#and do feel free to correct me if you think I'm wrong

[gaylorvader]

Agatha All Along:Teen Identity Theory

Spoilers for episodes 1-3 and multiverse of madness

Disclaimer:Sorry if I repeat myself or ramble I'm writing this as I think of it. Also feel free to correct me on anything I get wrong or add to it.

Ok so this theory is very-

-but hear me out. So we don't know Teen's name, or his background. Either the sigil on him stopped Agatha from hearing it or something else did idk(the scene in the car). But my theory about him is that he might be Wiccan aka Billy Maximoff.

Now I know that there are hints that he's Agatha's lost son but I feel like that's too obvious and might be a misdirect. My dad watched it with me and he also agrees that it seems to obvious.

I don't know Wiccan's story exactly so I might get some shit wrong, please correct me if I do. But from just quickly looking it up it says that Wiccan(Billy) and Speed(Tommy) are reincarnations of Wanda's sons.

They both had different families before reuniting and realizing they're twins. So Teen having a dad at least doesn't disprove him being Wiccan.

Wiccan also didn't know that Wanda was his bio mother.

Knowing Wanda she's very protective of those she cares for, very much a "the world can burn as long as those I love are safe" type person. So I think maybe subconsciously or an alternate Wanda(though I'm leaning towards the 1st)put that sigil on him to protect him from other witches *cough*Agatha*cough* cause The Scarlet Witch's kids would obviously be a target for people like Agatha, so Wanda would want to protect them.

And I know you might be thinking "but Wanda's dead" but I don't think she is. We never see her body and in media there's a thing of "if you don't see a body they're not dead" and we haven't seen hers.

Yes in Agatha's magic prison thing there was "Wanda's" body but one:we never see the face, and two:that wasn't real it was an illusion.

My dad is also a big Marvel fan and has seen MoM with me as well as this show and he also doesn't think she's dead. Didn't after MoM and still doesn't. And unlike me he's not a Wanda simp

Yes we saw an explosion of her magic in MoM but again we haven't seen her body. We've seen Tony's, we've seen Natasha's, and we've seen Vision's, but no Wanda.

And if Teen really did break Agatha out of Wanda's spell, Wanda The Scarlett Witch Maximoff who's basically a GOD, who else could do that besides her son.

And I mean he has the same fashion sense, so clearly they're related /j

Also when looking for a good photo of him it seems like some other people have this theory so maybe it's not as crazy as I thought.

That's all I can think of for now, but if I think of anything else, either when the next episode comes out or whatever, I'll probably reblog this to add to it.

Thanks for coming to my TED Talk :)

[featherquillpen]

My favorite Hubert support chains in Three Houses

My favorite Hubert supports and why I like them so much! Some possibly controversial opinions ahead! YOLO.

Hubert & Petra

I think the Hubert/Petra support chain is really underrated. There's a ton of Discourse about the Ingrid/Dedue support chain and racism and the overcoming thereof. But the Hubert and Petra support chain does a great job, I think, of showing someone working on their own racism. Hubert's behavior toward Petra in their C support is appalling, and I think Hubert's worst on-screen behavior. It's either the C support with Petra, or his threats toward her and Brigid on the Petra and Bernie paralogue in non-Crimson Flower routes.

The context is all-important. Petra is a political hostage. She was brought over to the Adrestian court at age 9. Hubert is an Adrestian noble. At the time of the C support pre-TS, Hubert is 20 and Petra is 15. The power dynamic between them is deeply skewed in Hubert's favor. He could do nearly anything to her short of kill her, and get away scot-free. It's pretty much Hubert's modus operandi to threaten people in C supports, because he's so paranoid about any potential enemy of Edelgard's. But to do so to someone who is already so utterly in his power, and Edelgard's, is just cruel.

The B support is still fairly bad. But in the A support, Hubert turns it around.

Hubert is now clear that he believes in the new accord between Brigid and the Empire. Indeed, it's obvious by implication, and more clearly spelled out in Hopes, that he was part of making that accord. And now he's stripped of his last excuse to keep judging Petra. I think one of the highest compliments Hubert can give is to say something like this:

Overall, I love this support as an example of a character working on their racist bullshit.

(I will briefly add that I adore their support chain in Three Hopes also. In that chain, it's Petra's turn to threaten Hubert, and he's SO INTO IT. Just like "Oh shit, a good threat. I respect that so much.")

Hubert & Dorothea

Talking of threatening people in C supports, you know who Hubert doesn't threaten in their C support? Dorothea.

Hubert just likes Dorothea right away. No threats. In fact he's quite open about his feelings about Edelgard right in the C support, and that's a very personal topic!

The whole support chain is about love. And it's even better because their ending together is platonic. And about being spies together, which is so sick. (As far as I can tell, and let the internet correct me if I'm wrong, Hubert is the male ("male") character with the most platonic endings with women, after Alois, who is already married.) I really love it because Hubert opens up very deeply to Dorothea about his feelings for Edelgard. As an aro-spec person, I really relate to the way Hubert and Dorothea talk about Hubert's feelings for Edelgard.

it's very lovely character growth for Dorothea because she sees how profound and transformative non-romantic love can be. That she doesn't need to have romantic love in her life to be happy, whatever society has told her about the necessity of marriage for women to be happy. And that's reflected in the fact that she has a platonic ending with Hubert.

I just can't find their A support anything but hilarious in the best way. They're talking about love, and superficially it's about them getting married, but they don't get married in their ending or have any romantic relationship, and the subtext is screaming that the A support is completely about both their feelings for Edelgard.

I'll take "very normal things to say when you're proposing to someone" for 500, Alex.

Hubert & Bernadetta

I have said it before and I will say it again: you can easily read a metaphor into this support about Bernie giving Hubert space to be gender non conforming or trans femme.

Bernie is way more scared of men than women, and behaves accordingly in their C support, but Hubert then expresses great gentleness toward Bernie and also a deep discomfort with this "scary vampire man" persona, which is sometimes useful but more often painful and heartbreaking. Bernie is really sweet and understanding about this, and even makes that flower in the A support, which you can interpret as Bernie saying "I see this side of you that doesn't fit into masculinity and I want to help you express it." After all, as Hubert says, it's a gift you'd give a female friend, or someone you have romantic feelings for.

What I really like about the moment where Bernie gives Hubert the flower is that it's a moment of Hubert being the one who needs support, through this feeling of pain and uncertainty about this frightening ghoul persona, and Bernie doing the caring. A lot of Bernie's supports are about people trying to help and support Bernie. And that's great! But I love that in this support chain, Bernie also gets to do the supporting.

That dynamic continues in their amazing paired ending, where Bernie goes on great adventures and Hubert stays at home and keeps house. Incredible. Iconic. Let Hubert be GNC. Let Hubert be a housewife.

Hubert & Ferdinand

Much has been said about this support, but I think I have a new take that I haven't seen before. Something that Hubert says to Ferdinand in Hopes helped me really unlock something important about their support chain in Houses.

In Hopes, Hubert and Ferdie are talking about Ludwig, and while Ferdie expresses hope that maybe his father can change, Hubert says something like, "Once someone strays from the path, they can never return." This reflects a broader aspect of Hubert's character, which is that he doesn't seem to believe in redemption. Not for nobles. Not for anyone who's done wrong. Especially not for himself.

Ferdinand does believe in redemption. Not only believes in it, but embodies it. Ferdinand has a remarkable redemption arc. Hubert in the C support with Ferdinand in Houses clearly believes that because of Ferdinand's really fucked up beliefs about nobility and about the power he deserves, Ferdie has strayed from the path and can never return. He's a lost cause. But then Ferdinand proves him wrong.

I think what a lot of fandom gets wrong about this relationship is that they think that Ferdie proved Hubert wrong because he was actually a good guy all along. That's not true. Ferdie pre-timeskip is in many ways genuinely toxic. He secretly believes that he should be Emperor. He bangs on about being the only legitimate heir of House Aegir, and his Aegir bloodline, all of this noble bloodline eugenics stuff that is ruining his classmates' lives. And in three out of four routes, he fights against Edelgard to preserve his noble power and prevent her taking it away from him, upholding this entire rotten system. But in Crimson Flower, he proves Hubert wrong, because he proves that people who stray from the path can return. That phrasing in Hopes about returning to the path gives me some feels, because in Judaism, the word for redemption, teshuvah, basically means "return." It's a belief in the goodness of people. You were on the path to start with. You left it, but you're returning. You're going back to your own fundamental goodness and ability to follow the path.

I think a big reason why Hubert is so impressed with Ferdie by the end of their support chain, and why he comes to love him, is because he proved to Hubert that people can change and can be redeemed. And if that's true of Ferdie…. then maybe that can also be true for Hubert. Ferdinand represents hope. Not just hope for a future after the war, with his visions of education for the masses, but hope that anyone, even the most spoiled noble, even a soul blackened by murder and moral compromise, can work toward redemption. I think it's really beautiful.

And then we get the A+ support which is just pure gay disaster tire fire. Absolute nightmares, both of them.

I find the Ferdibert paired ending deeply funny. Hubert thought he'd die in a ditch and be remembered as the Butcher of Fodlan or something, and now he's a Twin Jewel who everyone thinks is based. I'm also amused by the detail in the JP version of their ending where Edelgard is jealous of their romance. Poor Edie going "where's MY gay enemies to lovers slow burn, HUH?"

Hubert & Edelgard

Agggghhhhhkkkggghhkkkk so. Um. Finally. Last but not least. The Hubert and Edelgard support chain. This is my Hubert stan account origin story. This relationship is what made me go "I need to understand every last thing about Hubert von Vestra." Because here we have Hubert, who is leaving chloroform-soaked rags lying around, looming like a vampyr, cackling unhingedly in crit lines, and threatening people left and right in C supports, and then you see Hubert and Edelgard's C. And that's when you first get to see the real Hubert. That bright heart.

The direct JP-EN translation of this is "I shall make a show of spilling blood to paint the scarlet path1 you tread," where 'scarlet path' is a reference to the walkway in a theater, which is so sexy of Hubert to say.

I also love the C support because she's opening the door wide open for Hubert to leave. It shows the importance of consent and freedom in their relationship. All the people who talk about Hubert being "brainwashed" or "manipulated" into his role clearly left their brains at the door during this support.

I don't even know what to say about the B support, it's just the best. It's perfect. My heart is filled with rainbows. Nobody does it like them. Though I do love that at the end of the B support Edelgard's like "tell me ur secrets Hubert!!!" and he's like "OH LOOK AT THE TIME I GOTTA GO" and flees.

I can't talk about the A support without referring to the Teaspoon Translation because the EN is so badly botched. When I first saw their A support, I was disappointed. And then I discovered it was Treehouse at it again.

JP Edelgard would never dare assume that Hubert is heterosexual.

I also adore the JP version of their paired ending, from Teaspoon:

In their later years, after accomplishing what they set out to do, they found a talented successor and disappeared. Even in their retirement, spent just by themselves, there were likely no romantic exchanges even to the end.

Queerplatonic partner icons. Shipping is nice and all, but no romantic relationship between characters in this game will ever appeal to me more than what Hubert and Edelgard have going on.

[judyprincess]

Too Pink for me- Logan Howlett +18

04: Adam's Apple

"No."

The garden area, where the teachers usually had breakfast, was filled with Logan's bad mood from the early morning, marked by his firm refusal.

"Logan, I haven't finished," Charles said calmly, setting his coffee cup down on the table.

Everyone was watching the scene, but Ororo didn't seem surprised—she had already predicted this would happen.

"Guess what, I don't care."

Logan replied before taking a sip of his black coffee, fully intending to escape Charles' explanations. Knowing what was coming, Charles had no choice but to use his powers, stopping Logan from walking away, which made a low, almost animalistic growl escape from his throat as he turned back to them, frustrated.

"Is this some kind of joke or punishment? Did I do something wrong as a substitute that I don't know about?"

Logan finally spoke, his rough voice like sandpaper, clearly expressing his displeasure.

"Logan, I still don't understand why spending time with Rosellina is a punishment." Charles didn't react to his bad attitude and took another sip of coffee. "The girl is delightful."

"I don't like her. Can that be respected?"

"Do you have a valid argument I might accept?"

Charles leaned forward, resting his chin on his interlaced hands, waiting expectantly. Logan thought for a moment, but no words came out.

"Then, no, I can't respect it. It's just nonsense."

Logan took a deep breath, trying to keep the animal inside him from breaking free.

"This is Scott's job. I don't get why I'm the one doing this."

Ororo glanced at Charles when Logan justified himself to avoid the task, her expression clearly saying, I told you so.

"Logan's right," Scott said after a moment, surprising everyone.

Hank nearly choked on his coffee, having to grab a nearby napkin to wipe himself off as he coughed. The world must have been ending—Logan even raised an eyebrow at Scott.

"Well, that's new," Ororo muttered under her breath, watching the situation unfold.

