#and I do want to point out he wouldn't do this in any way it could be misconstrued as actual gaslighting

[notmuchtoconceal]

Right, so.

What you kids gotta understand is that King Paimon thing all the cinephile hipster sorcers're talkin bout (they are less legion than granfaloon) is the demonic force behind what we might call the arc or the exhaust trail (the Inherent Vice) of something much talked of in rightwing academic spaces and that is the eternal glamour of Western Civilization.

Here we are, he are, here are, we are, these stolid white dicks which hold aloft our collapsable roof.

This is why he is complicit with the church.

This is why he is complicit with all heads of state.

That is why he is paradoxically characterized by airiness and brutality, lightness and malefience.

He kills in broad daylight and bathes bright by upward arms for all mutually crave the dark.

He is always longing, always despairing, the bloodbath which was and will be, be it all beneath what pomposity of circumstance.

This is why he burns like Apollo and poisons like Mercury. The enlightener, the amalgamater. He will don a million of the same faces and more to raise you back up his tower of toxic sludge.

He is so gay for Lucifer. He offereth up your brainstem to Lucifer as boypussy that he may kiss between your hemispherical cleave with furry tarantula whiskers of descending labium.

Lucifer, we may understand, is the Intellect ruling roughshod over the Heart.

In some ways, to characterize abstract concepts in trance states can give you a far more nuanced understanding of how they manifest in day to day life and how their influences already effect you, hence in your ignorance you breed demons.

Essentially, this force is a collective intelligence which is totally opt-in. If anyone's made any covents with King Paimon on your behalf, you can totally renounce them, opt-out and not be punished.

He won't even give you an AI frowny face.

He wants you to do you.

Anyone who is bound by King Paimon can ask him to unbind them at any time, and he'll do it.

He's like a pixie who just wants to giggle and watch you struggle, then maybe tease you. When you learn the lesson, you stop falling for the silly trap.

King Paimon is so fucking funny.

He'll lay there on my bed, half-apparated like its a chaise, twirling his pretty air as he strokes his musclebod, tinkling as jewels and chains ruffle in his silks, half leaned over as a velvet cushion, wiggling his ass in overt covert invitation.

"You want me to bind the Trumpers? It is so much fun to bind the Trumpers. They're operant conditioning cumdumps who'll take any evil whisper they can get. Why aren't you ordering me to bind the Trumpers, sexy master? I know that's what you want. You don't need to be told demons are fucked-up sex phreaks who desperately need human conjurers to boss em around, I mean come on. If I didn't wanna be a slave, I wouldn't be in hell. You don't need to be told God's Law of Free Will is a preposterous horror we Make Divine With Force of Mind. Trumpers fast-click through licensing agreements in a horny stupor without reading em cause they don't wanna think or feel. They're puppets and public waste. Don't treat them like people, but dogs to train. There isn't any point you could make to them which would stick unless you could manage to bandage it with a father's love. You think you could bring Osiris back from the dead? I got a 24 karat plug'd say otherwise, sweetie. ... Sorry if I talk too much. I just get real insecure sometimes when I wonder why you haven't already asked me to bind the Trumpers? It's so easy and fun, especially for you. You're just.... Gosh. Such a powerful magician. You want me to bring you another pretty effeminate redneck fuckboy to torture?"

These were, a proud Irishman and Arabian -- Californian always fornicatin -- the preferred instruments to enact his deceitful whimsies.

"I always pick out the best ones for me, and I do it for you, too. Don't act like you don't appreciate. I could call Lilith up, have her bring you another needy and insecure Jewish hussy to scream at. Don't look at me like that. You need to stop being mystified about why girls are so weirdly and obviously drawn to your wifebeater energy, and anyway -- everyone who really knows her that's what she really is. The tone I use with her is as reedy and molodious as the rasp of a wooden flute and you ought learn well to spare others your mortifications as you hone your perceptions seeing love in all its infinite complexity. Our relationship transcends any business or etiquette. She's a riot, I'm the scream."

Big day for deranged evangelical freaks

[kheprriverse]

I mentioned Volga’s family at the end of this post and wanted to get into it a little more, it just took a LONG time to finish the refs I needed for it. But now I think I got what I wanted done. There are a few I maybe wanna work on in the future but for now… Volga family/lore dump!!!

I like lore-dumping through him since he's Ares's way of learning about dragons. It's not often you'll get a fire dragon willing to share his experience with you and I like making Ares the know-it-all mouthpiece.

I mentioned he was born from a clutch of 6 eggs. The eldest is his sister, Scorn, who is also the largest and most fierce.

I want her to make an appearance eventually, relating to this post funnily enough (I’m actually reworking when this meeting even takes place so while that post will still be sorta relevant to their relationship it’ll have nothing to do with Scorn). He knows the most about her which... is not much tbh. Usually after dragons migrate away from families they'll likely never see each other again.

The second oldest are his sisters Blitz and Blaze, twins born from the same egg. He doesn't know much about them aside from what Scorn would tell him in the future. That they continue to be inseparable, insufferable, and downright wacky. They rule their territory together and don't have (or don't want) mates, unlike Scorn who had her own family at one point.

He knows his three other siblings; Flare, Sear, and Burn, all of which are female. He knows of them, but doesn't know what they've been up to since they all migrated. He's the youngest, the runt, and funnily enough (one of) the most odd. He's had to exaggerate just about everything about him in order to keep his siblings from treating him like he's weak, which happened to play into his current arrogant and prideful self now. Though, sometimes he lets that facade fall when alone with Ares.

They're in no way the only hatchlings their parents had, but Volga wouldn't know any of them outside of his clutch.

Then there's his parents: his mother Smolder, and his father Gargoyle.

He's not exaggerating when he says they're the largest dragons someone could meet. They've lived and ruled their territory for many years unchallenged. Though he does make an off comment about Smolder being bigger than Hyrule Castle sometime in a future conversation, but he never makes it clear to Ares if he's truly joking or not.

Fire dragons don't leave their eggs, nor do they leave their hatchlings out to survive on their own unless there's some crazy exception that would make them think abandoning is the best choice. Could be from the current situation being unsafe, like having just been driven out of territory (in Scorn's case) for example. Or it could be the hatchling has some mutation or is too weak. Though not every fire dragon will abandon their hatchlings unless they think there's no other choice.

They're raised for about a year, taught what's important (how to hunt, how to breath fire properly, how to defend oneself and fight, what is honor and how to have an honorable fight, territory and what it means, how to hoard, social cues, etc). After that initial year the hatchlings, now fledgling dragons, will migrate to claim their own territory or challenge another dragon for theirs.

Volga was actually going to have a snide comment at the end here like "not anymore at least". This is just snippets from a storyboard so it may or may not appear in the future.

Some instances, dragons may stay with their parents and help defend the nest and hunt for future siblings. I'm sure if Volga ever went back to his birthplace he'd maybe see a few siblings still, but it doesn't always happen. Sometimes they'll stay on the off chance that they can challenge their parents for their territory when they're older, but Smolder and Gargoyle aren't really dragons you wanna challenge.

Volga chose a rather dangerous route when migrating and that was over the Great Sea. Likely to prove a point to his family. The ocean is much too large for a 1-year-old dragon, especially his size at the time, to fly over. But he managed to do it anyways, whereas the rest of his siblings likely stayed within reach of their parents, or each other, or even just within the same continent.

His decision to migrate across the ocean likely caused his family to believe he probably died before he got to the other side because of how difficult it is to get across. Which is something I plan for Scorn to point out when they finally reunite. if I ever get to drawing it.

He arrives in Hyrule when its already established, but manages to keep himself hidden long enough to find Eldin Volcano -- the perfect home for a fire dragon. But before he can become comfortable he meets another fire dragon! An old one even, burrowed deep within the volcano with its hoard of monster bones and jewels, and a large community of lizardfolk working for it while it sleeps.

The dragon is much too old to fight, and Volga at the time is much to small to challenge anyone. So he ends up blending into the lizardfolk and bringing the elder food, though its likely the dragon knew he was there. It would be a couple years of Volga running random errands the lizardfolk give him before the older dragon finally leaves its burrow and makes himself known; Obsidian, as the lizardfolk would call him.

Volga was pretty lucky the dragon was so old. He had built up the territory for multiple centuries, had a deal with the gorons and lizardfolk, but was having difficulty keeping peace with the rito and newly settled hylians. Because of his age, Obsidian didn't see a need to feel threatened nor threaten the 3-year-old fledgling, instead he found potential in Volga and decided he'd be a good successor. So he took the smaller dragon under his wing (haha) and its been history since.

Volga learned much of his prowess from Obsidian and many of his current techniques as well. Many fire dragons have potential to shift into an alternate form and this is who Volga learned and perfected his from. It wasn't until this ability was practiced to perfection before Obsidian decided Volga was ready to challenge him and take his place.

Often times when fire dragons are trying to find territory and encounter another dragon, they much "challenge" the current dragon. Challenges are done honorably, either ending in death or when one of the opponents forfeits. When a dragon challenges another, they unfold their wings and hang their head high to make themselves look larger before letting out a "challenge roar". The fight starts when the second dragon initiates.

Volga has kept his word to Obsidian to keep the peace between the gorons and lizardfolk, as well as repair the relationship with the hylians and rito, and keep the territory running for the rest of his life. And a dragon's word is unbreakable.

[jordiemeow]

You wouldn't make love with him. You'd make art.

11.8k words long read warning. poet!patrick literature student au?

Patrick doesn’t know how to do any of this—he, an eloquent speaker, master of rhetoric, a man who knows almost all the dead and living languages of the world. He has always guarded his secrets as carefully as Odysseus hides his true name from the Cyclops.

Pathetic, is it not?

For a man such as him to be so utterly smitten by you. Enraptured by every little thing about you, from the way you toy with his fingers while he recites Virgil to you, or the way your stockings are always full of holes. The smudge of lipstick always present on the edge of your mouth from your lips planting against his own, or the way you pocket each of the poems he writes for you despite your outwards protests.

He’s a paradox. A contradiction. A romantic, but a cynic. A writer, but a misanthrope. And worst of all, a modernist who secretly longs for bohemians and decadence. A paradox of sophistication and nihilism. A vision of cashmere, draped in apathy.

It’s like he doesn’t know who he is anymore, when he's with you. Like you’re taking all the broken, ugly, shameful parts of him, and making it beautiful. It’s horrifying, but he wants more. Please.

And now he has to laugh, at how absurd it was that this girl who probably hated the world preferred to be around him, of all people. He knows all of this sounds terribly trite and unoriginal, but he couldn't help it anymore than he could stop the sun from setting. None of this makes any sense, and yet he has never seen something with more clarity in his life.

He loves you.

But, as usual, the words stick in his throat, and he exhales as through trying to exhale his nerves and uncertainty along with the oxygen into the stale air of his bedroom. He’ll scribble poems and declarations of adoration into a worn notebook his grandma bought him, but when it comes to uttering such confessions aloud? God, he’s a coward. So, all that comes out is a teasing:

“You know I like it when you’re rough, darling, but you really ought to ease up on the make him bleed thing a little—“

That earns him a bit of pressure added to his back, and a hiss of his own making. Patrick is quick to offer a half-grimace half-smile over his shoulder as an apology, bracing his hands against the sheets while you continue with your ministrations. Dabbing at carmine incisions along his bare back that look oddly reminiscent of a werewolf’s claws. He supposes you are quite the beast in bed together. The thought makes him stifle a snort, which quickly becomes a hiss of pain when you wipe over the nail scratches raking up his skin.

“Ow, fuck, be careful—"

“Don’t pout, Pat,” you chide, your voice low as you cut off his whine of a protest. There’s a teasing lilt in there somewhere, a hint of your dry humour creeping into the words. “It’s unbecoming of you.”

“I do not pout,” he scoffs, his eyes flicking over to meet yours, narrowed slightly. “At what point have I ever pouted?”

Patrick knows that he should not push his luck without you—not when he’s perched naked by the end of the bed and entirely at your mercy as you wield an alcohol-soaked handkerchief. Although the air between you is not quite the icy chill he expects it to be. On the contrary, it’s almost playful.

“Besides,” he continues defiantly, resolutely ignoring the stinging down his back, “I do not appreciate being attacked during… well, you get the idea.” A lazy smile flutters on his lips and he angles his body around, his hands finding the curve of your waist to tug you closer. "You are awfully passionate, you know."

He has a very peculiar way of apologising, one that is often too self-absorbed to be even considered an apology. And Patrick Zweig has never been particularly good at those, though his mother always insisted he should learn a thing or two about proper manners. Not that she was ever very present, mind you—boarding school will do that to you, he supposes.

Your fingers are sure and practiced as you tidy him up methodically, the pad of your thumb gently skimming over a small patch of inflamed skin. “Attacked? Oh, how you exaggerate so,” you scoff, a hint of mild amusement in the depths of your eyes that you hide between narrowed eyes as you focus on your meticulous task.

“I do not exaggerate,” Patrick insists through gritted teeth, his other hand grasping the sheets in a fist. The pain is not the issue here, though he does flinch upon feeling the gentle caress of your fingers over one of the indentations. “See, that’s the difference between us,” he continues, his voice now laced with an exasperated air. “You take no prisoners. Absolutely ruthless."

It’s hard, as always, to determine whether his irritation is genuine or just an act to mask his discomfort at your lack of tenderness. He hates the feeling of being so vulnerable when you’re so… put together, like you take no pleasure or interest in the moment you just shared. Not even when the evidence is stained crimson along his back.

He shifts around, pulling you closer without preamble, his free hand wrapping around your wrist to still your motions. Something in his eyes has changed, the pools of blue once glinting with playfulness giving way into a more serious look. His lips pull into a tight line as he speaks again, his voice carefully measured.

“I don’t appreciate your coldness. You act like a bloody automaton at times,” he mutters, his jaw clenching imperceptibly. But he knows you can pick up on any of his discreet little ticks at this point. He's grown to be utterly transparent to you, and he hates it, because it is the exact opposite of what you're becoming to him. More and more of a mystery with each interaction. He loves you, but you are so bloody difficult sometimes.

“I’m not being cold. I’m patching you up, darling,” comes your light reply. Your free hand reaches up, thumb brushing over a smudge of rouge lipstick still present on his kiss-bitten mouth.

It’s the use of the pet name that gets to him the most, the way your sweet voice wraps around that single word. His frown deepens slightly. “Patching me up,” he echoes under his breath, his grip on your wrist loosening in favour of capturing your palm against the bed.

“Stop treating me like a fragile thing that might shatter with one wrong word. I am not made of glass.”

There’s something in the petulant way he says the words, the mixture of anger, frustration, and something else that is a little more difficult to define—at least for Patrick, who isn’t exactly known for his emotional intelligence when it comes to his own psyche. Said in a manner only a young man who has had the entire world served to him upon a silver platter could possibly manage.

Patrick Zweig has always been a self-absorbed, conceited ass, but he’s never been good with those who treat him with such apparent detachment. He’s the one who’s supposed to be casually flippant, indifferent. He is the one who’s supposed to be in control.

But you do not seem to care. Not even a little bit.

He doesn't quite recognise the desperation that colours his voice. He’s used to your indifference, the way you can just switch off whenever you want, but it stings. The more he tries to deny it, the more his own walls threaten to crack.

“At least look like you care instead of pretending that the last thirty minutes never happened,” Patrick snaps, his fingers tracing the delicate vein on your inner wrist absently, as if seeking comfort amidst the darkening atmosphere.

And you do soften somewhat. You settle upon the bed next to him, now dressed in only his half-buttoned shirt and your underwear, legs drawn up beneath you as your gaze drops towards your hand, and the way his fingers skim across your veins. It's almost uncomfortable, the tender touch in such a vulnerable place. You’re half-tempted to wince and withdraw your hand.

But it's Patrick. So, you do not. You allow it, even it makes you feel like you’re ready to claw your way out of your own skin. You allow it, because you love him, even if he is insufferable at the best of times.

Like now, for example.

"Sorry," you murmur, and it's not clear whether the apology is for the injuries along his back or the fact he's upset with your demeanour. Either way, you place a chaste, remorseful kiss to his shoulder.

Perhaps it’s your soft voice, or the light touch of your lips against his shoulder—but the tension in Patrick’s body is replaced by something lighter, something that could almost be mistaken for… relief. Something so unlike him. There is something about your words, your tone, the fact that you have given him any response that matters.

His grip on your wrist slackens, fingers sliding down the smooth curve of your palm before lacing through yours. “I don’t understand you sometimes,” he says quietly, his gaze fixed on your hands now intertwined against the sheets.

It’s his way of saying he forgives you, that the brief argument has been put behind you. For now, at least. His thumb brushes against the back of your hand in an almost absent-minded gesture; in truth, it’s more to soothe himself than anything else. The anger that was bubbling underneath the surface seconds ago is gone without a trace.

“And stop being so detached,” he adds in a soft whisper, his eyes finally lifting up to meet yours.

Patrick knows that it’s not easy to get a reaction out of you, that you’re guarded, that you’re reserved. He's used to your stoicism, to your tendency of shutting him out at the first hint of his vulnerability. He’s used to your coldness, but it never fails to annoy him, especially when he’s hurting and wants to just feel you.

His hand, still clasped around yours, pulls you closer, his free arm sliding around your waist. “You could at least act like it meant something.”

"It does. You do," you murmur insistently. Your own arms loop around his middle, chin hooking over his shoulder, although you’re careful to avoid the lingering passion-induced wounds.

His expression softens slightly, a mixture of relief (from hearing those words) and affection (from your chin against his shoulder) washing over his features. He takes a moment, savouring the feel of your body against his, the warmth of your breath on his cheek. The way your knee presses against his thigh.

He knows you have a hard time with expressing feelings, and words of affection from you are always hard-earned. They are not freely given, and Patrick knows that he treasures them even more because of it. His chest expands in a deep sigh, his eyes fluttering closed.

"Don't shut me out."

