#cannot get enough of a flailing moon

[thatmooncake]

xd

(I once saw a tumblr post with these kitty images but I couldn't find it again)

OBSESSED WITH THIS THANK YOU<3<3<3

[xmoriartea]

SVSSS!Sibling Transmigration 2: Electric Boogaloo

a continuation of this nonsense that ya'll seemed to enjoy

While Shen Yuan and Luo Binghe hold hands and jump into the abyss, Airplane is left holding no pizza with the sect on fire (and him-damnit. He could really use a pizza right now)

Shang Qinghua helped organize the Immortal Alliance Conference fiasco, but with his brother's guidance and Mobei Jun's shocking willingness to listen to both of them, Cang Qiong suffers only two losses that day: LBH and SY (none of the other major sects are so lucky, shifting even more power into Cang Qiong (and thus SQH/MBJ)'s sway as they planned)

Shen Jiu (named Qingqiu now ofc, but still Jiu-ge to SY) does not handle his part in this well at all. Did he shove LBH into the abyss? He would say no. He just maneuvered an awakening and unstable Heavenly Demon away from his brother. (Bro did NOT account for said brother to throw himself at LBH and basically take both their asses into the abyss. Not even Airplane saw that one coming tbqfh)

So yeahhh. SJ is not handling this well. While his brother is missing SJ qi deviates no less than two times which has Qing Ding and every peak lord walking on eggshells. No one mentions either of his missing disciples unless absolutely necessary around him. Unfortunately, he spends entirely too much time researching the abyss, tearing through every tome on the peaks

When the lords try to discuss a way to help SJ's instability, the mention of dual cultivation is floated once and while YQY is hand on the trigger to volunteer as tribute, the vehement refusal from SJ has YQY declaring it off limits without hesitation (there are some murmurs about this, but YQY takes pride in protecting SJ and shuts everyone down)

Airplane and SY know each other well enough that he knows SY would be devastated if something happened to SJ (he knows SY had siblings, that he misses them, that his heart aches twice for the family here and home and he won't let him come back to an empty bamboo house. Airplane knows the pain of an empty home and he will find something in his brain to fix it)

This leads to one tense conversation with SJ like "Look I know you fucking hate me but for SY's sake please just listen one time: your brother is coming home. I don't know how exactly, but we both know he's too stubborn not to" (this does not endear him to his villain son, but he would swear SJ glares a little less at him after)

There is then a Sun-Moon Dew Mushroom tier research saga but it's Airplane alone digging through tomes and notes and getting a little xianxia stoned to try and remember the obscure world building he created. (You know what he remembers? That's he created TOO MUCH world building shit while three energy drinks deep at 2am for any one man to remember!! Cucumber-bro get back here!!)

Meanwhile MBJ is playing a differently game entirely while every cultivator is stressed out of their minds. He's got a spy who is assisting him with power grabs that his father would never have imagined. He's courting a pathetic little mouse of a man. LBH is not a name that means anything yet. MBJ is THRIVING. Everyone else is in a drama and he's in a dating sim

And with two Shangs? The first time he does something too aggressive-demonic in his attempt to court a flailing sleep deprived Airplane, SQH is there to be like 'wtf do you think you're doing you beast?' Does SQH nearly get his ass beat for this insult to his king? Maybe a little bit. But!! Airplane gets woo'd! Without bloodshed!! (his own anyway. SQH picks his battles and cannot pry MBJ's desire to hunt big, rare game to prove his worth as a partner to Airplane which ofc leads to moments of the Shang brothers just standing over the corpse of some ancient-possibly-mythical beast just... in their living room on An Ding like 'wtf do we do with this? my king pls')

Of course, the plot finds everyone eventually. And however the fuck it happens, MBJ crosses path with a power-grabbing LBH, is forced to surrender to return home alive to his consort-to-be (MBJ is waiting for the MBJ title to be 100% his before cementing the courtship), becomes second in command to this brat, and goes home to his Shangs to lick his wounds (MBJ does not expect Airplane to shake his face and demand to know if there was a human cultivator with this half-demon brat and then demand to be taken to them if so when MBJ just 'wtf' stares)

Turns out, several years in the abyss even for the protagonist and a man who knows far too fucking much about abyss nuances for a human is still not an easy time Being human in the abyss? It's a dinner bell for every big monster that SY wants to just observe like the worst tourist. LBH cannot figure out why his shixiong keeps putting himself in danger like this (shixiong!! if you know the deadly thing is hiding in this swamp what if!!! we didn't!! go in the goddamn swamp shixiong!!!) But! That abyss knowledge is hard to beat. SY is able to guide LBH through safe routes and help guide him on his demonic journey (LBH ofc asks how his shixiong knows about any of this and SY panic changes subjects like a dozen times. Even in the back of LBH's head Meng Mo is like 'kid IDFK what this brat is but it's not normal and I need you to 1. understand that and 2. do not let him get away') And you know what is great for SY (and by extension LBH)? SY isn't juggling a persona that isn't his. He's allowed to come to terms with himself and his feelings on his terms. He gets to watch his white lotus LBH fight alongside him in the abyss and save his life and oh. OH. Maybe. Maybe he can have this? (SY being SY is still like PLOT EXISTS!! HAREM!! WIVES!! And look. He figures his own shit out a little bit, he's still a blind bastard. He doesn't notice how many wife plots he and LBH have stumbled into together, or how many LBH has skipped entirely. He can just be part of the harem, that's fine. He can live with that. Totally normal thoughts) LBH meanwhile can't even spell harem cause he only has eyes for this weird wonderful shixiong of his Given that the plot is a mess (happening, sure, but a MESS) they stumble into a new wife plot in the abyss (How was SY supposed to know full humans triggered nonsense plots down here?? It's not like LBH's human wives were ever down here with him!!) and so SY might be dying a second time. (Whoops! Whoops! Whoops! (Hey System? STFU if you have nothing useful to offer thank you!!!) But you know what could help this mortal cultivator trapped in the abyss? Demon qi. You know who has a lot of demon qi he doesn't know what to do with?? Best boy Binghe, that's who (they're both young and awkward and SY is dying and Binghe can't lose him. He can't be left alone again. It's declaration and promise and hope and when he kisses his shixiong he wills the transfer of qi between their lips and he can feel the way SY grows stronger in his arms with it) Let's just say that even when they clear the realm of the abyss that threatened SY, LBH still persistently insists that his shixiong share his qi mwah! (SY does not put up half as much complaint as he once might have over his sticky shidi) Also you know SY is going to find some horrific abyssal monstrosity and decide it's just the best and cutest most perfect and loyal pet (it's an honest to god nightmare and everyone they encounter is afraid of it and Binghe shoots it glares whenever it steals his shixiong's affections HOW DARE??) With SY's omnipotent abyss GPS sense and LBH sharing his excess of demon qi with SY, they're able to find Xin Mo, break the seal on LBH's powers, and then continue on his training montage (definitely too unstable to go back to the mortal realm early), also he has a fantastic anchor in SY at his side to soothe the Xin Mo urges and (don't ask shidi, pls he's begging) also teach him how to tame the sword

Cut back to several years of time passing, Airplane squishing his king's face, demanding to know about a human cultivator with this heavenly demon only for MBJ to (still face squished) say he wouldn't call the man at LBH's side human per se but if this is what his Airplane wants, he will take him with him to the meeting LBH has arranged for the following day (now please, let him pout and huff and receive head scritches)

Hey you know how people always get taken aback by Xie Lian being just absolutely filled with ghost qi??? SY is a cultivator, not a god, just a lad trying his best to follow that immortal master path, and he just spent SEVERAL years in the abyss and getting regularly dosed by HEAVENLY demon qi — this boy ain't right anymore, guys. He's definitely feeling some kind of demon-tier different™ after all of this and man is THRIVING because Now That's What SY Calls Lore

Please imagine heavenly demon LBH with a demon-touched SY holding demon court with their weird demon allies when MBJ shows up flanked by two totally human Shangs and the just.... the awkward staring these four members of Cang Qiong do at each other (LBH, oblivious to the spy on the mountain plots, just 'why tf is Shang-shixiong and Shang-shifu here??) (SQH looking at LBH and SY and just taking furious mental notes about these Developments and how this may affect his brother's safety) (SY and Airplane just seconds away from slapping the shit out of each other like cats in a bag just 'where the fuck have you been???' 'what have you done???')

Court gets to proceed as planned, but Consorts Shen and Shang make hasty exits together to figure out just what the fuck has been happening to Airplane's plot (There is minimal sibling-tier beat downs in the process and neither is free from sin)

Airplane explains that SJ is a mess and that they need to do something if SY wants to continue having a brother ('bro, he will go off the deep end soon if he doesn't find you but if he finds you like this BRO WILL GO OFF THE DEEP END!! DO YOU SEE THE PROBLEM??')