"Professor, I don't usually agree with Logan."

"Usually?" Logan asked, accusingly.

"Never," Scott corrected. "What I mean is, Rosellina is a new student. I don't think her first day at the school should involve enduring Logan's bad mood. She needs a good experience."

Logan mentally thanked Scott for the intervention, though Scott never missed an opportunity to criticize him.

Charles sighed in his seat, remaining calm and unfazed by Logan's attempts to escape. He waved a hand toward Scott, signaling that his intervention wasn't necessary, before addressing Logan.

"Logan, you have two options," he finally said, unwilling to prolong the situation further. He could already sense Rosellina's thoughts approaching—no, in fact, he could feel her emerald eyes watching them.

"You help Rosellina with her tour of the facilities and try to swallow your bad mood a bit."

Before Charles could continue, Logan cut him off with a challenging tone.

"Or what?"

"Or you'll start teaching history classes first thing Monday morning as an official professor," Charles dropped the ultimatum, taking a sip of his coffee without even looking at him. He didn't need to look to imagine Logan's expression.

"Your choice," Charles concluded, leaving a silence as Hank struggled to hold back a laugh.

"This is the library," Logan grumbled, just like every time he pointed out a new room to Rosellina.

After that trap Charles had set for him, Logan had no choice but to reluctantly accept. As soon as he left the garden, Rosellina was already waiting for him. They began on the ground floor, and after a few rooms, they found themselves in the library where several students were studying.

Logan leaned against one of the bookshelves, arms crossed, as he watched her wander around the room with curious eyes. He couldn't help but let his gaze slide over her, observing how she moved so delicately, like a graceful heron. Her clothes were simple, yet somehow, she made them look elegant and magical—a pink skirt and a white blouse with puffed sleeves. Half of her hair was tied up while the rest cascaded down her back like a waterfall, reaching places he knew he shouldn't be staring at. Logan mentally scolded himself, shaking his head firmly as he tried to focus on the windows.

That's exactly what he hated about this girl—the way she made everyone fall under her charm without even trying. Even he, despite his enduring love for Jean, couldn't stop himself from looking at her. It made him feel like a disgusting pervert.

Logan let out a low growl, tightening his grip on his arms, leaving faint marks from the pressure, though they quickly disappeared. He could hear the murmurs of the students watching her as he tried to keep his mind steady.

"She's beautiful," a rough whisper from one male student made Logan turn his head.

With indifferent eyes, Logan observed the admiration that built up around Rosellina with every step she took. The students watched her with eyes full of infatuation. She hadn't even said a word, but they were all staring at her, though they kept their distance, as if feeling unworthy of approaching her. Logan raised an eyebrow at their behavior. It was like she was a painting they admired from afar, afraid to touch for fear of breaking it. Like she was somehow "forbidden."

He chuckled under his breath, but it wasn't because he found it funny. Not at all—it irritated him. The reverence for someone just because they were pretty, someone who barely said more than two words.

"Uh, good morning," Rosellina finally spoke after hearing the whispers, attempting to greet them.

Logan was surprised by the gesture, but what shocked him even more was the students' response. Shy and embarrassed, they turned away, and only a few managed to give her a small nod in return.

Logan huffed at their ridiculous and timid behavior. Impatient, he pushed off the bookshelf and grabbed Rosellina's wrist.

"She's just a girl," he growled. "Stop drooling and at least return her greeting, you rude brats."

Rosellina was caught off guard, not only by Logan's sudden intervention that caused the students to mutter their apologies under their breath, but by his grip on her wrist—so rough, so abrupt, and of course, without any permission. She hadn't even realized when her legs instinctively quickened, trying to match Logan's long strides as he moved swiftly down the hallway, his towering height forcing her to keep pace.

"L-Logan..." she murmured softly, trying to keep up as they climbed the stairs. "It hurts..." she whispered, wincing as he dragged her down the hallway.

"I really hate you," he spat.

Those words left Rosellina stunned. She could only remain silent, frozen by the sharpness of them. Logan was a man giving her firsts in ways she couldn't understand. No one had ever spoken to her like that before. Why was this man, who barely knew her, so determined to bury her beneath his hatred, to push her away from him?

"The way you draw attention, the way you make people stupid, unable to speak, and yet you don't even say anything back," he continued, releasing her wrist abruptly, letting it drop as she came to a halt.

He turned to face her, his breathing heavy, revealing the erratic pace of his heart driven by the rush of adrenaline.

"I hate it so much."

Rosellina looked at him, feeling a sudden ache in her chest. What was that feeling? Why did it hurt? She wasn't sick, so why did her heart feel this way? In a desperate attempt to ignore that unknown pain, she offered him an embarrassed smile. Even though she wasn't to blame, she was ready to apologize.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, looking at him. "I didn't mean to be such a bother to you today."

Logan blinked, taken aback by her response. It only made his irritation grow. Why was she acting like she was the one at fault? Why so much submission? It was driving him crazy. He hated that unbearably helpless attitude.

"Forget it," he muttered under his breath.

The sharp words, like a blade ready to cut deep, were held back. He was restraining himself, knowing deep down that this girl wasn't truly at fault. Or at least his mind tormented him with the thought of Charles scolding him if she ran off in tears because of his rough demeanor.

"Walk," he grumbled as he began to move, shoving his hands into his pockets. The quicker they got this over with, the better for both of them.

The tour of the facilities continued until they reached the second floor, above the dormitories where more secluded rooms were located. Rosellina remained silent, avoiding greetings but offering a shy smile as the older students occasionally glanced at her. Soon, the hallways were empty, and she couldn't help but fidget with her hands.

"What's your mutation?" she dared to ask after what felt like an eternal silence under the weight of the tension.

Logan didn't respond at first, unwilling to engage in more conversation than necessary, but it seemed Rosellina was determined to go against his plans.

"Healing."

He answered curtly, but he could feel her gaze behind him, quietly asking for more information.

"I've got enhanced senses. I'm like an animal, but with extraordinary regenerative abilities," he explained after a few moments of hesitation.

Rosellina nodded, trying to piece it together. Someone who could heal as quickly as he was injured? That explained why Logan, despite his age, looked so young. His mutation slowed his aging. She observed him subtly, careful not to seem intrusive, until her eyes landed on his chest. A dog tag rested against his shirt, and she could clearly read the name on it.

Wolverine.

She remembered Rogue mentioning that most had nicknames, and she quickly deduced that this was Logan's. It suited him, considering what he had told her about his mutation. Yet, despite everything, Logan didn't generate any ill feelings within her. It was his behavior that caused those tiny stings of pain in her chest.

"Were you in the army?"

Rosellina asked after a while, nervous that she might anger him again. Logan let out a heavy breath in response before turning slightly to look at her.

"You're out of questions."

That was all he said, but his response only confirmed for Rosellina that it was a sensitive subject for him. His expression had darkened when she mentioned it. She followed him closely as he pointed out more rooms, moving at a faster pace, his desire to end the tour evident.

"The professor mentioned an attic," she whispered softly, debating whether she should've said anything at all.

She could've let him go and asked Rogue to take her there instead. She watched Logan stop, fully expecting him to sigh in frustration.

"I... we can finish here—"

"Follow me, it's up the right staircase."

Logan interrupted her, veering off and walking with long strides, though his pace had softened so she could keep up. They ascended toward one of the mansion's towers. When they arrived, Logan turned on the lights, the smell of wood immediately filling the space, mingling with the natural floral scent of Rosellina as she stepped inside, awestruck by the attic's size. Logan lingered in the doorway, watching as the light from the balcony helped him see her move around, as if she were already placing things in their designated spots in her mind.

"Why did the professor give you the attic?"

Logan asked, curiosity gnawing at him. Rosellina, stepping away from the table she had been examining, turned to face him.

"He said I could paint here if I needed space, so I wouldn't bother anyone."

She answered, as kind as always.

"Paint?" Logan raised an eyebrow, not expecting that response.

"Yes, I'm an artist."

Logan could sense the hint of pride in her words when she spoke about her craft.

"Well, I guess that's something you can afford to do when your father's one of the Pentagon's big shots," Logan scoffed, the glint of disdain sharp in his eyes.

Rosellina lightly grazed her fingers across the wooden table before pulling her hand back, a small smile on her face.

"I suppose," she murmured after a moment.

Why did it feel like Logan kept testing the limits of her patience? Was she always going to let people treat her like this without pushing back?

"I really do love painting. It's a way to express myself."

Her words pulled him from his thoughts, as she stared down at the floor.

"Everyone expresses themselves somehow, but for me... well, sometimes it's hard to say what I feel." She confessed, her face turning toward the warm light spilling in from the balcony. "It's so easy to swim and just as easy to drown at the same time. But a lifeline can always be there, something to hold on to and escape from the obvious, if only for a moment."

Logan listened closely. Her words flowed like prose, a melody written in frustration and emotion on the oldest pages of Europe, hinting at something deeper. He wasn't sure if it was just her artistic nature making such elaborate comparisons to things that could've been explained in simpler terms, but something about it held him captive.

"Escaping death is easier than escaping feelings, always finding a way to hide them in plain sight, beyond the understanding of those who can't see past their own pain." Rosellina recited, as if recalling a forgotten tale lost in an untold book.

Logan found himself submerged, drawn into that stormy sea of words that seemed to lead nowhere—yet they consumed him. Because, in his mind, there was an understanding, a connection to what she was saying, even if he didn't fully grasp it himself.

"Maybe... painting is my lifeline." Rosellina turned to meet his gaze with a gentle smile. "But mostly, I love doing it because it makes people happy when I do."

She added, as if trying to steer the conversation away from the previous reflections. Logan looked into her eyes, those emerald gems piercing deeper into him, searching for something beyond what he projected. They were mesmerizing, undeniably beautiful. A truth he couldn't deny.

There was a silence between them as Logan observed her; a storm always seemed to brew whenever Rosellina was around. After what felt like an eternity, Logan finally peeled himself away from the doorway.

"I'm sure you've got other things to do, just like me," he said, turning to head down the stairs. In his language, that meant: time to get out.

Rosellina hurried to follow him, casting one last glance at the space. For some reason, Logan didn't seem as resentful as he had been yesterday or even this morning—that was a small victory for her. They descended the stairs together, arriving at the ground floor where most of the people were gathered. Jean crossed their path before Rosellina could greet her, but Logan beat her to it.

"Hey, Jean," he greeted her with a small smile.

Jean quickly returned the smile and greeting. Rosellina stood there, watching the interaction, noticing Logan's smile and his attitude towards Jean. Was he only resentful towards her? No, surely not. Rosellina mentally shook the thought away.

"Hi, Logan, and you too, Rosellina. I see you've finished the tour," Jean observed after saying hello.

Rosellina greeted her and nodded in agreement.

"Well, you sure took your time. It's already lunchtime."

"Yeah, well, the place isn't exactly small," Logan replied with a short laugh.

Rosellina could feel herself fading into the background of the conversation. Even though they were talking about both of them, the conversation started to feel more like it was just between Logan and Jean. Her emerald eyes watched their expressions, noticing the faint air of flirtation between them.

A flush rose to Rosellina's cheeks. They were probably a couple or at least interested in each other, and here she was, stuck in the middle, feeling like a third wheel illuminating a pair of lovers.

"I've got things to take care of, ciao," Rosellina mumbled softly, excusing herself so as not to interrupt any further.

As she walked away, she glanced back over her shoulder and saw them speaking comfortably, catching sight of Logan's expression as he looked at Jean, noticing the small touches she made on his arm. She quickly turned back.

Intrusive. You're being rude, Rosellina.

She scolded herself mentally, determined not to look again. All she could think now was that Logan probably had a girlfriend, which didn't make him a bad guy, right? Rogue had been right, after all. Not that she had ever thought he was a bad guy anyway.

Logan was so absorbed in his conversation with Jean that he suddenly realized he no longer caught the scent of Rosellina's perfume. He turned around to see that she was gone. When had she left? Jean had distracted him that much.

"Logan?" Jean called, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"Sorry, didn't notice the little annoying rose had left," he muttered, refocusing on Jean.

"You don't like her, huh?" Jean asked as they walked down the hallway and out of the mansion, heading toward the front gardens.

"No," he answered firmly.

After a while, Logan's curiosity got the better of him, and he continued, "Beyond her striking looks, I don't even know what her mutation is."

"Well, you didn't ask her, did you? I'm sure she would've told you. She's not shy about showing it."

Jean teased him, practically telling him it was his fault for not asking her directly. Logan cursed under his breath, glancing at Jean while listening to her. Standing around like an idiot and just listening wasn't exactly his idea of fun.

"I'm asking you so you can tell me, Jean."

Jean raised an eyebrow before giving a sly smile.

"It's in her eyes."