He's long since accustomed to the fact that you will never open up fully, that your relationship will always be one-sided in a way, with him baring his soul while you withhold yours. But it's the distance that he can't stand, the way you can retreat into yourself without warning.

His fingers tighten around your hand while his other hand rests on the small of your back, keeping you close to him. He's not letting you run from this conversation; one of you has to be brave for once. "It's almost like you're ashamed to be with me."

"No, that's not it at all," you reply, your voice quiet. It's an uncharacteristic softness, the way you speak when he gets in his head like this. A rarity. Or in the tender embraces you share after sex, reserved just for him. "You're the only good thing in my life sometimes, Pat."

Patrick almost wishes you could be less reserved for him, less protective and guarded. But he knows that it's wishful thinking. He's resigned to the fact that your detachment is part of you, your armour, your defence.

He's used to it, but it doesn't mean he likes it.

"Yes, but—" He begins, his thoughts cut short by the gentle touch of your fingers against his knuckles. You always do this. It's a habit you've picked up from him. Always toying with each other's hands when you're together. Something about the touch makes his chest tighten, and he almost forgets what he wanted to say.

He lets out a shaky, uneven breath, his forehead dropping against the curve of your shoulder exposed by the half-buttoned shirt. Part of him wants to tell you everything, how much he cherishes moments like these, how much your words mean to him—how much you mean to him.

But he's never been as eloquent as you are, even with a litany of poems under his belt. There's a difference between speaking them out loud and confessing them onto a page. So the words die on his lips. Something about the comfort of your touch silences any protest he has, even when it's only in his head. His fingers tighten around yours, and he places a brief kiss to your collarbone.

"Stay the night?"

"Mhm, okay," you hum in confirmation. You place your own kiss to the side of his head, directly into the dark chocolate strands of hair. The smell of sweat and sex still lingers between you, a welcome reprieve from the subtle tension a few moments before.

He allows himself to take some comfort in it, the knowledge that you will stay, that you will remain here with him. Patrick knows that it's not so simple, that you may yet disappear again, return to being that detached girl who could not care less about him—but for now, you are here. Warm and soft against his body.

One of his hands trails up to tangle in your soft hair, guiding your chin up to meet his eyes. And then he leans closer, his lips finding yours in a slow, unhurried kiss. His mouth moves over yours gently; he can still taste a hint of your lipstick underneath his tongue, a faded berry stain that smears between you.

And he takes a moment to just relish in it, the soft press of your lips together, before pulling away to speak into the scant air between you. "Sometimes I wish you'd be more demonstrative with me," he murmurs, entirely without thinking, his eyes fixed on your full, bitten-red lips. You don't even need lipstick like this, he thinks. Not when he can stain them red for you.

Patrick sighs, when his words are repeated in his mind—not that he has any intentions of taking it back. He's been craving your attention ever since you started this whole thing, ever since that night back in September, an entire season ago, but he hasn't ever been bold enough to ask for it. Not until now.

It was supposed to be a thoughtless confession, a passing remark, but the second the words leave his lips, he realises he meant them. Deeply. He wants your affection, your attention. Your love. Not this aloof, indifferent version of you that is always slightly removed and out-of-reach. He wants you to care.

"Demonstrative..?" You prompt after a moment of subdued silence. You release his hand, only to loop your arms around his neck in a loose embrace.

"Mhm."

His voice is low, the sound of it muffled by the way his mouth is pressed against your skin, his breath warm and uneven against your exposed collarbone. But there is an edge to his words—a hint of something more vulnerable than what either of you are used to.

"More affectionate," he clarifies after a moment, the words rushed. As if getting them out fast enough will lessen the inevitable blow of your scorn for being so weak. "More loving."

He feels almost like a child, begging for attention. Maybe he's searching for what his mother never gave him in you. That thought is a little too much to unpack right now, though. Especially when just your close proximity is making his head spin, his longing for you overwhelming any hesitation about voicing his thoughts. He knows that he's pushing further than usual, the words tumbling out as if he's physically compelled to say them.

But he can't help it.

The need for affection, devotion, is suffocating. He's not used to asking for more, to actually having to put his thoughts in words. Everyone else just gives him what he needs. The challenge is what drew you to him in the first place, but he is beginning to realise that he may have taken a bite of something more than he can chew.

His face is buried against the crook of your neck, lips grazing slowly over your pulse point. It isn't even fluttering, as if this doesn't have the same effect on you that it does on him. Truly maddening.

It is too much, perhaps. Too much honesty, too much neediness. But he cannot help the way his heart aches at the thought of your indifference, the way his soul cries for your love. His hands slide slowly up your back, tracing the warm skin just under the edge of your borrowed shirt. They don't stop until they reach the nape of your neck, his fingertips playing with the smooth skin and hairs there.

"Please?" He whispers against the shell of your ear. The quiet plea hangs heavily in the air, and for a moment, Patrick is tempted to just blurt it all out. To put all his cards on the table and let the pieces fall where they may. But he pushes the words down, locking them away in the depths of his heart.

"I love you," you say, tilting your head to catch his mouth in another languid, gentle kiss. A thousand words that you wouldn't dare speak aloud poured into the tender gesture, before you break free. But Patrick can't help but wonder whether it's a genuine confession or merely something to placate his aching soul. "I'm not good at this whole... romance thing, you know."

He shuts his eyes briefly at the sound of your words, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. He does not trust himself to speak, his heart stuck in his throat.

I know, he wants to say. I know you're bad at this. You're bad at love and affection and vulnerability and relationships. But I need you to try. For me.

But he doesn’t say any of that. Instead he lets out the breath he's been holding and tugs you that little bit closer, fingers trailing slowly over the smooth curve of your spine.

"Yes, I know," he mutters. His tone is that of a sad, resigned acceptance of the fact that you have walls around your heart.

That this is it.

No tenderness, no declarations, no loving words other than those to appease him. You are fond of him, perhaps even fond of him too much, but he cannot expect you to love him in the way he does. He cannot have the love he desperately craves, and he is beginning to realise that there's absolutely nothing he can do about it.

He's not used to feeling so powerless.

A hint of bitterness creeps into his chest at the thought, and a part of him wants to pull away. He wants to put some distance between you, to distance his heart from this girl who does not love him but whom he loves with his entire being.

But it's impossible to resist the warm press of your skin, the soft brush of your fingers against his hair. He cannot push you away, and instead holds you even tighter against his chest. Some form of affection is better than nothing. Anything is better than nothing.

And that is when Patrick realises that no matter how much he loves you, no matter how much he craves more affection, he will take anything that you are willing to give him.

His mouth trails along your jawline, planting gentle kisses there; he's lost in the warm, familiar scent of your skin against his lips, the feeling of your soft body against his. There is a certain resignation in his touch, a bittersweet acceptance that this will be enough.

His mind is still spinning, his thoughts muddled, but his body responds easily where his brain cannot. The touch of his lips against your skin grows more urgent. Despite his realisation, he craves you, and if this is all he can get, he'll take full advantage of that.

His lips return to your mouth in a hungrier kiss, the desperate need for you seeping into the way his tongue presses at the seam of your lips. His hands begin to roam the length of your body, tracing against the dip of your waist and the curve of your hips. He needs this, he needs this, and his touch grows more frantic with each passing moment. He can feel the bitterness begin to wash away, replaced with something else.

Something familiar. Desire.

Despite his earlier realisation, his need for you does not subside. No, it does not subside, instead replaced by a different need. His fingers move to the buttons of the shirt, a gentle tug in a silent plea for more—for your clothes to come entirely back off, for more skin against skin.

"Tired," comes your protest against his mouth. But you don't break away from him, hands still threaded into his hair. "I mean, we've already fucked, Pat."

His breath stutters in his chest at that, because he's not sure if it's an excuse for you to stop here, end this, stop them, or if you're simply tired.

It's not that different, he can't help but think. Not that different.

His lips trail over your neck, planting a line of hot, slow kisses down the side, but there is a hint of resignation in the way he touches you now. "You sure?"

"Mhm," you mumble. Your hand cards gently through his curls, the touch almost apologetic in nature. "We can cuddle, though."

Patrick almost lets out a sigh, his lips pausing against your throat. He's trying to push down any disappointment that threatens to break past the surface.

You do not want more. You're tired, you're done with him for the night.

It's fine. It's okay.

He presses one last kiss to the place where your neck meets your shoulder, the sigh that follows almost inaudible even in the silence of his room. "Yeah. Cuddle."

His arms loosen their grip around you to give you room to pull away, although a part of him doesn't want to. A part of him wants to hold onto you, to keep you close forever. But he does not want to come off as even more pathetic than he already has tonight.

Instead he settles for slowly sitting back against the headboard, opening his arms in a silent invitation. You shift back up the bed to join him, tucking in against him, head pressed against his shoulder. He wraps his arms around you again, holding you close to his chest. A kiss is pressed to the top of your head, and he tries to find comfort in the sense of closeness.

But your words from earlier keep coming back to his mind.

I'm not good at this whole romance thing, you know.

He swallows past the lump in his throat and tries to settle against the pillow. Despite having you in his arms and the solace it should give him, he can't help the way he feels a pang of discomfort at your words. He's not asking for romance, necessarily. Not for flowers and poetry (ironically) and grand demonstrations of love.

He just wants your affection. He just wants to be wanted. He just wants to feel loved.

"Does it hurt?" Your voice cuts through the silence after a while, reaching up with a hand to trace the tender skin at the back of his shoulder. He lets out a soft, somewhat strained breath at the feeling of your fingertips over the sensitive skin there. It's not pain, exactly. More of a warm, almost aching sting around the scratches.

"it's fine," he mutters, and he's not entirely sure if the answer is referring to the physical wound or the emotional one. It's hardly much different at this point. No matter what happens, you always inflict him with something.

A beat passes, then another.

He keeps his eyes closed, listening to the silence, to the sound of your intermingled soft breaths. He can feel his own heartbeat, the steady thump against his ribs, but it's almost as if his chest is cold. As if there's something missing.

That familiar lump rises again in his throat, and when he speaks, his voice feels strained. As if it's been a week of not using it, rather than just two minutes.

"You're not falling in love with me, are you?"

"I told you I loved you five minutes ago, Pat. Sometimes it is a marvel that you are a scholar at all with that memory of yours," you say, your tone light as the hand on his shoulder trails down until your palm is flat against his heart, right next to your head.

And his heart, which had been thumping steadily against his chest, stutters at the sound of your words. He opens his eyes and looks down at the top of your head, his fingers tracing absent little circles against the skin of your forearm.

You had said the words—I love you—back in January, and now again tonight. Does that not mean you love him?

"That's not what I meant," he says, quiet and gentle, almost fragile.

"Then what did you mean?" You ask. You can feel the way his heart is picking up, the steady thump thump thump picking up into something more erratic.

Patrick swallows, his throat tight and dry, and another shaky breath escapes his parted lips as he grapples for words. "Like... emotionally. Emotionally in love."

The words leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

"You love me, you've said that. But you're not in love with me. Not the way I'm in love with you," he goes on, his words quiet and faltering. He just wants you to need him in the same way that he needs you. Like water in a desert, or the way a body needs a heart. You are his heart, or at the very least you're in possession of his own.

"Pat, I'm your girlfriend," you say, tilting your chin to look up at him. "I wouldn't have accepted such a title if I wasn't smitten with you, you know."

He has to bite back something between a scoff and a sigh. That's the thing. That's the difference. This isn't about the title you give it, it's about what's under the title. About the true emotional depth behind the world girlfriend.

"Yeah," he says, softly and bitterly. "My girlfriend."

His fingers tighten reflexively around your arm, and he has to force himself to relax. "I see the way you look at me, you know," he continues, his words low but laced with an unmistaken hint of vulnerability. One that surprises even himself. "I know you care about me, that you like me in some way. Love me, even. But I'm not what you need. And I'm certainly not your first choice."

"Then who is my first choice?" There's almost a challenge in the way you ask it, despite the tenderness of your hand against his heart. And he almost laughs at the question. Are you really that oblivious? He shakes his head, even if you can't see it, and answers with a single word.

"Art."

You actually jerk up at that. The way you look at him is somewhat incredulous, or perhaps even disgusted that he could say such a thing out loud.

"Don't be so ridiculous," you say, your words coming out a tad bit harsher than expected. And his chest aches at the way you move with such speed, the harshness of your voice and the hardness in your eyes at his words.

"Why? Because it's a little too true?" He says, his words tight and bitter. "C'mon. You and I both know you've got a thing for him." He props himself up on his forearms, shifting to match your upright position. "I'm not trying to be ridiculous," Patrick continues, a hint of frustration injected into his flurry of words. "I'm just trying to get you to see it. To see how you really feel, about him, about us... about me."

He knows how the words sound, and that you will undoubtedly take them as some sort of criticism or rejection, as if he hadn't wanted you there. But you both know the truth, he thinks. Patrick swallows, and his heart feels lodged in his throat. "You only chose me because he turned you down."

"Oh, piss off, Patrick," you say, the words—his given name, as opposed to the Pat you've always called him—practically sneered at him. "That's not what happened at all. I don't know how you've managed to jump to that conclusion."

He scoffs, and his heart twists painfully in his chest. It's hard not to grow frustrated, the bitter hurt at both your words and the situation he's fabricated in his head bordering on anger.

"It's not that much of an exaggeration, and you know it," he shoots back, his voice increasingly tight and strained. "You were desperate that night. You only came back to me because you knew I'd get on my knees and worship the ground you walk on, no questions asked."

The words are like acid in his mouth, but he can't help but feel a sense of bitter satisfaction—of victory—seeing the way you react. And he knows it's unfair, but he's too riled up right now (a problem of his own making, naturally) to care.

“You knew I’d come running the moment you called. You wanted that, you wanted me to drop everything and come crawling to you again, begging at your feet.”

"I've never wanted Art, you delusional prick," you scowl. And then you withdraw yourself suddenly, the movement almost violent in the way you disappear from his arms so quickly it's like you were almost never there.

You sit at the edge of the bed, legs draped over the edge as you card a frustrated hand through your messy hair. And at that sudden withdrawal, Patrick almost feels like something has been wrenched out of him, his hands clenching around empty air as you move away. He sits back against the headboard, his eyes fixed on your slumped figure at the edge of the bed, the sudden distance in the room almost palpable. 

He wants to reach out and pull you back to him, to bury his face in your neck and kiss you until he can’t remember why he’s angry. But he doesn’t. Instead he swallows the words bubbling in his throat and lets the silence fall.

There’s a sense of resignation in the quiet that envelops the room. Patrick can feel the tension between you, the weight of all the things you’re refusing to say, while you stew at the edge of the bed.

He watches you, taking in the slope of your shoulders and the way your fingers are tangled in your hair (a nervous habit of yours, he's come to learn, but it seems more aggrieved than anxious at the moment), and his own heart aches with the need to bridge the distance between you. 

But he doesn’t. Not yet. There’s something he has to say first.

“You’ve never wanted Art?” His voice is quiet, and he can feel the resentment brewing at the back of his throat. “You’ve never even thought about it?” 

He’s grasping for something, anything, anything at all to convince himself that he’s wrong. 

“Answer me honestly, and don’t you dare lie.”

"I can't believe you would even say that," you say, shaking your head. Your gaze burns into the ground beneath your bare feet, your knee bouncing. You're itching for a cigarette, but you can't bring yourself to move to get one right now.

"No, Patrick. Art's a friend, at most."

He almost scoffs at the words, his heart twisting painfully in his chest. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you, really. And it’s not that he doesn’t believe you, either. 

It’s just that he wants to. He needs to. 

“Bullshit,” he mutters. “I see the way you look at him, the way you act around him. I’m not stupid.”

God, he’s grasping, and he knows it.

“You keep coming back to me because you know it’s safe, you know there’s no risk,” He scoffs, bitter with self-pity. Or maybe self-sabotage. “You know I’ll always be here, at your beck and call, because I’m in love with you, and you know how much that hurts me. But God forbid you ever let yourself fall for me too. That might actually be a challenge. That might actually need effort from you.”

"Patrick Zweig, if you're going to sit here and accuse me of being in love with your best friend and not you, my fucking boyfriend," you snap, turning your head back towards him. "I'm going to walk out that door right now. I'm not doing this with you."

His chest tightens uncomfortably at those words, at the threat of you leaving, of you walking out the door and never looking back. But he can’t back down, not now. Not when he’s so sure of this. He needs to know. He has to know. 

He takes a breath, and ploughs on. Might as well dig his own grave at this point.

“I wish you would,” he scoffs, his eyes fixed on you in challenge. “I wish you would have walked out a long time ago.”

His heart aches as the words leave his mouth, the bitter irony not lost on him. He can see that they cut you, the way your shoulders sag and your expression clouds, and a small part of him hates himself for doing it. But there’s something else, some twisted, masochistic part of him that relishes the hurt he’s causing. Because at least you feel something. 

He laughs, a harsh, hollow sound, even to his own ears. “Maybe you should leave this time, for good.”

"Maybe I should, Patrick," you snap in reply, your words nothing short of biting. The only thing that's stopping you from getting up and storming out right now is the anchor of the regret you know you'd feel as soon as the door was shut. "Run off into the sunset with Art, shall I? And you can go off and find a girl willing to write you the little sonnets and love poems you so clearly need."

A volatile mixture of hurt and anger and resentment wells up in his chest at that. Mocking his adoration for poetry is a low blow, and you both know it. He's never asked that of you—that’s not your way of showing affection. It’s his. A way of expressing his love, and you act like it's some inconvenience?

“Oh, I’ll find one. You don’t have to worry about that,” he says. “I’ll find someone who actually wants me, instead of someone who just keeps me around because I’m convenient.”

He knows he’s treading dangerous waters now, that one wrong word might set you off like a powder keg. But he can’t seem to stop himself, the words tumbling out of his mouth like a flood he has no hopes of containing. At this point, he doesn’t even want to.