Their scheming gets them on the idea the Sun-Moon Dew Mushroom and between both their whipped demons, it's very easy to acquire it, cultivate it, and prepare it for SJ (ofc monster loving son SY shares some with a cute snake he sees, obviously)

SY sneaks onto Qiong Ding with their near ready science project and meets with YQY who is... not thrilled with the demonic influence all over his shidi's brother. But he listens, because end of the day they both care for SJ. SY can't risk SJ having another deviation if he sees him, so he entrusts YQY to present this fix to SJ: a way to repair his broken core and shed the scars of his past (ofc they both know he will be suspicious, but after doing his own research, he would take it in a heartbeat)

When SJ has a shiny new and powerful body, that's when LBH and SY return to the sect. No demon army, no attacks, no Huan Hua bs. Just two lost disciples making their return from the abyss. (There is much distrust. SQH plays his role as well as ever, siding with the other lords that certain tests must be passed to ensure they are not demons--- oh wait one of you IS a demon. and the other has been influenced by that one. Mhhh. Mhmmm. This is fiiiiiine)

SJ doesn't deviate! But he is! Mad! There is much yelling and shouting and disciples are made to run around Qiong Ding peak while every other lord just has to sit through the most chaotic family reunion.

But things can go back to normal from here right? Just casual transmigration, not plot threats? (System? System you're laughing. They're having a nice moment and you're laughing)

[st-danger]

Please please please please a single ficlet expanding on Predator Aeon and “prey” Swiss! 🙏😭🙏😭🙏😭🙏

If he listens, really listens- not just with his ears, but with little tendrils of quintessence that he plucks out of the air and extends forward- he can hear just how loud Swiss's heart is racing. The stretch of his lungs when he draws a breath.

Swiss has to pause; Aeon can feel how hard he's been working, how much energy he's expended on the chase so far, and he bends over, hands on his knees, panting. Gold eyes darting around in the darkness of the woods, trying to be alert and aware for any tip off that Aeon is close.

He is.

Less than fifteen feet away, if that. A generous estimate. Aeon leans against a tree and strokes the rough bark of it, a self-soothing little gesture. He's so keyed up now, trying his best to conceal his own laboured breaths, though they stem more from excitement and less from exhaustion. Aeon can run, and he has been, but he hasn't been running the way Swiss has, desperate to keep enough distance between them where he's just far enough out of reach where Aeon cannot spin magick around him.

Alas.

Aeon squints, focusing, and caresses the air with two thin fingers. Swiss grunts with surprise, bats at the back of his neck to shake off an imaginary touch, and ends up stumbling over his own feet, falling forward in the process. The full moon above reflects enough light down on them, and the tension it doesn't show, Aeon can feel anyway. Can smell.

"Cheap shot," Swiss calls out, to the forest around him. He can't see where Aeon is; he's put too much into melting into the shadows, and Swiss's attention darts around too quickly to see anything. If he'd been calmer, he might have caught the strange distortion by the tree, the weird, warbling ink beside it.

Alas.

Throwing the disguise off like a jumper onto the floor, Aeon pounces.

He's on him before Swiss has time to turn around, to realize where the sound of feet against leaves and twigs comes from, and Aeon has him shoved into the forest floor quickly, forcing a grunt from Swiss as the air is knocked out of him. A hand on the back of his neck, straddling, pressing- Aeon sits fat in his pants. He's been excited since this started, but now that he has Swiss's exhausted, struggling form underneath him, he's filling out in earnest with little ceremony. Grinding it into his back while he struggles to keep Swiss down.

"No, no," Aeon laughs, breathless and ecstatic, "stay down buddy." He tries his best to hold him, he really does- he had been hoping to wear him out a little more, get him tired out, get those strong legs tired so he wouldn't be able to kick the way he's doing now. He usually likes to draw it out more. Subconsciously he must really have been wanting a fight. Swiss flails, grunting, trying to reach back and swat at him, kick his legs out from under Aeon's slinky frame, but the weight of him, the quintessence licking into his brain telling him to relax, to let go, to give up gives Aeon a chance. "Got you," he tells Swiss. "I won."

"Haven't won shit yet," Swiss manages, still trying to throw him off, wiggle free, drag himself away.

Aeon adores him for so very many reasons. Getting his money's worth from these hunts is one of them.

"Gonna fuck you," Aeon groans, and presses himself flush against his back so he can grind his cock against Swiss's ass. Make him feel what this has done to him, what he's going to take. The smell of rich, damp earth gets stronger as they disturb the forest floor, kicking and smearing the dirt, and the heady combination of it combined with the desperation Swiss is throwing off makes Aeon a little woozy. "Gonna give me my prize?" Punctuates the question by reaching down and grabbing a handful of Swiss's ass, squeezing hard enough to be uncomfortable.

It's a miscalculation.

The shift in weight is enough for Swiss to shrug out from under, rearing back sharp and sudden, and Aeon is thrown on to his back, trapping his own leg beneath him. It's a solid connection against the dirt, and the sense of loss he feels when Swiss slides from his grasp is devastating. Panicky, he reaches for Swiss, swiping to grab a shoulder, a shirt, to touch him long enough to force some magick into his body to stun him long enough to get a chance to clamber on top once more.

The slap comes as a surprise, a firm crack against his cheek from a large, warm hand that makes him gasp, stunning him long enough to shift the balance. Swiss is on him in a second, a hand on his throat, choking, holding. Aeon claws at his forearm, writhing underneath the weight of the thick thighs bracketing his frame.

"What a nasty piece of work you are," Swiss huffs, while Aeon kicks and wheezes for breath he does not get.

Aeon may be fast, and he might have quintessence on his side, but Swiss is strong. Swiss has enough quintessence flowing through his mish-mash of elements to recognize it, to brush it off like crumbs on a table. Another slap to his face and Aeon whimpers with it, desperate to breathe. A more seasoned ghoul could still work magick in a situation like this, he's sure, but Aeon can't find the concentration to will anything to happen. Swiss is choking him, humping him- Aeon can feel him thick and blood hot through his thin track pants, rubbing himself against Aeon's body the way he'd been doing to Swiss moments before.

Aeon taps frantically at Swiss's forearm, and Swiss releases his throat. Aeon coughs, fiending for breath, sucking deep lungfuls until Swiss leans forward and shoves their mouths together, forcing his tongue deeper than Aeon is ready for, licking in until Aeon is grabbing at his shirt to keep him near.

"Need it bad," Swiss growls, and Aeon isn't sure if he's speaking to him, or voicing his own desire aloud. He isn't sure it matters. Not really. There's a hand in his hair, a hand gripping his face, his chin so hard it hurts. "C'mon you little cunt." Another grind of their dicks together and Aeon's brain short-circuits, heart hammering away while he goes dizzy. "C'mon and give it up, pretty boy."

"Make me," Aeon says, because he can. Because there's still some fight left in them both even if there isn't much. Swiss's tongue is back in his mouth, cutting off any further challenges. Deep, wet strokes, tasting him like he means to wholly consume, fingers digging into his jaw and dimpling the skin. Trying to wriggle simply leads Swiss to lay even more of his weight upon him until he's pressed so close Aeon is back to struggling to draw a full breath.

Swiss eases up only when Aeon's struggling gets weaker, and even then, it's only for a moment. As easy as moving a pillow on a bed, Swiss climbs off, throws him onto his stomach.

"Thought you'd try a little harder," Swiss scoffs, and Aeon flushes when Swiss settles behind him, grabs his hips, and forces his ass up, grabbing the elastic waistband and yanking them down, exposing him. His face is hot, thighs trembling while his cock bounces all on it's own in search of some friction. Swiss wolf-whistles when Aeon clenches, unable to stop himself, giving him a show. "Arch all pretty for me," he demands and Aeon does. When Swiss spreads him, leans down and spits onto his hole-

Well. Winning is fun, of course, but the fingertip prodding at him, petting a very private, sensitive spot while he leaks precum onto the ground...

Losing isn't half bad, either.

[punkrockscully]

"Kiss Me Underneath the Moon's Side Boob"

"I play the [wolf howling sound]"

You will say it’s not like that but, oh, boy, how many door-frames have you watched him from? You can dodge questions like lazy punches all you want but the nebulous aura of you-and-him has gotten so sharp it cuts—purple-flowered fields giving way to hot hot heat in grown-up bodies, Beatles-like baby-faces turned angular, eyes gone darkish and lusty and searingly hooked.

When he chases you, those thoughts— whispering bedsprings, a shimmying, and then rejoice in trembling and gravitational alignment, two worshipful dogs rolling around in a good smell. Still—and you cannot stress this enough— it’s not like that.

2. "I play the midnight moon"

And the ease in which you say it doesn’t surprise you but maybe it should—nothing surprises you but everything surprises you, with him, his flailing limbs, water-glow softness even as he’s karate chopping and doing ninja kicks. Slumped on his knees blitzed out of his mind, then crawling toward you in an animal prowl, your face wide-open and obvious— freak him out on purpose so he won’t notice the achingly soft light in your eyes.

3. "Midnight has got the hots for me"

You weave through everything he does—Mr. Midnight with the slutty curve of your waist on display. Curl yourself around him like a perfect spiral, conjoined, entangled, he will never be rid of you— eyes persistently dark, bearing down from across a stage or inches away huddled in his body. Puppy-lack of space between you, not borrowed but owned, touches that belong to you— he’s a giver, and you can be awfully persuasive but it’s not like he needs to be convinced to press his face conspicuously close to yours.

4. "Looking up at the moon wonderin' ... who's he kissin'"

You spent so long kissing anything to get the itch for him out of your mouth, tongue-first introductions but now you keep your lips to yourself unless they’re centimeters away from his. Your mouths were made for each other, molded from the same primordial clay to fit together quick and perfect— again, again, again—he always chickens out when you push too far, but how can you not push when he’s backed up against you swinging his little tambourine?

