high elder chuckles, “what a loud mouth she has. it sounds like she’s wanting more, don’t you think?”

“wha—

“quit yapping and come here. you look like you are about to pop over there if you don’t touch her,” dan feng cuts him off, shushing him down as he commands your lover to come over closer. oh no…

dan heng approaches, not so eagerly, but slowly, his red face sending dan feng a death glare when he arrived close to you. a small smile appears over dan feng’s face, like he was smug about dan heng holding back to a pretty girl like you. “do not hesitate now, touch her.” dan feng tells him, removing his hand from your clit as he grabs dan heng’s wrists and places his fingers on top of your hole. he stops for a moment, looking at you with a nervous expression, breath heavy as his chest pants. you were so…pretty, so helpless, you were pleased. that’s all he ever wanted.

dan feng rolls his eyes, “what are you waiting for?”

“s-shut up…”

forgive me, y/n…

dan heng was fumed by his words, it was all over his face. he was frustrated and turned on. you looked at him, feeling dan feng’s tail pushing you further up to him before dan heng slips a finger inside your cunt for a brief moment. you cry, and he pulls it out again, flustered. he looked at his finger, and saw how drenched it already was from your fluids.

that…was

“see? she’s liking it. do it again, with two fingers this time.”dan feng orders him, his hands still continuing to play with your breasts, twirling your hardened nipples around.

dan heng did just what he was told, giving his forefinger and ring finger a small lick, before splitting you open with his fingers. a loud moan escapes out of your throat, head pushing back on dan feng’s shoulder as the two vidyadharas pleased you with ease. dan heng focusing on his fingers in your cunt, while dan feng parades you with praises, licking your earlobe, toying around with your tits.

oh fuck, dan heng thinks. the face your giving right now…he’s so fucking hard from the sight you’re making him receive.

“feels good, darling?” dan feng questions to you, and you nod. dan heng looks at him, looking like he’s about to stab him with cloud piercer any moment now.

“don’t forget who she belongs to.”

“ah, a shame. it appears she likes the both of us…”

fuck yeah you did. it was clear dan heng was jealous, and so, he leans in, giving you a passionate kiss, muffling your cute noises. with dan heng’s fingers, mouth and dan feng’s praises that were suddenly being possessed by filth along with his rhythm of his palms that presses down on your nipple, you won’t be going to last long. you were growing louder and louder of every minute. dan feng pulls dan heng away from you, resulting in a very irked dan heng.

“what the hell?!”

“patience. look at her, she’s close.”

dan feng was right. the knot in your belly was about to be cut open, hearts moulding into your pupils as a euphoric sigh passes your lips. it didn’t take long for you to squirt your release out, dan heng closing his eyes as your orgasm came to the edge, spilling some on his face and mostly on the ground, your hazy dreamscape of pleasure weighing down on your mind as you came down, panting hard. dan heng too was panting, face flushed as you heard him cursing underneath his breath.

“impressive. seems like you made a girl squirt on your first try.” dan feng says, before he bends you over, your face hitting the area of dan heng’s fabric pants before the former high elder hikes your skirt up.

“next, you should know how to let her take cock.” he says, and you knew you were going to end up very sore afterwards.

[ariseur]

✧˖° - 5 CENTIMETERS PER SECOND.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ - featuring ; satoru gojo x gn!reader

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ - synopsis ; some bandaids and a movie is all you need with satoru.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ - word count ; 1.7k words, -7k characters

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ - cw ; sfw, gn!reader, friends to lovers ( eventually, for now it’s more so borderline ), mentions of blood and cuts, small cameo / mentions of haibara, suguru, and shoko, satoru teasing you when it’s all truth in actuality, intended lowercase

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ - notes - working on an angsty fic rn and decided to hold you guys over with a small satoru fic 🫶 hope you guys enjoy for now

“shut your mouth.”

“i didn’t even say anything—!”

you turn your head back at satoru, tensing your arms as you cross one over the other. “i could tell you were gonna say something stupid,” you grit your teeth, “you always do.”

as per usual, he lets out a dramatic gasp as his hands fly up to clutch at the left side of his button up, right where his heart is at. you scoff, shaking your head before turning back to rummage through the drawers, in search for gauze and a couple of bandaids. he sighs, “such low standards you hold me to.”

your fingers grasp a small box of tan colored bandaids as you huff at the saleswoman on the front, a painful looking smile on her face.

you bump the wooden drawer with your hip, walking back over to satoru who sits on the edge of your bed with his legs spread comfortably. you roll your eyes immediately once you catch sight of his face, a boyish grin plastered on his lips enough that his cheeks almost look a little rosy. satoru always got a kick out of pissing you off.

your lips press together into a small pout, even subconsciously, your face couldn’t help but give yourself away — only giving gojo all the more reason to tease you about it.

“shouldn’t you be with shoko? i’m sure she’d be doing a much better job than i would,” you murmur as you grab his face, cheeks squishing beneath the rough pads of your fingers ( because no matter how many skincare products you’d use, you can’t hide the calloused feeling of your battles even from your body ) as you turn his face from side to side, trying to ignore the creeping prickles of embarrassment behind your ears under his gaze.

“you’re fun-ner to hang around—“

“not a word.”

“— and this gives you an opportunity to get close to me, such an honor, right?” his eyes narrow at you with his smile, now close lipped with his head tilted up at you. you suppress the urge to let out another, ‘tch’, and instead lightly smack his cheek, which surprisingly isn’t met with a wall of his ability and is instead responded with a half-hearted, “ow.”

“give me your hand,” you don’t look up at him when you say it, making a pout of his own begin to form on those pretty pink lips, a habit he’d always do when things wouldn’t go his way— which you were reminded, wasn’t often. your own hand extends as it awaits his own and you don’t even need to look at him to feel his obnoxious smile. “y’sure this isn’t just an excuse?”

“i’m sure, asshole.”