“I’ll find someone who sees me as something more than just a fallback, someone who actually cares about me, not just about what I can do for her.”

"And what can you do for me, huh? Except sit there and whine about the fact I'm supposedly in love with your dear old pal?" You fire back.

His heart aches at those words, the accusation like a knife to his chest. 

Patrick swallows, his voice tight. “I have been nothing but devoted to you. All these years, everything I ever do is for you. I would drop anything, anyone, at your command.”

He scoffs. “I would literally take a bullet for you,” he says, the words practically spat out.

“And all you’ve ever given me is your scraps of attention,” He continues. “You come and go as you please, taking whatever you want from me with no regard for my feelings, and you have the audacity to act like I’m asking for too much?”

"I have never once told you that you were asking for too much, Patrick. What I am saying, is that it's absolutely ridiculous that you could accuse me of... of what? Wanting to be unfaithful to you, with Art, no less? Am I supposed to just take that in my stride and not act as if it doesn't make me sick to my stomach to hear that?" You say, the words pouring out of you, laced with derision and perhaps just a little bit of... anguish? as you rise to your feet. Or perhaps that's just wishful thinking on his part.

He knows he’s crossed a line, that he’s gone too far this time. But he can’t stop himself from doubling down. 

“Why?” he says, his voice low. “Why does it make you sick, hmm? Because I’m wrong, or because I’m right?”

"Because you're wrong, Patrick. And it disgusts me that it could even cross your mind that I would ever do such a thing to you," you sneer in reply. "I mean, do you really think that little of me?" A dry, humourless laugh punctuates your words.

His heart aches to hear it, the disdain and indignation in your voice like a punch to the gut. He swallows down the retort that rises in his throat, the urge to hurt you back growing stronger with every moment you refuse to admit what he believes to be the truth. 

But he bites his tongue, his voice a quiet confession as he says, “Sometimes? Yes, I do.”

You scoff.

“I think you could tear my heart out, smash it to pieces, and not even bat an eye,” he continues, his voice dropping into a quiet confession. “I think you’ll ruin me without a second thought if it meant you got what you wanted in the end.”

He takes a breath, his voice strained with the weight of his admission. The same words have adorned a page a thousand times, but speaking them aloud is something else entirely. He's not sure whether it's making him feel worse or better.

God, he feels pathetic.

“And that kills me. It kills me to know that you’ve got me wrapped so tight around your finger that I’m just willing to follow you around like a lost puppy, waiting for the scraps of attention you deign to give me.”

He laughs, a dark, humourless sound. “I must look pathetic to you, yeah?”

He hates himself for it, but he continues. There’s no point in stopping now, right?

“Tell me, do you laugh about me behind my back with Art when we’re not together? Does he tell you how I’ll do practically anything you want, that I’ll bend over backwards just for the thrill of being the one who gets a scrap of your precious time? I bet he does,” he says, his voice laced with animosity at just the thought. “I bet he gets off on watching me trip all over myself just for your attention. It probably amuses him, I’m sure it’s very funny to watch me suffer. A big difference from the Patrick Zweig everyone else knows, right? How delightful.”

"Stop it," you interject, the words a harsh demand. But there's a hint of desperation in your gaze, as if you cannot stand to hear such vile accusations. "I don't do that, Pat. Nor does he."

And his chest tightens at the hurt in your eyes, at the raw emotion that’s there. But he doesn’t let up, he can’t let up. 

“Why should I believe you, hmm?” he says, his voice dripping with derision. “Why should I just take your word for it, just like that, when I know the truth?” Patrick scoffs, his eyes meeting yours in a defiant stare as he watches you tug your trousers back on. 

“Because you’re supposed to treat your boyfriend with faithfulness and respect,” he retorts, voice flat with accusation. “But I guess we’re both falling short, aren’t we?”

"I do treat you with faithfulness, you absolute tosser," you bite in reply. You cross his room to retrieve your shoes, your face contorted into a scowl. His stomach churns as he watches, at your clear intention to leave. 

“Where are you going?" he demands, his voice rising as panic floods through him. "You can't just walk out every time we argue like this, you can't—"

"I can't what? The only thing I cannot do, is sit there and listen to you accuse me of being unfaithful to you. I won't do it," you say, shaking your head vehemently as you drop down to the floor. Damn your stupid laced boots.

He lets out a frustrated huff, his mind reeling with the panic and hurt that’s swirling inside him. 

“But it’s true!" he says, the words almost involuntary as they tear themselves from his chest. He's desperate at this point. To continue or resolve this fight, he does not know. But he can't have you leave. “You are unfaithful to me—maybe not in body, but at least in heart!”

"You are so... so stupid sometimes, Patrick, I cannot even fathom it. It hurts my fucking brain that you could even... you could even conjure up such a thing in your own," you say, as you fumble with the laces. He's the most intelligent person you know, sure, but that big brain of his is rendered utterly useless when it comes to matters of the heart.

Not that you're much better, really.

He lets out a humourless laugh, the sound both rough and bitter. “Yeah, I’m stupid,” he returns, his voice harsh. “I’m just the idiot who’s completely in love with you, who can’t see that you’re completely, utterly enchanted with my best friend instead.”

Another laugh, the sound hollow in the air. “I’m the fool who’s just willing to look the other way while you sit there and make a joke out of me, while you string me along while you decide whether you want me or him.”

"I don't want him," you snap. You're all but yelling at him now, the level of volume certainly enough to raise some questions on the floor of the dorm. But given your entire conversation, propriety is not on the table right now, as you finally do up your laces and rise to your feet.

"I want you, Pat."

The words cut through him like a knife, slicing deep into his heart. His chest tightens painfully at the admission, the air leaving his lungs in a harsh exhale. Because, unlike all those other placating whispers, the vehemence in your voice now feels real to him. He’s silent for a moment, the only sound in the room his breaths. All he can feel is the rapid, heavy pounding of his heart.

Finally, he speaks hoarsely. “Then prove it, for once in your life. Show me that you mean it, and it's not just... just some bullshit to placate me."

"What do you want me to do, huh?" You say, throwing your hands up in exasperation. "Declare my undying love for you? Run off and elope with you in the night?"

He shakes his head, the motion sharp and frustrated. “No, not any of that soppy nonsense,” he says, his voice still roughened by emotion. “Just look me in the eyes and tell me, honestly, that I’m the only one you care about. That there’s nothing between you and Art Donaldson.”

"There is nothing going on between us," you tell him, crossing the distance back towards the bed. Your eyes are dark and steely as you look at him, unyielding. "Not a single thing."

His heart thumps in his chest, the palpable battle between hope and lingering doubt sending a shudder through his body. It takes a moment for your words sink in, the sound of his own harsh breathing filling the silence between them. 

Finally, his voice comes out in a raspy whisper. “You swear it on your life?”

"Do you want me to pull out a fucking Bible, too?" You snap back. And then the tension in your body seeps out a little, and you drag a hand through your hair. A moment's pause, and then your continuation is a lot softer, "I swear."

Patrick nods, swallowing hard. He's half-tempted to ask for a pinky promise, but that seems so ridiculously juvenile right now and would only lead to further embarrassment. But he needs to be sure. He has to be sure.

"Swear it on your family," he continues, his voice still choked. "On your father, your mother, your brothers. Swear it on everything you hold dear."

You let out a scoff at that; you're half-tempted to call him pathetic, to laugh at him for demanding such a thing. But you don't, tugging on the roots of your hair as you try to force the words out.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say. But the moment of hesitation passes. “I swear it. On everything.”

He feels the tension drain out of him, his heart easing at that response. He lets out a long, ragged exhale, the pain in his chest slowly lessening. 

He believes you. He has to believe you. Because you are the substance he craves, and he is nothing but a lowly acolyte, ever at the mercy of his deity.

So in that moment, he just can’t bring himself to care if he looks ridiculous. He's already been enough of a twat tonight.

Without another word, he pushes himself off the bed and closes the gap between you, taking you in his arms and pulling you flush against him. He feels cold, standing up naked like this. But he’d face the harshest winds of the Arctic to feel you against him right now. A part of you wants to push him away, tell him that you want nothing to do with him right now. That you need time to process the fact that he had so little faith in you. Because fuck, that had hurt.

But the warmth of his embrace drains the fight in you. You melt into him, and you're almost tempted to cry as your arms loop around him. He buries his face in your hair, inhaling the familiar scent of you—jasmine, cigarettes and lingering sweat from your earlier endeavours. God, that feels like a lifetime ago now.

The thought of you wanting to leave had terrified him, and it’s only now, with you safe in his arms, the reassurance you had given him settling in his chest, that the full force of the fear hits him. 

His voice is a hoarse murmur when he speaks into your soft hair, the words thick with emotion. “I’m an idiot. A total knobhead.”

He laughs, the sound dry and humourless. “I’m so stupid it’s a wonder I haven’t dropped dead yet from pure idiocy.” He takes another shaky breath, holding you tighter. “I’m sorry. I was wrong, I was… I was utterly wrong, and I didn’t—“

He cuts himself off, exhaling into your hair as he searches for the words his brain provides but his mouth refutes. “I just don’t know what I would do if I lost you. I love you so much, it’s unbearable. I think I’d go fucking mad. You’re it for me." The words are whispered with a fierce desperation. “I know I act like a selfish idiot most of the time, but you have to believe me, I just… I just can’t lose you. I love you. I love you so much, and I would do anything, anything to keep you. So just… please,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible in the quiet room. “Just please don’t ever leave me, my beloved. Please.”

“Don’t call me my beloved right now, you absolute arse. You don't deserve it,” you huff out in reply. But the words are tinged with something lighter again, even if it feels like you might burst into tears at the familiar term.

Patrick lets out a laugh, his voice rough and ragged but tinged with genuine mirth. He can practically feel the weight lifted off his shoulders at your tease.

“Bloody hell, I just bared my bleeding heart to you, woman, and you’re more concerned with my choice of endearment. I mean, where’s your romantic spirit, hmm?” he murmurs, his voice a low vibration against your ear. “Here I am baring my soul to you, and you can’t even muster up a single I love you, my darling Pat?”

“I hate you too much right now to muster up such a horrible thing,” you whisper in reply, words muffled against his chest. The way you're clinging to him right now shows quite the opposite of disdain, though.

He gives another huff of laughter, the sound tinged with relief; he can see right through your facade. For once, it feels like you’re letting him in. He lifts a hand to your head and threads it through your hair, his voice softer and more affectionate now. “You don’t hate me, and you know it. You just like to act all blasé and casual, to keep me on my toes. Nothing is ever simple with you.”

“You’re such a bloody prick sometimes, Pat,” you breathe out in reply. “Honestly, I just… god.”

You shake your head against him. You aren't entirely sure whether you want to take off your boots again or just collapse into the sheets with him and hold each other, whispering nonsense to each other into the dark hours of the night. Or, the complete opposite, and allow that lingering hurt to take precedence and drive you to bid him goodnight and spend the night in your own quarters. Patrick is thinking the same, his mind torn in two. Part of him is desperate to bury his fear, his doubt, in a night of love and tenderness. To drown it in the comfort of your body, in the taste of your skin.

The other part wants to cling to you, begging forgiveness over and over and over until it sinks in that you're not leaving, not now, not ever. That you're his, that he’s yours. And he’ll never, ever doubt you again.

But he knows you, he knows you, and he knows that you're still hurt, still angry, still upset by the accusations that he’d made. And while his instincts urge him to take you in his arms, his chest tight with the need for touch, for comfort, he can’t bring himself to do it. Not when it might piss you off even more than he already has. Because sure, the basis of his argument had been solid. The need for affection, for something more than just tender touches late at night...

The accusations, though? Far too much.

So instead, he just pulls you impossibly closer against him, holding you tight to keep you both anchored together, his voice rasping against your ear. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

And you allow him.

“I was an idiot,” he continues, his voice hoarse. “A blind, selfish, stupid idiot. I let myself believe a load of bollocks when I should’ve trusted you. You’re the most faithful, the most wonderful, the most… the most goddamn perfect person—“

He cuts himself off, his voice catching in his throat. “You’re everything. You’re everything to me.”

He pulls back just enough to look down at you, his heart thrumming in his chest. His eyes are shining with earnestness as he tells you, “I’ll never doubt you again. I promise. I swear on my dead grandmother, I’ll never doubt you again.”

“Oh, don’t bring your fucking grandmother into this,” you groan, shutting your eyes. “It’s so terribly morbid. I can’t have that on my conscience.”

Patrick lets out a shaky bark of laughter. He cups your chin, gently tilting your head up with the press of his fingers. “Can’t have my very serious and sincere promise to never doubt you again being tainted by the mention of a long-dead old woman in my family?” He shakes his head, his voice tinged with fond exasperation. “You are the strangest girl I’ve ever known, did you know that? Any other girl I’ve had a tiff with, they’d’ve swooned at the mention of my undying devotion. But you just worry about the deceased.”

“Is it so hard to believe I hold respect for the dead?” You reply, with a tiny little smile that tells him some of your anger towards him has melted away. “Besides, I’m not any other girl, you know. There’s a reason you’re so hung up on me.”

He lets out a huff of laughter, his eyes dancing with affection. “No, you’re not any other girl,” he agrees, giving your chin a playful pinch between his thumb and forefinger. “Which is why I’m so hopelessly in love with you, even when you’re being difficult and contrary and obstinate.”

He sighs, his tone affectionate rather than exasperated. “And when you’re not letting me take responsibility and properly apologize for my idiocy, which, might I add, is an absolute crime against chivalry and romance.”

“Just shut your mouth and take my boots off, after making me go through such trouble to put them back on,” you sigh. You pull free from his grasp to take a seat on the edge of the bed, watching him expectantly.

He lets out his own long-suffering sigh, though the corner of his mouth is quirked up in a smile. “My my, my stubborn girl has some demands tonight, does she?” he says, slowly lowering himself onto his knees in front of you.

“You’re very lucky I’m in a forgiving mood,” he adds as his fingers find the laces of your boot. A bold statement to make, judging by the argument he had started. But at least he's being a little more himself. “I don’t think anyone else would be so eager to give into such an entitled little princess.”

But he tugs the first boot off, gently setting it aside before moving on to the second, his hands moving with practiced ease. Despite the teasing edge in his voice, there’s undeniable care in his movements, a tenderness in the way he works. Fingers grazing over your ankles, working your shoe free and giving a teasing little tug to your frilled lace sock to watch it snap back against your skin.

“Honestly, you’re like a cat,” he teases as he tosses the second boot aside. “Spend all day lounging about and lazing in the sun, then expect me to come along and pamper you as soon as the sun goes down.”

He places a kiss to your knee, and then rises to his feet, settling back on the bed and leaning against the headboard. Patrick beckons to you, patting the space beside him. “Come here,” he says, his voice soft and coaxing; it’s not the first time he’s started an argument, and it probably won’t be the last. But he always knows how to ease the tension afterwards. “I’m not done pampering you yet.”

He gives a quiet hum of satisfaction as you settle in beside him, his arm coming to wrap around your shoulders. He tugs you as close as physics will allow, right against his chest, his other hand coming up to idly toy with your hair. 

He’s quiet for a moment, simply basking in the feel of you against him, your bodies pressed together. Then, he finally breaks the silence. 

“I really am an idiot, you know.”

His voice is soft, tinged with just a hint of self-deprecation, a contrast to his normal bravado. He shakes his head, his fingers twisting in your hair unconsciously. “I mean… I honestly, honestly believed you’d cheat on me, with fucking Art of all people, just because I… because I had a terrible day. Like all the work you’ve done to prove your loyalty is rendered null and void just because I let my insecurities get the best of me. Art,” he repeats, as if the very idea is ridiculous. “I mean, come on. I know he’s handsome and all that, but he’s one of the most awkward men I know. I’m honestly not sure he even knows how to flirt, let alone have an affair with someone.”

Patrick shakes his head.

“And you,” he continues, his voice gentling once more. “You’re like the picture of loyalty. It’s one of the things I love most about you. You’re fierce and passionate, but you give that loyalty to people you care about, and once it’s given, it’s as good as cemented in stone. You don’t go back on it. You’d never betray someone you loved, not like that, even if you were offered the sun and the moon on a silver platter.”

He lets out a sigh, tightening his arm around your shoulder. “And I know that. I do. But sometimes I get so… scared that you’ll realize how much better you deserve and just… leave me. For someone else who’s better at this relationship thing, or less insecure and angry and just… better than me.”

“Pat, I literally could not care less about finding anyone other than you—“

“And for the thousandth time,” he counters, his voice tinged with feigned annoyance at your stubbornness. “I know that. But my stupid brain still tries to convince me you’re going to realize I’m just too rough around the edges for you to deal with.” He huffs out a bitter laugh. “Honestly, I don’t know how you’ve managed to put up with me as long as you have. I’m lucky to have a girl who doesn’t care about how incapable I am at everything outside of literature, and I go and accuse her of being in love with my best friend like a wanker.”

He shakes his head. “You’re a saint, is what you are, for putting up with me. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I thank whatever gods are watching that you put up with my idiocy on a daily basis.”

He gives one of the locks of your hair a little playful tug. “And if you ever do decide to leave me, just… make sure you have the decency to take pity on me and warn me in advance, hmm? I’d like the chance to at least grovel and beg for your forgiveness, before you walk out the door.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Yes, yes. I’ll be sure to give you a few days notice.”

“Good,” he says with a nod, his tone serious in spite of the mirth dancing in his eyes. “I think that’s reasonable. A few days notice, a good bottle of gin, and a chance to make an absolute fool of myself before you walk away. I doubt I’d be able to change your mind, but I’d at least like to go through the motions before you leave me to wallow in my own self-pity and grief.”

Patrick sighs.

"Probably find a new favorite bar to wallow in, too,” he adds. “I’d have to give up every spot we’ve been to together, especially the ones you like. Can’t go there anymore, since they’d remind me too much of you.”