The moon winks her eye down on you leading each other away from a crowd, jubilant in your wanderings, drawn-out breaths in each other’s necks—he’s indefinable but you always have the words: life’s little lovescapes tripping from too-fast mouths, he shines under cold moonlight where you could touch him and have your fingertips come away glistening with unseeable stars.

5. "Pull me in close on a crisp eve, baby"

Moon-monster, deliberate gaze, glint of a shine in his eyes that took absolutely forever but not when you look directly at the source— headlong dive into a blissful hazy muttering hips-down on the greenroom couch while he plays a song with your own whining. You always get what you want even when you push him away, laughing at the lengths you go to kiss him.

another one :)

for @uhbasicallyjustmilex who prompted me with that lollapalooza interview (I think it was lolla idk) anyway kat was braver than the US marines for those questions, I honestly hope she's living her best life

[angelsndragons]

so i think i have too many c3 thoughts right now to be entirely coherent so fuck it, we roll. warning: super long post, i insincerely apologize.

while everyone is getting lost in the sauce about the gods and whether they “deserve to live” and whatnot, i think we the audience (and the players to a lesser extent but that’s just my reading) are missing the forest for the trees. because c3 is not about the gods, it’s about our pcs, moreover, it is about our pcs and their relationships to/with power, control, and responsibility. as conflict avoidant (and avoidant in general) as our party is, we need something big and in your face to really delve into their understanding of their issues and the solutions they believe will solve the problems. the gods are only part of the story because they are the biggest, most in your face representation of these issues. the gods have power; do they use it to control others, to control fate? what are their responsibilities when it comes to what their followers do? does any of that even matter in the face of their annihilation? if they have power and don’t use it, what is their responsibility then? adjacently, is free will even a thing when dealing with time and power on a scale that mortals cannot comprehend? and if we “surrender” to that, if we “just have faith” are we ceding control of our own lives to these far more powerful beings and what would that say about us?

these themes are a continuation of what aabria started in exu where she hammered over and over again that power isn’t inherently good or evil, it’s the choices one makes that matter. and if you choose not to decide, if you choose to avoid the issue, you still have made a choice. and you need to own it.

back in the early days, bells hells were all potential, not quite coming into their power and scrounging around for any semblance of control they could manage. ashton told themself that nothing mattered, that everything was shit, and to care was to destroy themself. they chose to just let things happen. chet believed that the only way he could fully control his own fate was to be a loner. fcg thought they were in control and encouraged others, through admittedly not great means, to make choices and take what small control they could, even as they thought choices were not for them. fearne collected, stole, and held things and others too close to keep them from leaving. imogen fought for rigid control over herself, her powers, and her curiosity about said power. laudna avoided the problem altogether; out of sight, out of mind. if she didn’t think about or care about delilah, it didn’t matter, it wouldn’t hurt her or anyone else. orym ceded control of his future to all the other characters and tried to redo the loss of his husband every time he entered a fight.

nowadays? despite their own perceptions of helplessness, they are undeniably powerful enough to make a difference, to make a real mark on the world. and now they have to deal with the responsibility of that power. while also grappling with those control questions that haven’t yet been solved. they’re level 10 characters- the nein were dealing with the happy fun ball, obann and his cronies, and the citadel, for reference. the hells have power, after spending so long feeling powerless and out of control. and i don’t think any of them is comfortable with this yet. having power has not, and probably will not, solved their problems. ashton still has the hole in their head and chronic pain. fearne keeps losing people. imogen is still being drawn to the red moon. laudna still compartmentalizes and is desperately disengaged with her own power and choices. power and control are ultimately separate factors and beasts, is what i am getting at, and having one doesn’t necessarily equate with having the other.

it’s a lot, is what i’m saying. the hells by and large haven’t solved their personal control and power issues so it’s no wonder they are flailing about and rehashing the god question over and over and over again. because the question isn’t really about the gods, the question is about them.

chet and orym have the most straightforward relationships with power and control in the party. orym is regaining control of his life, regaining the ability to lay down what he wants and expects, gaining the ability to lead in the process. chet’s reconciled the betrayal of his authority figure and more than that has consistently and repeatedly owned up to his screw ups and when his lack of control has fucked him or others up. and i think that’s why the pair of them most successfully separate the gods’ power from the gods’ control over the world.

fcg, he who was made to care for others and who now chooses to do so, has gained a relationship with his goddess. not for nothing was the first major breakthrough the one where fcg made a choice, owned it, and followed through. fortune favors the bold, after all, and the changebringer encourages mortals to seize their fates with both hands. through the tentative first steps of self-care, they have also gained more control over themself and their future. they figured out that murderbot doesn’t have to kill or hurt anyone. through the power of someone else helping them, fcg was able to retain enough control to not spiral. and that’s how fcg sees their new mission: the gods have the power to help others (and use it) so he wants to help them. simple, straightforward.

but here it gets murky. because ashton and laudna in particular see power and control as the same thing. they aren’t separate as far as these characters are concerned. if you have power, why wouldn’t you use it? why wouldn’t you control every single thing you could? why wouldn’t you stop this horrid thing? why would you let this happen? where the pair of them differ is that ashton, practically possibility incarnate, has decided to act. has decided that they have been stuck in a cycle of self-pity and wallowing and, well, if the gods aren’t going to act, even on their own behalf, then fine, they will. fuck it. someone has to. he will put ludinus into the ground for what he’s done and then...well, they’ll be a hero (don’t think i didn’t notice your word choices all episode, taliesin, i am watching ashton like a hawk here). through this decision, this acknowledgement of their own vulnerability, of how much they actually have to lose and how much they will have to fight to keep it, ashton has sent themself on the path towards regaining some control over their life. not for nothing have they been so focused on what power and possibilities their head could bring lately. but don’t think they’re doing it for the gods, oh no. they’re here for all the people like them.

but laudna? oh, laudna feels completely out of control. has for a while. her typical avoidance and compartmentalization strategies were completely failing her in issylra. in the face of all of this, she feels powerless. so what does she do? reach for control the only way she knows how: by using someone else’s power and giving them another foothold with which to control laudna’s own life. again. and after? laudna’s overwhelmed, she’s guilty, she’s worried about what everyone else will think. notice that she doesn’t yet seem worried about what delilah could do to her; it’s the betrayal to her friends, how they see her that worries her most. that she wasn’t strong enough, powerful enough, big enough to find another way (never mind that the facts of the situation were overwhelmingly on her side, especially before she called down delilah). that she lost control again. she’s a puppet on delilah’s strings so long as delilah has power that laudna wants or needs, why would the gods be any different in her eyes?

so, strangely in the middle, we have imogen. imogen, who intimately knows that power and control aren’t the same. but unlike chet and orym, in imogen’s experience, the more power she has, the more out of control she becomes. the more  power she gets, the more she’s drawn to that damn moon whether she wants to be or not. sure, the circlet helps now but it’s a band-aid, a temporary measure, and imogen knows it. and even it couldn’t completely block out her dreams. the cost she pays for her powers continues to climb (she lost her mother, her best friend and two of her party members were murdered for it, this solstice could end the world because of ludinus and ruidusborn like her, she can’t tell how overwhelmed laudna is without her powers). imogen, who questioned whether the bad guys have a point before any of this really kicked off.

and fittingly outside this strange intersection is fearne. fearne has no interest in the gods, really. she doesn’t seem to care one way or the other. however, she did just receive a vision from the duskmaven which honestly almost seems tailored to her specifically. the duskmaven’s champion, her person, is trapped in unending agony, caused by his love for his person. that fearne understands all too well. what she really cares about is her people, her new family. and so, she’s caught in the middle. because right now, all the group can agree on is that they want to stick together to take down ludinus. so where is that going to leave them, exactly, once he’s gone? where will that leave her, with a potential chet/orym/fcg vs laudna/ashton/imogen split, when she wants them all, when they are all hers? and how will her newly found sense of responsibility play into the next stage of the hells’ fight?

so i think that intersection between power, control, and responsibility is why certain characters are moving forward and why others are stumbling backwards. and why certain characters are gung-ho about saving the gods, others indifferent, while others are finding non-god reasons to involve themselves in the plot.