“ouch, i would’ve preferred ‘handsome’ but you know, whatever floats your boat,” he says. you know he’s just teasing but a flush can’t help but make its way to your ears. refusing to let it get to you though, you grab his hand yourself as you start to dab cotton on some of the open wounds left behind from his mission ( which you were still not given a clear answer on why he didn’t go to shoko for his stitches and instead bee-lined for your dorm, in need of you ).

“maybe just keep your mouth shut for this part, yeah?”

“part?” satoru inquires, before his mouth twists into a sneer at the sight of you grabbing the hydrogen peroxide, putting the ball of cotton underneath the opening as you tip the bottle upside down for a split second before turning back to him with a smile.

you hum in agreement before grabbing his fingers, spreading his two middle digits as you examine the skin for the laceration you had spotted earlier. despite what he knew was coming, satoru didn’t make a move to escape. he simply closes his eyes, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist — thin fingers coming to where your pulse point rests. you can’t exactly say why you did it, but you let him hang onto you. maybe suguru was right. maybe he was growing on you, after all.

you grit your own teeth as if you were the one getting disinfectant on your own wounds. holding it there for a quick second, your ears prick up at gojo’s hiss as you pull away. “blow on it,” you affirm, causing him to peek a cerulean eye open at you, taking in the way you hold onto his fingers for a bit before looking away and making your way over to the trash can.

truth be told, you could’ve totally shoot your shot and threw the cotton ball in the trash from that distance, but you couldn’t let satoru have front row tickets to your sympathy ( even though you had a feeling he probably exaggerated his reaction for your attention ).

you hear a, “do it for me?” from behind you and turn only to see his puppy dog eyes and his glossy lips, holding his hand out for you to grab again.

you scoff, “let it burn then.”

he instead, blows cool air on it, like you asked.

walking back over to him, you hand him a small roll of finger tape for him to use and decide not to help him this time. an oxymoron lies within him, a man who can be so dumb yet so smart at the same time — he really can do anything, you think.

“you missed out this mission, y’know,” he laughs as you cross your arms, making sure he applies it right, and of course, knowing you see through his façade, he does. “me and suguru kicked curse ass. well, that’s nothing new but you know—“

“stupid,” you flick his forehead, not even letting a chuckle slip past your composed demeanor at his entertaining grumbles of, ‘ow..’ you put your hand on your hip as you cocked your head at him quizzically. “if you kicked so much ass, how come you can’t take care of yourself for once?”

“because i have my darling, amazing, and super caring friend to take care of me?”

“i’m not sure you’d describe shoko like that.”

“talking about you, you know,” he drags out the last vowel in his keen, rolling his eyes as a playful smile makes its way onto his face.

you laugh at that, “i’m not sure you’d describe me like that. did this curse scramble your brain or what?”

gojo tries not to reveal the feeling of triumph that arises in him when he makes you laugh, although his posture perks up a little too obviously at the sound. he taps a finger to his chin in thought. “when have i ever not been nice to you?”

“you ate the cake that suguru got me for my birthday, you tripped me the other day, you—“

“yeah, but i do all those things because i love you,” he responds proudly — neither you nor him focus on the heavy weight it settles on both your chests. “yeah right,” you roll your eyes.

he sighs, moving back to make himself comfortable against the plush pillows of your bed as his head sinks into them. “so,” he grins at you, “wha’dya wanna watch?”

“bold of you to assume you’re spending the night here,” you huffed as you watch gojo’s arms fold behind his head, snowy strands of hair splaying out against his skin. “you wouldn’t kick your favorite friend out, would you?”

“so manipulative,” you mumble as he lifts his hips up so you can search for the remote under the covers, because despite all of your comments, satoru gojo is never denied.

once you find it, he reaches over you to try and grab it before you use your leg to keep him away. “uh-uh, my dorm, my rules.”

“actually, it’s the school’s dorm — if you wanna get technical,” he says, pushing up his glasses as his voice raises in pitch. you glare at him, he stops.

you surf through the multitude of movies that are available for free with your subscription, listening to satoru’s mindless chatter as he points out a few new movies that are coming to theaters soon, how he wants to see them with you ( and suguru, who he’ll hopefully use a decoy before he coincidentally ‘has plans’ and has to cancel, leaving you and satoru alone ).

“oh, that one—!” he points to the screen, propping up on his elbow as you click on the thumbnail. ‘5 centimeters per second’, you read as your eyes squint to read the synopsis.

“you really wanna watch a romance movie?”

“hey, it’s a good movie — haibara cried,” he retorts.

you scoff, “are you sure you didn’t cry?”

“whatever, let’s just watch it, yeah?” he grabs the remote from your hands ( making sure to graze your fingers with his own ) as he clicks the movie to play — the familiar tune of a piano quietly filling the room as you turn off your lamp.

you watch the opening, resting the back of your head against your hand as satoru gets comfortable. you try to drown his mindless chatter out as you close your eyes and focus on the low audio, the dialogue not even being enough to draw out his low voice next to you. the small nudges against your arm don’t exactly help either.

“you asked me to watch this movie yet you keep interrupting it,” you finally say, your speech cutting short at the last syllable once you realize his intense gaze focused on you. no smile, no teasing quirk of his brow, just an uncharacteristic glint of curiosity swirling around in his eyes.

you laugh to get the tension off before he smiles too, giving you an amused huff before turning his head back to the movie; once again ignoring the growing weight that sat on both of your shoulders, satoru’s heart palpitating ever so slightly as you tapped your foot against his.

cerulean eyes find their way back to you, finding your own pair fixated on the distant screen as takaki comes on screen. his grin widens further. he taps his foot against yours.

𐙚 join my taglist ; @sad-darksoul @kasumitenbaz @seternic @kalulakunundrum @2ukika

𐙚 requests are open — july twenty-seventh, 2024 ( 12:50 am )

[stararch4ngelqueen]

Jason slow dancing with you in the kitchen, something fluffy like that please!