He pauses for a moment, his fingers idly tracing the curve of your shoulder, your collarbone, anywhere exposed by the half-buttoned linen. “I don’t think I’d ever find another bottle of gin I’d like as much, either. The one from the store down the street would be too sweet, the one from the high-end bar over on the main road would taste too tart… nothing would compare to the one we share.”

There’s a contemplative pause, where he taps his finger against you a few times.

“And I’d have to find an entirely new wardrobe,” he laments. “I could never wear these fucking argyle sweaters again. They’d remind me too much of you and how lovely you look in them when I loan them out to you.”

And oh, how beautiful he thinks you look in his clothes.

“I’d have to sell all my records, too,” he continues, his words tinged with a melodramatic amount of despair for the sake of comedy in an attempt to lighten the mood. “All of our favorites. Never listen to my Beatles records again, because every song I play would remind me of the hundred times we’ve bloody well sung along together and get all sad and pathetic about it. And don’t even get me started on all the poems I’ve written for you,” he says, shaking his head. “I’d have to throw out every single scrap of paper they’re written on. Or better yet, burn the manuscripts of my work as an offering to purge the memories. That would probably be more poetic. Much more fitting, I feel.”

He can practically feel you rolling your eyes against him, and he knows you’re moments away from telling him to shut up for the rest of the night.

“And I’d have never enjoy a cup of tea ever again,” he says, his voice dropping into a low, exaggerated whisper. “Wouldn’t even touch the stuff. And God, the movies we’ve seen together. I’d have to steer clear of every theatre for the rest of my life, at risk of remembering how you look in the dark with the film playing across your face.”

He takes a deep breath (because he’s been running his mouth for so long his lungs are in dire need of oxygen), his hand (which seems to be permanently stained with ink) coming up to cradle your cheek. “And the places we’ve gone together. The restaurant with the good pizza, the one you like, I’d never be able to eat from again. The park down the road where we like to go for a quiet walk sometimes. The museum we like with the beautiful pieces you love to stare at for hours. The bookstore where we pick out the ones with the stupid titles so we can read them aloud to each other. The coffee shop with your favourite drink, the art store you like to go to that always makes me drag you out after you spend an outrageous amount on supplies…” he trails off, shaking his head. “Everything would remind me of you. Fucking everything.”

And as playful as he’s being, he knows that part isn’t an exaggeration.

“Honestly, I don’t know how I’d even survive.” He says with a melodramatic sigh, shaking his head dejectedly, the very pinnacle of a pitiful boyfriend. “I’d probably wither and die in my own self-pity and despair, wallowing away like the pathetic and miserable creature I am until someone found me, stiff as a board and dried up like a mummified corpse.”

“Jesus, Pat, stop being so dramatic. You’re like a broken record. Giving me a headache,” you groan.

“It’s not my fault I’m so maudlin when I’m thinking about your hypothetical exit from my life,” he defends himself with an indignant huff of protest, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Not many things get me all pathetic and poetic and melodramatic, my girl, but the idea of you leaving me is absolutely one of them.”

There’s a brief pause, and you can just tell whatever he says next is going to drive you mad.

“But…” he adds, with a hint of mischievousness in his voice, “I suppose your beautiful, angelic, radiant presence just inspires me with such overwhelming despair that I have to write a tragic Shakespearean sonnet to lament your absence in my life, for my heart is heavy and my spirit broken after your cruel, heartless abandonment.”

He gives another melodramatic sigh, one hand pressed dramatically to his heart next to your head. “Oh, the agony, the pain of it all. How I shall ever survive without you, my sweet, sweet darling… I can think of no other woman, no other soul on this earth, who can inspire such passionate misery and sorrow within me. Why, without you, I’m but a mere shell of my former self. A man wandering through life’s garden, stumbling and blind without the glorious sunshine, without the warmth and brightness that you so beautifully provide. Oh, you must find it within your heart of hearts to take pity on me, and spare me the endless abyss that would be my life without your light and love.”

He goes silent as your hand presses against his mouth, his lips parting beneath your touch. He meets your gaze with an equal mixture of amusement and mock despair, his eyebrows arching in a comically dramatic display of desperation. It's a testament to his theatrics that the expression he manages to maintain is just believable enough to look genuine, with his wide, puppy-dog eyes that convey nothing less than a hopeless devotion.

What an absolute fucking idiot. Unfortunately, he’s your absolute fucking idiot.

He sighs against your palm, the sound coming out more like a low, resigned whimper (that he’ll absolutely deny outside of this interaction), his eyes pleading with you to show mercy on his poor, wretched soul. He lets his lower lip jut out in the slightest of pouts, as if that will do the trick in persuading you to remove your hand from its place against his face and spare him a kiss in its place.

You can’t help but scoff, even as you acquiesce, rolling your eyes as you withdraw your hand. "You are utterly ridiculous, you know."

“Can’t fault a man for pouring his heart out,” he counters with a dramatic sigh, his hand coming up to dramatically clutch at his chest in a gesture of mock grief. “I can’t help that you’re my muse, the source of all my inspiration. I mean, look at you,” he says, gesturing towards you as you sit up and fix him with a flat look. “You’re so beautiful, it leaves me weak and helpless to the machinations of my own mind.”

You move to cover his mouth again, but he catches your wrist.

“How can I be expected to contain myself in the presence of true, unparalleled beauty such as yourself, my love?” He adds, lowering his other hand to reach for you, gently taking hold of your chin again.

He studies your face, his eyes tracing the shape, the curve of your lips, the flare of your nose, with an intensity that borders on obsessive. The look on his face could only be described as one of utter adoration. “You’re the very definition of an Aphrodite, you know. The living embodiment of divine grace and heavenly radiance.”

Patrick ignores your scoff in pursuit of maintaining his theatrical display of affection.

“It’s enough to drive an ordinary man mad, with your flawless skin, your sparkling eyes, the beautiful curve of your mouth. I swear, the heavens themselves would weep at the sheer injustice of it all,” he continues, his thumb gently tracing the line of your lips. He gives a dramatic, shuddering sigh. “To have a goddess of beauty on the arm of a mere mortal… the gods would be furious, don’t you think?”

“You disgust me sometimes, Pat,” you say, fixing him with a pointed look. “I ought to tell Tashi about how much of a snivelling fool you become when you’re laying it on thick for forgiveness.”

"No, no, you mustn't," he returns quickly, releasing your chin to clutch desperately at your wrist with both hands. "I'd quite literally die if she knew that I'm such a snivelling, pathetic, lovesick fool around you. She'd never let me live it down, I swear it. I'd never hear the end of it."

"Then stop it with your flowery words," you huff, rolling your eyes softly. (Although, you both know you secretly love it. Except it’s much preferred in the form of the poems you can pocket, not this ridiculous display following an argument.)

"I can't help it, my darling," he groans, the perfect picture of despair and melodramatic pleading. "It's like a disease, a sickness that courses through my veins and fills me with the most desperate, pathetic, romantic nonsense. You're like my own personal muse, you know. My inspiration. My entire world wrapped up in one beautiful, flawless goddess of a woman."

“Stop it.”

"And if I didn't take every spare moment to worship the ground you walk on, the stars you shine amongst, the very sun and moon themselves that pale in comparison to your radiant brilliance," he sighs. "I might spontaneously combust. Or drop dead from the pure intensity of the love you've inspired in me."

"No more talking," you declare.

Patrick pouts as you (heartlessly) cut off his dramatic ramble, falling silent for a moment. "But I—" he starts to protest, before thinking better of it and stopping himself with a huff. "Fine. No more talking."

"Good," you say, placing a chaste little kiss to the corner of his mouth to placate him. "I cannot stand it when you become such a sap."

Despite his earlier protest, he softens at the feeling of your kiss, the subtle pout on his face softening into a fond, almost boyish smile. His hand comes up to touch his mouth, as if to capture the lingering sensation of your lips against his skin.

"Can't blame a man for his poetic tendencies, my love," he quips, his voice dropping into a soft, mock-offended tone as he lowers his hand to admire the rouge lipstick stain on his finger. "Especially in the presence of such an inspiring, radiant woman."

“No more talking,” you repeat, fixing him with a warning look.

Patrick’s smirk widens into a teasing grin, his eyes sparkling with a playful defiance. He parts his lips as if to protest once more, but a raised eyebrow from you has him pausing, his words dying on his tongue. Instead, he simply gives his thousandth sigh, his expression a perfect picture of mock-forlorn obedience. "Fine, not a word. My lips are sealed, sealed tighter than a safe from Fort Knox itself."

“You’re like a fucking thesaurus sometimes,” you sigh. “Or Shakespeare himself. It drives me insane.”

Patrick just grins. “I prefer to think of myself as a modern-day Shakespeare,” he says. “Just replace all the swords and daggers with cocktails and cigarettes, and voila! A modern bard of the highest order.”

And, just like that, the pair of you laugh, your earlier transgressions melting away in the light of the familiar banter settling between you. A warm blanket to ease the tension until only a puddle of young, imperfect, stupid love remains.

[dunmeshistash]

Do you have any references or pictures of the mounts in dungeon meshi? Like the monsters they use to traverse, similar to the ones shown in the pictures here

I think that first one is the only mount we see in dunmeshi and it's a lizard demihuman riding it. The second one is an illustration for another one of Kui's stories!

One time I got an related ask about orcs and Wargs

But the dullahan is a monster (spirit) that rides a horse (or a headless bicorn later on) actually I think all the horse monsters end up being ridden one way or another in the manga (unicorn, bicorn and kelpie. Kelpie ridding not a good idea)

Maybe Kui wanted to stay somewhat realistic with how rideable her monsters are?

Here's some more dragon riding from the Dragon's School oneshot (Which I highly recommend)

Dragon's School also touches on a point that Laios talks about, which I think wouldn't be the case if people could actually ride monsters in that world, which is how useful these creatures can be (In dunmeshi's case Laios says out loud they cant be used while still alive). That's one of the reasons he was fascinated by the Golden Kingdom

[burningcheese-merchant]

cmon burningcheese headcanon generator 3000. I know you got some more in there so SPIT IT OUT ALREADY!!!

Should I change my blog name to that, I wonder 🤔

Rough day today so I'm going to answer this particular ask in an attempt at self-soothing because BurningCheese makes me happy haha

For Valentine's Day, Burning Spice likes to show off his surprising way with words by writing Golden Cheese poetry. Even today, after knowing him for so long (and knowing he's not dumb, far from it), she still can't help but feel astonished by the silver tongue he hides in his mouth. He's been doing this since long before they ever got together (he started when she began tolerating him enough to allow him near her outside of their usual sparring sessions lol) and he's never missed a day. Even when she still hated him, she was never able to refuse (both because he knew to play to her love of gifts, and because he wouldn't leave her alone until she took the damn envelope lol)... Nowadays she almost acts like a schoolgirl with a crush, in how excited she is to see what he writes her next. She keeps them all safe in an everything-proof box and it's one of her favorite things to receive from him (like so haha)

Likes To Bite x Likes Being Bitten (and it goes both ways lol. GC just waits until they're alone to give him a nibble. He loves it so fucking much you have no idea)

BS's main love language is physical touch, which he gives GC in spades. A hand on her shoulder, an arm around her waist, grabbing her and yanking her away from whatever she's doing and into an inescapable hug, holding her in his lap, smothering her with kisses, adult fun time (wink wink)... He simply cannot keep his hands off of her, nor does he want to, nor will he ever. (this also extends to fighting. They still spar all the time, for fun. Old habits die hard)

BS is extremely clingy at bedtime, he will grab onto GC and fall asleep and not let her go no matter what (he won't wake up either, he sleeps like the dead... Unless she tries to get up to drink water or something, then he's awake and grumbling and fussing like a spoiled baby until she's back in his indestructible cage of an embrace)

GC doesn't like spicy food at all. She indulges BS when he wants her to try food from his homeland because that's what lovers do for each other (and she's too proud to chicken out), but... goodness, those people are insane. They think this amount of spice in a dish is acceptable??? BS just thinks it's really funny to watch her sputter and her face turn red when she eats a mouthful of vindaloo lol (although he secretly hopes that any children they have do not inherit her spice intolerance)

BS helps GC preen or otherwise tend to her wings when necessary. She used to ask her attendants to help, now he's the only one who's allowed to (they've come a long way since this haha)

They're both very jealous and not jealous at the same time, if that makes any sense. Neither doubts the other's loyalty or devotion, not one bit. Buuuuut alsooooooo they don't like when anyone else tries anything with the other lol. Someone even LOOKS at GC Like That and BS is either getting in their face to intimidate them or being overly touchy with GC to establish dominance lol. (GC usually doesn't need to step in if the reverse happens, BS will just tell other women to fuck off point-blank. But if they don't listen, then it's HER turn to be overly touchy to establish dominance lol. Also, lots of mean girl insults. That's what you get for trying something with her man)

BS proposed to GC on the same cliff where he tore up her wings. Very macabre and tasteless on the surface, admittedly, but he saw it as undoing the dark, unfortunate significance that place held. Making new, happy memories to replace the old, unhappy ones, ykwim? (She understood what was meant by them being there when it happened, she was actually very touched)

BS is GC's new throne. Being significantly smaller than him means she fits really snug in his lap. An extra throne was not built for him after they married because GC said that he's allowed to sit in hers and she'll just sit in his lap when he does lol

GC tastes rich and a bit salty; BS tastes very hot and spicy. His is actually the only spice she can tolerate (and thinks is delicious)

Something kid-related just because: GC named their son, BS named their daughter. But you probably could've guessed that on your own haha

[channiesluvrclub]

ғʀɪᴇɴᴅs, ʀɪɢʜᴛ? - ᴄʜʀɪsᴛᴏᴘʜᴇʀ ʙᴀɴɢ

A/n: Hello loves! this is my first full length smut on here, I hope all of my Chan biased people really enjoy this. This was proof read but then again there could still be some mistakes.

Info/TW: Bestfriend!Chan, Fem!reader, Slight nipple play, Oral sex Fem!Receiving, ServiceDom!Chan, Aftercare.

WC: 2.8k

You were relaxing at your best friend’s house. Bangchan was always a sweetheart and most of your hangouts usually consisted of listening to music while doing your own things. Today was like any other, the both of you on his bed, r&b music playing in the background. In this case, The Color Violet by Tory Lanez was playing. It was a song commonly appearing in multiple of your playlists.

Bangchan settled his head into the side of your thigh, his eyes closing as he let the music sink in. “Hey, I think we listen to this song just about every time we hang out.” He giggled a little as he spoke quietly.

You looked down at him humming in agreement. “Well, it is your favorite song, so I’m not surprised.” Your hands subconsciously raked through his hair as you spoke to him. He seemed to relax even further, his muscles loosening. “I think I’m gonna grab a snack from the kitchen, do you want anything?” You asked Bangchan, your hands slowing down their motions. He shook his head.

You carefully slipped out of the bed walking down to the kitchen. Bangchan often let you free roam his house considering you two were extremely close. Whatever was his was also yours, you were practically dating him at this point, you were just too scared to admit it. Thoughts of the two of you dating flushed your head as you stood in front of the pantry, gazing over the array of snacks. Meanwhile, Bangchan sat in his bedroom, thinking about you and your body. In his eyes you were the epitome of perfection, he loved everything about you. He loved the way you dressed, smelt, looked, and acted. As he thought about you, he could hear the crinkle of snack wrappers downstairs. 

Bangchan thought about his possible choices for a second. He could stay here and suppress his feelings or he could go downstairs and make his move on you. Why sit around and do nothing if he felt so strongly about you? Bangchan got up and walked downstairs quietly. He snuck up behind you, quickly wrapping his arms around your waist.

You let out a high pitched squeak, dropping the bag of pretzels you had in your hands. “Bangchan?” You called out, letting out a sigh. “Shh, it’s okay angel, it’s just me.” He whispered, pressing a small kiss to the back of your neck. You shuddered under his touch, it felt so relaxing yet possessive. 

You turned around to look him in the eyes. “Why are you-” He cut you off, pulling you flush to his chest, arm wrapped around your waist. “You look extra stunning today, angel. What's with the extra makeup? Are you trying to impress me, because it sure did work.” You looked into his eyes, a devilish grin creeping across his face. 

Bangchan pulled you back to his bedroom, the bag of pretzels forgotten on the floor, his dog berry would probably find them within no time. Your heart raced, practically throbbing out of your chest. What did he want? Why was he doing this? Did he see you as more than a best friend?

Bangchan propped you against the pillows on his bed, hovering over you. “Is this okay?” He whispered to you, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. You nodded in response only to be met with his disapproval. “I need words angel, I wouldn't want you to turn around and say I did this against your will.” He chuckled quietly. “Yes, please Chan, I think it's about time.” You looked deep into his eyes, searching for any sense of malicious intent. 

With your given consent he began to pull your t-shirt off, revealing that you had been lounging around without a bra this whole time. His eyes widened as he was met with the view of your breasts, nipples stiff and aching, all for him. He leaned down further, placing kisses down your chest until his lips reached the bud of your left breast. The way he hovered over you was tantalizing, it was as if he was teasing you. He looked up at you once more, asking for consent with his eyes. You nodded, gently running a hand through his hair. Bangchan smiled before pressing a soft kiss to the bud of your left breast, his free hand snaking up to your right breast to give it a little squeeze.

He looked up at you again. “You okay angel?” His eyes were filled with love and compassion, he truly loved and cared about you. “Yeah, I’m okay Channie.” You smiled down at him.

He continued to place kisses down your stomach, his lips now resting above the waistband of your sweats. Bangchan gently hooked his fingers under your waistband, pulling your sweats down carefully. He admired the sight of you, completely naked except for your lacy panties.

He sighed, eyes widening. “Oh angel, you’re so pretty.” He placed another kiss on your stomach before sliding your panties to the side.