[smallblanketfort]

i wish i were better at this. the whole thing. waking up in the morning. focus. keeping up with the dog’s shed. holding hands in public, no, being the one who reaches first. new friends. better at slinging off the fog of tired. i am crawling upside down. a crunched jaw. am i eating enough? sleeping enough? resting enough? moving enough to complete my body’s threat cycle? honest enough? do i garden enough? am i ambitious enough? do i slow enough? making enough? completing enough? pushing myself enough? finding joy enough? when i refused to call myself an artist, i was more shy, but now i am more disappointed. it’s the month i was born, and i had written it down: don’t postpone joy this time. every movement a celebration of every movement. a breath of celebration. embrace color, love, acceptance. my therapist says i’m so self aware it’s incredible to watch. and i sleep every moment i get the chance. some mornings i am convinced i have experienced all that i need to. content to a fault. i can’t wring the sea foam from my muscles. disappointment and all. if i can’t flail my arms at home is it really home? i have to move. i am asleep, no dreaming, and apologizing- this isn’t who i really am, is it. hushing my dog’s whines. this morning i woke up and i planted flower seeds shaped like a snail’s shell. i visited a perfect apartment, all windows, a black cat’s nose pressed to the screen. slept all afternoon, wake, heavy, but lingering. i let the world hold me when i cannot hold it. i let the barista choose my drink, and it’s perfect. the moon intercepts the sun rays, and it’s perfect. a father teaches his son fighting moves in the coffee shop and brings him to his knees, and we are all giggling, so it’s perfect. a man leaves his small red car to take a photo of my bumper stickers and send it to someone, smiling, it’s perfect. i sit at the sidewalk table and every person who walks past meets my eyes, and they wear cool shoes, and that’s perfect. my dog sniffs at a postwoman with a gray mohawk, and we are all so perfect. one thing about feeling depressed is that you are allowed to feel depressed anywhere. you can bedrot in a good outfit outside the coffee shop, in the middle of a park, with your dog. let the earth become you, peel back the layers of cloudiness for moments of perfection, moments perfect just because you were there to witness it. it helps.

-mouse

[graha-stan-account]

Ring: Day 6

Ring: n. 1. a small circular band worn on a finger. 

2. a group of people drawn together due to a shared interest or goal, especially one involving illegal or unscrupulous activity.

Present; somewhere post-5.4; K'dajhir, overjoyed to be reunited with his sister, cannot contain his excitement in introducing her to his friends. In fact, he has quite a lot of friends. An inordinate amount of friends. During a chance meeting in Ul'dah, J'napha discovers the whole affair is somehow more sordid than she and the Scions thought.

I changed Dajhir's name, kept the tribe the same because I can and I must. I'll explain the rest soon.

This is a makeup/late post for FFXIVWrite!

FFXIVWrite 2023 Masterlist

--- 

"Has anyone else noticed..." The corner of Thancred's mouth twisted into a frown. "J'napha's brother has an awful lot of... friends?" 

"There has been an odd amount of activity around The Seventh Heaven recently," said Alphinaud. "My attention has been rather divided, though." 

"It's not just that. K'dajhir has asked more times than I can count to contact J'napha by linkpearl. Always he's intent on her meeting him somewhere." Tataru knitted her eyebrows. "After all J'napha went through to find him, I couldn't possibly refuse. He's her family. But it's certainly odd." 

"I don't think she's avoiding him," Krile said. "She always seems to be in a good mood when he calls, if a little harried." 

"Could they be suitors!" Tataru cried, eyes wide. She clasped her hands over her mouth to hush herself. "Could K'dajhir be trying to marry off J'napha?" she said in a whisper. 

"T'would be exceeding bold for a man who only just rejoined her life," Urianger said. 

Y'shtola crossed her arms. "It's hardly a good time to direct attentions toward settling down -  assuming that is what's unfolding here. And I don't quite believe that." She tapped her knuckles to her chin. "No, something else is afoot. And it has nothing to do with a ring, I'd wager." 

"Please let it be something else! I'm nowhere near skilled enough to fit her eternal bonding dress! And besides, it's supposed to be to—to--!" When Tataru would not be shushed, Krile clasped her hands over her face to quiet her. 

"Has anyone just asked her?" Alisaie chimed in. "If there was something untoward going on, would she not have said as much by now? It's been going on for weeks." 

"Pray, tell, has she shared anything with you, then?" Y'shtola gestured across the table between them. "I don't think she and I have spoken at length in well over a moon." 

"No, I've been preoccupied with the porxies. Thancred? You always get the good dirt." 

Thancred shrugged and shook his head. "I'll forgive your poor choice of words, Alisaie. And no, I've been in and out on reconnaissance. Perhaps G'raha?" 

"No!" cried Tataru, prying herself away from Krile. "That would be a fate too cruel!" 

"Oh dear, Tataru hadst all but dispensed her dowry," lamented Urianger. "Perhaps we ought prevail upon our esteemed friend's prolonged respite and simply give voice to that which dost vex us." 

"W-w-w-wait! She's coming now!" Tataru flailed her arms as both Krile and Alisaie moved to intervene. 

"Someone ask her!" said Alisaie, kicking at Alphinaud under the table. 

"I will not ask her something like that! You do it!" 

"Bloody hells!" growled Thancred. "Ah, J'napha!" His tone had changed completely, his face brightening, his smile perhaps a little forced. "Passing through?" 

J'napha, who had been thoroughly about some business of her own, stopped short to regard the table full of scions. "On my way to meet Dajhir. Something amiss?" Embarrassment gathered in her face. "Were we to meet today?" she said conspiratorially, eyes wide. 

"Tis mine belief our paths doth crossed by happenstance. Though when they shall again, I cannot say." 

"So, it's best I remain nearby? I've tidings from the Bozjan southern front. Nothing pressing. But if you've news of the towers..." 

"No, no, no! No such events have unfolded that should keep you from your appointment," said Alphinaud, who may have been more convincing had he not gone slick with cold sweat. 

"It's only lunch. I could cancel." She crossed her arms, considering a moment, tail lashing. She groaned. "Would that it actually was only lunch." 

The seated group held their breath, all leaning forward just slightly. 

"It's been quite a lot of meals of late," she mused. "And always with a different friend..." She sighed. "My pockets grow lighter by the day." She chuckled to herself before looking up to see the crowd leering in her direction. "All's well, truly?" 

"Nothing that warrants your concern," Y'shtola waved her hand as though to disburse the tension. "Pray enjoy your time together. I'm sure you have matters of your own to discuss." 

J'napha smiled. "Should you've need of me, I'm just across town." She locked eyes with Tataru and tapped the linkpearl situated near her ear. 

"Of course, my lady! Best of luck!" 

J'napha's gaze lingered warily on Tataru, seemingly offput by her ominous farewell. She looked them all over, nodding as she took her leave. 

"I think we could have done without that last bit there, Tataru," said Krile after J'napha had departed. 

"I panicked!" She covered her face. 

"There's only one thing to do about it!" Alisaie said, pounding her fist on the table. 

"What's that?" 

"Thancred, you're going to spy on them." 

They each exchanged glances, some concerned, others incredulous, but not Thancred. He just sighed and slumped against the table. 

"Is it really that pressing?" 

The consensus was yes, it was. 

- 

There was not much opportunity to hide in plain sight on the cafe terrace, in particular when one of those upon whom you were spying happened to be a friend of a great many years. So Thancred had to charm his way into one of the adjacent buildings, to a room within earshot. Thancred pressed himself up under the balcony where J'napha could not see him. It was uncomfortable, but it sure beat the frigid Garlean air. 

He heard footsteps, then a voice he'd heard before. 

"Dear sister, this my friend Fraesynt." Thancred could hear the chair skid across the stone floor as J'napha gave her pleasantries. "Fraesynt, this is J'napha, the Warrior of Light." 

"For true?" said the Roegadyn. "Oh, the pleasure is all mine! I've been a fan of yours since O'Ghomoro. Right in my backyard, it was. Swear I heard Titan himself fall that day." 

"Oh." J'napha chuckled the way she did when she wasn't sure what else to say. He'd heard her do that a lot over the years. This couldn't bode well. If this was some sort of suitor business, stranger loves than a Miqo'te and Roegadyn had blossomed. Still, Thancred could think of a dozen other fans of the Warrior of Light more deserving of her affections. 

The meal which followed was rather unremarkable. Fraesynt peppered J'napha with questions throughout, as to be expected. What caught him by surprise was the ease with which she recounted the highlights of the past few years, as bloodlessly as could be managed, but the incongruity of it all was that she deigned to even address his questions. In the past, when she'd been stopped on the street or caught up in good company, she'd been cagey at best about the details of her triumphs and travails as the realm's champion. Like as not she'd had a bit of practice during their frequent meetings. 

With the meal finished, they departed. At the sound of retreating footsteps, Thancred peered above the balcony to see K'dajhir and Fraesynt - with a glowing smile. The two shook hands heartily. Then Fraesynt pressed a small sack of gil into K'dajhir's waiting hand. 

- 

"He's selling her!" Thancred slammed his hand upon the bar to gasps of shock. He groaned. "No, what I mean is K'dajhir is charging these 'friends' for an introduction to the Warrior of Light. I wager he knows none of them from the first." 

"Do you think she is aware?" asked Y'shtola. "Surely one's own kin would not be... commoditizing her without her consent at the very least." 

"Do you think J'napha would be about this business?" 

"I'd say not. My lady is hewn from a cloth much finer." 

"We should tell her. Else we can scare call ourselves her friends." 

"Tell who what?" 

They all started at J'napha's voice, hair standing on end. 

"J'napha! Full glad are we you've returned!" Alisaie exclaimed. 

Clearly purturbed, she surveyed their equally nervous expressions. "What's happened?" 

Alisaie and Y'shtola elbowed Thancred. He sighed. 

- 

Several weeks later found J'napha in Ul'dah finishing her business with Serendipity. She'd promised she could increase the aetheric flow of J'napha's halfgloves without sacrificing their flexibility. She didn't lie. J'napha inspected her hands in the gloves as she ambled past Eshtaime's, the waypoint at which she and K'dajhir would meet. 