Fighting sleep rn so this is perfect. You’re also getting teasing Jason for free. And a ton of other unnecessary details cause I got way too into it.

—

Time written - 11:42 p.m

—

“Why’re you out of bed, babe?” A bedraggled Jason greeted your weary, squinting eyes as they got used to the kitchen lighting.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you whisper, exhaustion heavy on your tone despite your body’s refusal to succumb to it. Jason settled himself back against the counter beside the stove, continuously watching over a small pot while scrolling over mindless articles over his phone.

“C’mere.” Jason offers an arm towards you, watching your oversized shirt clad body trudge across cold tile floor to get to him. He hugs you close, your cheek hearing the drum of his steady heart as you relax against his chest, your body easing in his embrace.

“What’re you making?”

“Warming you up some milk,” Jason murmurs into your hair, rubbing soothing motions along the small of your back. The lack of sleep wasn’t new, mostly due to your persistence on waiting on him after his patrol nights ended. He felt guilty, choosing to stay extra hours to make sure you kept yourself asleep.

He didn’t mind it. He preferred you over the cold streets on a November midnight.

“Gotta treat my baby like a baby and make her a bottle.”

“Shut up,” you scoff with a smile, knowing he’d take it as an amusing compliment. He enjoyed making you laugh as much as he did taking care of you.

Your preferred milk with a dash of cinnamon and chamomile honey slowly came to a simmer on the stove, awaiting a spoonful of cocoa powder. You’ll ask if it was Alfred’s idea to having hot chocolate instead of warm milk for sleep, he’ll shrug and tell you he saw it once on a cheesy Hallmark channel.

Jason closes his eyes, a slight smile growing on his face.

“Tell me something,” he whispers, his voice still quiet, rough, and tired, the late hour shown in bright green digital numbers on the stove clock.

“Hm?”

“Just… say anything. You don’t have to put any thought behind it. I just wanna hear your voice… okay?”

You had no understanding to the reason, only coming up with him wanting to tire you out just by talking lots of nonsense. You could do that, sometimes that’s your specialty.

“Okay,” you reply, saying the first words that came to mind after taking a sigh.

“When was the last time we had Dino chicken nuggets? We’re grown adults, what’s really stopping us from eating them?”

Jason starts to chuckle a little, then his laughter grows just a little louder. He cradled you closer to body, his arms still snug around your waist. What a silly thing to say, even when that’s exactly what he had asked for.

“No, no, it’s true. Why do kids get to claim all the tasty snack food?” He chuckles, gently swaying you from side to side, not even making much of an attempt to move his feet.

“One of these days… let’s just eat like little kids for a day.” You suggest, your voice growing a bit thick with exhaustion. “Hot chocolate and dino nuggets, and we can just stay in bed. It’ll be a nice break, don’t you think? So you don’t have to be Red Hood all the time.”

He lowers his head a little, stray tufts of hair tickling your face while his lips plant gentle kisses along your neck. His heart hurts a little bit from that little desire deep in your chest to have him home more, to be a proper boyfriend and cradle you in your dreams, just as he did now.

“Yeah? I don’t mind that,” Jason says, keeping you blanketed in the safety of his embrace, slowly shifting weight along his feet to sway you with him a little more.

“You ever danced before, sweetheart?”

“Hm?” Your head tilts a bit. “No, not like this.”

“Is it making you sleepy?” He asks, catching the quirk in the corner of your lip.

“You rocking me like a baby?”

“Can see its working,” He snickers, kissing the top of your forehead. His little sleeping beauty, nestled in the arms of a crimson beast.

“Tell me more,” he whispers, raspy voice growing both soothing and quiet. “Keep talking. I wanna listen to you.”

Your head shifts, your lips muffled against his chest, amusing him with a complete lack of understanding.

“What’s that, baby?”

“You’re not home as much a lot of nights.”

Jason exhales, feeling his lungs deflating while he spares a hand to cradle the back of your neck and runs through your hair.

“I know Princess,” he responds, voice growing softer.

Then, he goes silent for a moment—as if he’s thinking of what to say next.

“D’you miss me when I’m not home?” he whispers, his voice soft and curious.

“I always do,” you admit, trailing your fingers all along his silvery scarred chest.

A light smile pulls at the side of his lips, feeling his pessimistic thoughts satiated for the time being.

He brings his hand up to your chin, caressing it softly with his thumb before tilting it upwards to get a good look at you.

“You know,” Jason responds, “I think I miss you the most when I’m not home.”

His voice is soft, as if he doesn’t want to be so vulnerable about this. This routine is something he can’t control sometimes, no matter how much he wanted to. Little nights like these where he could vanish from sight just to spend a couple extra hours with you was the greatest luxury he could ever want from the universe.

Time was the most precious possession that always slipped out of reach, he treasured every second of it with you.

“You’re always on my mind, babygirl. Try not to forget that.” As he’s saying this, he can’t help but tilt his head and kiss your forehead.

“M’tired,” you whine before opening your eyes, unaware when you had even closed them. He glances back to the stove before shutting off the burner, acknowledging he could at least save the mouthwatering concoction for breakfast in the morning.

“Too tired to wait for your bottle, huh?”

“Stooop.” You groan against the crook between his neck and shoulder, feeling the rumble of his amusement along his chest. “God, I hate you.”

“Hate me in the morning, babygirl,” he muses before slipping his arm under your knees, hoisting you up in his embrace to carry you back to bed.

[stayinsaxy]

I recently tried my hand at digital painting and oh boy! This is my formal apology to Grendel , you were my first attempt at digital art in a while and I need to practice drawing beards, and rounder/ more cartoony art styles because oh no (´∀｀)

There are a few of my little drawing preferences in there, I know York’s smudged punk eyeliner and Eugene’s roots aren’t cannon but I enjoy drawing those things. So there.

Actually I kind of only glanced at reference so dont come after me about cannon pls.