Logan stopped in his tracks, recalling how he had been captivated by her eyes just a moment ago. He remembered thinking they were the most intense emerald green he'd ever seen in his life—like two precious gems. But he hadn't thought much further than that. Beyond her striking pink hair, those eyes were the real pressure that could crush you like the deep ocean's abyss.

"Her eyes? What are they supposed to do?"

"Illusions, she can make your mind see things completely out of reality."

Logan thought that maybe people fell under her spell because of her charm, but that wasn't the case. Her mutation went beyond his understanding. Jean took her time explaining what the professor had told her, along with his hypotheses after conducting an initial test with Rosellina. The Canadian listened closely as Jean talked about the classes Charles would have with Rosellina and how she had agreed to become an arts teacher.

"Art teacher..." he muttered to himself with a faint, mocking smile.

It suits her.

Logan thought to himself. Just then, he felt Jean's hands softly brushing against his, her fingertips tracing the calluses on his palms. That small electric charge traveled up Logan's spine, quickening his heartbeat. He turned to look at her.

"I thought you'd be falling for her by now; she's a very beautiful woman." Jean's words felt strange to him. He could sense a mix of teasing and satisfaction in them.

"I only have eyes for one person, if that's what you're worried about." His voice was lower, more intimate and rough. His hands slipped under her jacket, gently grazing her waist, savoring the feel through her clothes.

Once again, he was falling into something he shouldn't. Into the endless flirtation with Jean that always led nowhere, leaving him with scraps of affection that would never turn into anything more.

"She's not even my type," he clarified.

"She's sweet, pretty," Jean offered, "smart, kind."

"I prefer the strong, independent ones." He shook his head at her attempt, his face leaning closer to hers. "What do I have to do to make you understand that I'm only dying for you?" He confessed, now dangerously close.

Jean placed her hands on Logan's chest, creating some space between them, a small barrier, as she felt her breath catch. Logan's masculinity and boldness always made her tremble—a forbidden man who would only bring her trouble.

"Girls only flirt with the bad boy, Logan..." she whispered softly, looking at him with doe-like eyes. "But they marry the good guy."

Jean crossed that dangerous line, her lips almost brushing against his. Jean could hear the low growl in his throat, feel his hot breath on her face.

"I could be the good guy..." he murmured against her lips, barely grazing them.

He was putting all of his effort into not doing something reckless in the school's gardens, where anyone could see them. It was all forbidden and filled with consequences, a mix that made him both sick and excited at the same time. That little fantasy evaporated when Jean, just inches from sharing a kiss with him, pulled away. Once again, the same thing happened. So close, yet so far.

"Scott's waiting for me," she said as her final words, removing her hands from his chest and breaking all contact as his own hand slipped from her waist. She turned to leave, leaving him standing there. Logan didn't dare say anything, letting her walk away. All he could feel was a toxic storm brewing inside, consuming him—pain, pain and resignation. Settling for the bare minimum, knowing it would never go further, and that he would always be the loser, never the first choice for the red-haired woman he desired so much. Could his healing ability save him from that pain he masochistically confused with pleasure? No. He wouldn't feel so lost and broken, knowing he would never be her choice.

"Damn it."

________________________________________

Why does the forbidden always have to be so tempting?

The human desire to always want what we can't have, that greed that makes us brush against sins we will later pay for dearly.

There is no sin without consequences.

________________________________________

Hello, my dear readers! I'm leaving a little note here for you. I know you're a fan of Marvel, so if you're interested, I've recently published another book, though this one focuses more on the Avengers. In this fanfic, the Avengers' story is rebooted from the first movie, and a new female original character will change the course of the movie timeline in this alternate reality. You can find it on my profile, or search for it by title: Immortal Flames.

If you're also into Japanese mythology, this fanfic will be for you! (Of course, it will be explicit and feature romance between the original character and another Avenger, along with secondary pairings among other Avengers).

I hope you're enjoying Rosellina's story. ✨️

Kisses, 

Judy. 💖

[sunshinefurby]

hm. i've been quiet abt it bc i don't really like being negative on here but honestly the new furby design is. disappointing idk. absolutely nothing against people who like it ofc, and there are def some cute aspects. but it sucks to see that the design is so far removed from original furbies and just doesn't have the same charm idk. the connect was already straying pretty far but honestly i kinda like connects bc the shapes are cute but. idk the 2023 furbs just seem like they're trying to hard to be cutesy and it just feels sort of forced?? if it appeals to kids and young people get to enjoy it that's awesome and honestly that's kind of the point. but i do get why people are unhappy with it. like in regards certain aspects like the eyes the fixed beak & the way it's like. super difficult to take apart bc of the clips and stuff. i can totally see why a lot of customizers especially aren't happy with it. i'm sure lots of people have said the exact same stuff but yeah overall i feel like. relatively neutral to the whole thing idk it's nice to see furbies being produced and sold again and yeah it is cute but i get why people aren't loving it. that said ofc there are people who do love it and that's totally okay. regardless if you love it or hate it what's not okay is people within the community being rude to each other based on whether they like it or not cmon. it's not for everyone but if people do like it that's their business and there's no need to be rude!!! but on the other hand if people have complaints about it they should be allowed to voice that as long as they're not being mean yknow. letting it cause a rift in the community is silly. but anyways

[arrowcuratesart]

Oh also if I ever mistag something or accidentally reblog stolen art, or art that isn't sourced properly PLEASE let me know, feel free to DM me the post in question or send me an ask or whatever and let me know what's wrong with it and I'll fix the tags or just delete the post if it's stolen art.

[anthromimicry]

@ethicsbutcher asked: ❛ do you ever think about the future? ❜

it wasn't often that misao found herself drifting off while she was spending time with someone she wasn't very familiar with. and this was because, deep down, misao seemingly had a slight distrust towards humanity in general — what with the fact that one was responsible for the very grievous event that claimed her mother's life all those years ago being at the head of it. well, that, and what she'd been taught to believe as a child: to never let your guard down around one because they could easily stab you in the back. but they were not all bad, she'd discovered, and that was a rather black-and-white way of looking at them. regardless, this belief had still managed to dig it's claws into her. so misao remained hypervigilant around humans albeit much less than she used to be. which made it all the more confusing that all she could find herself doing was looking into the wine that doctor lecter had provided her with before one of his infamous 'ceremonial' dinners.

misao had barely touched it and she'd already had too much in her mind. it was a bit of a bummer that she couldn't indulge in it as freely as he could, but as the saying goes: c'est la vie, right? misao soon found herself being snapped back to reality by the sound of hannibal's voice. 'oh, god,' she thought. how long had he been talking to her? misao put on a small, apologetic smile as her eyes met the others, ❝ ahh, forgive me if it seems like i wasn't paying attention, doctor lecter. i was listening, but i guess you could say i have a lot on my mind, ❞ that wasn't exactly completely true but it wasn't a lie either. for, misao only really had one thing on her mind, but it had been plaguing her mind ever since she got here: what could've been his motives behind why he invited her here. they had only talked in passing when they were both within the walls of arkham, after all, hadn't they?

misao squinted her eyes at the other as if she was trying to read hannibal then. but he was not a particularly easy person to be read, even with everything she knew about body language, and how people's minds worked. winging it seemed like the best option from there as a result as misao eyed the food he was preparing, ❝ oh? that's an interesting question, though i hope you aren't asking it out of some attempt to psychoanalyze me. i already do enough of that to myself, ❞ a light snort left her nostrils then before her eyes flitted up to meet the other's once more. misao wasn't afraid of him, but what was his objective here, hmm? ❝ but if you want the truth, i think i have been mainly focusing on what's been happening around me in the present for a while. i suppose because although the future does matter, we could all die tomorrow. and because of that, i feel as if it's only right to consider the present first. ❞

misao shrugged slightly and made sure hannibal saw her take another swig of the liquor he'd given her even though she really shouldn't have. she resisted the urge to grimace at the acidity of it by closing her eyes momentarily, before speaking up again, ❝ that's just my opinion though. is there any reason why you have been thinking about what's to come, doctor? maybe something... or someone? ❞ misao's voice rose an octave whenever she'd said that last part, trying to convey that she was interested in his life. though misao just asked him this out of 'politeness' so that she could more smoothly question him down the road about why he'd chosen her to invite to his home out of all of the arkham staff. misao didn't actually care much about it. however, she was a good liar. or she thought she was anyway.

[sorcerous-caress]

I hope you are doing well

Did I- Did I make it seem like I'm going crazy or something? Like yes I am okay, I promise.

Well, no. I lied, but I'm not worse than normal. I have always been this deranged. It is not out of the ordinary. Why the concerns now?

But thank you anyways, I hope you're doing well too.

[steviesbicrisis]

A Barbie AU where the Kens decide, in order to get some recognition, to get individual names.

Steve, who’s just a Ken very good with kids, is having an identity crisis after his Barbie, journalist Barbie, broke up with him.

Not even picking a name as unique and special as Steve, so much different than Ken, managed to cheer him up.

Everyone keeps saying he should be happy about the change, and discover who he is outside of Barbie’s orbit, but he can’t see what was so wrong in their relationship. He loved waiting all day for Barbie to look at him, even if it was for a brief second.

As if going through an existential crisis wasn't enough, he has to do it under the constant mocking of his archnemesis, Ke- Eddie.

Eddie, with his long curly and annoyingly gorgeous hair, who has a sense of style he would give all of his rollerblades for, and who's always there to notice whenever Steve makes a mistake.

Eddie even has his Barbie still by his side, cheerleader Barbie, and every time Steve sees them together he gets a sick feeling in his stomach, like a tummy ache. Doctor Barbie visited him a couple of times and found nothing wrong with him, he imagines he's a little jealous of Eddie for being with a Barbie.

Steve talks about this with Polyglot Barbie, his best friend, annoying her to death.

"Why are we talking about Ken, again?" she interrupts Steve's retelling of his last encounter with Eddie.

"It's Eddie" Steve corrects her.

"Right," she nods. She's very supportive of their silly-name-thing (how most Barbies call it), but she still has trouble remembering all the names, "why are we still talking about him?"

They're hanging out at the park, sitting under a tree, Barbie's leg on top of his, and they're holding hands. It's nice. Steve is happy to have a best friend like Barbie.

Steve looks up, meeting Eddie's gaze. He's sitting at one of the picnic tables not far away from them, doing nothing besides glaring at Steve.

Barbie squeezes his hand to get his attention back, and Steve looks away.

"Because he keeps tormenting me! he's even glaring at me right now, I'm gonna get stress wrinkles!" Steve finally replies, in a distressed tone.

"You're being dramatic," she says, matter-of-factly, "Eddie isn't so bad with you. You know, he kinda treats you like his Barbie."

If Steve had a beating heart, it probably would've stopped right at this second.

"What?"

"You know, he's always looking for you, he is always giddy whenever you give him a crumble of attention. He hangs out where you hang out... why do you think he's sitting all alone at a picnic table, just staring at you?"

"Maybe he's waiting for his girlfriend" he suggests.

"Are you talking about Cheerleader Barbie?" she giggles, "she's not his girlfriend, trust me."

"But he picks on me! all the time! Like this morning, I tripped and he made a comment about my legs!" He gestures at his legs with his free hand.

Barbie tilts her head to the side "you mean this morning at the beach when he held you in his arms for ten minutes to prevent you from falling and Barbie had to tell him to let you go?"

"… yeah” he manages to say. He hadn’t realized how long Eddie held him in his arms, he was upset about almost falling in front of him, but he also liked the feeling of his arms around him.

Everything feels different now.

Barbie's look softens "How does this make you feel?"

"I don't know" he answers, honestly "I just can't stop thinking about him."

A loud noise at their right startles them off of their conversation. They turn around to see Eddie lying on the floor, a trash can at his feet.

Steve doesn't give himself the time to realize that Eddie has probably heard their entire conversation and has tripped on that trash can because of it, he just rushes to Eddie's side to help him out.

Eddie stammers while Steve pulls him back up, not making much sense.

Steve is used to see Eddie as an intimidating guy, someone to compete with for Barbie’s attention. He never realized how much he liked to have Eddie’s attention instead, nor how he loved to give that attention back in equal amount.

“Nice legs” he tells him, repeating the same words Eddie told him that morning.

Eddie stops his incoherent stream of words when he hears him “what?”

“You heard me” Steve says.

“I did” Eddie admits. He pulls the trash can back up, to have an excuse to not look at Steve when he asks “you can’t stop thinking about me?”

For some reason, that’s the easiest question Steve has ever had to answer to “yes, I can’t.”

Eddie jolts back up startling Steve, the trash can falling out of his hands and hitting the ground once again.

“Cool” he says, using all of his willpower to hide his excitement by keeping a relaxed face, failing miserably.

“I guess” Steve grins. Knowing he has that effect on Eddie is making him the most confident he has ever felt in his life.

“So, since you can’t stop thinking about me…” Eddie repeats, in a tone that Steve would’ve mistaken for a mocking one until few hours ago “…we could hang out on the beach later. I’ll bring my guitar.”