You let out a small whine as the cold air hit your now exposed core. Bangchan’s eyes were glued to you, he was left breathless at the view of your pure beauty. He carefully slipped his fingers between your folds, your essence coating his long and slender fingers. His middle finger gently brushed across your clit causing you to shudder in pleasure.

You looked down at him, gently working his fingers into your core. “Channie, it feels so good. Don't ever stop.” He looked up at you, a smug grin on his face. “Then I should keep going? Maybe take it a step further?” He asked, a sultry tone in his voice. You nodded, grinding against his fingers, trying to get any traction that you could. 

Bangchan got up, laying you at the end of the bed. He then got on his knees on the floor, spreading your legs partly, the soft glow of the led lights illuminating your glistening essence that had dripped onto your inner thighs. His eyes were filled with a hungry look as he spread your legs further, pressing small kisses to your inner thigh. To your surprise, he didn’t hold back, pressing a long kiss to your clit. He began to gently suck on your clit, gently nipping at the pearl with his teeth every few seconds. Not enough to hurt you but just enough pain to fuel the pleasure. You moaned into your hand, trying not to make it obvious that you were enjoying his touch so much. 

Bangchan pulled away, snickering and looking up at you. “Don’t hide those pretty sounds from me angel. I want to hear you, be as loud as you please.” He smiled at you.

You looked down, slightly embarrassed. A slight blush spread across your face as he went back to licking and sucking at your clit. You could feel Bangchan’s soft hair against your thighs, the sensation being slightly ticklish. You pushed your hips closer to his face, the tip of his nose gently pressing against your clit, as his tongue now prodded at your entrance. A quiet moan slipped past your lips, the pressure on your clit being too much for you. This was an out of body experience. Your best friend making love to you was something you never expected.

Bangchan pulled away for a quick second. “Hanging in there angel?” You looked down, eyes met with his pretty, hazy, gaze. He was drunk off of your essence. You nodded in response, laying your head back into the pillows.

Bangchan dipped his head back into your plush thighs. He teased your clit with his tongue, his middle finger circling your entrance. By now you had lost all thoughts, the only thing in your head was the washed out sound of the music, which was long forgotten. You were close to your climax when Bangchan pulled away, looking up at you. 

He moved up to kiss at your breasts and collar again. “You want to go all the way?” He whispered, running a hand through your hair. You looked up at Bangchan, your eyes were hazy. “Yes, let’s go all the way. I love you… and if I’m being honest, I’ve wanted this for a long time.” He smiled after hearing your response. “Alright angel, protection of course.” He pulled a condom out of the bedside drawer.

The wrapper read “Her pleasure” That's sweet, he was always giving, never receiving. He wanted his significant other to get the pleasure rather than him. Bangchan quickly discarded of his clothing.  He then opened the wrapper, throwing it in the trash before sliding the condom onto his length. “Are you sure about this angel? I want to make sure you’re not feeling pressured. You know I won’t be upset if you want to back out of this?” He smiled at you, a nurturing look in his eyes. You nodded. “I’m ready Channie, let’s do this.” He smiled at you and then pulled off your panties completely. It was getting annoying having to push them to the side every so often.

He pressed a small kiss to your lips before positioning you in missionary. You looked up at him with doe eyes. “Channie, I haven’t done this before. Please be careful?” His eyes widened when you told him you were a virgin. “Oh angel, of course I’ll be careful. You’re still a virgin?” You nodded to his question. Bangchan let out a soft sigh. “Alright angel, well you should’ve told me sooner. It’s fine though, I’ll be careful. I will warn you and I’m not gonna sit here and lie. It will hurt your first time, but I promise it will feel really good once you get used to it. Still wanna go through with this?” You looked up at him, now reverting to a criss-cross sitting position. You contemplated for a while. “Yes, I still want to do this with you. I love you and I want my first time to be with you. I trust that you’ll take care of me and make sure I’m safe.” 

Bangchan smiled at you, now sitting on the edge of the bed next to you. “Alright angel, I’m glad you feel safe with me. I can’t wait to make you feel good.” He ran a hand through your hair before speaking again. “Alright angel, back into missionary.” You positioned yourself back into missionary with the help of Bangchan.

He reached over into the bedside table grabbing out a water based lube. He gently applied some to your entrance and then applied some over the condom. “Alright angel, let’s do this” He then pushed into you, his tip prodding you open. You let out a small whine of pain, you weren't used to something like this. He paused his actions, letting you adjust to his size. “Let me know when you’re ready for more angel.” He gently tapped your cheek with his index and middle finger. You were absolutely gone by now, head laid back onto the pillows, eyes rolled back. You weren't sure how to explain the feeling. It felt amazing yet there was still a tinge of pain. “Ready, please Channie.” You let out a breathy whine, beggingly.

Bangchan sighed before sinking deeper into you. He let out a strangled moan as your walls tightened around him. You tried to close your legs around him, it was a reflex. “No angel, you can’t be doing that” He smiled down at you, looking into your eyes. By now you had snapped back into reality, his brown eyes staring into yours, full of compassion and love. “Ready to keep going?” He asked, his voice was gentle, still husky though. You nodded, closing your eyes and losing yourself in the moment. 

Bangchan thrusted his hips into you. He bottomed out then pulled back, slamming his hips back into you repeatedly. God this felt like heaven, it was hard to even explain how good you felt. There was a burning sensation in your stomach, like a knot. Bangchan was busy slamming into you at an unhuman pace. Nobody had ever made you feel this way. You were too busy focusing on the pure ecstasy you were getting from this moment. “Channie… feels so good!” You let out a string of moans, the knot in your stomach tightening. Bangchan could feel your walls contract against him, he knew you were nearing an orgasm. He reached one of his hands down, gently pressing on your clit with his middle finger. You threw your head back at the contact. “Oh angel, you’re so beautiful right now.” He spoke quietly. His words were enough to throw you over the edge.

You released on his cock, letting out a long string of moans as he continued to gently grind his hips against yours. Your chest heaved up and down as you rode out your climax. Bangchan gently brushed a hand through your hair as your orgasm subsided. “Look at that angel, you just had your first real orgasm.” You smiled, eyes closed as you heard his voice. It felt amazing to experience that with him. That may have been the best 15 minutes you had ever experienced. Bangchan could tell from the gleam in your eyes, which you had now opened to look into his pretty gaze. “Channie… that was the best thing I have ever experienced.” You whispered breathlessly to him.

He carefully pulled out of you, rolling off the condom and throwing it into the trashcan at his bedside. “Let’s get you and me all cleaned up, okay?” Bangchan asked you with a loving tone as you propped yourself up on the pillows to look at him. You nodded in response to his statement. He smiled before helping you off of the bed and walking you to the bathroom.

Bangchan sat you on the edge of the bathtub before turning around to grab some things from under the counter. He grabbed some bath salts and massage oil. He then turned on the bath water, letting the tub fill up. The mirror started to steam up. Bangchan put some of the bath salts in the tub. “These should help you not be in so much pain tomorrow.” He smiled down at you. 

“Let's get in now.” He then stepped into the tub before sitting down. “Come on angel, just relax.” He spoke quietly, helping you into the bath carefully. You sat down, laying your back onto his chest. You closed your eyes, letting yourself relax. “Thank you Channie… I love you.” You mumbled quietly. He couldn’t believe you had said you loved him. Bangchan knew you had said it earlier but he didn't quite process it. He almost thought he misheard you. He carefully washed you off after squeezing some body wash into his hands. The liquid soap was cold and slippery against your body, the sensation was nice. His hands roamed over your curves, washing you off gently.

Once he was done rinsing you off he began to wash himself to the best of his ability with you sitting on top of him. At this point you were almost knocked out cold, still conscious but completely out of it. He finished washing himself before quietly whispering to you. “Angel, wake up, we have to get out of the tub.” Your eyes slowly fluttered open. He helped you up, then stood himself up. Once the two of you were out of the tub Bangchan wrapped you in a warm towel. 

He dried you off before quickly drying himself off. “Now, how does a nice massage sound?” His voice was filled with affection and care. You looked up at him with sleepy eyes before whispering. “No thanks, I want to rest.” He looked a bit taken aback before smiling. “It’s okay angel, let's go get in the bed then.” Bangchan grabbed your hand gently before turning off the bathroom light and leading you to the bedroom. He turned on the lamp on the bedside table as he helped you back into his bed.

Bangchan walked to the other side of the bed, getting in and snuggling up to you from behind. “You know I love you angel?” You smiled to yourself, letting out a small hum. Bangchan scooted behind you, his hand laying on your hip now. “Goodnight angel, thank you… for being my best friend and my love.” He spoke quietly, his voice was warm and a bit husky. You mumbled out a small “Goodnight.” before you closed your eyes, sleep washing over your body. Bangchan was left to think to himself in the dimly lit room. He couldn’t believe he had made love with you, his best friend. He never realized how much he loved you until now, how long he had been holding back these feelings. All you needed to know at the end of the day was that Bangchan was your person and he’d sacrifice the world for you.

[travelers-of-the-multiverse]

It was actually because he was lying about the bathroom to begin with that made her suspicious. She could tell it was a lie, because his story over it is full of holes. But at this point, pushing it any further would just be overly zealous. She'll have to keep an eye on him, as she notes Sadan has been as well.

"Well, do let us know if you had any issues, alright? I wouldn't want visitors struggling with things like using the sinks due to feeling confused." She replies, before she begins leading the little group of Mobians to one of the check out desks. Sadan followed not far behind. There was an elven man sitting there, looking over some papers and double checking them. He perks up when he sees Reyna and the others approaching.

"Ah, Lady Reyna, Lord Sadan, welcome. I assume these people are here to check out?" He asks.

"Yes, Velro. These are Mobians, and they wish to learn about our world. As such, they'll be checking out a few books to study up on." She replies.

"Alright. If you all could please remove your gloves, we can begin stamping." He says, pulling out two stamp and ink pad sets. "We stamp your hands with one, and the books with the other. That way, you can return the book at any time by simply linking the stamps together." He explains.

The Feline was nervous but thankfully he wasn't able to sweat so it wasn't as if that would have given him away. Why was she so persistent over bathroom questions? It didn't matter it was a god damn bathroom but she sure wasn't letting it go was she! But he'd been in enough situations to be able to act his way out of this even with her overly curious nature.

But that woman was dangerous---he'd have to be far more vigilante around her.

" Honestly? I just had to go bad so i uhh... just ran into the first stall--- guess i didn't pay much attention hehe... "

That was as much of an excuse as he could come up with and he doubted Lanolin would even question it. It wasn't as if it was a big deal, what he was doing in the meantime shouldn't even have been important but, then she seemed overly suspicious--- he wondered what had sparked that suspicion at all.

" It's fine Duo, i'm sure you are just nervous... it's not every day you end up warped across time and space... "

The Sheep turned to Reyna with all the books she and her team had gathered up and set them on the counter to be properly checked out. Ready to fill out any needed paperwork for the team. after all she suspected she'd need a library card of of some kind, she was sure that was the process.

" Yea nothing wrong with being nervous! i remember running into the boys bathroom once! hah! nobody noticed on account of my small chest! but still felt awkward after! "

" now that i think about it i'm way more annoyed that nobody noticed... "

[flowery-mess]

the bet: part two

Pairing: frat boy Noah x female reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! / punching / slaping / a bet related to a sexual topic made by Noah's friends, but no actual harm to the reader - consider whether to continue if this topic is sensitive for you.

Words: 2,1k

Author's note: please read warnings for this one! I wouldn't want to upset anyone and as always let me know if there's anything else that should be tagged!

the bet: part one | frat boy Noah masterlist

✨This two part fic takes place just a few weeks into Noah and Ella’s friendship with benefits, so it’s kind of a flashback story. In their storyline this would happen before the “uh oh” one shot.✨

“Hi, you’re Ella right?” tall man with long hair approached you next to the bar when you were getting a drink for yourself.

“Hi, yeah. I’m sorry, do I know you?” you answered, not sure if you already knew this man or not, feeling bad if you forgot.

“No I don’t think we officially met, I’m Jolly, Noah’s friend.” you shook his hand and smiled at him.

“Ah, okay.” you didn’t really know where this was going, you haven’t officially met any of Noah’s friends and didn’t feel any need to when your and Noah’s relationship wasn’t anything serious to meet his close friends.

“Do you wanna sit with us? Noah just went to grab something from his car. He'll be back in a minute.” uh oh, hanging out with his friends without him? It didn’t feel right, but you panicked and said yes.

“Hey everyone, this is Ella. Ella, this is Nick, Folio and Matt.” he pointed to each of the guys with each name he said. You noticed some girls sitting there with them, but they were probably not part of the friend group.

“That’s Noah’s spot, you can sit there.” Nick pointed to the empty space on the red couch and you sat down enough for Noah to have room when he comes back. On your right was a girl with long black hair that introduced herself as Nina.

You listened to their conversation, being on the shy side you didn’t really join them and rather stayed listening. You cursed yourself out for joining them in the first place and scanned the room for anyone you could know and use as an excuse for leaving. Before you could do that, you heard Folio calling your name.

“Shit sorry, I wasn’t listening. What did you say?” you told him.

“That’s okay. I was just asking you the same question as everyone else, if you feel comfortable answering of course.” he told you first, shifting in his seat before spilling his question, “What is the most orgasms you had in one night?”

“What?” you didn’t hide the shock on your face, feeling uncomfortable from the stares of everyone.

“You don’t have to answer.” Nina told you and squeezed your hand in a supportive way.

“Why would you ask that?” you were confused and kind of offended by that question, but tried to look casual.

“Just curious.” Folio shrugged his shoulders.

“Because these assholes had a bet a few years ago about who can make the girl they sleep with have the most orgasms in one night. Ignore him, they’re stupid.”

You turned to face Nina, but you were left speechless.

“Can you give me another one?” from last week replayed in your head and Noah’s face flashed in front of your eyes. It couldn’t be, right? He wouldn’t.

When Noah walked back inside the house and saw you sitting with his friends, he froze. You were sitting with your back facing him, but he didn’t have a good feeling.

“Ella?” he said with uneasy feeling when he reached the group.

It took him one look at your face and he knew you knew. You didn’t say a word to any of them and started walking towards the door.

“What did you tell her?” Noah’s eyes went immediately to Folio.

“Bro I just-” Noah didn’t even let him finish the sentence, just yelled “Fuck you!” and turned around to go after you.

He saw you walking in the direction of your dorm so he started running to catch you before you could go inside.

“Ella!” he tried getting your attention, “Ella! Wait, please!”

You looked over your shoulder and saw him running after you, so you started walking faster, not wanting him to see you cry.

You didn’t make it to your dorm fast enough, you felt Noah’s hand around your arm so you stopped walking.

“Ella, I-”

“You what? What do you want, Noah?” you didn’t let him finish, not wanting to hear any of his excuses.

“Let me explain, please?”

“What is there to explain?” you looked at him with tears in your eyes, feeling humiliated. By him and by his friends.

“I don’t know what they told you but I promise it’s not true.”

“Oh really? So you don’t have a bet with your friends?”

“No. I mean yes, but no.”

When you didn’t say anything and just looked at him with a look full of sadness and anger he continued.

“We had a bet, but we stopped with it years ago. Folio brought it up last week and I’m an idiot for not shutting it down immediately. I’m an fucking idiot okay? I said yes, but I never told them anything. I never talked with them about you, I promise. I would never do that. I paid them their fucking money to shut up, I didn’t expect them to talk to you about it. I’m sorry Ella, really.”

“What?” you whispered, trying to understand what the fuck he just said.

“I didn’t tell them anything and I swear I didn’t plan to. They have their money and I promise you they’ll never talk about it again.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better, Noah?” you asked him, feeling really stupid right now.

Tears continued to run down your cheeks and Noah wanted nothing more than go back and punch his best friends.

“I promise I never wanted to hurt you.”

“What we did last week,” you took breath before you could finish your sentence, “was just because of this bet, right?”

Noah didn’t have to answer, the silence and his guilty look said it for him.

“Oh, okay.” you nodded and turned around to walk away from him.

“Wait.” he grabbed your wrist and turned you around, but you were quick enough to land a slap to his left cheek.

“I don’t wanna hear it, Noah.” and with that you ran up the stairs that lead to your dorm and left Noah standing there by himself.

—

That night you couldn’t fall asleep and Noah didn’t stop calling you until 4AM.

After you ran away from him, he went back to the house and had a fight with Folio who ended up with a black eye.

On Monday you thought about faking being sick to get out of sociology class to avoid Noah and his friends, but you didn’t.

When you entered the class you already saw Noah and his two friends, Matt and Folio, sitting in their usual places. You tried to avoid eye contact with all of them, but you saw Folio’s face and the ashamed look on his face when he saw you. He immediately turned his head down, as if he was the one who should feel ashamed.

Then you saw Noah, he was looking at you, seeking any reaction from you, but you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

You sat with Molly and Clara and didn’t turn to spare him any more looks for the rest of the class.

It went like this for three more weeks, you avoided him at school, at parties if you went and didn’t pick any of his calls or replied to his messages.

Until one Friday night. Noah saw you walk in the direction of a bathroom, so he followed you, feeling like a creep waiting for you outside. When you opened the door and wanted to leave he stopped you.

“5 minutes. Give me 5 minutes and then I’ll leave you alone.” to this day you’re sure it was the alcohol in your system that let you let him take you back to the bathroom and lock the door.

“I know you’re angry, I would be too. Before we left that night, Folio brought the bet up after a long time. We used to do it in our first year with girls we took home for a hookup. He and the boys were mocking me and telling me we should start doing it again. They asked about you, but I promise I didn’t tell them anything. Before or after the night.” he spoke quickly, scared he’ll run out of time and you’ll leave.