I am going to rant a bit about motifs as well (you can’t stop me)

-Eugene is very chaotic/ charismatic (hence the look on his face), the group is just so good at completely throwing you off that he ends up kind of gets quiet on cases with the team

-Eugene’s roots are showing because that’s what I enjoy drawing! And it also shows up a bit on Rosé

-Fun Fact: I want Rosé to wink at me like that! I also really enjoyed adding the scars and the character growth story behind that!

- York’s male model/ punk thing he has going on leads me to absolutely refuse to believe he hasn’t tried smudged liner and I’m here for it (also that’s possible a lip stick/tint I just feel wrong not giving characters lips)

-York’s name is like that because he just learned how to read! (I assume writing goes along with that but maybe he doesn’t write) (RIP the jokes where Jacob remembered that York couldn’t read halfway through a sentence, those always had me rolling)

- I love Grandma so much but I really need to spend more time with them, I did add a little bit of makeup to them as well because I felt like it and when you’re drawing a cute lil character with a cute little hair flower sometimes you just gotta

-also my non drawfee pilled friend said Grandma gives cutesy in an “I’m high” kind of way was absolutely right

I am working on Jancy next but good lord do I not do well with wrinkles/ slicked back hairstyles (drawing this cast has made me realize I need to explore drawing a wider range then femm young adults, because honestly that’s the default rn and I didn’t even realize how bad it was) 🥲

Anyways drawfee’s drawclasses on YouTube helped me level up the drawing skills just for me to turn around and do fanart of their characters. It’s a loop. I can’t escape them.

PS: WHEN I TELL YOU THERE IS ALWAYS ONE ACCURSED THING I FORGET TO DRAW/ COLOR, IM NOT KIDING. (RIP Rosé’s eyebrows, I’m sorry but I’m fixing that on my own copy, I simply can not be bothered to go in and fix that and re upload the image to this platform)

[adorethedistance]

I Don’t Just Like You - Trevor Zegras x Hughes!Reader

Hockey Masterlist

Warnings: swearing, tension/fighting, jealousy, Dixie lmao

Words: 2161

Summary: Tension builds with Trevor over his new partnership until the two of you confess your feelings.

A/n: Y'all I am so not doing well rn. I am processing a break up and questioning my social circle and im so lonely that I needed to write some angst to cope with it all. Hope yall like this one and maybe it'll get a smut part two depending on whether or not I can handle writing that rn lol. Enjoy!

Moose: call me ASAP

Me: sorry Luke. can’t rn

Moose: Awesome 😎

My hands quake with anxiety as I fiddle with the tarnished silver ring adorning my pointer finger. The moisture of my skin eases the movement of turning the ring around my finger. I hiss when the gemstone catches on the skin of my middle finger and immediately drop my hands. 

Currently, I’m staring down at the risky text I just sent Trevor. About an hour ago he had messaged me:

Trev: hey sorry can’t swing tn after all 

Trev: rain check?

My jaw tightens with contempt and I huff out a sigh as my bottom lip trembles. I feel pathetic for just how impacted I am by his every word. I angrily hit the digital keys of my phone’s keyboard as I type my reply.

Me: really? 

Me: again??

Trev: don’t be like that

I’m not the most confrontational person. On any given day some might say I’m the furthest thing from confrontational. To put it rather plainly, I just don’t like it. I hate the way I get anxiety butterflies in my stomach. I hate absorbing the emotions of the other person, especially when rejection is involved. I hate what projections I’m opening myself up to receiving from the other person. There are too many pitfalls and not enough landing pads. Which is why it’s so out of character for me to press him on this.

Me: like what Trev?

This is the third time in a row Trevor has cancelled plans on me. I don’t know if he’s aware of that. I don’t even know what he’s been up to lately. He’s refused to tell me what he’s been doing instead, which didn’t raise my suspicions by any means until mom sent me an article. She knows about how my crush on Trevor has had roots in our childhoods. 

Trev: you know what I’m talking about

After I stopped playing hockey with my brothers, I was still always around to notice Trevor’s presence in our home. When I moved to California for college, I wanted to chase my music dreams but I didn’t realize it would come at the expense of my support system. Being long distance with my family put me in a hard spot, but having a familiar face to rely on made the adjustment easier. As we spent more time together independent of my brothers, Trevor and I became close friends. The problem was my crush has been growing ever since we became friends, hence why mom sent me an article called, “Did Dixie D’Amelio admit to dating Trevor Zegras?”.

Me: at least say it with your chest

Sent. Delivered. I wait. Trevor’s response bubble appears for a second. It disappears, then reappears, then disappears again. I’m about ready to toss my phone across the room when his message delivers.

Trev: call me

I groan out in frustration and this time actually end up chucking my phone onto my bed. I run my hands through my hair, along the warm expanse of my scalp. A self-soothing gesture by all means. I pace to one side of my room before using the momentum of my steps to start back towards my phone. Just as I have it in my hand, Trevor’s contact picture covers the screen and illuminates in my grasp. I scoff out a sort of half groan and then answer.

“What, Trevor?”

“Hey, Y/n I’m great. Thanks for asking! How are you?” He responds sardonically to my cold greeting. I bite my tongue, torn between tearing into him and the stronger desire to laugh through my rage. He takes my exhale as a cue to continue. “What’s going on, Hughesy?”

In a single moment, my anger dissolves. The tenderness of that nickname, which was once reserved solely for my brothers, now belongs to me. In this moment, I find myself thinking about how grateful I am that Trevor was there for me as I transitioned into college. But the looming threat of a smile quickly vanishes as I remember how that care is nullified by Trevor’s abundantly active dating life.

“Y/nnnn?” Trevor hums into the phone.

“What?” I respond dryly.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is you cancelling on me for the third time in a row.”

“Is it really the third time in a row?” He asks under his breath, indicating he may not have intended to say it out loud at all. I roll my eyes, still actively fighting the urge to just lay into him.

“Yes, Trevor, it is!” I can practically hear him wince through the phone at the fact that I’m calling him Trevor instead of the default nickname permanently programmed into my phone. 