“I’ll bring mine too then” Steve replies immediately.

Eddie panics “We can’t both have a guitar!”

Steve crosses his arms on his chest “who says that?”

Eddie opens and closes his mouth a couple of times then mutters, defeated, “fine.”

“Great!” Steve takes a step forward and gives Eddie a peck on his cheek “I’ll see you later.”

Eddie, who makes a face again trying to hide his excitement, nods and turns away “cool.”

He walks away slowly, towards the park’s exit. Right by the gate, he throws himself into an hedge. Steve can clearly hear him when he screams words along the lines of “FINALLY”, “I HAVE A DATE” and “SUBLIME”.

Steve turns to Robin who has witnessed the whole thing, while Eddie is still screaming random words from the bushes.

“I think I’m in love.”

[drchucktingle]

Chuck, how do you deal with people who are rude about you and your work? I write queer romance and I want to put my writing out there for people to read, but I'm a very sensitive person and I know it will be hard not to take insults personally and let them affect me. I don't want to let that stop me from expressing myself and sharing my art, but I'm scared!

very good question buckaroo. i am a good example of this as pretty much EVERYONE was rude about my work for many years calling it 'so bad its good' (it is just good) and 'terrible photoshop' (i think it has a great and instantly recognizable style) and 'intentionally stupid premises' (i dont think there is anything stupid about sex being fun and whimsical and playful). even these days the reaction of the VAST majority of buckaroos who discover chuck have this reaction AT FIRST, and then learn to appreciate the tingleverse in a more sincere way over time.

all that is to say BEING DOUBTED HAS WORKED OUT VERY WELL FOR ME. art that changes meaning over time can be very powerful, so if someones initial reaction to my trot is one thing and then it evolves into another thing, well that is just good art. while it can feel bad to get a bad review, i would say a bad review just means you have entered a realm of tension and change and discord and WE ARE TALKIN ABOUT ART BUD so that, in itself, is very exciting.

i think of what i do as 'punk writing', and a big part of that means pushing against preconceived sensibilities. not many other authors will proudly say 'there SHOULD be some spelling errors in my erotic shorts because i wrote it in a day and edited it once. that is the FEELING i want to create', but that is my way. by creating what is in my soul i KNOW i am going to bother some buckaroos and that is okay.

now i am NOT assuming you are also doing punk writing (that is okay of course we all have our own styles. what i am doing with tinglers is pretty rare), but it still stands to remember that there are 7.8 billion people on the planet of this dang timeline and some of them are bound to be bothered by your creations. that is not a problem, that is just part of baring your authentic self.

the other thing to remember is theres no REAL right or wrong in art. it can be analyzed in different ways and i tend to look at it in a way of comparing intention to result, but even THAT is not strictly correct. therefore any bad review of something you make is not actually BAD it is just someones information and feedback for you to take or leave. a one star review is just another opinion, it is no more right or wrong than your own opinion, and that is wonderful. it is freeing.

if i see a bad review of my own book, lets just say CAMP DAMASCUS for instance, i do not get upset because i know this: that reviewer is not wrong. camp damascus is five stars for me, but it is one star for someone else AND THAT IS OK. THAT IS THE WAY IT SHOULD BE. THAT IS GREAT ART. also MAYBE THEY KNOW BETTER THAN I DO. just because i wrote the book does not mean i am the authority on it, and the conversation and tension between those that enjoy something and those that despise it is a creative act. the audience engaging with your work is just your art emerging from its cocoon and saying 'here i am. lets see where i flutter off to now'

do not fear the river of this timeline sweeping away your creations and carrying them where it will. this is inevitable, but it is also beautiful and freeing. you cannot swim against it and that is okay bud, because YOU HAVE ALREADY WON. you have already created something and given a piece of yourself back to this timeline and that is a great honor and privilege. it is literally all there is

by creating ANYTHING you are proving love is real, and that is something to be proud of

[artist-issues]

Disney doesn't need to change "the formula." That's the last thing that Wish proves.

What Wish proves is that "the formula" only works when you know why the ingredients are in it, and you use them the correct way.

The Princess Character is meant to wish for only half of the movie's message, and go through an adventure that teaches her what the other half is; what her dream was missing. Ariel dreamed of understanding but she was missing love. Tiana dreamed of achieving her goals but she was missing faith. Jasmine dreamed of freedom but she was missing trust. Belle dreamed of adventure but she was missing being understood.

The Villain is meant to highlight the opposite of the movie's message. Jafar gets what he wants through trickery and manipulation; that's the opposite of Aladdin's "truth will set you free" message, and he gets imprisoned in a lamp. Scar thinks being a King is having his way all the time and can't learn from his past of living in Mufasa's shadow; that's the opposite of The Lion King's "Let the past remind you of your responsibility to selflessness." Gaston loves only himself and is always obsessed with appearances; that's the opposite of Beauty & the Beast's "true love is found within a heart of self-sacrifice." That's what makes them such good villains. (and that clear direction is what drives good villain songs, since Magnifico's is what everyone is talking about)

The sidekick is supposed to compare/contrast with the main character's qualities. Abu is a greedy thief, which is what everyone in Agrabah thinks Aladdin is; when he scolds Abu and teaches him selflessness, it shows us who Aladdin actually is. Flounder is easily frightened and looks at the glass half-full; when Ariel coaxes him and leads by example, we see her bravery and positivity reflected in Flounder's tiny character arc. Timon & Pumbaa do whatever they want all day just like young Simba always dreamed of; when Simba goes to live with them, he finds that "getting his way all the time" makes him forget who he really is and feel empty.

The setting is supposed to show off the characters and highlight the movie's message. Rapunzel's tower is designed to be pretty on the inside because of her influence; if it were too dark and prison-shaped, we'd wonder why she didn't work up the courage to leave sooner. Just like how Quasimodo has made his corner of the bell-tower beautiful, too; they're taught the world is cruel and they're not strong enough for it, but they make their own worlds beautiful enough to hint that that's wrong right from the start. Ariel's grotto is shaped like a tower with no roof so that she only has one window to the forbidden Surface, and it's the light that comes from that forbidden world into her dark grotto which literally makes her able to see human things differently. Tiana's apartment has no interesting features except her father's picture, a perfectly made bed, a drawer with no extra outfits but stuffed with tip money, and only two dresses; both of which are for work.

None of that is happening in Wish, because they didn't know why the formula ingredients are there. Disney needs to understand and return to the formula the right way; forgetting it was what got them here.

Asha learns nothing to add to her dream, unless you count "the power to grant wishes is in me." Which you shouldn't, because we didn't even know she was confused about that until the animals sang a song that was completely off-topic and she had the chance to jump in and sing "I'm a Star!"

Magnifico does not demonstrate the opposite of Wish's message effectively because his character has nothing to do with a philosophy against making wishes, and everything to do with power. (He is the strongest character in the film. But because the message and core concept of what wishes are are so bad, that's not saying much.)

Valentino, and Asha's friends, do not highlight anything about her character through compare/contrast. Valentino is brave and all over the place. Her friends are seven-dwarfs parodies. Happy, Doc, Sneezy, Dopey, Bashful, Sleepy, Grumpy. None of that contrasts with Asha's vague characterization of "cares too much." None of it compares to that characterization, either.

The setting is empty. There are no interesting details that teach you something about any of the characters. None in Asha's home, none in the neat-and-tidy one-dimensional forest, none in the Rosas square, and none in the bland, empty castle. Magnifico's study is the closest anything gets; there's a loose concept that all of Asha's friends have to work together to open the roof, and take a leap of faith to weigh the pulley system down. Unfortunately, none of these characters is shown struggling to work together, OR to take leaps of faith, at all, before this point.

The ingredients of the formula are in Wish. They're just not being used correctly. This is how not to use the formula; it's not the formulas fault. If it ain't broke. They should never have let people convince them to try and fix it.

[pale-fairytales]

I don't really like to get political but I feel a need to talk about this;

It's so funny. It's so funny to me that the people pushing for KOSA also criticize other countries who do the exact same shit (i.e., China, which from what I've heard (and correct me if I'm wrong please) censors a lot of things) and hate their guts. The fact that they're pushing for censorship directly violates one of the amendments of the constitution (which is free speech) and it baffles me that they think this is okay. But hey these are also the same people that won't do anything about gun violence or school shootings and who want to take away bodily autonomy and gay/trans rights so why am I even surprised.

For the love of god, if you can, help stop KOSA. Not just for fandom purposes, but for the fact that it impacts people who want to transition, people who want/need abortions, it impacts a way that human beings can seek out human contact in an increasingly lonely world where things are growing bleak. Not only that, but the people who are suffering from genocide (8 FUCKING GENOCIDES IN THE WORLD BTW) may not be able to get help or get the word out about their condition if a big chunk of the world can't access the content that helps said people.

And I'm sorry, but if you really cared about children's safety, you a) would do more about school shootings, b) would fix issues that put children in danger (shockingly hunger/malnutrition is still an issue in the U.S.A. just not in the same way as in a war-torn country), c) would fix the foster-care/adoption system, and d) teach parents to have some common fucking sense not to have 5-year-olds on the internet watching age-inappropriate stuff (like 5 year olds listening to Sexxy Red or Ice Spice)

Censorship is bad. It's bad because it can genuinely put lives at risk. If you're for the KOSA bill, don't pretend like it's because you care. You don't care about people—you just want to control them. Just like the people you and its instigators hate so much.

[writersdrug]

Thinking about Simon with a goth! gf, and introducing his team to you.

Warnings: cursing, very slight nsfw, pda

Typed this up on my lunch break, not thoroughly proofread, ending is meh but it's been rotting in my brain so I had to push it out. Feel free to send me asks about this headcannon, I'd love to write more about it! <3

Simon insists on dragging his team to the nearest pub after a particularly rough day, offering to buy then a round of whiskey. They are all reluctant at first, complaining about aching backs and heads, and Price saying that the missus was expecting him.

Then Simon mumbles something about how his girl would've loved to meet them.

"Yer wha' now?"

"My girl."

Suddenly, Gaz's headache is gone. "Must've just been dehydrated, I suppose." Soap's back feels much better, after being able to sit in the car for just- five minutes, now. And Price? Apparently, the missus was at a dinner raffle for her charity- thing, and he'd just now remembered.

So, drinks and a quick bite at the pub you worked at. It was settled.

Simon leads them in shortly after parking the truck. The other three quickly scan the room for anyone who stands out. As Simon brings them to a booth in the back, they all take a seat, heads on a swivel for some pretty thing to come bouncing over and latch herself onto him.

"Gonna hit the head." Simon says. "I'll put our drinks in- she'll bring 'em over, she'll be done with 'er shift soon."

As he leaves, Soap, Gaz, and Price all sit there in a few moments of observatory silence. It's much harder to sample the crowd, they realize, since there's apparently no dress code for the servers. Johnny eyes each person like a hawk, until he sees a potential pick.

"Tha' one." He says, nodding towards a busty, long-legged blonde. Price and Gaz follow his line of sight to her as she leans against the bar, playing with her hair and laughing at something her friend says. Her bootcut jeans and frilly top accentuate her curves, and it's obvious that every man in her vicinity is ogling. "Twenty on 'er. Seems like he'd be into swimsuit models, eh?"

Gaz humms, scrunching his nose disapprovingly. "Nah, mate- too simple."

"Feck is simple 'bout 'er?"

"I mean for Simon." Gaz corrects Soap. "Don't think he'd want someone so... ditzy- no offense to her." He adds. "I think he wants a girl who can hold her own, in the physical and the figurative sense. Someone..." he narrows his eyes, searching through the crowd of people. "Like her."

He discretely points to a woman across the bar. She's playing darts with a few people, and hits the bullseye perfectly just as Soap and Price look her way. Her tank top and cargo pants show how defined, yet lean her muscles are. She looks like she could last a few decent minutes in a brawl. "I bet on her."

"Well I'll raise ye forty - I ken LT wants someone more... passive."

"Forty it is, then. I'd love to have you pay my bill tonight."

"If I may..." Price chimes in, leaning against the back of the booth with a smug look, arms folded over his chest, "I'd love to get in on this little game o' yours, and walk away with eighty pounds t'night - because you're both wrong."

Soap smirks. "And how's tha', Cap?"

Price smooths his fingers over his mutton chops. "Well, for starters, I'm a bit ashamed o' you boys. Neither of those girls actually work here, do they? Mm?"

Gaz groans, letting his head drop against the wall behind him. It takes Soap another moment, but then he remembers Simon saying this was where you worked. The whole point of them going to this specific pub was because you'd already be here, on the clock.

"Shite..." he mumbles.

"Alright, sir." Gaz says defeatedly. "Lay it on us."