“I don’t wanna blame it on them or on the alcohol, but I was an idiot and said yes, but I regretted it immediately. I felt bad even when we left, but after we started kissing I forgot about the stupid bet and just wanted to feel good. To make you feel good. I didn’t expect you to let me do what we did in the cab and it just made me eager to get more from you, but because I wanted it. I never had this kind of relationship with anyone before, because no other girl ever made me feel like I want to take her home again. I enjoyed the night we spent together and I hope you did too. I wouldn’t take it back, spending that time with you. The next day I texted them I’m not part of that bet anymore and that they can have my money to shut up about it.” he reached for his phone and showed you their group chat from the day after that night.

You didn’t need him to prove to you his actions like this, but it was nice seeing he told you the truth. The other guys tried to get information from him, but he didn’t say anything except that he won’t tell them any more details about his sex life.

“I thought that was it, that they’re gonna stop or continue without me. I didn’t expect them to talk to you about it, because I didn’t think they were that stupid. I promise  I never had bad intentions with you and I never told them anything about you. I’m sorry for this whole thing and I’ll understand if you want to end this and stop seeing each other.” he finished his speech and looked at you with puppy eyes.

You didn’t know what to say, you believed him he was sorry and that he didn’t tell his friends anything about you. By the way Folio was so open with speaking his mind, you’d know if he knew something.

You also didn’t want to be sad and angry over some bet made by stupid frat boys, who in the end, didn’t get anything from it.

“Did you give Folio that black eye?” you asked Noah.

“Yeah, right after we had that fight.”

“And he still talks to you?”

“What? He deserved it.” Noah was confused with your reaction, but anything was better than silence.

“It was stupid and it hurt me. I felt humiliated when Nina told me about the bet. Even if you didn’t tell them anything, you’re still an idiot.”

“I am.” he agreed. “Folio wants to apologize to you too by the way.”

“Oh, didn’t expect that.”

“Yeah.” Noah put his hands in the pockets of his jeans, not sure what to do with them as silence took over the small room.

“I accept your apology Noah, but I don’t think I can go back to how it used to be. Not now, I need time to process all of this.”

—

The next day Folio stood at your door with flowers in his hands and looked at a child who did something bad with Noah behind him, like his dad making sure the apology is delivered.

His apology was surprisingly good and seemed honest that you accepted it and the flowers.

You also never told about any of this to Molly and Clara, because you were sure Molly would bite all of their heads off.

It took you more time to get over this completely and also information from Nina that after that night they agreed to end with that bet for good.

Noah stopped spamming you with texts and calls, only sent you funny videos from time to time.

You only spent a few nights with him before it all went downhill, but you missed it. He seemed like a nice guy to be around, you always had something to talk about before you fell asleep and he always had midnight snacks ready.

It also took a few Fridays of just making out in the bathroom in the frat house or in the back of his car until you let him take you back to his place again.

Looking back at it you can share a laugh about the situation and you made Noah promise to never do shit like that again, but you’re glad you decided to give him a second chance, because you both became each other’s close person and your friendship grew into something more than just friends with benefits with time.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

This story is a work of fiction, with the plot and characters entirely made up. The appearance and name of the main male character are inspired by Noah Sebastian Davis, but the storyline bears no connection to the real person. Please do not steal or repost this work on other platforms without permission.

@lacy1986 @concretejunglefm @super-btstrash-posts @amelia-acero @justcarrie @koskeepsake @chey-h @xmads-omensx @blade-dressed-in-red @respectfulrebel @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @mrscevans @blvckmvgicwoman @punkprincess1999 @fear-its-beauty @bloody-spades @n0n3xsisting @thenmaybehellaintsobadafterall @athenexe @tashka @badomensls

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[cosmicjoke]

The alliance betrayed Eren. The whole world wanted Paradis killed and all Eren did was fight back. What else should he have done? It was genocide vs genocide. His friends are hypocrites and horrible characters that wanted to play moral police. Hanji and Levi were horrible mentors. Open your eyes.

If you genuinely believe any of the garbage that you just spewed, then you need mental help.

I shouldn't even take the time to point out to you what's wrong with your "argument", because honestly, anyone this stupid and lacking in self-awareness isn't worth mine or anybody's time.

But I'll just lay out a few, basic facts for your edification.

Eren betrayed his comrades, over and over, starting with his literal incitement of war in Liberio, through his purposeful elimination of any other course of action that Paradis could have taken to secure their future. War only came to Paradis in the first place, you total clown, because Eren and Zeke orchestrated it themselves. I don't know how many times this has to be pointed out to people like you before it gets through that sediment-thick rock you call a skull and into the mush you call a brain. Go read the manga again, or watch the anime, and maybe try paying attention this time past the masturbation session you engage in every time Eren comes on screen.

The Survey Corps' entire mission statement was to dedicate themselves to the salvation of humanity. Not "Paradis", humanity. And Eren betrayed that mission in the most fundamental way possible by committing mass genocide on a global scale. He literally spit on the legacy and sacrifices of every single one of his comrades, including those who had given their lives to protect his, because they believed he was essential to humanity's survival. Instead of honoring that sacrifice by doing everything in his power to save humanity, he did the exact opposite by deciding to wipe humanity out of existence because he was disappointed the world didn't look like the pictures in Armin's books. That's how shallow, pathetic, selfish and childish Eren is.

You call Levi and Hange "terrible mentors", when Eren literally did exactly the opposite of what they both tried to teach him. Levi specifically told Eren to make the choice he could live with, the one he wouldn't regret, and yet, in the end, we see Eren filled with nothing but regret, drowning in self-loathing, because he knows he made the choice which went against what he knew in his heart was right. He spurned Levi's guidance entirely. Eren knew what he did was wrong and not justifiable on any level. What Eren did didn't sit right in any way, shape or form with his own, moral understanding of the world. Nobody made Eren into what he was. Nobody made Eren do what he did. It was a situation entirely of his own making and choosing.

You call the other members of the alliance "horrible characters" because they couldn't and wouldn't stand by and allow literally billions of innocent people to be murdered in cold blood. Remind me to pray to God that no important decisions are ever left to you. The lack of self-awareness in your statement is shocking in its depth. You don't see how, if this is what you truly believe and support, that it's you who's the truly terrible and horrible person here. Frankly, you're a disgusting example of a human being.

By stopping Eren, Levi, Hange and the rest of the alliance were upholding everything the Survey Corps originally stood and fought for. You calling them traitors and hypocrites is repulsive in its stupidity.

And that's all I'll say on the matter. You can now go back to waiting in line with Floch to swallow Eren's cock, since that's clearly what you really want to spend your time doing. Try not to choke.

[strawberryflavoredvenum]

TicciJack fanfic. Light angst but a happy ending

Toby has trouble deciphering what's real sometimes. Jack is concerned for him.

Thank you @reddetur for the prompt! I hope you like it.

Disclaimer: I have experienced hallucinations but I'm not schizophrenic. I do not have the experience to give a 100% accurate depiction of schizophrenia. Schizophrenia also isn't just hallucinations. I am studying psychology and mental disorders in college and care very deeply about not making creepypasta into stigmatizing mentally ill people. Sorry if setting a disclaimer seems excessive, I just care about it a lot.

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Toby doesn't flinch much at shadows anymore.

There comes a point in someone's life where they see the same thing over and over again and it no longer affects them. Sure, certain hallucinations still get to him. The random touches or sudden loud noises. But not so much these ones. The shadowy figures that creep around in the corner of his vision. They never make any noise or touch him. Once he got used to it, they just became a nuisance. Well.. during the day at least.

The introduction of demons, killers, and paranormal entities into his life has made it a little harder to recognize whether something is real or not. Before everything happened, he could rely on other people's ideas of reality. That is, if he wasn't having an episode. Now that he lived in the mansion he couldn't tell himself that the ghosts, shadow people, insane psycho killers weren't real.

Something that keeps him at ease is the reaction of others. He can always look to the people around him to gage whether he should be worried or not. If no one else is looking at it then he shouldn't either. But that strategy can only go so far. It doesn't help when none of his peers are with him.

But honestly nothing could have prepared him for tonight. It's not like these things sprung up on him or anything. He could feel himself slowly getting worse. His motivation to care for himself plummeted and he became disorganized. Then came the intrusive thoughts and the increased hallucinations. He knew staying up all night wouldn't help but there was no way to fall asleep with everything going on. He was too paranoid and every time he got close to sleep, a loud sound would go off or he would feel like he was falling.

He was downstairs in the kitchen bar preparing his late night guilty pleasure. Four slices of bread with butter. He was looking out to the living room, watching all the figures and random colors dance around. He would be lying if he said he wasn't about to run back upstairs with his bread so the shadow people don't get him. His motions were slower, as if trying not to draw attention to himself. He felt like there was a spotlight on him. He could tell himself that nothing he's seeing was real. That they weren't even approaching him. Just walking around and watching. But nothing was going to convince his subconscious that he wasn't in danger.

He sandwiched the slices together and wrapped them in a paper towel to make transport easier and started walking to the stares when a figure came closer. He flinched but ignored it-That was until it fucking grabbed him. Toby let out a scream slightly too high pitched to be a man's and punched the figure in the jaw. He was met with a solid object that made a grunt and quickly backed up and grabbed their face.

Toby took a moment to step back and catch his breath before flicking the kitchen light on and seeing Jack. He was holding the side of his face and glaring at toby. "Jesus tobes I was just trying to see what you were doing. It's 2 in the fucking morning!" Toby caught his breath and looked a bit sheepishly at Jack. "......I thought you were someone else?" Jack raised an eyebrow. "Who the hell would be down here that you would want to punch?"

Toby looked away. To the discarded slices of bread on the floor. He had dropped them when he sucker punched Jack. "No one in particular." Toby hoped that Jack would drop it. Jack wasn't stupid. Hallucinations are not uncommon in the mansion. He's even had them a time or two during sleepless nights or when missions went on for too long.

He sighed and helped toby pick up the remains of his food. "Out of all things you could have ventured out into the dark to grab, four slices of buttered bread was what you chose?" Jack questioned. Toby looked up at Jack. "Well what were YOU down here for?" Jack shrugged. "To smoke." He said, gesturing towards the front door.

Jack threw the bread away and shook his head. Half a loaf wasted. He returned to toby. Toby didn't look well. He looked tired but his eyes were wide open, looking into the distance. Jack took him by the shoulder and started leading him to his room. "C'mon. You don't need food, you need sleep. Staying up is only making things worse." Toby followed but looked conflicted. "Weren't you going to smoke?" Jack shrugged again. I lost the urge. My jaw hurts too much. He teased lightly. Toby looked away. "I didn't mean to." That was Toby's way of apologizing without actually saying sorry. Jack just nodded and kept walking.

They made it to Toby's cluttered room. It got like that when he let his mental health slip. Jack took it all in but made no reaction that toby could discern. He pushed toby into bed and firmly told him to lay down. Toby raised an eyebrow but was too exhausted to really care. He laid down and sighed.

"so what now?" Toby asked. Jack sat on the side of Toby's bed. "You sleep and I watch over you." Jack's tail had made its way to Toby's hip. The weight of it was comforting in a way. Toby gave a bit of mumbled words salad that Jack pretended to follow and had a few more bad moments before finally falling asleep.

Jack looked around Toby's room. It was hard to gage how Toby's doing sometimes. He never outright said anything. There was a look in his eye that he sometimes had but the biggest indicator of his well-being was his room. With nothing better to do, Jack started sorting through his friends stuff, putting things where they belong and putting his laundry downstairs.

Jack watched over him the rest of the night. He returned to his room just before sunrise so no one else would know he spent the night in Toby's room. Toby woke up sometime that afternoon. His body was sore from sleeping for so long but his head felt a bit less cluttered. It wasn't fixed but it was better than before he slept. He saw his clean room and blushed deeply. He couldn't believe he let Jack see him like that. Jack didn't actually mind Toby's mess at all. He was more concerned with helping his friend(crush).

[touchstoneaf]

You know what baffles me? It's actually two things, but it's both related to Doctor Who's fandom. Clearly I've been here for a very short time, so I guess I just missed something? But frankly it makes no sense to me when ppl argue between NineRose and TenRose. Like... it only matters when you are picking which era to write/read/draw in! Sure, their interactions are different, but why would anyone look at the two of them and think one is better than the other, when they are literally the same two people loving each other in beautiful ways?! It's a continuation of the same story, part of the arc of the exact same love affair! You can't take one away from the other! Yes their interactions have a slightly different cant, but you can literally hear moments where you could hear Nine saying a line that Ten said, or vice versa! It's just...

I don't get it. And why in the hell would somebody claim the age gap exists with Nine but not with Ten?! They're the same age? They're both 900 years old? Just, like, what?! Ten specifically acts younger because he's trying to make Rose (and Jackie) feel more comfortable with the relationship, but that's all! (I also write ships with aliens and humans and vampires and humans, so at some point I think the age gap thing just does stops being relevant, and it's just about experiences... but that's just my mileage. But IMHO you can't complain about it with one iteration but not the other of the same person!)

The other thing that baffles me in this fandom is people arguing about the whole Tentoo thing. It seems I've missed some kind of historical quarrel or something? Like... I personally don't prefer it for a couple of reasons, but it's not (as ppl seem to want to accuse others) because I don't think Tentoo is really the Doctor, or whatever ppl like to think is the basis, so stop accusing me of that! That's not the reason at all!! He *obviously* is, and just by the way he is able to say those three words to Rose without hesitating (and of course a little bit of anger), they were obviously going for a sort of combination of Nine and Ten so that Rose would get the best of both worlds there. And that's great. My issue with it is just that Ten prime has to go off by himself after, when Rose told him she would never let him do that, which... My main issue with that ending is just that Rose is only like 22 years old, and I don't think she needs to be settling down and having a kid already, and I think people shortchange her character when they say she only wanted to take him somewhere and settle down with him and quit traveling, when she *clearly* loved every minute of her life with him, and was the happiest she had ever been when she was out traveling with him, so I feel like it's character assassination to say she wanted to stop entirely and go get a house and have a baby with him right away. I'm sure she wouldn't have minded it after a little while, but I certainly wouldn't have wanted a baby at 23, I'm just saying. So my issue with it (though I understand why they had to do it, that they were doing their best to give Billie the correct sendoff with what they had), is that I think that it breaks the character's promise and her clear intention to stay with the Doctor who's stuck traveling... but...

Look. I don't think that the argument about whether Tentoo is "really the Doctor" makes any sense at all. I mean like it's just not applicable to my conceptualization of the characters, so why are am I getting accused of that when it's not even a consideration for me?! I understand for instance arguing about the shape of the triad between NineJackRose (or the existence of TenJackRose) and whether or not you think that was going on (which I don't think is even an argument either, it was at least emotionally happening, & whether any physical action was happening as well is up to interpretation! But why is that an argument, again? It's clearly there, and as to what you think the fallout is... that this entirely up to viewer's mileage and how it varies!).

Is it just me alone by myself thinking that none of these stupid wars even make any sense or should exist? Am I crazy, that i don't understand the purpose of these nonsensical arguments, or the necessity to keep having them at this point, years on?!

What am I missing, here?!

[bright-hope-spot-19]

I agree that Tenten got shafted, and she deserved better, but I don't think she really could've beaten Kankuro in the finals. After all, if we suppose she was given a chance to fight anyone else, other than Temari in the pre-lims and won, then that would already be giving Kankuro enough information about her fighting style, and how she battles. So, in the finals, he'd know to simply stay away from the range of her weapons and hide in a dark corner where she wouldn't be able to see him. After all, the stadium where the final stage took place was huge, giving Kankuro plenty of space to hide in a far away corner and manipulate his puppet from afar. His chakra strings can be made as long as he needs them to be if he needs to hide, and he can also make them practically invisible to the naked eye. In addition to that, he can use a transformation technique on his puppet to turn Crow into himself to distract her and catch her off-guard. Like, at first, he enters the arena, unveils his Crow, and throws a smoke bomb to blind her. While she can't see, turn Crow into himself while he hides somewhere she won't see. Then turn it into Crow again and into himself once more. Do you have any idea how confused she'd be? Seeing Crow changing from its original form to Kankuro to being Crow again, all while throwing smoke bombs at her to lower her accuracy. Once she's ran out of things to throw at him with her scrolls, he can either poison her and stall or catch her in Crow's arms and squeeze until she either gives up or loses consciousness the same way he did with the dude he fought in the pre-lims.

The problem is that as a Konoha genin, at that point in the story, Tenten would obviously not know anything about puppetry, how puppets work, how to fight them, or what tricks to predict, while her attacks are way easier to predict and plan around, after having seen her fight only once. Kankuro is also ridiculously good at hiding. As a puppet user, stealth and hiding his presence are two of his strongest stats, so if he wants to hide and not be seen, then she won't see him. Tenten has crazy accuracy and always hits her target. But in order to hit her target, she needs to be able to see it first. She doesn't have super eyes like Neji to be able to locate him if he decides to hide in a dark corner of the stadium battlefield. With him also very probably playing mind tricks on her, by constantly switching between Crow's forms (puppet form and turning it into himself to confuse her) and very likely poisoning her, (as long as it's a non-lethal poison) it's just a matter of minutes before her scrolls run empty and she has to give up. After all, if there's only one moving target on the field that she can see (the puppet), she's gonna aim at it, even if it's not really the target she wants to really hit. Also, even if she manages to land a lethal hit on Crow, disabling it, the puppet's body parts can still be launched and used individually for sneaky attacks. It'd even be very hard for her to pinpoint the puppets' weak points that would disable it and stop it from moving completely. Kankuro's puppets have hard outer shells/structures that aren't easily destroyed with simple attacks. She'd need to either hit all of the limbs precisely in a way they completely stop moving or get rid of the head part. Which I imagine would be very hard with the puppet constantly moving, switching between forms, throwing smoke and gas bombs in her face, and Kankuro hiding where she won't be able to hit him. Who's to say he has to use poison? He could use some kind of tranquilizer or something to slow her down and lower her efficiency.