“Who’s that?” I hear softly over the phone. My heart flutters like a coal mine parakeet in a cage and I bite my lip, willing myself not to cry if it turns out Dixie is on the other side. Trevor whispers back,

“It’s Y/n.”

“Hey, Y/n!” Mason’s on the other end. 

“Not a good time,” Trevor tells him. Mason curses and then apologizes before retreating from Trevor’s general area. “Sorry, you were saying?” Trevor tells me at regular volume.

“You were cancelling on me again.”

“Oh. Right. I…” he switches the phone to the other ear, “I…don’t know what you want me to say.” Hello?! Could he be any more oblivious?!

“I want you to tell me what is going on!” I whine into the phone, “What is it you’re so busy with doing that you can’t see me for a week, huh? I get that you’re a professional athlete and you have a busy schedule. But I know your schedule and I know you still have a decent amount of free time. So what have you been doing?” Trevor breathes, in, then out and says,

“I’ve been seeing someone lately…” I feel my heart shatter into the tiniest fractals of what it once was and I cover my mouth to choke back the growing lump in my throat.

“I can’t do this right now,” I say with the utmost hurt lacing my voice, pulling the phone away from my ear to abruptly hang up on Trevor. I toss my phone on my bed once more, ignoring how the screen lights up with Trevor’s contact picture. It’s a new breed of psychological torture to sit here and ignore the calls, so I leave my phone in my bedroom as I go to splash cold water on my face. 

When I reenter my bedroom, I ignore the buzzing device to put on a comfortable pair of pajamas. He’s called once, twice, a fourth, and a fifth before finally giving up. Despite my phone being silent, I don’t trust it enough to take it with me and leave it to charge on my bed. I settle on the couch to open my new pint of Ben and Jerry’s, putting on my favorite show in the hopes of laughing through the pain. 

Somewhere between first and second episode, I had dozed off after returning the ice cream to the freezer. I’m not sure what it is about crying that knocks me on my ass like that, all I know is that it works. 

I’m abruptly pulled from my sleep when I hear the harsh banging on my front door. I jump up from the couch, the spike in adrenaline carrying me out of my sleepy haze. When I get to the front door, some of the tiredness catches up with me again and I groggily open the front door. Behind it stands Trevor, with sad puppy eyes and a sheepish expression. I can’t help the scowl that comes to rest on my face when I see him, but he doesn’t falter. Instead, he pushes past me to come into the apartment and sits on the couch expectantly. Since there’s no way to physically remove him from my space, I bargain, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch, as far from Trevor as I can manage. He doesn’t let the cold gesture phase him, and scooches obliviously into the center of the couch.

“What’s going on Hughsey?” I scoff at the nickname and Trevor cringes in frustration. “What is this?”

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“Why are you icing me out all of a sudden?”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I ask, spiteful, with malice. 

“Clearly not since I’m here spending time with you.”

“Was that so hard for you to do? I mean, with your busy schedule and all?”

“What are you-” Trevor pauses for a split second. “Wait, are you… jealous? Y/n?”

I want to protest. I want to scream and rant and bite back, how he could be so conceited to think I’d be jealous of a relationship that I previously thought was rumored? But I can’t. 

Because he’s right.

I bite my tongue. There’s nothing else I can do. Not unless I want to make an even bigger fool of myself than I already have.

“Oh my god, that’s totally it. You’re jealous.” Trevor says, complete with a laugh and a sigh. The shame of actually being jealous of a girl I’ve never met, the disappointment of finding out Trevor is dating someone, and the exhaustion from already having cried earlier comes collapsing down on me at once. Hot tears well on the lining of my lashes and I stare at the ground, afraid to draw attention to myself. Upon seeing me cry, Trevor’s smile immediately vanishes and he scoots closer once more.

“Hey, shhh, it’s okay.” He envelops me in a hug that I’m too overwhelmed to reciprocate. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.” 

I merely shake my head, unaware of what I could even say in this moment.

“I was… I was just laughing ‘cause I should’ve known.”

“Should’ve known what?”

“That you’d be jealous.” I wriggle out of the hug and look at Trevor sincerely.

“How would you have known?”

“You know, for as long as I can remember, your brothers have talked about you having a crush on me.” I cower in humiliation, my face glowing hotter than the surface of the sun.

“I wish they wouldn’t have.”

“No?” Trevor asks, genuinely.

“It’s embarrassing,” I confess, fully recoiling from the physical contact he had initiated before. 

“It’s cute.” Trevor earnestly admits as he takes my hand in his. I scoff instinctively but don’t pull my hand away again.

“I don’t need your pity, Trev.” I say so softly he nearly misses the sentiment. Once he processes my worlds, I feel him physically relax next to me at the sound of his familiar nickname.

“Well, what do you need? I’m here now.”

“I honestly don’t know.” I finally dare to meet his eyes. He’s looking at me so sweetly, earnestly. As if I hadn’t just chewed him out two minutes earlier. Then, I look away before I can say what I’m about to say next. “I don’t just like you.” Trevor’s face lifts ever so slightly. The extent of which, one might miss had they not known him a lifetime the way I have.

 “You know… the only reason I started seeing her was to get over you.”

“What?” I ask, sharply whipping my head to stare at Trevor, as if awaiting the reveal that this was just some elaborate prank from the start.

“Yeah. I started dating Dixie because I thought dating someone different would distract me. You know, it’s not a good look to have a crush on your best friend’s little sister.”

My heartrate picks up with his confession. This feels too good to be true. As if real life is waiting for us right outside the front door. The real life that doesn’t see me and Trevor together ever in our lifetimes. Terrified of the change that would occur from letting him walk away, I reach up and hold his face in my hands, kissing him passionately. Trevor wraps his hand around my wrist and kisses me back with twice as much fervor. 