Price leans his elbows on the table and points his finger straight ahead; Gaz and Soap both follow it to the bar, where a sweet-looking girl is punching orders into a server tablet. She has long, silky, red hair, and a petite frame. She smiles so kindly at every patron who speaks to her, and when she makes their drinks, she is quick with it, still engaging in conversation as she shakes the mixer with a powerful arm. Despite the crowd, she seems to be managing fine on her own.

"Her." Price says, tucking his hand back onto the table. "Y' see that face? The way she talks to 'em all? How she's soft and tough at the same time? Imagine that birdie tucked under his wing, eh?"

Soap and Gaz can imagine it. She's a cute little thing, a social butterfly, it seems - the perfect polar opposite to Simon that just might be the perfect fit.

"And I know he's got a thing for redheads." Price adds.

"Piss off, how d'ye ken tha'?" Soap grumbles.

Price shrugs. "Call it intuition."

Simon comes around the corner, carrying several glasses of neat whiskey. "Sorry-" he says, setting a glass in front of Price, and handing out the others as he sits down on the end of the booth. "She's on 'er way now."

"No worries." Price says, trying to hide his smirk. "Didn't know y' were into redheads, Simon."

Simon pauses, looking down at the table in confusion - then he chuckles. "Yeah, s'pose I am. How did y' know? Did she come by already?"

Price laughs. "No, son. We were just sayin'-"

"Hey baby!"

You turn the corner and lean down, squealing as you throw your arms around Simon's neck and kiss him. The other three look on with shock, and Soap is about ready to throw this random woman off of Simon, until he holds you just as tightly and kisses you back.

Price's smirk falls right onto the table when he realizes that he is just as wrong as the other two.

You're Simon's bird. Simon's raven. Black, styled hair, with black lipstick that is currently smudging Simon's chin. You have a choker - no, several chokers, wrapped around your neck, as well as a tiny corked bottle filled with red liquid that makes Soap and Gaz nervous, dangling from a chain. Long, black-painted fingernails, with small spiderwebs decorating the tips, caressing his face and the back of his neck. Your arms and legs are covered with torn fishnets and small tattoos, and you're wearing a black number with a corset, paired with studded Doc Martin's.

You finally pull away and look at the rest of them. "Sorry- nice to finally meet the lot of you." You say, shaking each one of their hands. Your eyes are striking, with full, dark lashes, eyeliner, and red contacts. Gages and a bull ring, too. Soap feels a shiver run up his spine when he looks at you head on, and Gaz hasn't picked his jaw up off the floor since you came around.

"Erm-" Price clears his throat, "pardon us- call me John. This is Kyle, and Johnny." He gestures to the other two, still watching you with a mix of curiosity and awe.

"I've heard so much about you. It's good to put names to the face." You say with a smile, shaking the other two's hands. Gaz manages to smile a bit, but Soap has the same shocked expression plastered onto his face.

Simon has a love-drunk, black-smudged smile on his lips as you sit down in his lap. "She's been wantin' t' meet you all for a while, now. Sorry I kept 'er a secret."

"To be fair, I'm usually hard to find." You say, grabbing a napkin and wiping the lipstick off Simon's face. "I'm either here, at class, or roaming around and people-watching... at night, of course. People are more interesting when it's dark out." You traced a fingernail along his jugular as he stared up at you.

"John 'ere knew you were a redhead."

"How?! Oh my god- are my roots showing?"

"Nah, luvie, he's just observant. 'S our job." Simon places a kiss to your forehead. You smiled, leaning into the kiss.

"Oh, kitchen's about to close. You wanna split a burger, Si?"

"Sure, get what you like."

"'S no onions ok?"

"Fine w' me - chips?"

"You know it." You giggle, making a show of squishing his cheek and biting it. You turn to the rest of his team with a smile. "You boys hungry?"

Price is the first one to speak, taking a heavy breath in, causing Soap and Gaz to finally snap out of their trance. "Erm- whatever you get, we'll do the same. On us tonight."

"Oooh, you sure?" You asked, raising your eyebrows. Simon looked at Price curiously.

"You positive, cap?"

Price nodded. "Lost a bet."

Simon looks even more concerned. You pat his shoulder and stand up. "I'll go punch it in, be right back." You give him a peck on the cheek, and begin to walk away - Simon's attention returns to you as he hooks a finger in the chain choker around your neck and tugs you back.

Soap, Gaz, and Price all watch, stupefied, as you land back in Simon's lap with a giggle. He grabs your chin between his thick fingers and kisses you on the lips, shamelessly letting his tongue slide past your teeth and squeezing your thigh. You laugh into the kiss, letting him devour you for a moment, before tapping his cheek and breaking away.

"I got fifteen minutes to put everyone's order in, Si."

"That's plenty of time, dove."

"Yeah, but then kitchen will get mad for doing it last minute, and I don't want-"

He chuckles, gently shoving out off of his lap and smacking your rump through your skirt. "You're fine, go on."

You smile, then disappear behind the booth, boots thudding against the hardwood floors.

Simon looks back at the three of them - Soap is staring between you and him, a blush covering his face. Gaz immediately turns to look at the wall, scratching his chin, and Price is gazing into his whiskey, though there's a lingering surprise in his eyes.

"So- what bet?" Simon asks, adjusting his hips; Soap notices his hand reaching down to palm at the fabric over his groin. "I don' remember bettin' nothin'."

"We weren't bettin' on ye pullin' her out ye pockets, LT." Soap comments, trying to avoid Simon's eyes. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out forty pounds, slapping it onto the table.

"It makes sense..." Gaz, chimes in. "With your whole skeleton look, she fits you."

Simon slowly smiles, understanding what they had bet on. "Oh... I see. Lemme guess - you thought I's with someone more... simple? Lile that blonde at the bar, is tha' right?"

"Tha's what I said!!" Soap exclaims, dropping his fist to the table. "You got te give me credit fer pointin' t' a swimsuit model first, aye?"

"Oh- because every bloke on earth is shallow enough to care about swimsuit models." Gaz scoffs. "I at least picked someone who didn't look so bloody helpless." He gestures to the girl playing darts with her friends. "You don't even know if the other girl's a model."

"Well, one can imagine..."

"Feel as though I's the closest..." Price mutters under his breath, making the other two glare at him.

"Ye were not."

"Get off your high horse, cap-"

"Well- try this." Simon leans on his forearms with a smug look on his face. "My bird? She's a model, and she's a black-belt in Judo, and-" he looks at Price- "she's a natural redhead."

They all look between Simon and you, as you stand behind the bar and punch their orders in, laughing with the other redhead. Their eyes would drop onto the table if they were any wider.

"You sly dog-" Gas comments with a chuckle.

"I don' believe ye." Soap says, crossing his arms. "Wha' kind o' model?"

"Lingerie."

Price chokes on his whiskey.

"Bullshit." Soap snaps. "Pictures or ye lyin'."

"Nah." Simon sighs, leaning back in his seat and daking a sip of his whiskey. "Not the ones I have, at least. But pick up the last "Bloodletting" magazine, and she's there."

They all sit there, a bit dumbfounded, watching you walk back to the booth. How on earth did someone like Simon land someone like you?

Simon's full of surprises, even in his personal life.

[trashfangirlsworld]

Hello! I've been inactive due to the current events in the mcyt community, but I've been keeping up with the qsmp admin situation and I thought I'd share some opinions because the amount of doomposting I've seen the last few weeks has been more than I've seen in any fandom in a while and I feel like it's reached the point where people really need to chill the fuck out because they're not thinking straight and actively not helping. Everything I'm gonna say is based on stuff I've seen on both tumblr and twitter.

they should not promote/release merch! : one of the things that baffles me the most tbh; how do you expect any employee to be payed then? Merch is so far the only big source of income for the server besides q's own cc salary or whatever income they get through the official qsmp channel on twitch and youtube (which I don't think is a lot). "I get that they said they have no funds, but still it doesn't feel right"... sorry but at this point I don't know what to tell you, do you expect them to pull money out of their asses? You can't demand that they stop making merch and then complain that they can't afford the twitter admins at the same time. If you don't feel comfortable buying anything from them it's fine obviously, but if your reason for it is that you're helping the admins then I have bad news for you. I have seen people propose that quackity sets up a patreon, and while I think it would be a good idea, I understand why he's not doing it, since with the merch he can at least give something back to the people that choose to support his project instead of people just giving him money for free, especially with what's happening now. Also with how much hate he's been receiving simply for the merch I can't imagine that a patreon would be recieved well.

we don't know if the money is going to the admins/ they should not use pomme's likeness! : the money is definitely going to go to the employees and admins because otherwise the server would not last. And as much as I understand people feeling protective over pomme's admin, quackity studios is very much allowed to sell merch of the character because it is not the likeness of the admin, it's a minecraft model made by the people that work there. Would you have rathered they skip her character entirely? Do you really think that would have been okay?. Also correct me if I'm wrong, but I've seen posts and tweets saying that pomme's admin has been confirmed to come back with the other eggs whenever it happens by pierre, who talked with her admin.

the admins of the update accounts got fired, it means they want to fire everyone, they aren't making things better! : it sucks that the updates accounts had to end and I feel bad for every twitter admin that clearly cared a lot about the project, but unfortunately it had to happen if there simply isn't enough money to pay them adequately like they deserved and ultimately the update accounts were not essential to keep the project going, so it makes sense that they were let go unfortunately. This is not gonna be the case for the egg admins because if they got fired (which they didn't), the server would basically end. Just because a cc does not know when they will be back does not mean it's not gonna happen. Just because tubbo randomly said that he's not sure if they will be back does not mean they were fired; tubbo is normally not a reliable source of information, even less so when he's been live nonstop for the past 20 days, which is prior to everything happening. If you genuinely didn't expect a reduction in non essential staff considering everything, then you have unreasonable expectations on how this stuff goes. As I write this, I'm seeing people saying that "they would understand this decision if q had set up a patreon to pay the admins", and once again I don't understand how people don't realize why quackity might not be keen on the idea of having his fans pay his own employees for his own project instead of, you know, doing it himself; and, again, do not fool yourself into thinking it would be recieved well. That being said, it's fair to criticize how everything was communicated to the admins, but I'll get to this in more detail later.

quackity should not have uninstalled social media, he's trying to avoid everything! : he's not avoiding anything, he's been off social media for a while now, which is why it took him that long to remove wilbur from the server. He has every right to not want to look at social media, as his focus should be on restructuring his server instead of doomscrolling on twitter because people think he needs to see how much people dislike him. The only people that he should talk to are those that have important information to tell him, like josè with the document. He explicitly said on stream where to contact him if you have helpful information and I'm sure that despite multiple well liked posts saying not to spam his email, people are definitely doing it anyway, which is probably gonna slow the whole thing down even more. I hope josè's document is able to be seen with pierre's help as well.

quackity studios is not communicating with their employees and leaving them in the dark and that's not okay : I agree with this. i think a huge chunk of doomposting lately has been due the lack of communication not with the audience, but with the admins, and they deserve to know what is happening behind the scenes more then us since this is about their current or future job.... that being said, I do kind of understand why they're being so secretive and shutting everyone out, and that's due to all the "leaks" that have been spread online. I understand the anger but I really wish some people would realize that discussing leaked bts lore stuff in ccs discord servers does not help the situation at all and instead makes it seem like they're only doing this to rile up the fandom against quackity studios by using the lore of people's fav characters.

At the end of the day, I think people just aren't used to dealing with a situation that does not have a clear cut solution and someone to clearly hate, so the result is this doomposting and the over aggressiveness toward anything related to the project. Personally, I haven't witnessed anything that made me lose faith in the qsmp like some people have been saying, as every change that we've seen so far coincides with what quackity said on stream a while ago. I only wish things were communicated properly to the admins clearly, as they're the ones most affected, so I hope that's resolved soon. Ultimately quackity is singlehandedly restructuring the server from basically zero, has had to fire people that were misusing money and power and, depending on what josè's document said, is probably gonna have to fire some more. This is not an easy process, nor a quick one, you're not gonna hear about sunshine and rainbows for a while and doomposting about everything you hear because you expected quick change is useless. Think before you speak, have a clear head and most importantly have empathy.

[justblades]

⋆｡˚ ♰・priest! sunday x afab! reader

┈─ ・(ex)plicit, mdni. contains 2.2 spoilers, blasphemous themes, impregnation, clit stimulation, oral sex, controlling sunday, not proofread.

Even a mere mortal can sense the regret lingering in the atmosphere of the vicinity, a small space dedicated for confessions and atonement of sins committed by those who believe in the Harmony. Numerous pews stand in rows before a single one, each being occupied by two people at best, to which you draw closer to the confession box— one more person to go and it is time to purify your tainted soul.

It was just muffled murmurs of two people from the latter reverberating inside the hall's six walls, along with the sound of the ceiling fans whirring. Your mind starts to drift onto something else: although you have no idea what others hold with regards to their sins, you still could not help but think that yours is shameful.