That's the weak point: Kankuro has waaaay too many tricks he could pull out with his puppet, that'd be very hard to predict for genin Tenten, as someone who's never seen a battle puppet before. Whereas her fighting style is way easier to plan against: just stall until she runs out of her scrolls and stay away from her reach; and as I've said Kankuro is the king of hiding and stalling. If Tenten can't land a vital, critical hit within the first minutes of the fight, then she's already lost, especially if Kankuro decides to gas her with God knows what dangerous chemicals.

In case they'd fought in the prelims, I still believe he could pull it off. The pre-lims stadium was smaller, offering him fewer places to hide, but it was still reasonably big, to where it could offer him a few safe, hiding spots away from her. Also, from what I remember, Tenten still needed to do hand signs to activate her scrolls. He could send his puppet after her, when she's jumping into the air to perform her jutsu, and trap her before she finishes her hand signs. By either catching her in Crow's arms or blinding her with smoke or poison.

After all, that's the beauty of puppetry: Kankuro can potentially install whatever th he wants into his puppets. He could equip them with wind turbines to generate enough wind currents to keep her at bay. He could install two flamethrowers into Karasu to burn her scrolls. Heck, he could even turn the puppet into a bomb. Attach some explosive seals to it, and at one point, turn his puppet unto an injured version of himself. Get her to lower her defenses, and the moment Crow-as-Kankuro is close enough, fucking explode in her face. With only her scrolls of weapons,there's no way Tenten can plan for and predict all of those tricks. In fact, I think the only Leaf genin who could realistically plan for a puppet; a weapon he's never seen before, is Shikamaru, and we all know why. I can realistically only see Tenten defeating Kankuro postwar with the bashosen, the sacred fan she got. I believe that thing is as strong, if not stronger than Temari's tessen, so yeah.

I like the Temari vs. Tenten fight. It might be really short (esp in the manga lol) but I think it's for a good reason! Temaris powerset isn't as involved as most of the others, and it's a character moment showcasing her brutality and skill more then anything else; such a short fight is jarring, and shows that she understands the political Angle of what they're doing better then most other (younger, probably don't remember the war) contestants. And also punctuates her own mercilessness, since between her siblings she's been placed in the 'exasperated/placating big sister' role- she is NOT a better or kinder person then her brothers, just Hella good at reading the room and forged in the fire of 'born during a war and spends her days placating what is both her brother and also The Devil from The Bible'.

It's a strong, punchy character moment for her just as much as kankuro's fight showcases his unexpected (as he's mostly been like. A meathead that bullies children and picks fights he can't win- no shade, temari was a Girl Character in the most Naruto of ways up till now) predictive and strategic thinking, setting him up as quite clever and thorough in his contingencies. Both fights subvert the shallow characters they previously portrayed, making it all the better for the audience when the invasion is revealed, because all three siblings have proved themselves ruthless and powerful, and 2 of the 3 have already deceived the AUDIENCE, so it makes sense they'd be trusted with a mission like this (gaara is a bad liar but he'd have to talk to someone without killing them to ruin anything, and it's more then reasonable to assume that won't happen).

[yanderes-galore]

Hi sorry for this being so late ! Can I please request yandere Luffy in gear 5 please 🙏 (prompt J 2 )

“Shouldn’t you be spending more time with me?”

“Prompts 2 O )

So it's a little crush when you fawn over him but it's an obsession when I pay attention to you?”

please can the reader be a female (if not gn is fine ) for the request of it helps maybe Luffy starts getting jealous when reader is fawning over usopp please and Luffy starts getting jealous 💗

Sure! Warning, I'm not at Wano quite yet so... Plot isn't entirely like Canon.

Prompts Here

Yandere! Gear 5! Luffy Prompts O-2 + J-2

“Shouldn’t you be spending more time with me?”

“So it's a little crush when you fawn over him but it's an obsession when I pay attention to you?” 

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Possessive behavior, Jealousy, Unhealthy power dynamic, Threatening behavior, Clingy behavior, Forced relationship.

Luffy was never quite sure why you being around Usopp made him feel... irritated? Even before Wano, way before the fight with Kaido, you always encouraged Usopp. You entertained his stories, even if they're lies...

Normally... Luffy wouldn't be affected.

So why was he so moody when you acted all sweet with Usopp?

It's not like Luffy knew the first thing about girls. He knew fighting, adventuring, and eating. His crew was his family... that's all.

Crushes seemed beyond him.

Luffy always considered you an important part of his crew. He hung around you like you're his best friend. To him, he never considered his clingy affection might be an attraction.

Since the two years you were away from each other, it seemed you and Usopp had gotten... close. That should be fine for Luffy. A close crew happens to work well together.

But something about your dynamic never settled well with Luffy.

Usopp seemed much more confident with you. He always wanted to impress you and you'd reciprocate. You always seemed to fawn over him.

Yet for some reason that makes Luffy... upset...?

Luffy wanted you to be like that with him. Why didn't you seem to fawn over him like you do Usopp? Do you... like him more?

Do you like Usopp more than him?

That thought has tormented Luffy right up until Wano. He keeps glancing at you, trying to grab your attention during big fights. He wants to eat with you... play with you...

Yet you keep looking at Usopp like he's adorable or something?

Luffy couldn't help but feel bitter when you paid more attention to Usopp. To Luffy, you used to hang out with him all the time. Now you've been ignoring him as the Straw Hats encounter more threats in the New World.

You probably saw signs of Luffy being upset. It was... unusual to see him disinterested. He'd perk up when you spoke to him or sat next time...

Yet he'd look anxious when you chose to speak to Usopp.

Truthfully... you and Usopp managed to meet and interact more within the two years the Straw Hats were disbanded. To the point you both developed small crushes on one another. Since then, you've been beside one another...

You never thought it would affect Luffy since he was so inexperienced with romance.

You hadn't expected Luffy to feel that way... yet it appears that it began to bubble up after his fight with Kaido.

"See? SEE? Look what I can do!"

To see Luffy in his awakened form was... strange for you. You thought your captain had died during his fight with Kaido. However... here he was...

Looking like a rubber sun god who defies any sense of reality you knew... drums going off as he smiles excitedly.

Luffy had shocked you while you were checking Usopp over for wounds. You had been trying to help Chopper tend to the wounded after the battle. Yet before you could check Usopp over, Luffy practically flung himself towards you.

Oh... You were with Usopp again...

What's new....

But... maybe you'll pay attention to him now?

"Luffy—?" You try to question before your captain tackles you excitedly. His new form had an excitement that seemed infectious. Although... His wide smile also felt eerie.

He exudes power... and it makes you a bit cautious.

"Come with me! Come on! I missed you!" Luffy chirps, practically nuzzling against you affectionately. You try your best to process the situation yet are unable to before Luffy drags you off.

You can't struggle against the rubber man as he giggles, running off with you like you're a stolen treasure. Admittedly... you found yourself smiling despite the overwhelming situation. Again, his happiness was infectious.

By the time Luffy stopped running, you were in a more private spot. Luffy's arms were practically coiled around you like snakes. You could barely move and just felt Luffy giggling into your neck for a moment.

"Aren't you impressed!? I've never felt more at my peak!" Luffy laughs, pulling back to squish your face. You feel... strange when he pulls at you...

Is everything rubber now...?

Are you?

"That's... amazing, Luffy!" You try to say, chuckling softly. Luffy seems to perk at the sound, his grin wider than ever as he cuddles into you.

"... I missed hanging out..." Luffy murmurs into your skin, feeling his cheeks heat as he looks at you. You smile softly in return...

You... You have been neglecting him, huh...?

All in favor of Usopp...

... Usopp...

Crap.

"Luffy... Me too, buddy... but we should probably go back to the crew." You murmur, tensing when you hear his giggles pause for a moment...

....

...

... why was the silence so damn eerie?

“Shouldn’t you be spending more time with me?” Luffy says suddenly, his pink eyes nearly looking red as he looks into your own. For a moment, there's no joy... which makes you nearly suffocate in his grip due to the tension.

"... no, you're right, buddy... I should... sorry." You murmur, seeing Luffy smile again as he begins to spin you around.

"Yeah you should! You've been spending too much time with Usopp." Luffy laughs, although you sense a certain air of... malice in it.

You nod quietly, Luffy humming before he presses small excited kisses on your skin. You freeze, finding that behavior odd. Luffy's never... done that.

Despite the drums and his laughter making you feel warm, you push against him. Luffy doesn't relent when you push his chest. Yet when you squirm, he pulls back in confusion.

"What's wrong?" Luffy pouts, looking you over. He doesn't get it. Why don't you love him?

"Luffy... You've been acting strange lately..." You murmur, surprisingly finding yourself cupping his face. Wow... his new form makes it hard for you to think straight.

"I have?" Luffy tilts his head. "Is it strange to pay attention to my favorite girl? You're just so pretty and fun and... you spend all your time with Usopp...."

"Have you been hating Usopp being around me this whole time? Just because me and him love one another? For months?" You ask.

There's more eerie silence that not even drums permeate for a moment.

You feel like you said something wrong.

"Luffy... That's obsessive... Let's just—"

“So... It's a little crush when you fawn over him... but it's an obsession when I pay attention to you?” Luffy asks, eyes burning a certain fire that reminds you of what he is in this moment...

A god.

"I... Luffy, no, please just listen to me...." You try to plead, feeling like you're going to get yourself in danger.

He may be a silly joy boy at this moment...

But Luffy has a lot of power at his disposal.

"But I love you!" Luffy insists, nuzzling closer as he squishes you against his body. "I love you more than him... I-I may not fully understand it but... but I don't want you to ignore me!"

"Luffy, it's okay..." You're trying to placate him but...

"Tell me you'll love me." Luffy says darkly. "Tell me you'll pay attention to me... and just me... not Usopp...."

"Luffy...?"

"Please just tell me that...." Luffy pouts, refusing to let you go.

You look him over again. You and Usopp might not be dating but you still care for him. Yet considering Luffy's no longer in the best mood even as Gear 5...

You just need to give him what he wants.

"Sure... Sure, Luffy... I love you. I'll pay more attention to you." You smile softly, making you hear the drums of liberation again. "But right now... won't it be better to go rest? I'm sure Wano will throw you a feast...."

Luffy seems to perk up at the mention of food and your confession. Yet instead of letting you go, he continues to spin and squish you with excited giggling. That supernatural warm feeling in you is back again too....

"Yeah!" Luffy laughs, holding you up to look at him. "But first, I want to spend more time with you like this! Just you and me...."

Despite your anxiety about Luffy's behavior... You find yourself unable to stop smiling.

It's then Luffy plays with you in his Gear 5 for just a while longer. To him, it's like a mini celebration. Both for Kaido's defeat and the fact you're his now.

You, on the other hand, are trying your best to comprehend what you just signed up for...

Hopefully you can think properly when Gear 5 wears off... Right now... You can't seem to stop laughing in Luffy's arms, even if you wanted to.

[dzvelinaskebiyars]

Flag check

Sabbath crew.

Red flag, orange flag, yellow flag, green flag.

I have to mention that I have NOT copied this post and neither "fixed" it but it seems the misundersting was created so to avoid more of it, the first one to post similar post was @mixingandmelting

Wooin Yoo - RED FLAG

Type of guy to be into someone who challenges him. Not those shy, naive and predictable people that bores him to death - it won't be long before he starts thinking about them as a game rather than his partner. He likes someone who's cunning and intelligent, someone who will get him excited, someone whose company will be fun.

Even if he has type, he will hardly settle down for relationship. He doesn't even believe in bullshit like love, especially love at first sight (he believes in hate at first sight tho). He most likely sees it as weakness. Hence, if he falls in love, he'd start to deny it as much as he can - saying "love is waste of time." especially considering he's not good with emotions.

But when he realizes that he can't ignore that fact any longer, that he's unconsciously searching for that person everywhere he goes or how his heart does this weird skip - he'll be pissed. At himself. As if his friends aren't enough, now he has someone else to lose. And losing someone? He can't handle that well.

If he accepts it tho, then you're his and will be. You all can portray him as cheater all you want but imo, he's not the one to take relationship like one night stand and why should he cheat? He can just break up.

He loves playing around though, like saying something vaguely flirty and let you overthink whether he meant that or what he meant by that. He loves messing around with your head.

Arguments can turn into mind battles with him. Since he LOVES seeing his lover fired up about something. And when you call him out on his bullshit? He might as well just grin like he found someone worth his time.

Obviously serious arguments would tire him out and he'd just lie his way out without taking accountability whatsoever.

Big control freak. This guy loves having control in all aspects of life and that includes his relationships as well. You might as well expect absolutely unwanted checks up from him.

Manipulative. C'mon now, Wooin is cunning and deceptive. He knows what to say and when, he's expert in turning every situation to his advantage. I mentioned that he'd get away from arguments without any accountability whatsoever because yes, he lacks that. He'd make you think that you're the one in wrong. He loves you, he truly does, but old habits die hard.

Wooin is secretive and that makes it hard for you to know where you stand with him exactly. If you try to get closer to his personal life, his past specifically, he'll immediately shut you out. People close to him at some point will come to realize just how much they don't and will never know about him.

Emotionally unavailable. Vulnerability makes Wooin uncomfortable, he's too used to ignoring, numbing, deflecting and running away from his own to handle another's. In fact, his coping mechanisms are fucked up, probably even using adrenaline as a way to distract himself from his emotions. So, he really doesn't know what to do when his partner is sad, depressed and maybe even crying. He's not cruel enough to just leave - he will hand you the tissues, listen to you and stay with you if you wish to. But he won't be able to provide emotional support for you.

Has stalking habits. He might slyly ask your friends questions about you and get answers in return, he would stalk your social media, how you reply to comments, what you repost and etc. Or maybe he definitely coincidentally shows up whenever you go or absolutely coincidentally knows where you're planning to go. He'd get kind of irritated if you called him out for being too overbearing.

Jealousy. Definitely. Though, he wouldn't make big mess out of it like lash out at you for that or something. Rather, he'd joke about it, even though the amusement won't quite reach his eyes and he'd definitely gain domination over situation or get your attention.

Lack of future plans. Speaking in romantic sense, he definitely wouldn't plan for a marriage or proposing because for him, relationships are something that will pass, at some point. He wouldn't plan for marriage because he's scared of being tied to something in a way he can't easily escape, because emotions like love, sadness and etc overwhelm him and cause him discomfort because these feelings are something he can't control and hence, he can't trust them. He has trust issues, alright? He probably thinks the relationship between you and him will end one day but maybe deep down he thinks he hasn't deserved that kind of love. He has natural urge to move on. But if he is deeply hooked in the relationship, trust me he, himself, won't want it to end.

Worst of all? He's self-aware. He's aware of all the red flags he has and he'd make it sure to take it slow and at least give you an idea what kind of person he is, try to push you away, before you'll start relationship with him. Because he doesn't want his partner or someone to call him out on these traits but if you will, he'll laugh heartily. Didn't you know what kind of person you were getting involved with? You definitely knew he was drug dealer and not good person before entering in relationship with him so he thought his partner would know what they were getting themselves into. He has tons of red flags and he owns them, not try to change them.

Also, at some point, you are getting involved in his jobs.

Despite all these though, he can be more caring than he might let on.

Hyuk Kwon - RED FLAG

Type of guy who would want calm, grounded and emotionally mature partner. Someone who will understand him, not fix him. He's not type to be attracted to attention-seeking behavior. He'd want a partner who's loyal and genuine, bonus point if they're interested in cycling. That would satisfy him.

If Hyuk were to fall in love or take interest & be attracted to someone, he wouldn't waste his time overthinking it. He's a man driven by instincts, not logic. He definitely won't have mental breakdown and brainstorming about love like Wooin did. Which is hilarious because he seriously saw Wooin like that and was like "damn, couldn't be me." Alright jokes aside, Hyuk doesn't see love as weakness. If he cares about you, takes interest in you or get attracted to you then that's it.

Wooin said it himself that if he takes interest in someone, then no one can stop him. His obsessive behavior is still being highlighted in new arc and I doubt this behavior only applies to cycling. I'm sure this type of mindset will reach in his relationship as well. Despite this, he wouldn't force anyone to be with him.

A relationship with Hyuk isn't soft, gentle, clear and casual. It's overwhelming, sometimes confusing, it's all-or-nothing with him. You can try to be ignorant about this but there will be times when you'll question if he loves you or is simply obsessed with you.

However, he's so good at masking up his obsessive behavior and his toxicity that you wouldn't even know at first unless his masks finally will start to crack as thr relationship keeps on going.

Hyuk would accept you as you're but he would be controlling, not physically but psychologically. You'd start prioritising him over yourself before you even know it, his existence would shape your decisions sometimes, whenever he's acting distant - you would start trying harder to keep him, he might have hot and cold behavior in relationship which would confuse his partner.

He would drain you emotionally, like a vampire. At some point in relationship, his partner would feel emotionally exhausted and burn out very often - which is caused by his behavior, though it would be unintentional on his part.

Dating Hyuk would be like holding animal on the leash - except you don't hold the leash, he is.

For Hyuk, love isn't weaknesses but it's not just emotion either. It's not the butterfly feelings in stomach, or blushing and kicking your feet - it's addiction. It's addictive. His partner would be like his drug that he'd always come back to.

Hyuk doesn't bother to think about future in relationship that much, he's more focused on what's present. He won't say things like "I want to be with you forever" but he'll always come back to your arms like it's natural for him to do. But this means that he also might not be realising just how much effort he actually needs to put in the relationship.

His partner would have to be second-guessing whether he's upset or not because he won't admit it outright. He'll just act different than he normally is, maybe even giving you silent treatment.

Arguments with him? He's not even willing to listen. If Wooin lies his way out of it, Hyuk refuses to engage at all. He'd excuse himself by saying "I'm tired, so just let it go." And since he's not actively fighting, his partner would feel unheard and ridiculous for even bringing that topic up.

This guy doesn't care about his safety that much, at least when he rides. He rides like he has nine lives and that might be emotionally exhausting and terrifying for his partner because they'd have to constantly worry about his safety.