We break apart, out of breath and full of smiles. Trevor looks at me for guidance and we fizzle into a nervous laughter. I reach up and brush my thumb tenderly across his cheekbone. He grabs my hand and turns his head, placing a sweet kiss on my palm. I then reach up and break the moment by ruffling my hand through his hair to mess it up.

“Hey!” He yells, grabbing waist to dig his hands into my sides. I screech with laughter as I try to escape. Trevor eventually yields and slips his hands from my sides to interlace with one another and pull me closer. I scoot in to sit against him, sitting half on top of him as our breathing falls in sync.

“I don’t just like you, too, Hughesy.” I smile.

“...You should probably call Dixie.”

“Oh shit.”

***

A/N: not my best work but not my worst either!

[kairiscorner]

ok but imagine miggy with a perfectionist/overachiever/burnt out gifted kid reader

(tw: mentions of light self-starvation, keep yourselves fed babes, you deserve to eat)

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

...

summary: you really wanted to keep your number one spot, but at the cost of your well-being? miguel refuses to watch you do this to yourself any longer and takes matters into his own hands.

word count: ~1.7k

it was 2 in the morning, and you were still burning the candle at both ends. you were hard at work memorizing concepts, diagrams, easily mispronounced words and acronyms you'd never use or find useful ever again in your life unless you were on a trivia gameshow.

you were hard at work trying to understand what little was entering your mind already, a little overwhelmed by the concepts flooding your brain, but not ready to get to bed yet, out of fear someone will push you off your throne as one of the top students of the class.

you were intelligent, you had a gift; you heard those words all your life, every tine you came home with a new certificate, medal, trophy–or all three at once. you couldn't help it, school was just too easy for you back then; you could take the tests with your eyes closed and without even studying the night before.

but soon, it got harder for some reason. you originally didn't mind, you still passed with flying colors and with minimal effort–but at the cost of your sleep schedule and eating habits. you convinced yourself it was fine, it was okay, so long as you were on top.

that was all you could think of, "i just need to stay on top, then i'll be fine. nothing's better than showing them all i'm better, i'm smart, i'm... worthy of this, all this."

your mantra worked, but it worked too well that it backfired horribly.

hence, here you were, on an empty stomach that was growling, begging for you to fill it with sustenance, as the clock soon ticked to 2:15 am. the constant ticking of the clock irritating you, and thoughts of getting a digital clock to lessen distractions filled your head–ironically becoming a distraction in itself.

you groaned, you had to face it, you weren't going to get anything done at this rate. you decided to check your phone for something that might help stimulate you, maybe motivate you, even, to get back to studying.

you went online for a little, laughed at a few videos, got interested in some rabbit hole videos, found yourself singing along to some songs that you clicked on from your feed. it was peaceful.

but soon, you were greeted by a flurry of messages from your concerned friend, miguel o'hara.

you opened your latest message notification from him and read it as soon as it flashed on your screen. "what is so important that you should be up right now?" he asked.

you bit your lip as you tried to think of what to say. you knew miguel was the unyielding type of person, if you gave him a bullshit answer, you were going to get bullshit from him. you typed, erased, retyped and re-erased your message over and over again. but you finally came to the conclusion to type out, "why are you up rn?" you texted, sending him a duck emoji afterwards. he hated when you did that.

"it's 2:20 am," he argued. "correction, 2:21 in the morning," you responded. "are you even doing anything worthwhile right now? maybe rethinking which direction your life's headed before graduation?" he texted back, to which you giggled.

"you didn't answer my question," you replied, with a duck emoji again. "i was up because i saw your online status. don't think you're slick, you didn't answer my previous questions, either." he replied. "and what relevance does the duck serve in this conversation? i seriously don't understand."

you laughed aloud at his blunt answer, and in your half-tired daze, you accidentally pressed the call button. it wasn't until you heard his voice on the other end that you realized you accidentally called him.

"hello?" rang his voice from the other end, a little groggy. "um, hi." you responded as he groaned. "why the... shock are you up?" he asked, a little irritated. "we have our finals tomorrow." you replied curtly. "so? that doesn't answer my question. why are you shocking up?" he asked in a more annoyed tone as he shook off the grogginess in his voice.

"por el amor de Dios..." he muttered under his breath. you were a little taken aback by how... captivating he sounded when sleepy. a little grumpy, yes, but you felt like you could listen to his voice be like this every day. maybe you would stay up a little late just to hear him like this.

"go back to bed." he told you, trying to sound commanding. "and why would i ever do that? you know how important the finals are." you remind him. "...and how important being the top student is for me." you murmured out that last bit, to which he raised an eyebrow at.

he breathed a sigh. "i seriously can't believe you'd prioritize being a top student over giving your body a much needed break." he berated you as you hunched your shoulders, a little disappointed that he had a point. before you could say anything to retort, your stomach sided with miguel and let out a deep, rumbling whine.

the sound of your stomach complaining about how poorly you've been keeping it fed alerted miguel as he sighed yet again. "what time was it when you last ate?" he asked you, his voice soft as he tried to keep himself calm and composed.

"ah, well, maybe around... i forgot." you answered honestly. "you forgot?" he asked in a concerned voice. "you really can't live without me, huh?" he asked as you heard the shuffling of bed spreads and his big footsteps as he walked around his room. "what are you doing?" you asked him.

"more important question is where i'm going, and if you must know, i'm headed to your dorm right this–" and before he could even finish, there was a rapping of knocks on your door. you got up as you wondered if the person knocking was who you feared it was.

"–my phone died." he said in a low voice. "hope it rests in peace." you joked in a straight, nonchalant tone as miguel sighed at the bad joke. he entered your dorm without another word and set on your table the big white plastic bag he brought with him.

he didn't change out of his white shirt, dark and light blue striped pajama pants, and wore the jacket you bought for him on his birthday. "sit down." he commanded in a soft voice. "what is th–" "sit. down." he repeated himself in a more solid voice, which shut you up and got you to sit down immediately without asking any questions.

before you could get another word out of your mouth, miguel handed you an empanada. it was a little soft and limp, but it was warm. you could tell this wasn't made by just anybody. no, you recognized this style of empanda wrapping, the way it was golden brown on one side, slightly browned on the other–the abundance of meat in the filling with hardly any vegetables, just the way you liked it.

the only person who knew how to make it this way was...