You can see the person beside you exit the birch box with teary eyes and stuffed nose as she holds a handkerchief to her face. "Next please." a resolute voice echoes, signalling for you to step forward into the confessional. With a wobbly stature, you stand up and tread forward, proceeding to close the oak door behind you.

The golden lights from the hall seep through the confession booth's partition, gleaming upon your stature - creating a silhouette as to where only the advocate from the other side can peer through the woodworks. You attempt to clear your voice before speaking, a dry throat halting the words you intend to verbalize within.

"I humbly ask for your blessings and the forgiveness of Xipe . . ." You mutter as your eyes dart to nothing that catches your interest except for the parquetry etched on the wooden floorboards. Your head held down low, staring at its intricate designing.

"Please feel free to proceed. I have sought their presence within us." The priest answers. "I have committed a grave sin of succumbing to passing emotions. Primarily, I struggled with regulating the purity of one's mind and it was late that I realized I indulged in an extreme activity to quench the thirst for sexual pleasure." 

A reassuring hum resounds. "As a devout follower of the Harmony, I believe my actions do not align with the path I stride. Therefore, I ask for forgiveness and assistance on how I will repent for the sins I have committed." After forming the confession where in sentences you never thought have ever been uttered, it feels as though a heavy weight was lifted off your chest and the shackles on your feet disintegrated.

Glancing at the frosted, colored glass window in front of you, you noticed how the warm yellow lights in the background flicker repetitively in an instant, as well as the birch surroundings creaking. "By committing a grave sin, you've engaged in an activity with a partner you are not married with." The priest reiterates as if the faulty lights are a common occurrence.

You hum in response. "And by committing an even graver sin, you took part in an activity with an objective aside from procreation. Please correct me if I'm wrong."

"Yes, esteemed advocate. Everything you said was indeed correct." Your heart starts racing, "Do you promise yourself you'll turn your back on this lascivious history to start anew?" He queries.

"Yes, Mister Sunday."

"Even if you were to encounter challenges to test your faith for the Harmony?"

Hesitation ruptures through your composure. Your resolution suddenly cracks, as if it was merely a façade with a longing for forgiveness to move on.

"Be honest." Like the advocate could read your mind as of the moment, you believe in the capabilities of Harmony, so there was no use in feigning cleanliness when you know it in yourself, you still struggle. "I wish to seek assistance from those with wisdom."

You receive another firm hum in response, "Very well. Please see me in the reconciliation room a short time after." Your mind spirals into confusion and bewilderment, the emotions painting your features like you were an open book to the audience.

Trekking off the confessional booth, you did not dare to spare a glance back at the priest and only made your way to the distinct, separate room - the reconciliation. It was small, enclosed, and only an oak table, two pairs of engraved chairs, a single ligneous partition and a kneeler reside within the space. Your vision anchors to the sculpted wooden cross sign hung on the beige walls, illuminated by a faint golden lamp on the table.

Patiently awaiting the presence of the priest, you stood still with a heavy heart, seeming like the relief you felt previously was only a glimpse of what you could've been if you didn't commit such grave sin. If only.

The door swings open, followed by the entrance of the figure you were anticipating. Faded sky blue hues of hair tumble upon the male's shoulders, along with the golden earrings he was donning. Feathered ears diluting into white ripple from his footsteps, and his distinct, golden halo stays afloat behind his head.

Being vis-à-vis with the highly esteemed figure of the Penacony like this tugs your heartstrings in unease. It felt bizarre, as you could recall from others' experiences that when you encounter priests or advocates of the Harmony, your heart rests. As for Sunday, it was the polar opposite. Chills run kilometers up and down your spine, your throat starts to become dry.

You trail your vision downwards, setting your sight upon his graceful features. His eyes were a radiant yellow tinged with an ocean blue, framed by his particularly long lower lashes. He purses his lips tightly, curving upwards, flashing a small smile. "Please take a seat." He motions for the chair in front of your figures, your eyes noticing the cross cut out gloves he's wearing.

Sitting down with guard held up high, Sunday follows suit as he opens the drawer from the oak table, retrieving something of a color white and frilly in texture, as you make of what you could from your peripheral vision. "This will certainly be of help to put your faith to test. If you would kindly turn around."

Your hands rest on your lap and as you hear the last phrase that came out of his mouth, you subconsciously gripped a handful of the fabric you're wearing in alertness. Not until your vision was impaired as Sunday blindfolds you with the latter material, it was soft and delicate to the touch - you could not see anything but faint shadows against the lighting. Everything was ivory white in stark contrast, and you could barely peer through the lace folds to see the priest.

"I will now be tuning your mind with the Harmony to which you will face repercussions if statements untrue to yourself are said." He pauses. Unsure where this will lead to, you had no choice but to nod in continuation. "Under the light of the Harmony, all wickedness is revealed. I implore them to shed their light."

What used to be a blurry white in your vision now fringes into colored edges, the prominent colors being purple, white, red, orange, and yellow.

"This will serve as a gentle reminder that I am assisting you to a path where grave sins  are not succumbed to, and only ▅▅▅ exists alongside philosophy to instill moral duties to a functioning member of a society."

His words cut through the thick atmosphere, thawing the glacial tension growing with each passing second.

He lowers his stature to face you, gloved fingers trailing from the hem of the laced blindfold down to your cheeks, cupping your face lightly with a careful grip. "Does this send a shiver down to your spine?" Sunday inquires and you shake your head in disagreement. It seems like he has a whole plan on how this will play out, and you were merely a pawn in his chessboard to see what you would react under these circumstances he will put you in.

The touch ghosts a caress on your lower parts, specifically, the frame of your chest. His thumb twirls on the middle part with an unraveled goal of making your buds perk up underneath the confinements of your clothing - making you grit your teeth as a poor attempt to stifle the sound threatening to escape.

A question arises amidst the confusing situation, a question that will surely be received in a poor taste as it will question his authority and legitimacy. You wanted to ask, is this really necessary?

However, the aura he exudes now was far different from what he displays when he's in front of the audience of the masses. He seems more strict now, judging from the tone lacing his voice from his query earlier. "Does this feel good?" He proceeds to unbutton your top, letting the fabric come undone and fall down to your lap. A singular  gloved hand of his snakes its way to your back, and with a single fidget, your bra was unclasped.

The priest takes his precious time in all these. He carefully observes the clothing that you wear, as he had come to adore the fact that you were wearing pearly white brassiere, one that was similar to the blindfold's texture and design, it was frilly in the edges and soft to the touch.

A light chuckle slips out, "Well? What's your answer?" Desire and temptation brews within your stomach, even spiking higher as he caresses your mounds with both of his hands. His touches feel light and blissful at the same time, like your body was basking in the warmth and enjoyment the priest had to offer. You struggle to keep your body still, knees trembling even though you were only sitting.

"N-No, Mr. Sunday."

A sharp throbbing ache courses through your head, granting him a wince of both surprise and pain. "It appears that you haven't put your mind and whole heart to this yet." He says as he walks away from your stature, leaving you dumbfounded. As silence encompasses the vicinity, you hear the male seat himself on the chair across from you. "Come to me." He simply orders.

"Just take steps forward and trust me."

With blind faith, you solemnly obey - approaching his figure with an extremely bleary vision. As your feet meet with an obstacle, seemingly the chair's legs, you stop in your tracks. "Now straddle my lap." Following suit, you feel a bulging sensation under your remaining clothing. Your breath becomes even more jagged than before, especially now that your clothed folds come in contact with his throbbing dick. It was clear cut enough that it was his erection continuously growing.

A brief moment passes and Sunday continues to envelop your hard buds within his lips, teeth grinding on your nipples in an attempt to inflict pain and pleasure all at the same time. "M— Mr. Sunday . . !" You yelp but he does not halt. He proceeds to twirl his warm, slick tongue all over your glazed areolas, your boob dancing in rhythm with his mouth in somewhat harmonic tunes played by your stifled mewls.

His other free hand pulls you tighter to his chest as he adjusts his position, bucking his hips upwards to create some sort of friction. The tip of his covered cock brushes against your already wet slit, granting him another lewd sound - this time, a soft moan. "I— I— I can't—" your hands clutch on the man's broad shoulders, feeling his long, muted blue and white locks tangle along your fingers. "You can. Yes you can. Only a little bit more you would be rewarded by proving your loyalty to the ▅▅▅."

Your sense of hearing downgrades as your mind drifts into pure bliss, lower limbs becoming numb as more pleasure courses through your veins. As if it's still not enough, Sunday simply lowers your remaining clothes to your feet, revealing your folds sopping wet with arousal already.

With haste and care in Sunday's every movement, he lays your back on the table in between the chairs, forcibly revealing everything down there to him — for him to revel in. The gelid wind traces shivers upon your sweat dewed skin, especially your folds now glimmering with muddy white liquids.

He raises your legs and stands up, resting your lower limbs upon his shoulders. The position is embarrassing enough as it is, but having the priest tower over you is another experience that feels even more intense than what unfolded previously. Not to mention that the throbbing pang in your head brought by your dishonesty upon the Harmony worsens minute by minute.

The male buries his face in your inner thighs first, flicking his tongue over your soft skin while his eyes are darted on your face, in high alert to which action of his you will react the most to. "Need I remind you to be honest this time around? Or is the headache that you're feeling not sufficient for you to stay true to your words?" He asks with a demanding tone, the margins of his lips drawing closer and closer to your slit.

"I have learned my lesson, Mr. Sunda—"

Gloved fingers begin to stimulate your clit, moving in motions you cannot fathom with your current state - your lower body jerking up in response to the stimulation. A sly smile creeps up on Sunday's face, his navy blue pupils fixating on each of your actions and expressions.

All you could think of was the fact that he didn't even let you finish, he went straight to pleasure you more, the sensation becoming more overwhelming as he starts to glide the tip of his tongue on your folds. "Do you feel good?" Although his voice was muffled from the proximity from his face and your pussy, you could comprehend and immediately answer, "Yes! I-I feel good . . !"

You rack your head back once Sunday buries his face further into your inner thighs, wallowing himself in your slit as he sucked on your sweet spot, sticking his tongue into your velvet walls while still toying with your clitoris. You bite back your moans, you cannot afford to lose the remaining dignity you had in you left - if there was any.

"Don't do that."

His voice sounds stern as ever, you were left with no choice yet again but to let mewls and moans come undone at this point in time. You were noisy, along with the sucking sounds accompanied by your hums of pleasure, continually bouncing off of the reconciliation room's four walls. "Very good. As for the last part, you must continue to be truthful, to stand by the ▅▅▅, and to ▅▅▅ to what I ought to be ▅▅▅ for you. Do you understand?"

Much to your relief, your vision was once again back to normal as he unties the lacey blindfold on your eyes. This time, you could see Sunday's disheveled hair, as well as the golden earrings dangling at every movement he makes. He swiftly unzips his slacks, therefore revealing his cock he had been concealing for so long before. It stands in its full glory, hues of purple and indigo veins threatening to pop - it was evident he's at his limit.

"Use your mouth. Make me feel good." He commands and peers at you with a somber expression. You muster enough strength on your body to stand up and kneel in front of him, positioning your head in a perfect angle to receive him. Slowly parting your lips open, he shoves his dick inside you, granting you a hoarse moan of satisfaction slipping past his lips.

You bob your head up and down and as if it felt natural to wrap your digits around the remaining length of his cock, you pump him in accordance to your pace, taking him inside with no hesitation, with only one goal in mind: to make him feel good. You could feel the crown of his dick kiss your throat every time you go deeper, making your eyes water as you try to keep yourself from gagging for the priest's satisfaction.

"That's enough, stand up." Your momentum was cut off as he hooks his arms on yours, making you stand from your previously kneeling position. It seems he has indulged enough in your submission and now it is time for him to try something new, something far more amusing in his perspective.

With both of your statures still standing up, he flips you around, making your back face him. He can examine every nook and cranny of your body in this way, and with a hum of approval, he bends you over slightly, wrapping his arms around your waist and reach for your tits. Your breath deepens, more beads of sweat proceed to trickle down your naked body. "M-Mr. Sunday, are we really going to do it?" you ask as he wraps his hand around himself, brushing his tip on your entrance.

He stops in his movements. "Do you have a problem with that?" A domineering tone laces that sole sentence, one that a person cannot delve deeper furthermore.

With one more stroke, he finally pushes himself inside your velvet walls, molding themselves around the shape of Sunday's dick - wallowing in the pleasure and warmth he emanates inside you. "So . . . warm . . ." He whispers, his breath ghosting a caress on the shell of your ear.

Sunday builds up his pace from a painfully slow one to picking it up, thrusting into you with additional force, pistoning your pussy as he's balls deep. Sounds of skin slapping add onto the lewd tune you two have been playing for the past hour, a whole sixty minutes of pleasure pooling your stomach and arousals seeping out of your holes.