Having made the journey together, she'd made it quite difficult for him to slip away to make any new acquaintances, much less further deals. Given the change in the winds she was loathe to sour the mood. 

"Napha! I'd thought the gold tinkerers would have kept you longer. Let me see." She flexed her fists for him. "Stunning. Napha, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine." 

She sighed, shoulders falling. "Dajhir, I--  Hancock? Why are you here?" 

"You two know each other?" K'dajhir's voice had ascended several octaves. 

"But we've already met." She was addressing the merchant directly, shaking her head at her own confusion. "You know how to reach me should you have need, in fact, I couldn't escape you if I tried. What need have you of my brother?" 

Hancock shrugged. "A young man approaches me saying he can introduce me to the Warrior of Light. I just wanted to see if he was telling the truth. Oh, and check the stock on hand." He chuckled, gesturing toward Eshtaime's behind him. 

J'napha leaned in, speaking low with a dangerous bite to her words. "Exactly how much did he bid you pay him?" 

"Pay... him...? I... " Hancock turned around to look at their intermediary, a carefree airiness remaining in his voice. "Dajhir, what is she speaking of? I didn't realize this was business." 

"'Dajhir'?!" 

K'dajhir stepped between them and guided J'napha off to the side. 

"Napha! Please, don't embarrass me in front of him." 

"Come off it, Dajhir." Her teeth were still tight together, neck tense and ears straight to the sides. "I know you've been making coin off these 'introductions.' Off of me. I thought you took a hint back in Mor Dhona. Now, fleecing Hancock I could normally abide – I'm sure he's done his own share -  but all of this taken together-" 

"Hancock is... I wasn't going to charge him," he said, matter-of-factly. "He's more of a special friend." 

She shoulder-checked him, tail flailing, her hushed voice on the edge on control. "'Special friend'?  So not only are you using my name to make coin, you're using it to... to take men to bed?" 

"Well, that's only if things go to plan. Doesn't always." 

"You're using my name to get laid?!" He hushed her. 

"Well you're not, so..." He shrugged, wide-eyed. "Someone ought to." 

"But of all people - Hancock?" She rolled her eyes. 

"Yes?" Hancock replied from her periphery. She glared in his direction. He offered a feeble wave. 

"Foul." 

K'dajhir whispered in her ear. "Aren't his spectacles so shiny, though?" 

"Most foul." 

[delta-pavonis]

*SLAMS HANDS DOWN ON THE TABLE*

I am fucking HERE FOR THIS @five-and-dimes!!

I have had a similar AU idea where Dream is a bartender but Hob ends up being the owner of said bar. See, he's left the managing and hiring up to his trusted general manager (Lucienne) while he is doing something-or-other abroad and when Hob comes back Loosh has hired this new guy in a pinch when another quit.

About 45 minutes into sitting at his own damned bar Hob realizes that this guy doesn't have clue fuck zero who Hob is. Not that he seems like he would give a shit, but Hob doesn't want to jinx it. Because this guy is good. Not just with the drinks, but with the job overall. And the first time Hob gets a smirk out of him... well. Hob doesn't need to examine that feeling just yet.

It was only by sheer dumb luck that Lucienne isn't on shift the first time Hob is there and afterwards Hob makes a point of avoiding her. She will 100% blow his cover. But Johanna, who runs the night shift, she is a fucking avatar of mischief.

"What's my secrecy worth to ya, Boss?"

Hob tries to stare her down. "My eternal undying devotion."

She scrinches her nose. "Thanks, but no thanks. I only take oaths of devotion from women wearing a lot more leather than you currently are."

If Hob could roll his eyes harder he would pull a muscle. "Fine. Take my money."

"Now you are speaking my language. Pay up, lover boy."

"Oh shut your face. I can fire you, you know." She knows when he is being sarcastic and takes the opportunity to give her own eyeroll.

Hob pays her overtime for every hour he is at the bar. Johanna keeps her trap shut. She is even kind enough to only make faces at him when the bartender - Morpheus is his name - isn't looking.

Three weeks into this and Hob is there for almost every single one of Morpheus' night shifts and he is going to go bankrupt keeping Jo quiet. But every smile, every new drink that is slid over to Hob to test before putting it in front of the manager, makes something in Hob churn.

And then Lucienne comes in one night while Hob is there, pushes right past a flailing Jo who, bless her, tries valiantly to be a distraction, and sits on the stool next to him. And of course it is while Morpheus is standing right in front of them. "What brings you in so late? Everything up to your standards, sir?"

One graceful black eyebrow arches at Hob and he studiously avoids meeting those blue eyes he has come to enjoy so much. He can practically hear Morpheus' deep drawl: Sir?

Hob feels himself flush and tries to hide it behind a sip of his drink. "Oh, I just happened to be in the area."

Now it is Lucienne's turn to raise an eyebrow. "You are not one for surprise visits, Mr. Gadling."

A lesser bartender would have fumbled the empty glass they were holding. As it is, Hob just hears the glass squeak as Morpheus' bare fingers grip it tightly. "Robert Gadling?" Hob winces as that dark voice sounds incredulous.

Lucienne just blinks owlishly as her eyes dart between them both. "Of course this is Robert Gadling, the owner. How could you not-"

"Johanna!" Morpheus turns on his heel and shouts. "I am taking my break!"

The brunette pops around the corner, no doubt just in time to see Hob staring miserably at Morpheus' retreat out the back door to the alley.

"I am so sorry, sir!" Lucienne placates. "I cannot believe he was so rude! I will-"

Hob raises a hand. "Don't worry about it. Long story, but I deserved that." He stands and nods to Jo as she takes up tending the bar. "I'll get this."

A cloud of cigarette smoke assaults Hob as soon as he is out in the alley. Morpheus is leaning against the wall next to the door, staring up at the full moon. Hob wants to know if that long column of neck feels half as smooth as it looks, wants to feel that Adam's apple glide along his palm.

Morpheus speaks before Hob can. "So you were evaluating me then? Making sure I was fit for the job?"

"No. That wasn't it at all." Hob puts his hands up in surrender. "I am so sorry I let it go on that long. I just didn't want you to think of me differently. I didn't want you to suddenly see me as your boss instead of your friend."

"Friend?!" Morpheus growls. "You dare-"

Oh, oh no, fuck this reaction. "Yes. Yes I do." Hob steps up into his space, growls right back when they are almost chest to chest. Now he is right pissed. "I saw you tending to the other patrons. I saw over these past few weeks how you have started to treat me differently. And now it is all fucked because I just happen to sign your fucking paychecks. No matter that you are the most beautiful fucking thing I have ever seen, graceful and talented, and I just-"

"I quit."

Hob's anger drains in a rush, leaving him cold. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. I quit." Morpheus throws the butt of his cigarette down and crushes it with the toe of his boot while Hob just splutters. He is going to leave. Right now. This perfect creature is going to walk out of his life and--

Hob lets out an oof of air as he is grabbed by the lapels, turned, and shoved hard into the brick wall.

"There." A black denim-clad thigh slides between Hob's. "Now I don't work for you."

When Morpheus' lips descend on his it occurs to Hob that this might be the best reason to lose a good employee he could possibly come up with.

Thinking about human Dream as a bartender.

He’s quiet, stoic, which strangely adds character to the dramatics of his flair bartending. Each week he comes up with new cocktails- beautiful, colorful creations, each one unique but always delicious. He barely talks but will listen intently to any and every patron’s stories, soaking them up, the happy or sad or ridiculous drunken ramblings. 

Hob becomes a regular, always sitting right in front of the well so he can have a front row seat to every flipped bottle and color changing spirit. He tells the bartender all his best stories, considering it a victory any time he manages to get even the smallest reaction- a quirked eyebrow or a twitch of the lips. It takes ages for him to even learn Dream’s name (Dream listens, he doesn’t share) but he comes to think of him as a friend, even if he’s still working up the courage to ask if they could see each other when Dream’s not working (he knows better than to ask someone on a date while they’re on the clock, he’s not an animal).

(He doesn’t know it, but Dream has started trying to make drinks specifically for this particular regular, hoping to impress him, to make him smile. And if he indulges in the thought of knowing exactly what Hob’s mouth would taste like. Well. He makes drinks for himself, too.)

And Hob tells Dream all sorts of things about his life, but not everything, which makes it incredibly embarrassing when Johanna follows him to the bar one night and very loudly announces “Why the hell do you come here when you own a damn pub?” 

Dream snaps to stare at him, and none of Hob’s stories have gotten anywhere near a reaction like that, and his eyebrows are practically in his hairline, and Hob’s face is on fire, and he wants to strangle Johanna and then walk directly into the ocean. 

But before he can, Dream smirks, tilting his head toward Johanna but keeping his eyes locked on Hob.

“I’m just that good.”

Hob knows he’s staring, but Dream’s never looked at him like that before and maybe he’s not as crazy as he thought, and Johanna is making fake gagging noises, and then Dream is placing a drink in front of him.

Pulling himself together, Hob smiles and takes a sip, “So what’s this one called?”

Dream doesn’t miss a beat, “It’s called ‘Fuck Me Tonight’.”

Hob chokes on the drink.

[robinewe]

Shapeshifter

Prompt #21

Selkies-- Shapeshifters appearing as seals from Celtic & Norse mythology, with the ability to take their skin off and become human. Without their Skin, they cannot return to the water or shapeshift, and whoever holds their Skin holds claim over the creature (most often in the form of a marriage).