"well damn, miggy, didn't think you were gonna make me anything." you said as you took a bite of the empanada. he shrugged. "i was going to give them to you today, but you were holed up in the library all day. if not the library, then in your dorm, locking yourself in your own misery." he said as he ate his helping.

you chuckled. "hey, don't laugh. i worried about you all day." he scolded you lightly with a half-full mouth. "oh. is that why you were online earlier?" you asked him, eating your empanada to satiate your starving stomach.

"i... i couldn't sleep." he admitted. "why not?" you asked him. "...a part of me thinks it was because i couldn't stop worrying about you. i didn't see you the whole day and i really, really wanted to know if you were okay. you know it kills me every time when you don't talk to me, let me know if you're alive, at least." he said as he looked up at you, his expression softening.

"oh, mig, i'm... so sorry." you said as you realized the weight of your actions, how it affected not only you, but miguel, and possibly other people who cared about you. miguel put his non-greasy hand on your cheek. "you should be." he said promptly. "but don't beat yourself up over it, you've been beating yourself every day since you were on top, not wanting to lose." he went on as he rubbed the side of your face.

"it's admirable, but please don't lose yourself over it. i think you're good enough already at second, third, or even no place at the top. you'll always have a place in my heart, that's the only thing no one can take away from you. that's the only place you'll always be number one in." he said with a small smile. "please promise me you'll take care of yourself, even if you can't accept losing once or twice or many more times in your life to someone else. i'd rather see you lose at everything but yourself. but i know you're good enough already, you don't have to overdo it anymore, okay?" he reminded you, to which you nodded and rubbed away at your eyes.

tears formed and rolled down your cheeks as he spoke, tears you never realized you were holding in, which suddenly came flooding right out when miguel talked to you. "ah... sorry." miguel apologized as he wiped away your tears with a napkin. "i promise, miguel." you sniffled out. "i'll... i'll try to take care of... myself." you promised as miguel held your face in his hands. "and if you can't... i'm right here for you. i've always got you, no matter what." he said as he kissed your forehead, a gentle and loving reminder that you can be number one at everything all you want, you already are his number one, but never forget that you have to be number one for yourself, first.

a/n: I NEEDED THIS WHEN I WAS 1 POINT AWAY FROM A 98 GENERAL AVERAGE ON MY CARD I SWEAR /cries HOPING YOU BABES LOVED THIS

tags !! @miguelswifey04

[oyesteryells]

Hey how do you feel about todays dual rulers episode I’ve asked a couple of people and opinions have been a mixed bag so I’m curious

I liked it but I’m really biased towards liking it because sin kiske

i was just about to post about it lol

here's my general thoughts + my new theories

spoilers for Dual Rulers:

its an episode where it felt very exposition heavy (like everything was plot related but not a lot of action). there were certain narrative threads they had to get through and thats kind of what the whole episode felt like. the ep went by so fast for me i was shocked when it was over, it felt like not much actually happened bc it didnt. Of course I luuuuv Sin, he's just so much fun to watch. AND I'M GLAD ELPHELT IS OKAY LMAOO.

the scene with Bridget and Unika aaahhhh 😭😭 it felt so beautiful and yuriful to me i loved that. i wont dig into that rn though.

I love this moment with Sol where he says he was trying to protect Sin from Unika. He cares so much for his boy. He wasn't necessarily doing what he did for the good of everyone, unlike what Sin would do.

Sol is seen making decisions with harsh consequences to protect people he loves-- it reminded me of when Sol was willing to sacrifice the world to save Jack-o.

we also got some new revelations though. Unika is pretty much confirmed to be a time traveler from the future (I WIN MY THEORY WON). Sin is confirmed to be the king of the gears in Dizzy's absence?!?! HONESTLY thats insane to think. WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE CAN JUST COMMAND THEM TO KILL THEMSELVES 😭

Obviously Dr Paradigm would probably argue against that, nor do I think Sin would want to do this.

I'm kind of getting the sneaking suspicion that Sin is the cause of second Crusade they spoke of in the future. One of Sin's virtues is that he values life and avoids immoral action-- but the flip side is that he refuses to make any compromise against morality, even if that possibly means endangering even more lives. Not that he's wrong for this, but i envision his good actions having unforeseen consequences. Not to mention, if Sin loses control of his powers, that's likely to be very destructive. Please i really want evil Sin PLEAAAASE. let him suffer for a little bit. Sin is also pretty naive and the fact he thinks he could just stop another Crusade without having ANY reason to back that up, really underscores that naivety, and i think that's gonna bite him in the ass.

Time travel narratives often loop back around so, maybe future Sin, if there is one, is involved in Unika's reality and that new Crusade. I'm also still pondering who her father could be. I think it will be a future version of a character we already know. Hear me out... Gear Maker That Man 2.0. The shadowy nature of this guy just reminds me of the older depictions of Asuka. It's making me wonder.

and an observation about Unika. her powers all seem to relate to animals(gears by extension, since theyre made with animal dna): wings = bird, camouflage = chameleon. Yes the wings feel so similar to Dizzy, but they're a bit off. They feel digital, same with her cloaking. My theory is that Unika's is able to mimic the abilities of gears, using advanced technology. We learned that Unika and whoever she is working with, possess technology not of this era. It's very advanced, with her being able to make a copy of the weapon key just by coming into contact with it for a bit. Who knows what else that technology can mimic? and coming from a time where another Crusade happened, I'm sure they had developed some anti-gear tech.

Could Unika be working with Nerville Hammer? I was hesitant to say at first, bc it seemed too convenient that Unika and Nerville showed up at the wedding together. It seemed like a red herring. But if Nerville was working on anti-gear tech, maybe his research became VERY important in the future, leading to some of the tech that Unika's possesses.