Your legs start to quiver once more, exhaustion gnawing at your bones. But amidst this, Sunday kept you still with his force, hitting your sweet spots with the tip of his cock. If you could beg for mercy as of the moment, you certainly would take the chance. But to who, exactly? To whoever aeon is witnessing this lascivious act unfold in front of them, committed in such a religious place?

Or perhaps to Sunday, who you've knelt to before, received him inside your body in more ways than one. Perhaps. Perhaps it is he who shall show you mercy in the heat of the moment.

"M-Mr. Sunday, please forgive me!"

Interest sparks inside his mind, revelling in the way of being viewed as someone highly, someone sought out, someone in a legitimate authority. "You shall be forgiven." He states as he bites down on the blade of your shoulder, teeth leaving a bite mark and an aching sensation alongside it. You could do nothing but wince in pain, but waves of pleasure start to crush upon your conscious self.

Surely this is too much pleasure to handle for someone asking for forgiveness as they committed a grave sin for partaking in debauchery . . . but to be done this way by a priest is a little too exhilarating.

He picks up the pace, earning himself more moans of pleasure escape your lips, "I'll ▅▅▅ ▅▅▅ inside you." Sunday says as a fair warning, but a sentence you could only form at the present time was a lighthearted "Do as you please, Mr. Sunday."

With one single thrust, strings of satisfaction sprawl inside your womb. It feels warm yet again, but now, comforting in stark contrast to the nervousness welling up in your heart earlier.

"Well done. As you've shown resolution that you're on a path to atone for the sins you've committed in the past, you shall be forgiven."

[ggidolsmuts]

Everflow - Everglow Yiren

Blah blah blah something something something hello! That's all you understood from the words coming out of the MC's mouth. What did your publication want from this? You're not going to complain, because hey, free business trip, but what was the point of sending someone who barely understood the language? You mingle around, not recognizing any of your fellow colleagues, but you do notice someone.

"Hello, you're here by yourself too?"

"No I'm— I mean yes, unfortunately." Said someone is dressed in a tiny black dress, tapping on her phone in a secluded corner all by herself. She gives you a lookover, before putting her phone back into her purse. "You're here alone too?"

"Yes. You're here for the event too?"

"Yes, work. You?"

"Same." You try to think what job would allow her to come to an event like this dressed like that, but she interrupts you with a question.

"Boring isn't it? How about we have some fun before the event starts?"

"What do you have in mind?" She grabs your wrist and pulls you in.

"Wrong question, you should be asking me." Her breath tickles your ear. "What will I get in you?"

You are left contemplating the correct question as she leads you away into a thankfully unoccupied bathroom. You press her against the sink, kissing a complete stranger just minutes, if not seconds ago. Your lips drift away from hers, moving down her chin, only for her to pull away slightly.

"No marks, and no time." The young woman answers the question for you, her hands going to your trousers to unbuckle them. She takes off her panties and hikes up her tight dress best she can. "Just pull out." With a hiss through gritted teeth you push into her.

"Oh, oh fuck you're big!" Your ego stroked by her words and tightness around you, you start slowly, easing in and out of her. But it doesn't last for long as she's begging you to get her off, adding a lot of wetness to your connection.

"More please, faster, faster!" Your lady friend braces herself against the sinktop, nails almost breaking as she grips the cold marble. With how big you are she can feel every vein and texture of your tool inside her, and it feels so fucking good. The pleasure builds up too quickly, and she has to bite her lip to stifle a scream. "MMMMMMPH!" She bites the back of her hand and muffles it best she can. The lights in the bathroom are blurry and spinning when she opens her eyes again.

"Yiren? Yiren are you there?"

"Oh shit, I have to go!" To your bewilderment your short-lived fling pushes you away, quickly pulling her dress back down before leaving you in the lurch. Your dick is no more than a panty holder, the two things left dangling in the bathroom. You quickly grab her underwear off the countertop, and briefly deliberate finishing yourself; you decide not to once you look around and find no urinals in the bathroom. You zip up best you can, groaning at the tightness of your crotch area and dampness of your trousers—she had squirted all over you and you're still hard.

"Please welcome to the stage, Everglow's Yiren!" You are left dumbfounded as you watch the woman you were several inches in earlier walk on stage, going commando unbeknownst to everyone else in the audience.

"Hello, I'm Yiren!" She presses her legs together, making sure to not accidentally flash anyone. Her thighs feel uncomfortably wet, but Yiren doesn't have time to consider things while she's on stage, so she focuses on interacting with the MC and the crowd, saying nice things and looking pretty. After her job is complete, Yiren disappears from your sight for a while, but you soon find her trying to find you.

"Hey, do you have my clothing?"

"Your clothing? Miss Yiren, what do you mean?" you ask jokingly, pulling out the thin fabric of Yiren's underwear briefly before she shoves it back in your pocket.

"Not here!"

"I agree, you finished your job on stage, you should finish your other job too. I won't ask you to wash my pants though."

"What?"

"You made a mess all over them, utterly drenched."

"I didn't— I don't, you know, do that."

"My pants and the puddle the poor janitor has to clean later will disagree, but I have more pressing concerns." Yiren blushes, but she doesn't back away from you. She looks around, making sure that the two of you wouldn't be observed leaving the event.

"Fine, I have a room in the hotel, let's go there."

There is more than the two of you in the elevator up, so when Yiren lets you into her room you kick the door closed and wrap your arm around her tiny waist right away.

"You left me really high and dry, well, not dry, but hanging."

"Tch, that's why you're here now no?" Yiren is mildly annoyed at your constant reference to her squirting, and she shuts you up by undoing your trousers. The pretty face on stage doing her job earlier is now a pretty face on her knees doing a blowjob as she pulls your boxers down and pushes her lips over your cock. Yiren clearly wanted to get it over with, and you were edged enough earlier that you give in easily, your knees buckling as she wraps her tongue around your shaft and coaxing your time-delayed release down her throat.

"Looks like you're the only one squirting," she jabs you after wiping her mouth.

"We can go back there and take a look, if you're someone that likes to return to the scene of their 'crime'."

"I-I don't! But I don't squirt either!"

"Prove it, go ahead and touch yourself. It'll give me time to get hard again too." You dangle the (or rather, your) carrot in front of Yiren, and it is enticing—she remembers how good it felt in the bathroom earlier, and she would not mind a round two regardless.

"Fine." You watch Yiren slip out of her little black dress, her pale skin nicely matching the white sheets she gets on. A hand slips between her legs, but she keeps them closed.

"Open your legs, don't want you squirting and then trying to hide it." Yiren glares at you, but her knees part slightly, showing you her finger lightly rubbing her clit. You nod and have her continue, and Yiren's eyes close. Her legs begin to splay open as she continues rubbing herself, but she doesn't speed up, her other hand merely fondling her small breasts as you watch her climb. Her movements are small but practiced, no doubt how she touched herself back at the dorms—she needed to be quiet, to not be noticed, just enough to get her over the edge.

"Mm!" A small squeak, and her legs relax on to the bed. "I— I came, see, no squirting." Yiren cheeks are pink, but she glares at you to prove her point. She had just given herself a "light" orgasm, a "light" on the malatang spiciness scale—just enough to leave her senses tingling, but not nearly satisfying enough. Which is why you were here in the first place.

"If that's how you touch yourself I'm not surprised."

"How dare you— I'd like to see you try!" Yiren tries to be outraged, but her eyes are glued on your recovered hardness.

"Oh I plan to. I'll make sure you can't stop squirting." A warmth goes through her body as you lay a large hand on her hip—you hadn't touched her quite like this, skin-on-skin contact, in the bathroom earlier.

"You can try, but if you don't, and you won't, I'm not going to help get you off again even if I cum."

"You're going to blue ball me again?" you ask even as Yiren unbuttons your shirt. She unconsciously licks her lips as she takes in your naked body.

"Hey, that time was out of my control, unless you wanted us to get caught! But yes, if you really think you can make me do it, you should put something on the line." She draws you in, her lips inches from yours. She smells like strawberry.

"Fine, you should put something on the line too."

"Like what?"

"If I make you squirt, I get to use you until you stop squirting, you don't get to say stop."

"I have—" Yiren stops herself. She had a flight out tomorrow morning, but did she really think it would go that long? No, no it wouldn't. "Never mind, yes, that's fine." She agrees without further thought, pulling you in for a hungry kiss. She wants to get off on you again, and even if she did squirt by some miracle, it'd be a one-off, and she could still ditch you after by faking an orgasm. Yes, that'd be the play. So Yiren lets herself relax the first round, feeling you up with her wandering hands.

"You like what you see?"

"Yes, otherwise I wouldn't have led you to the bathroom earlier."

"I'm glad, let me get started then." Without a further word Yiren feels two fingers on her belly drag themselves down between her legs. They felt huge, each as large as one of the toys she would use occasionally.

"Wait— Ah!" You plunge two fingers into her and start fingerfucking her. Yiren merely rubbed her clit earlier, ramping up the pleasure slowly, and then doing just enough to tip her over. If her masturbation was a "light" orgasm, you want to make this one "explosive". Her head snaps back as you dig around her roughly, feeling for her g-spot, and finding it when she reacts abruptly—a sharp moan, a clench of her walls, and a hand on your arm, trying to ward you off.

No, wait! Everything is happening too fast for Yiren to process—she's being rubbed in an area she never reaches herself, and your thumb is too demanding, pressing and tapping on her clit like an impatient customer demanding a waiter to serve him water. Her hand is on your arm, jerking along with your rough movements, she needs to push you away, yet she can't summon the strength, the fingers inside her feel so good, too good. A warmth floods her body when she senses a fingerpad on her nipple, adding another sensation to her overloaded senses.

"Mmmmmmm!" Yiren snaps, covering her mouth with a raised arm. Yet there's no covering her lower mouth as you remove your fingers, and all the "overload" in Yiren squirts out, spraying your arm with clear slick, her juices served on a platter. She twitches and trembles on the bed, her toned tummy drumming up and down on the bed as she rides out her intense climax. Her vision white and breathing deeply, Yiren takes a while to open her eyes again, and to her dismay she sees your hand, liquid dripping off your fingertips.

"You squirted."

"J-Just this once." You took that as a challenge.

Not what I meant! Yiren throws her head back again as you bury your head between her legs, your tongue an utterly foreign and delightful muscle against her wetness. Your tongue wriggles past her lips, and Yiren has to plant her hand over your head. Presumably she wants you to stop moving, to give her time to recover, but all that happens is her tensing up, forcing your head harder against her pussy. Your arms hook around her thighs, and you continue to eat her out even as her hips move every which way. All the movement makes you bump against her clit repeatedly, and soon, rather than trying to get away from you, Yiren's just rotating her hips without purpose, grinding her crotch against your face as she chases her orgasm.

Fuck, why does it feel so good?! She bemoans the pleasure. Your teeth grazes against her swollen clit, and Yiren yells. When you wrap your lips around the nub and suck, Yiren screams, a surge of lightning going up her spine before rushing out of her pussy, splashing her juices all over your chin. You quickly place your mouth over her pussy to drink up the rest of it, making a point of wiping your mouth when she has her eyes open again.

"You taste delicious."

"S-Shut up. When are you going to fuck me hmm? You won't get to get off if I don't squirt the next time." Yiren sees you smile, and you silently get up to move her around the bed. She finds herself facing the mirror, and before she knows it you're behind her, her back pressed against your chest. She had prepared herself to get on all fours, but to her surprise you've made her sit and pushed her legs open, your own legs keeping her spread lewdly. Your head dips to her ear, and she shivers against you when you whisper.

"I'm not worried. Besides, I thought you might want to watch yourself squirt. Maybe then you'll admit it."

With your legs locking hers in place, Yiren watches your hand go down her body. She keels against you when you slide two fingers into her once more. This time thankfully you don't focus on her g-spot, drawing your digits out soon after. Maybe I can— Yiren yelps as you slam your fingers back in, and with your body bracing Yiren, she can't back away, it just makes your fingers get even deeper into her. I can't, I can't! Your palm strikes against her clit every time you thrust your fingers into her. She's already close again, and even Yiren knows she's going to squirt.

"Look in the mirror." Yiren forces her eyes open, and you hook her own legs a little further back, spreading her out even more. Her glossy eyes watch your hand go even faster in and out of her, there's no way she can stay watching it—

"Nngaaah!" A wild yell escapes her, her mind on a different plane of reality as she watches herself through the mirror. The Yiren in the mirror throws her hips off the bed as the hand pulls back, and it is a gush of juice that explodes out of her pussy. Not just a singular gush too—over and over Yiren bucks her hips off the bed, each firing off their own jet of squirt. The lithe girl is trembling and sweating, the sheets beneath her soaked with all kinds of fluids.

"God you're such a perfect squirter..." your whispers rouse Yiren from her stupor, and she sees herself in the mirror, droplets of her own girlcum splattered across the face looking back.