I ducked my head beneath the water and swam around the giant wooden ship, marveling at the size of it, a huge dark object obstructing the surface. I came up again on the far side, staring at the ship with wide eyes. I had seen ships from a distance, but never this close, and never in the dead of night, when it was completely silent, and the waters were unusually calm, skies clear and air crispy cold, moon shining bright. It was beautiful, and it let me see the ship in detail.

Well. I couldn’t see much beyond the side and the sails above the ship, not with the angle I was at from the water. And I wouldn’t catch a glimpse of a human from down here. If I could just… go up there… What wonders would await me? Maybe the deck was abandoned. Maybe, I could climb up, and take a peek around. If everyone was asleep. I couldn’t stop myself eyeing the thick, wide chain leading off the side where a three-pronged metal hook dangled heavily against the side. It creaked in the cold, and frost formed on the edges. My whiskers twitched.

I submerged myself and darted through the water a decent way in front of the ship. It was moving through the water at a steady, slow pace, moved by a water current without any wind, and I had to adjust for that. It was easy, I was faster.

I braced myself, and then shot upwards and out of the water, arching in a line parallel to the ship. I kept my eyes scanning the deck as I sailed through the air. I saw no movement, and saw no lights, save for one at the back end of the ship, where a human stood at the helm, hands firmly attached to the spoked wheel cast in an orange glow.

The splash as I returned to the water was minimal, my body darting through the surface like an arrow. I spiraled in a circle, watching the ship, considering what to do. The ship was plenty big enough for me to sneak around on the lower deck, in the shadows, without the man at the wheel seeing me. So long as I kept close to the shadows. The moon was quite illuminating. But humans’ eyes were worse than mine, and I could count on that.

Just a quick peek.

I crept in close to where the ship met the water, eyeing the anchor above me. I tensed and wiggled my back flipper, readying once more, and then launched myself up and out of the water. Midair, I transformed.

My skin and the fat beneath it seemed to melt off of my bones, revealing pale white, fresh flesh beneath. My old Skin, covered in pale grey fur decorated with rings, draped itself heavily over my back. Some of my newly freed black hair drifted around my newly formed, freshly human face. The shapeless skin of my old face covered my head like a hood.

I landed on the anchor and clutched at it with all four of my uncoordinated limbs, flailing around and eventually getting my legs to separate and help wrap around the bottom of the metal chain. One hand clutched at my fur, terrified that it might fall off and into the water. I couldn’t swim without it, it’d be very tricky to retrieve. The other spasmed until my grasping fingers caught a hold of the chain, already nearly numb with cold. It would take time for me to acclimate to all of my nerves.

I sat in the curve of one anchor prong, taking a breath with new small lungs. I let one pale leg dangle out over the water, clutching my fur tighter around myself. Without my body made for the water, I was thin as bone, and nearly hairless, besides the long, thick, grey hair from my head that could envelop my body in the absence of my Skin.

Alright. I peered up the chain, listening intently for any hint of movement above deck. Hearing nothing but the creaking of the metal, and the groaning of the ship, and the breeze catching in the sails, I began to ascend, slowly, hand over hand, foot over foot, keeping my head ducked low and my Skin tucked tight around my shoulders. My fingers and toes were well-suited for slipping between the links in the chains and holding on.

I pulled myself through where the chain went, through a small gap between the deck and the railing, and crouched down close to the ground, dripping.

The ship was much the same as shipwrecks I’d explored at the bottom of the sea, except much colder and much drier. The icy air on my skin felt so much different from actual ice on my fur, or even burying myself in the snow. I pulled my fur tighter around my shoulders, my hood further down over my head.

Then I crept along the wall to the other side of the deck, just underneath where the man was steering with his wheel. Besides the man, there was one thing noticeably different from the wrecks. Something was making the night air glow orange, flickering in and out, casting shadows, and I wanted a closer look.

I eyed the stairs. I couldn’t see a way that the human would not see me, if I went up to the deck he was on. But that’s where the orange was coming from.

I put my fingertips on the edge of the deck and stood on my tiptoes, stretching to peer over the ledge. Something creaked, and I froze.

“Who’s there?” the man above me called. I quickly snatched my fingers away. “Get back to bed, my shift ain’t near over yet!” he added, then trailed off into grumbles. I felt a thrill of excitement. A human had spoken to me! Had acknowledged my presence! It felt so dangerous, but I found myself grinning all the same.

I was unaware of the door I was pressed against, and unaware of the face watching me from the little window, wide-eyed and hungry.

The man at the helm was still calling out, “I know I heard ya! Unless it’s you, cap’n, but you sound awfully suspicious!” I slid to the side, my fur against the wood, back the way I had come. Then I paused. What would be the point of this, if I didn’t learn something new?

I found a pebble on the deck and tossed it towards the anchor. “What was that?” the man asked. He made his way to the port side of the ship, while I headed to the stairs on the starboard side. I tossed another pebble in front of the door I had not noticed, and as the man moved to investigate, scurried up onto the top deck.

I crouched low, but marveled at the view afforded by the new height. The ship was impressively large, and its complex network of sails were billowing as the wind began to pick up speed. I wondered how far we would travel before I dove back into the sea.

Then I returned my attention to finding the source of the orange glow. There, on the post by the steering wheel, was hanging an orange flicker behind glass. I moved towards it as if hypnotized. It was more than orange, it was yellow, and sometimes red, and white, and it seemed to dance like nothing I had ever seen before. It was more intense and erratic than water reflecting on the roof of a cave, the closest thing I could compare it to. More dangerous. More… alive, even.

I found myself close enough to reach out a finger and touch the glass holding it. I rested it there, but it quickly began to hurt, and I snatched my hand away in alarm. It didn’t seem to want to hurt me, though, as I watched it warily. It seemed like that was just its nature. Carefully, I tapped my fingertips against the glass. Still hot. It was an all-the-time thing.

“Careful with that, fire burns,” a voice said.

I spun around and found two men looking down at me, closer than I realized. One was the man I’d lured below, the other towered over us both and wore a thick leather coat and a large black hat. He was the one that had spoken, his voice deep and gravelly where the other man’s had been wobbly and uncertain.

I pointed to the flicker. “Fire?” I asked. My only association with the word “burn” was the pain offered by an electric eel, or some poisons. And now, this��� Fire.

The man chuckled. “Yes, that’s called fire.”

“You’re from the water, ain'tcha?” the first man asked, jabbing a finger at me. “That’s why you’re not wearing any clothes.”

“Besides this,” the tall man murmured, reaching out and pinching my hood.

I jerked away. I should have run and thrown myself overboard then, or even sooner. Instead I asked, “What is the fire doing? Is it alive?” I couldn’t tell. A human would surely know. If it was alive, then it was trapped in this glass container. It was dancing, and it wanted to be free. But it was also dangerous. But maybe it wasn’t actually alive, and served only as a tool for these humans.

“Curious one, aren’t you?” The tall man asked. “Aren’t you cold? I can tell you all about fire and how it works, down in my cabin.”

“Is there another fire, in your cabin?” I asked. My feet nervously edged towards the side of the ship, even while my mouth betrayed me, kept asking questions, and my mind wouldn’t let me give this opportunity up and leave.

“Yes,” he grinned, exposing his teeth. They were so blunt. Even in this form, some of mine remained deadly sharp, for my own protection. They didn’t impress, or scare me. But their teeth are not what make humans dangerous.

I glanced back and forth between the two men, most of my face still obscured by my hood. The taller man seemed cool, confident, holding his head high, unbothered. The smaller man looked nervous, unsure of what he was supposed to do. I wondered how often men encountered creatures, beings of magic, anything like myself. I could not tell if I was in danger or not.

I huffed. “I have already overstayed my welcome.” I dashed for the side of the deck and dove over the railing. The tall man lunged after me and managed to get a hold on my Skin, ripping it from my shoulders, making my limbs flail wildly as I tumbled over the side and into the freezing water.

I fell unconscious, drowning rapidly without the form of a seal. I unexpectedly awoke shortly thereafter, pulled out of the water by coarse ropes surrounding my body before I was dropped onto the wooden deck of the ship. I coughed, expelling sea water from my lungs, tears streaming down my face as I gaped like a fish and writhed on the deck. A hand gripped the back of my neck and dragged me into a kneeling position, forcing my head down as I gradually vomited the last of the water and gained control over my breathing once more.

I knelt trembling on the deck, breathing shallowly but steadily, and the hand released its grip. “Alright, about that fire.” The tall man’s voice said above me. I looked up and saw him still grinning with an excited gleam in his eyes, my pelt tossed over his shoulder. He gathered the ropes in his hands and hoisted me back up into the air, walking me across the deck and into the door I’d unknowingly cowered in front of, in full view of its occupant.

The man called over his shoulder, “Back to your station, man! Not a word of this to anyone!”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n!” the other man called back. Ah. We entered the captain’s quarters and the door shut behind us. I was dumped onto the ground, the rope netting still tied above me as I feebly struggled against it.

The captain was looking at me, crouched down at my eye level, and I went still, staring back at him. I was suddenly acutely aware of his scrutiny. Most of my body was obscured by my long grey hair that had fallen out of my hood, draped over my legs now and tangled in the ropes as well.