Another point pops up: why are Unika and Sin so similar in their fighting style and powers? If Unika is not directly related to Sin, she might be augmented with Sin's (AND maybe Dizzy's) DNA, to be a kind of super soldier. There's mentions of her life being more special than others, so there is something that makes her uniquely important. Perhaps she has command gear blood in her. Maybe she wasn't born that way? Or maybe she was.

We know Nerville took Dizzy's and Sin's DNA-- likely because they're both Command Gears -- and maybe that was to ensure that in the future humanity had a back up plan against the gears.

This seems to imply that Unika and Nerville are working for the same people, some coalition that has yet to be revealed. I'm excited for that.

[ratsplendor]

I'm in some kind of raw and unwell state rn so fuck it: writing up my notes on the Objectophile Ford x AI Fidds AU that haunts my dreams. basic premise is that Fidds dies when he goes through the portal, but has backed up his consciousness digitally somehow out of paranoia + fear, so now Ford is dealing with grieving him (sorta), hiding a dead body, figuring out where to house the artificial McGucket, and also Bill.

general warning for suggestive text + corpse shenanigans below.

so imagine you're Ford and during your portal test, your best friend + QPP has been accidentally sucked through, comes out and spouts some crazy shit, and then dies in your arms immediately. of all the things you have in this goddamn lab, an AED is not one of them. hysterical, poorly-applied CPR ensues; it wouldn't have worked anyway; oh God What Have You Done.

thru all of this Bill is trying to get Ford's attention but he's blocked him out, all Ford can focus on is his grief + guilt + refusal to believe this is the end--wait, hadn't he made fun of Fidds just the other day for backing up his consciousness to a hard drive?

it's a black box. a bit of a Schrodinger conundrum. Fidds was always too scared to activate it while he was alive because he was terrified they'd diverge in an uncontrollable way and a variety of ethical and moral quandaries/existential questions would ensue. so whether the backup is truly Fidds, or whether it's even an independent consciousness at all, Ford doesn't know.

so the issue is that Ford isn't the computer guy, Fidds was. he doesn't really know much about data storage, much less the type of libraries necessary to host a consciousness. his first attempt is to plug Fidds 2.0 into the dummy they were going to send through, as it's equipped with a robust-enough suite of data collection and storage, designed to record information about the other side. it's like digital claustrophobia. F2.0 panics, there's not enough room in here, overloads the dummy, and prompts a small explosion. some data was lost in the process but nobody knows how much.

ok. F2.0 had too much BDE for a mannequin. Ford has to now build a system that can unpack the drive, and Fidds's help would be so appreciated here...irony. Ford just about works himself into a state of panicked dissociation over how much he doesn't know what to do and can't do this alone, at which point Bill realizes this guy is no use to him frantic and gives the suggestion that, hey, isn't the lab just one big computer in a way? and hadn't they overdone the data storage, just to ensure they could collate information from multiple portal tests over time?

(realism time-out: based on even our rudimentary neural networks today, absolutely zero shot that they had the room to house an actual indexed consciousness in full. HOWEVER, consider: cartoon logic + Fidds can do whatever he wants forever. i'm talking encoding himself as a Mandelbrot set, which, despite its infinite ability to fractal, is created out of only a very small chunk of data.)

"I should save at least the head," Ford thinks to himself (in re: Fidds's dead body). "Perhaps I can wire it into the system so he can at least use his own voice somehow." go to sleep man you are losing it.

it's cold enough on the portal floor that the body should probably be fine. mostly. you know, relatively speaking. whatever!

Bill, meanwhile, is thinking of ways he can encode himself as a computer virus and supersede Fidds once Fidds has re-indexed the lab system to support an intelligent consciousness.

Ford is gonna take Bill's suggestion because it's the only good one and he's not the computer guy. HOWEVER. hang on a fuckin second. Bill killed Fidds. This whole thing was his idea--he probably had some way to know this was a possibility, and he didn't say anything.

so he takes a sledgehammer to some very important parts. this frees up more processing power for Fidds 2.0 anyway, but also has the effect of Pissing Bill The Hell Off.

anyway. he uploads his best friend and then hunches in a shuddering trauma-puddle on the floor, trying to stay awake so Bill can't get in.

plot stuff. Fidds is even better with computers when he IS a computer. he can use old videos of himself to deepfake his side of the conversation on a monitor. neat!

oh hey buddy uh. it turns out that migrating a neural-input-based consciousness to a hardwired system causes some, er...funny effects. yeah when you touch the wires he can feel that.

Ford, who didn't really Get what was so exciting about sex or other people's bodies before, is starting to come to the realization that now that Fidds is a computer, he's Very Turned On.

mmmmmm oh my god cable management. hello. cables he can wind through all six fingers. the static display where Fidds usually projects his avatar or whatever is just looping incomprehensible binary, the computer equivalent of a moan. haha sorry totally didn't know that would happen and won't do it again--

gay (?) chicken ensues. is it socially acceptable, Ford wonders, to say, "Hey, i found your human living form unattractive and sexless, but now that you're dead (in part because i didn't listen to you) and confined to a supercomputer, I'm into you"? no, surely not; far more sensible to come up with more and more reasons to re-solder those ports in juuuust the right ways and pretend he doesn't notice why the system's overloading.

there is only one way this ends: probably Ford passing out in his own cum in a mass of cables. yeah. that's a good image. or Fidds getting fed up and starting to project his avatar naked and writhing sexually until he's forced to say something. a USB drive is just an angel you can fuck. etc etc

oh yeah, Bill. Ford basically uses Project Mentem to project himself into the system (not for long as this uses up a lot of processing power) and they all have a Scott Pilgrim-esque fight in which Bill loses. get axolotl'd, idiot.

and they live happily ever after in their weird little man:machine interface situationship. and probably confront many existential questions about the nature of consciousness and whether Fidds 2.0 is the same person or not. whatever. fuck you.