I-I'm not a squirter! Am I? Doubt sets in on Yiren. And your sinful words don't help at all.

"You've been holding back on yourself, holding back on me, this whole time. You should see yourself squirt again."

"N-No, I don't want to, don't want to watch!" You grin and push Yiren's legs together, before hooking your arm under her legs and pulling them up. Her back pressed against you, you pull her legs towards her chest, folding Yiren in half, and now she's staring at her knees instead of the mirror.

"Fine, just listen then." In the folded position Yiren can barely catch her breath as you strum on her clit, and in her overstimulated state she wails before going silent in orgasm. She squirts once more, and despite being unable to see the mirror, Yiren hears the spray land heavily on the mirror, each drop a thunder in her ears.

"Did you squirt then?" you ask her, and she blushes and tries to shy away from you.

"Yes."

"Are you a squirter?"

"N-No."

"Not admitting it yet?" You release your hold on her, letting her flop on to the bed as you roll on top of her. "I am going to fuck you now."

"No!" She pushes you away in a hurry. "I mean, let me be on top."

"If you want." You get on your back, and Yiren clambers on top of you. Gone is her prettily coiffed hair and makeup, replaced with a disheveled, sweaty, and drained look. She has been pushed to her limits tonight, the pleasure and forbidden sensation of squirting driving her insane, yet she's desirous for more. Any idea of faking an orgasm to just get out of the deal is gone from her head—she wants to cum, and she wants to not squirt to prove a pointless point.

Even after all of your handiwork on her pussy, it still doesn't compare to how full you feel inside her, and Yiren moans deliriously as she hilts herself on you. This is it! She cries in her head, immediately beginning to grind her hips on you.

"You like my cock don't you?"

"I, uhhnngh, I love it!" Her hands are on your chest, and she squeezes your pecs as she grinds. Yiren's head is spinning as the pleasure she had felt in the bathroom quickie earlier returns, your shaft rubbing all the right spots along her drenched walls. But I can't squirt! She forces herself to slow down her movements, denying herself some of the pleasure, to hopefully bring herself to a small orgasm rather than another wet one.

You see through her thoughts immediately as she shuts her eyes, brows furrowed in concentration.

"Why are you going slow Yiren?"

"You know why, damn it!"

"Is that why you wanted to be on top? So you can control the pace?"

"Yes, oh fuck!" she whines as she unfortunately finds the perfect angle to fuck herself on you.

"You do know that I can just hold you there and thrust upwards right? I can make you squirt all over my cock whenever—" You put one hand on her waist. "I—" You put your other hand on her waist, and Yiren freezes, as if waiting for you to just do as you say, to just ruin her with another squirting orgasm. "Want, but I won't." You let go of her, and Yiren's too stunned to speak momentarily. You smirk at her undulating body though, unconsciously beginning to move in circles again.

"W-Why did you st— Why not?"

"I want you to make yourself squirt. I can make you do it anytime, but can you?"

"I don't want to! I won't!"

"Are you sure? I can feel you clenching around me, are you thinking about how it would feel when you squirt again? Thinking about how I would do it?"

"No!"

"I would grab your tiny little waist, and then I would jam you down as I thrust up, god I would get so deep in you. You squirted before in the bathroom, there's no way you won't squirt again."

"No, not this time!" Yiren can't see you grin as she begins to lose her mind—she finally admits to squirting in the bathroom earlier.

"And then I would roll you over so I can properly fuck you, and I won't stop until you admit you're a squirter, and then make you squirt again and again."

"I won't say that— mmmm!" As you argue with Yiren her hips begin to move with a mind of their own, moving faster and faster. Her moans rise in pitch as she finds the perfect angle again and again. Stop Yiren, you need to stop! A little inner voice begins to shout, but it is fighting against the tidal roar of another orgasm.

Yiren don't! It is far too late.

"I can't, I'm sorry, NO—" Yiren wails loudly and begins to give in.

Schlick

"What are you sorry about Yiren?"

"I— I'm going to cum!"

Schlick Shlop

"Are you going to squirt on my cock?"

"Mmm, mmm!" She tries to shake her head, but she's bouncing on your cock, and she ends up nodding comically instead.

"Say it!"

Schlick Shlop Shlosh

"I'm— Ohh I'm going to, I'm going to nngh... I'm squirting—" The rest of it devolves into unintelligible groans as Yiren's control is washed away. You have to focus on not cumming with Yiren as she contracts around you, but you still feel your balls get drenched in her warm fluids, and the added squelch you now hear from Yiren's movements finish her original sentence—Yiren has flooded your connection with her juices and squirted all over your cock. You hold Yiren and roll the two of you, switching positions and making the twitching idol squirt a little more in the process.

"You really are a huge squirter aren't you?"

"Don't move, please don't move yet!" Yiren clings on to you, her walls still clenching around you as she rides out the last waves of her peak. "I-I'm a squirter, ok? I admit it."

"Good, then I don't want you to hold back. I'm going to fuck you, and I want you to tell me when you're squirting."

"Mm, ahh!" You start moving as soon as Yiren squeaks her understanding. As if finally unblocked and unchained, she throws her head back, moaning loudly when you thick rod runs itself in and out of her.

It's too good, it's so good— "Ugh I'm cumming!" It only takes a few thrusts for the overstimulated Yiren to cum again, and psshh you pull out, a jet of liquid spraying your stomach. As soon as she's done you plunge back in, pumping Yiren for her next gush.

"Ohhh yes!" Tears leak out from Yiren's eyes as she bucks her hips and squirts again. She can't believe how good it feels to squirt, the warm juices evidence of her own extreme pleasure. How can she ever go back to her feeble masturbation, how can she go "dry" again? She's shouting herself hoarse, but she doesn't even care if the whole floor hears her scream.

"I'm squirting again!"

"You're such a fucking hot squirter," you growl, driving into her faster and harder, chasing your own orgasm as you fuck Yiren to several squirting orgasms, each loudly announced. Your bodies are covered in sweat and slick, droplets of each splattered all over your violent forms.

"Guhnngh!" Yiren's brow contracts as you nudge at her cervix on an extra-deep thrust, and her walls clench around you violently as you nudge her again and again and again. "God— guh, uh, uh, nngh!" She feels your tip press on her womb firmly, and she loses all control.

"FUCK!" You pull out just in time, and your load fires up her body, splattering Yiren all the way to her neck. Yiren's world goes white, just as white as your load covering her while she explodes in her wettest orgasm yet. Her first blast hits you square in the chest, and the following jet sprays cover your entire torso. By the time her hips finally stop bucking, her entire body is flush in exertion and completely limp below you, as if every last bit of strength in her has been expelled in the form of girlcum all over your body.

Not caring about the mess you collapse on top of her, feeling Yiren quivering beneath you. The two of you take long minutes to recover, and you are the first to manage to put together a sentence.

"We should clean up," you whisper. But she shakes her head.

"I-I can't move." Her limbs still feel weak and numb, the pleasure nerves in her head still firing. You half carry and half drag Yiren into the shower, turning the hot water on and letting it wash over the two of you. But you're not done with Yiren yet.

"No..." Yiren feels your hand go between her legs, and she braces herself against the shower wall. A few rubs on her sensitive nub, and a weak flow of slick trickles down her leg before joining the shower water down the drain.

"You can end this now," you whisper in her ear, and Yiren finally realizes what you mean—in the shower she can just lie, say she didn't squirt, and you would end the session. You continue rubbing her slit, feeling Yiren tense in a weak orgasm, and her juices spray over your fingers weakly.

"I-I didn't squirt there." You look Yiren in the eyes, and they are round and tired, eager for rest.

"I see, I failed then. We're done." She slumps against the wall, sliding down to the floor. You sit down next to her, gently shampooing and soaping her up (to small overstimulated whimpers), helping Yiren finally get clean before quickly washing up yourself.

"Can you get up?" Yiren nods, standing up like a baby deer as you hand her a towel and give her a robe after. She hugs you tightly as the two of you exit the bathroom, her head buried in your chest—she's sobbing into it, overcome with emotion at what just happened tonight.

"Yiren?"

"I'm so embarrassed, I don't know what to say."

"I had a wonderful time tonight, thank you. I won't say anything about tonight to anyone."

"Okay, thank you. I umm, I have to leave tomorrow morning."

"So do I, you should rest as much as you can, and drink lots of water."

"Right..." Yiren blushes at the comment, and you feel her get warm against you as the two of you survey the water damage—Yiren has likely soaked the mattress, the sheets clinging to it translucently. "Oh god how am I going to explain this, what if the hotel finds out?"

"They'll keep quiet, that's what they're paid to do. Just say you spilled a pot of water or something and that you're very sorry."

"I'll try that."

"Yes, good. I should go, I'll let you rest." You gently dislodge Yiren from your arm, but she's clingy.

"I-I never felt like that before, it never feels that good."

"I'm glad, now you know what's possible. Next time, you should have a towel when you do it yourself."

"No, I want to see you again." Yiren's eyes are wide and twinkling—she's putting the idol charm on you, the little firecracker you fucked in the bathroom coming back strong.

"Fine, here's my business card. Don't risk it, remember we almost got caught earlier," you remind her.

"I will worry about that. It's my neck on the line." You chuckle and shake your head, giving her a goodbye hug and getting a goodbye peck in return.

You return to Korea separately from Yiren, and you don't expect to hear from her for a while—she is an idol after all.

Ding! Or not.

I'm off next Wednesday, can I see you then?

Well, at least that day's weather forecast settled.

Wet.

A/N: I wrote this purely because I wanted to do an "Everglow/flow" pun lol and wanted to use that little black dress pic of hers, thanks for reading!

[azaharinflames]

Sorry I need to rant for a tiny, little bit, because...

You know what I find particularly funny?

Their version of Buddie simply does not exist.

And I am not talking about how it is not canon, that is a given. But their version of it. The things they've claimed they do, or feel about each other, or think of each other.

(Disclaimer: I have my own opinion of their friendship and I do believe there are way better friendships within the show, including for Buck. But I do acknowledge they do love each other as friends and deeply care about one another. And that Chris is important for Buck. That is not up to discussion here. Okay, we can go on)

They have this whole "Buckley-Diaz is a family" that consists of Buck spending 99% of his free time at the Diaz house, of them having weekly movie nights, and of Buck taking Chris to school almost as much as Eddie does. And this is simply not true.

We do see Buck spending time at the Diaz house, of course. When he's hanging out with the Diazes (something that, might I point out, has not really happened since Season 4, as the few scenes we got of them hanging out since have been at Buck's loft - correct me if I'm wrong), helping Eddie out, in a group setting, and hiding from his sister and her helicopter babysitting. Movie nights- when is it even mentioned this is something they do weekly? Not once. And please correct me if I am wrong. Buck does not take Chris to school almost daily, not because he did after Eddie's breakdown does it mean this is a normal and usual occurrence. It doesn't mean it isn't, to be fair, but nothing in canon tells us otherwise. I will give them the zoo, however, because in canon we do have Eddie saying Buck takes Chris there all of the time.

What we got, however, was scenes showing how Buck has his own independent life. He has lots of scenes in his loft, as much as Buddies hate it, as we have never gotten an off-handed comment on how little he's spending there because he's at the Diazes all the time. We've gotten scenes of Buck reaching out to people who are not Eddie for help. And oh, of course - we have gotten scenes of his family (whether you like the Buckleys or not) having a family dinner. And guess who was not invited? Oh, right.

(We have, also, gotten enough scenes with Tommy that we know post-going official, they spend most of their free time with each other. Thank you to Bobby for also confirming this. We love you, king)

With the Diazes, we got scenes that showed how Eddie and Chris exist on their own, without needing Buck there to complete their family. We got a whole ep where Eddie was dealing with Chris's new crush, and instead of making that be a Buckley-Diaz 'family' storyline, Carla was the one accompanying Eddie and being the other adult in the situation. We can say whatever we want about the dating debacle at the end of Season 6 (I also think it was a mess, but for the way they rushed it), but Eddie did not say: oh, Chris and I are fine, we have Buck. And he did not say it because it simply would not have made sense.

And oh, I could go on and on on how the Eddie they have in Fanon is also not the one we have, but this is way too long already. Do let me know if anyone wants to hear it though. Although I will probably write it down whenever I am bored enough.

Short story very long: Buck and Eddie are good friends. They respect each other and clearly enjoy each other's company. And the show has definitely played with the concept of family for them (looking directly at the elf from season 2 here), but never too serious. Never in canon. Outside of the 118 being a family (which I am not denying), at least for me, it has always been obvious how Eddie and Chris were very valued by Buck, but his close-knit family (nuclear family, if you will) is and has always been Maddie (now extended to Jee-Yun and Chim as well), and Bobby (something he's admitted in canon, before someone comes at me for this).

Now, thankfully, we have Tommy to join in in there as well ☺️