“What do you want with me?” I asked.

“What would you imagine I want with you?” he asked, giving nothing away.

I growled. “My pelt, clearly.”

He looked at it on his shoulder, and stroked it with a hand, tracing the black circles patterned in the fur. I could feel it, as if I was still wearing my Skin. I shuddered, and clutched my arms around myself. He stopped, and returned his gaze to me. “It is certainly a marvel. As are you. And if I am familiar with the rules,” he stood up, turning his back on me to place the Skin in a chest. “If I own the Skin, I own the Selkie.” He attached a heavy lock to the handle of the chest, turning a key inside and tucking it into his vest. He looked back at me. “You are mine.”

[weeklyreadings]

Week 39

A Bone to Pick (With Myself) by @quietlemonhush ♥️

Rated E. 5k. Sirius x Sirius.

That stupid fucking veil.

Sirius would be kicking himself the rest of eternity, standing close enough to that thing to fall through, and at Bellatrix’s hands, no less. The rage at leaving Remus–at leaving Harry–was unbearable. He fought it as he fell, clawing up towards the rippling veil above him, and he would’ve gone on like that, flailing and fighting and mourning and breaking, if he didn’t get distracted by the sight of himself.

Light in August by @newsom

Rated E. 21k. Wolfstar

Summer, 1977. With the full moon approaching, Sirius heads up to the Lupins' countryside cottage to make himself useful. Or to make a complete and utter arse out of himself, because really, that's all he can seem to do around Remus these days.

illicit affairs By @dykesiriusblack

Rated E. 8k. Wolfstar

They shouldn't. But they do.

Casanova of Gryffindor Tower by Moonystar_394

Not Rated. 16k. Wolfstar

In sixth year, Sirius Black had two major realizations.

First and foremost, Sirius was utterly, irrevocably and in an almost excruciatingly embarrassing way head over heels for his best friend.

Secondly, his best friend was kind of a slut.

Scripted and Revised By @sliebman10

Rated E. 24k. Wolfstar

After Remus's screenplay gets rejected again, Mary introduces him to the up and coming director, Sirius Black, who is looking for a new project. Sirius reads the script and is enthusiastic about making this project happen. Remus is excited for this opportunity to jump start his career. And they are both quite taken with each other.

Pleading the Major Fifth by @krethes

Rated E. 8k. Wolfstar

It’s not his fault, Sirius reasons with himself. He’s been good. He’s been patient . He’s done his waiting! It’s not his fault, he decides, when he has to grip himself through his trousers to keep from leaking into them. He can be good. He can be patient. He can wait. It’s not his fault, he knows, but it is his problem. His very real, very hard, very painful problem.

Remus is in a new suit.

Rough Seas (and Hard Sails) by @heartofspells

Rated E. 10k. Wolfstar

Remus is after a story. Sirius is after Remus. Both coincide with a yacht.

All Over Again by @aqua-myosotis

Rated E. 35k. Drarry

Ten years on and after 10 months of falling in and out of bed on a regular basis, they still barely talked. New Year's Eve was supposed to be a time for new beginnings. A time for big revelations and starting the year as you meant to go on. For moving onwards and upwards... It most definitely is not supposed to end with a countdown from ten, and an empty bed.

A story from the perspectives of Harry and Draco, as they try to wade through the tangles of emotions being love can throw at you.

a convergence of inks By @thebooktopus

Rated E. 21k. Drarry

It's taken two years, but Draco has finally perfected a replacement for Wolfsbane. He is overjoyed when Lavender, his initial test subject, reports her transformation as less painful, less stressful, and easier to recover from. Despite these obvious improvements, the request for a Ministry trial of the new formula goes poorly when a disgruntled director cannot see past Draco’s last name.

Enter Harry, with whom Draco has been sharing a house and the responsibility of raising Teddy Lupin for the past several years. Harry has been living as a bit of a recluse, running his tattoo studio and generally avoiding the wizarding world as a rule.

A rule he's willing to break... for Draco.

[whaleofatjme1920]

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not - Chapter 1

[Eyeless Jack X GN!Reader AFAB]

[Warnings: Like, everything. Gore, language, it gets graphic at the end.]

[AN: The EJ X Reader fic I talked about earlier couldn't be done in one chapter. So, I'm expanding it into what will probably be my first book. However, due to the nature of the content, only the "safe" chapters will be posted here. The book will be linked.]

[Word Count: 1645]

If you could control the world like a deity, the first thing you would do is will the sun to never rise again. That sickly yellow ball of hot gas millions of miles away is the antithesis of everything you’ve ever loved and will find favor in. When you see it, you know that the one you love won’t be coming back until it’s swallowed up by the horizon after it’s run its long course. You’re tired of waiting for it to die, and in your dreams as you cruise through the day, you pretend it does not exist.

You view yourself as a pained lover, the one that waits and waits for someone who cannot exist unless the stars and moon align just perfectly. You’re content when he’s there and hurt when he’s not, and all you can think about is his touch, his words, and how his voice swirls sickly sweet in your head. It permeates all of your other thoughts rendering you damn near inconsolable when he’s not present, and it pains you. It pains you that he can’t be in your arms unless it’s under the cover of night.

You met him six months ago, and goodness was he beautiful.

You awoke in a cold sweat, the feeling of your heart racing in your chest not offering you any respite as you shot up. The heel of your palm lifted to rub at your eyes as you attempted to see through the darkness. Your eyes squinted. Summer was at its end, that much was apparent. The beginnings of a cold autumn chill tingled up and down your spine as you struggled to make sense of the shadows leering at you. Your eyes glanced over to the window. When on earth did you leave that open? The curtains were blowing slightly from the breeze that carried on the dark night air, leaving you cold in your bed.

You pulled a small face and mentally chided yourself for leaving it ajar. You stretched slightly and then swung your legs over the side of your bed, letting the sparse moonlight that drifted from the holes in the clouds guide your steps. You found your footing and stood. The feeling of being watched grew strongly, glaring like the brights of an oncoming car. Attempting to not give into your mind’s foolish paranoia, you took a step.

Before you could even rest that step on the ground again, a large, clawed hand snaked over your mouth and pulled you backwards. Your body smacked into something hard, the scent of iron filling your nose alongside graphite and citrus.

“Stop moving,” he says, his voice dark and low. His claws dig into your flesh, not hard enough to make you bleed, but enough for you to stay still lest you get hurt by him. You can feel his warmth breath on the back of your neck.

You feel tears welling in your eyes as your fight or flight fails you. All you can do is freeze. Your breathing is quick, deep and labored. “Please,” you whisper. It’s muffled as his hand holds you tighter. “Don’t hurt me.”

The thing holding you laughs, deeply. It thunders like the storms in the summer and crackles quicker than lightning. He moves slightly, the sheets shifting alongside the mattress due to his weight before he pushes you back onto the mattress.

And you see it, or rather, its mask. Through the light of the moon, you can see that it’s the deepest sapphire, vaguely resembling a face and carved from wood. There are no discernible features except for two pools of black. No pupils, and yet they bore into your soul.

You want to scream, you want to flail about and get this creature off of you when he’s got you caught like a deer in headlights. You feel frozen, almost as cold as the dropping temperature of the night as it wanes on. Your hands make a weak attempt to shove him off, but he only laughs deeper.

He maneuvers his body so he’s practically straddling you. He’s a great looming beast gazing at you like you’re his first meal in eons. “Stop crying,” he says cruelly from behind his mask. He leans back on your body, pinning your legs with his weight before he removes his other hand from your side. He collects your wrists in his grasp before holding them high above your head. He leans his masked face down to yours, your own nose pressing against it.

You thickly gulp and struggle against him.

“Don’t scream,” he says. “If you do, I’ll tear your arms from their sockets.” His voice has dipped even deeper, the slight twinge of an Eastern European accent slipping into his venomous words. There’s no sense of joking from him. He’s promised worse and kept them. There are no empty promises from him.

Fear floods your system, spiraling through your nerves and effectively shooting them dead. But, you nod all the same. When his hand leaves your mouth, you begin to suck in deep breaths of air. It tastes vaguely of the iron he so strongly smells of, and your stomach reels.

The thing holding you down sneers from behind his mask. “Don’t you dare throw up on me,” he hisses.

You bite your tongue and hold your mouth shut, praying that whatever is in your stomach doesn’t make its grand reappearance anytime soon. You shake your head frantically, “of course not..! I would never,” you begin to babble almost incomprehensibly, the tears are blurring your vision. Goodness, you’d always assumed that when faced with a situation like this, you’d fight and scream, not let yourself be as meek as you are now. You’re almost disappointed with yourself.

He doesn’t let go of your wrists. Instead, he grips you tighter. This time, his nails dig into your smooth skin. He draws blood. Another deep chuckle escapes his lips before he reaches down to the hem of your shirt. He’s got long, black talons. They trace the soft flesh of your covered midriff before they hook under your shirt.

You get the sense his gaze has flicked back up to look at your glistening eyes. “Gods,” he breathes out as he begins to pull your shirt up, “you’re so pretty when you cry.”

Your eyes widen to the size of dinner plates as he retracts his hand from your open flesh, and reaches up to his mask. You watch as he pushes it up, revealing a sharp set of just yellowed teeth. They’re like knives - how do they fit comfortably in his mouth? There’s rows of them, and they all glisten in the moonlight. Whatever hopes he was human and you could appeal to him fly out the window.