Similar to Wooin, he doesn't open up easily and doesn't know what to do when someone else opens up. He's unable to provide emotional support except awkwardly staying there and somehow trying to distract you like: "Do you want to ride together? You might feel better." He, himself, doesn't open up about how he feels. He's so used to Wooin just knowing how he feels that he never thought he'd even need to talk about it.

Hyuk also shows stalker behavior. He definitely would stalk your social media and maybe even show up to the locations where you are, claiming it was coincidence.

Low empathy. Because of this, Hyuk would have hard time reacting to and understanding his partner'semotions, their struggles and their reactions.

Hyuk isn't unfeeling psychopath, no matter how many people describe him as one, but he's selectively detached, he's capable of making exceptions but only for those he deems worhy.

Hyuk isn't someone to easily trust either. He's perceived as unreadable by most people and he's fine with it. Only exception is Wooin - who understands him better than anyone and anything - and Hyuk is alright with it. His trust is very selective, so if he lets you in his life, that means he's willing to try and trust you.

Being in relationship with Hyuk would be tiring because it would take lots of effort from your side, lots of sacrifice whether it's your morals or emotional stability, however, at some point, you'll feel like this relationship is not falling apart because of the efforts YOU give in, as he's not offering nearly enough himself.

Unlike Wooin, who wouldn't disappear on you out of nowhere but instead try to stick with you, Hyuk would be different. He's so secretive and even you don't know why but there are times when he just disappears into thin air. He's not answering your calls, he's not seeing your texts, you can't find him at his part-time job or his house, neither on playgrounds. When you reach his friends, they'd say that Hyuk does that often and that he'll be back tomorrow but they never gave you explanation.

Hyuk wouldn't give you explanation either, at least not the truth. There are parts of his life that you must not know, even though he makes you feel like you know everything about him but you don't. You only know what he wants you to know. And he's more than willing to lie if it will be necessary.

His sudden disappearances will start to feel normal because that's how he treats it. If you'll continue to question it, you'll only feel like you're overreacting.

Even though he's willing to trust you, he's still secretive about some parts of his life and that is because of your safety. But he doubts you'll understand that.

Instead of jealous, he's territorial. And there's big difference.

Hajun/Joker - GREEN FLAG

Hajun's type would be someone who's dating to marry, loyal, gets along with kids and animals, emotionally intelligent. But to be honest, he definitely isn't picky about his partner.

This guy dates to marry. No temporary relationships, no friends with benefits, no situationships. So, he'll definitely be planning future with you.

At first, he'll be little confused about his feelings but very soon, he'll realize that he fell in love. He'll keep it a secret for very long time but Hajun would give lot of efforts for you even in friendship.

He won't confess first because he can't imagine the reason why would you want to be with underground boxer that beats people up for money.

Strangers to friends, friends to lovers. Definitely. He won't date someone he only knew for one week or two months, he'll need much more time.

Provider. It's not only about money but also security, comfort and stability. Whether it's physical safety, emotional support, making sure you stay healthy like make sure you eat well or eat healthy food. Type of guy to buy you food/drinks that are full of vitamins.

He's not the type to expect you to do all the housework. He's responsible man who knows how to take care of himself so well and his loved ones.

Hajun is used to taking care of others, providing for them and giving more tham receiving when it comes to his family and definitely also his lover. So this would apply to relationships as well. At one point, you might feel like he's giving more effort than you.

He'd rather die than get you involved in his lifestyle. It's dangerous, violent, scary, bloody...Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if his crush would reject him because of that or if his partner would break up with him because of his jobs. But if you decide to stay, he'd do whatever he can to keep you out of it.

Joker is self-aware and pretty much able to reflect on his behavior and mistakes, his morals might be questionable but his intentions are good, he's able to feel empathy though it can be selective.

Despite this, he would find himself struggling to open up. He doesn't know how to put his feelings into words, at least not well. But as time passes, he'll start opening up more in his own way, he'd allow himself to be more vulnerable with you.

He tends to remember little and big things about you. Your birthday, your favorite flowers, your favorite music band, your favorite color, what you like and dislike, how you like your tea/coffee, what makes you happy and what upsets you. He's very attentive and thoughtful.

He's definitely protective but definitely not in controlling way. He'll defend you and stand up for you but he will never steal your freedom away.

Hajun is used to violence, solving problems with his fists, danger and adrenaline, blood and broken bones but this very guy would be gentlest human being with his partner.

He really hopes his brothers will like you and they did. Honestly, the sight of seeing you getting along with his brothers warms his heart so much.

His lifestyle would still cause problems in relationship though, no matter how hard he tries to don't bring violence in his family, his loved ones are still being affected. It'd be great if his partner would completely accept his lifestyle, even though it still would be emotionally hard to do so, but if his partner wouldn't be able to accept his lifestyle - that's fine too, he won't be able to blame you. The constant fear that he might not be able to make it home, that you will have to spend nights in hospital, praying that he will get better is mentally exhausting. On top of that, the risk of you being in danger is no less scary.

He's not that secretive to be honest. His partner would know almost everything about him.

Joker isn't the type to get jealous easily but if he will, I can see him getting more touchy than usual but wouldn't say anything.

Vinny Hong - YELLOW FLAG

His type is Yumi Lee. Yes, Yumi. It's canon ship and I'm not gonna start talking about Vinny with another woman. Nope. Never.

Vinny is very loyal, let's be honest. He would never cheat on Yumi. Sure, they're going through things right now but he would never disrespect her like that.

He felt like he wasn't giving enough to Yumi. He wasn't rich enough to buy her expensive gifts. It's shown in the manhwa too when Juwon and Vinny get introduced to each other by Yumi. He clearly wanted to gift her better things, give her something more.

He's jealous but instead of lashing out, he goes silent, like he becomes mute and clearly he stands on guard, dissatisfied. He wouldn't admit being jealous though.

He's clearly protective but not controlling or possessive. He definitely wouldn't make Yumi feel small or suffocate her with his protective behavior.

Unfortunately, his coping mechanisms are total shits. He can't cope with stress well, he might become more irritable due to that. He can't cope with sadness or depression well, he'll isolate himself. He's kind of self-destructive as well and doesn't open up that easily, hence that would cause big communication issues in relationship.

But still, if the timing would've been better, I'm sure Vinny would be Yumi's biggest supporter. He'd try his best to make her feel cherished.

He is secretive, considering how Yumi didn't even know his and his mom's situation. He just...can't open up. Again, communication issues.

Another tough on outside and soft on inside guy.

He might not open up easily but he would be Yumi's safe space to vent and he'd listen and try to comfort her. He definitely would be emotionally aware of her.

He'd notice and remember many things about her. Like her habits, hobbies, what kind of food she likes and etc. He'd know her coping mechanisms too.

I might post something else for Wooin & Hyuk too. Also, tagging @feelsclear @shintaru

[lexicrvg]

On a random night in 1989, Ice and Mav have a fight about their future together. Ice wants to quit the navy and love Mav in all the ways he deserves, out and proud, but Maverick doesn't let him. He knows Ice wants to climb through the ranks and get stars on his shoulder, he can't be the reason Ice misses this.

That night, they broke up. Ice couldn't bear be with someone who didn't love him just as much as he loves them, and Maverick couldn't tell Ice he wouldn't give up flying for him.

Ice quits the navy. He would've done it with or without Maverick.

30+ years go by, and their lives haven't even once crossed paths, not even at Slider's wedding nor Sundown's funeral. It seems like the universe had separate plans for them, and it stuck this way.

(They were at both of these events, but Wolfman was in charge of "Not let Mav and Tom see each other" and he always aces a task)

Until Wolf's retirement party, that is. With him being the center of attention, he gives Hollywood the most important task of his life, Wood have other plans tho, he's very easily distracted by his husband's beautiful smile and when they're least expecting it...

"Hey" Maverick says, sitting on the bar, side by side with Tom.

"Pete!" Tom opens a big smile "Long time no see!"

"Yeah, right." Mav takes a pause, looking at the other up and down. "You look great"

And he did. Being away from the navy must've given Tom 10 years of his life back.

"You look exactly the same," Tom laughs. "Like, scarily so."

Pete laughs with him, although the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. In just 2 minutes, between seeing Tom from across the room and engaging in conversation with him, Mav noticed he seems... happy.

"I think I've been time traveling in those jets," he jokes, and Tom laughs. Again.

Tom didn't have such an easy smile back then. It rubs on Maverick the wrong way.

"How have you been?" Tom asks, after taking a sip of his vodka.

Maverick did not have a good answer to that question. Miserable? Missing you every day of my life? Discharged?

"Good" it's what he settles for. "You?"

Something in Tom's eyes twitches, like he's well aware Maverick's lying to his face, he says nothing about it, and Mav doesn't give him a chance to. He spots the ring on Tom's finger and, before he can help himself, he asks:

"What's her name?" Earning yet another laugh from Tom.

"I know it's been a while, but I'm sure you remember I'm not particularly interested in women." Tom plays with his ring and adds: "His name is Grant, and he's..." Tom searches for something in the room, then points. "... right there."

Against his better judgment, Mav turns to see where Tom's pointing. He regrets it immediately. Grant is gorgeous.

He's the exact opposite of Pete. For starters, he's tall, taller than Ice, taller than Slider whom he's talking excitedly with. Grant's hair is silver, and he carries a smile that would make Mav swoon if the situation was any different.

"We met in 2001" Tom continues, smiling lovingly at his partner. "Got married in 2016, and..."

"And...?"

"Our kid came to our lives in 2019. She just turned 10."

Maverick feels like he's going to throw up. Husband and daughter. Tom had both a husband and a daughter while Pete was still in weird terms with Bradley and as single as he's ever been. It wasn't fair. He was the one who didn't want Tom and now... Now, Tom has been living a happy life with a family he could only dream of when he was in the navy, and Pete still held onto a tiny bit of hope that he would get Ice back.

It wasn't fair. Not at all. He might die of regret.

"Listen, I gotta go to the restroom, " Ice said, getting up. "You stay here! I'll be back. We have a lot of catch-up to do, " and walked away.

Mav downed the rest of Tom's drink in one go, very disappointedly realizing it was water and not vodka.

"Hey, shortstack!" comes from Ron Kerner, looking a bit tipsy, bringing Grant on his arm. "I want you to meet my dear friend, Grant!"

"Yeah, I..."

"Grant, this is Pete Mitchell, Tom's wingmen" hearing Slider refer to him as Ice's wingmen did something weird to Mav's heart. "Mav, this is Grant Kazansky, he's..."

"Ice's husband, yeah, I heard."

Both Slider and Grant giggle at this. Grown man. Giggling. "He hates being called Ice nowadays," Grant explains. "He says Iceman is someone who should stay in the past."

"Sorry, old habits." Mav opens an awkward smile.

"Can I get you a drink?" Grant offers. "Something stronger than Tom's water."

"I thought it was vodka." Mav murmurs.

Already gesturing to the bartender to bring a drink, Grant says: "He stopped drinking when our princess came to our lives."

"And yet I'm her contact emergency" Slider interrupts.

"Because you let her eat ice cream before dinner!"

And isn't this nice? Maverick thought to himself. Him, his biggest love's husband and fucking Ron Kerner all sitting together and having a nice chat!

Before he could actually throw up in front of these people, he excused himself and went to get some fresh air.

Not even 5 minutes go by before someone sits down besides him on the sidewalk.

"He talked about you." Grant says, offering Mav a glass of something that might be whiskey — or apple juice, you never know.

"Good things, I hope." Mav says, taking the glass.

Grant snorts, but doesn't answer. Awkward silence rovers between them.

"Do you love him?" Pete asks, breaking it.

Without missing a beat, Grant answers: "More than I ever loved anyone."

Something twists in Mav's stomach, but he ignores it.

"That's good. He only deserves good things."

But it went without saying. Grant knew Tom deserved only good things, hell, Ice knew it. He would never settle for less than he deserves, and that's why he's with Grant and not Maverick.

"He's lucky to have you," Pete finishes, swallowing the bitter taste the words leave in his mouth.

"I'm lucky to have him." After a beat of awkward silence, Grant adds: "You should come by to dinner."

Mav must've heard it wrong, so he waits for Grant to correct himself. It never comes.

"What?"

"Dinner at our place," Grant explains. "He'd love to get you back in his life, he treasures his friends a lot."

Friends. Right. That's what they are. No.

"We haven't been friends in a long time," not since 1986, he lefts unsaid, since we started dating.

Grant seems to think about it, then decides, "Now it's a good time to reconect. Enjoy your drink."

Then he walks back into the bar, leaving Mav and his thoughts alone.

It all seems a bit crazy for him. Ice — sorry, Tom — has a husband. And they've been together for more than twenty years. A husband who loves him dearly and isn't afraid to say so. A husband who goes to navy events just to celebrate Tom's old friends. A husband who looks like could and would kill anyone who did Tom wrong. A husband who sat down with Tom's ex and invited him to dinner just because.

Pete thinks he should accept the offer. Just to see what Tom's been up to and meet his daughter, would she like him? Would she call him "Uncle Mav"? He should call Slider and check on what to wear and say...

Oh. He doesn't know what to say around Tom. They're strangers now. The man who he once shared a house, a bed, a life, and a heart with is now a stranger to him.

The realization does something to him, something very bad. He takes a sip of his drink and decides this day could not get any worse.

Huh. Whiskey. A good one. At least Grant knows his liquor.

[magiclwritings]

"You act like I have any choice." He didn't feel that way and perhaps it was his tone that made even him react badly to it. He winced, his hand coming up to cover his face for a moment. "Sorry." He mumbled and faced Apollo, he took a step towards him hating that he felt hesitation. Whatever had happened earlier wasn't going on and he just had to let it go. Maybe they'd talk about that later and maybe they wouldn't. Whatever was decided, Cass had to put his own shit away for the time being. "I didn't mean that. It's been ..." He breathed out and dropped his hand, more certain now. "I'm with you always, Apollo, you know this."

He could see the look in his best friend's eyes. He knew today had royally fucked him up. And, well, they just had to get through this. This wasn't the worst of anything they'd been through before just ... different. They were older, the stakes were higher and Theo ... Cass took a step towards Apollo and placed his hand on the other's arm. He felt ... himself. Which he couldn't explain but it pulled a sigh of relief from him that he couldn't hide. And the look in Apollo's eyes didn't go unnoticed. "I just want to find out what is really going on. If she ... " He could feel that well of emotions filling up again. Cass knew it was true and it made him feel something he hadn't thought he'd feel for this person in particular.

Cass had relinquished himself to the notion that he'd be helping raise Apollo's children in some capacity no matter what. They were souls bound in ways he could never explain and didn't care to. And for a while he'd known those children would also be Alexandria's. And, as any petty person would do, he properly hated her for it. Not because of anything she did but because of all of their circumstances. And ... now ... His fingers dug in to Apollo's arm and he felt himself starting to lose it. There was a breaking point and he was reaching it. Had this been earlier, had this happened before Oliver and Isaac. Before all that time had passed then this wouldn't have been a problem.

A shuddered sigh escaped his lips and he looked the man in the eyes for what felt like the first time in ages. "I'm with you always." Slowly a smile tugged a the corner of his mouth and it felt more okay than anything had that whole day. "Let's go take care of this son of a bitch."

Apollo turned at the sound of Cassio’s voice; he eyed his best friend for a moment, trying to decipher the look on his face. He still didn’t know why there was thick tension between them or why he felt like Cassio had his guard up. He didn’t know what happened, but there was one thing Apollo was sure of. Cassio was the one who had knocked him out. Everything pointed to that. Apollo had woken face down on the floor; he imagined he had been blasted backward, considering the broken table pieces surrounding his body when he was in the basement. He knew that Oliver would never be able to take him down physically; Isaac wouldn’t be able to bring himself to do it. That left Cassio. His closet and oldest friend. He was the only one with enough training to catch Apollo off guard.

But with that, Apollo knew, deep down, that Cassio would only physically attack him if he had exhausted all other options. He hated not knowing what had happened or what he had done, but there were bigger things than the past. His primary focus was on Theo’s future. 

He moved past Cassio and threw the clothes in his hands on the dresser. “We both know what my next move is,” He said, reaching up and grabbing the back of his shirt, pulling it off his body in one fluid motion. “I’m going to track down that fucking monster and make sure he can never lay a hand on that boy again.” He turned to look at Cassio after pulling on his shirt. “We both know men like him don’t stop. He’s probably working on tracking Theo down as we speak. I can’t..” He swallowed hard, turning away from Cassio and focusing on dressing himself. He popped open the button of his jeans and slid them down his legs, exchanging them for more flexible, black-fitted pants. “I can’t,” He tried again, shaking his head as if that would do away with the overwhelming bubble of emotion he felt. “I can’t let Alexandria’s sacrifice be in vain, Cassio.”

Apollo bent down, tugging a small chest from beneath the bed. After waving his hand over it, the chest popped open. He pulled a dagger from it, sheathing it in the strap at his thigh. “I don’t expect you to come with me,” He said as he stood back up, turning to face Cassio, studying his face for details about what was wrong between them. “Especially not at a time when you can barely look at me. I take full responsibility for what I’m about to do.” They had done things like this before, back during their uni days—always the two of them, always together. He was the only person Apollo trusted to have his back. It would kill him to do this alone, but he would for his son. 

“But I’m asking that you don’t stand there and lecture me or try and stall me. You saw what Theo went through. It’s written all over your boyfriend’s body. We're all in danger if I don’t act now, and he tracks us down, including Oliver. All it takes is that fuck demanding a DNA test, and Theo goes back to him. And,” Apollo cleared his throat, feeling the thick swell of grief overtake him. He sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling his boots over to him, slipping them on, and lacing them up tightly. “And Alexandria…wherever her body is deserves to be properly buried. Theo might one day need a place to be with her. She doesn’t deserve to be in an unmarked grave. So,” He stood up, crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s it going to be, Cassio?”