You begin to struggle again.

His grinning lips pull down into a frown. “No,” he tsks, “none of that.” His taloned thumb presses to the general area of your appendix before he pushes it in.

You scream. It rips from the back of your throat, sending your back arching and even hotter tears welling in your eyes as he pushes the claw into the bloody opening further. You stomach feels like it’s on fire as he twists it slightly, the blood that sprays from your now gaping wound. “Stop!” You cry out as you ball your hands into fists. Your own nails are digging into the meat of your palms as more tears cascade down your cheeks.

He takes his thumb from the punctured hole in your lower abdomen before trading his thumb for his index finger. He traces the area before giggling like a small child. “And what if I..?” He slips the tip of his claw into the hole he’s left from his thumb before dragging it down towards himself, watching as your skin splits like land masses on tectonic plates. Yellow fat begins to spill from the wound.

Your head begins to spin. Your body is heating up past what should be allowed. You’re screaming your throat raw as he begins to push your wound open. You’re screaming, begging, pleading for him to stop. Curses escape your lips as you struggle to get him off of you. You wriggle against him, but the searing pain from your now gaping wound makes you screech in pain.

Blood is soaking the sheets, and pours from your body like a gushing fountain. You’re starting to hyperventilate. Paired with the physical pain of him craving your lower half apart, the world begins to skin. “What the fuck are you doing..?” You rasp out through the thick agony of your throbbing wound.

He takes his fingers from your weeping flesh and pops them into his mouth.

You swear you can hear him purring as his long tongue slips over his digits.

“Sit back and enjoy it,” he responds with a smirk, finally lifting the rest of his mask. The crimson from your body smudges over the still blue of his mask before he tosses it across your room.

You feel like you’re about to pass out as you stare at his features. Ashy grey skin and chapped lips followed by silvery specks that look like stars - a piece of the cosmos that have decided to take up residence on his face. And then you focus on his eyes, or rather, the lack of. Deep, cavernous holes that lead into his skull begin to drop with black acid. The droplets that fall onto your skin burn you, making you cry more and louder.

“You’re a fucking monster,” you manage to hiss out as he shoves his clawed fingers back into the wound. You writhe in pain as he stretches it further, the sound of your skin breaking apart making your already weak stomach tumble.

He laughs, deep, slow, and mocking. “You don’t even know the meaning of that word.”

[thefools-journey]

So. Some of you may be wondering why we haven’t written a whole ton about the secondaries or what have you. Here’s the reason: we were waiting for them to end before we really dug into the problems we were noticing. We felt that it was only fair to wait for the routes to finish so that we had an understanding of the writers’ vision. Who knew, we thought, maybe they would see the problems themselves and course correct, maybe they are building to something we can’t quite see yet and these issues will have actual payoff, maybe-

In light of Muriel and Lucio’s endings, and the general mess that has dominated Portia’s route for a year plus now, we are breaking our silence. We are actually going to talk about this shit show.

The fandom at large has talked about a bunch of issues with the secondaries but for me, the cardinal sin, the thing that really all the issues lead back to, is this: the writers lost sight of the tarot themes which so strongly defined and held together the primary routes. Let me explain.

The primary routes each center around three thematic cores:

The Love Interest’s Major Arcana and its Reversed/Upright meanings

The MC’s Fool’s Journey, both how it can go right and how it can go wrong

A question about the MC’s identity and their relationship to said identity

Asra’s route asks: Who was the MC? How does the MC navigate a past they cannot and will not remember? What do they owe a past they cannot remember? How do they handle the revelations of what Asra, Nadia, Julian, etc did? How do you right the past? Can you?

Nadia’s route asks: Who is the MC? The MC has no past. Are they the Fool only? Are they actually the same person they were? How can they tell? Who are they, really? Are they an imposter? No one can answer these questions for them.

Julian’s route asks: Who will the MC become? How does the MC see their future? Is there anything worth fighting for for that future? What will become of them and their loved ones? 

Now, if you notice, these themes are expertly woven throughout the primaries. Asra’s past dominates his route, Nadia is also missing memories and trying to construct her identity both with her family and with Vesuvia, and Julian’s fear of the future drives his flailing for control. Asra has to learn to take a broader view of his actions to get his Upright Ending, Nadia has to learn to trust herself and those around her for hers, and Julian has to learn how to let go for his. These lessons are the issues their cards stand for. The primaries are so dang elegant and delicate in their handlings of theme it is honestly awe-inspiring.

Thematically, the secondary routes have completely lost their hearts. First of all, the MC does not have strong, core questions which need to be answered. They just don’t. I suppose the writers did not want to retread old territory (which is weird considering how tightly bound the primaries are; it really tricks you into thinking you’re living the same events but from different angles depending on your route) but they did not replace the old with anything new. Muriel’s route is, on the surface, about discovering and owning his past, the good and the bad. Why not tie MC’s self-discovery to that story? Or they could have taken the angle that Muriel’s route is about convincing him to be present and active in the world while MC builds an identity for themself outside of Asra, the shop, and the memories they cannot retrieve. Why not tie the investigation themes running through Portia’s early route back to MC and their past? Portia has the unique angle of being as in the dark as MC about all of this, why not discover the past together? And for goodness’ sake, Lucio has no future when his route begins, why not tie that to his need for growth, responsibility, and MC’s own future between the Fool, the Devil, or something mortal and in between?

Secondly, the routes lost their tarot backbone. We have a primer on how to get specific endings for each LI and it still holds, but the writers did not follow through on the thematic coherence of each secondary. The Hermit is looking for something, be it perspective, insight, a solution to a problem, whatever. The key here is that the Hermit must find or learn what they are searching for, this thing must change their understanding of the world, and finally, they must bring this lesson back to the world from which they retreated. Can someone please enlighten me as what exactly Muriel learns then teaches the world around him? Nothing Muriel learns from Morga, MC, or even the Hermit ties back into anything. The Devil warns that you are out of control and exerting a lot of manipulative, destructive behavior on the world around you. It asks you to take responsibility for yourself and your actions. So can someone tell me why Lucio’s route actively avoids any interaction or reflection on two of Lucio’s biggest victims: Muriel and Julian? Why does the route only try to make amends with the “easier” of his victims in the cast? The Star is first and foremost the card of clarity, the light at the end of the tunnel. Perseverance, if you will. Yet Portia’s route has been the muddiest of the trio; the writers drop the investigation aspect of her route in favor just handing her and MC information they could have easily found and muddying the waters with Tasya (she blows up the palace but it’s all okay bc she has a secret daughter Julian never thought to bring up or mention) and the complete removal of the Devil as antagonist. 

So that leaves just the Fool’s Journey trying to hold this stool up with only one leg. And well...it doesn’t go well. At best, the secondary route books pay the barest surface level homage to the themes of the individual cards. At worst, they ignore the cards completely. Muriel's Moon book has nothing to do with illusions or delusions or lies or even an Alice in the Looking Glass upside down world. Portia's back half is a complete and utter mess, starting with her Temperance book being so badly mangled that Muriel's aftermath book does it better. Lucio's route too bungles the Tower and the Star. There just isn't enough here to carry the routes alone.

Add to the core loss the loss of intertextuality. The primary routes are very good, even great but they too do have their moments and mistakes. What helps strengthen them when the cores stumble is how the trio is woven together. Things you learn in Asra's route can inform the way you play Nadia's, for example. Julian's route informs what is going on in Asra's route and slots some missing puzzle pieces together. Nadia's route tells you of the power struggles she is facing and informs the other two routes' handling of Julian and his trial. On and on, the three routes support each other because they are built out of the same basic plot beats, just tackled in very different ways. Now, the writers are allowed to try and write whatever they want. They apparently wanted to be more experimental and less tied down to an overarching plot with the three secondaries. Okay, fine, they are allowed to do that. The problem is that they sacrificed one of the key strengths of the primary trio and didn't replace said strength with anything else. They also, on some level, harmed the very premise of the game, which is that only the player's choices and route selected change the overall plot. Instead of feeling like legitimate possibilities or offshoots of the same timeline/plot, the secondaries feel almost like Arcana AUs. The secondaries throw out all relations to the primaries and each other as quickly as possible and for what? 

It is probably the height of arrogance to suggest fixes for works whose behind the scenes I do not know. At the same time, some small, obvious changes could have salvaged Muriel and maybe Lucio's endings (rip Portia). Instead of having the Hermit appear as a disappointing cameo, why not have him say something cryptic to Muriel, then have MC start trying to seal the Devil. Then let Muriel use his forget me mark to cloak MC and hide them from the Devil's attacks. Protecting MC by hiding them from Lucio, keeping him focused on Muriel, seems to me a simple third solution between Muriel's desire to run and his desire to never fight again. It lets him stand up to Lucio and let him have it while holding onto who Muriel has become. The Reversed End would have MC try to draw Lucio's attention at some point, disrupting the sealing, and eventually leading to Muriel killing the Devil. With Lucio's Upright End, I just have to ask: why doesn't MC fully claim the power of the Fool instead of the Devil? We don't need the other Arcana involved in this fight; we have three routes that demonstrate that. Just have MC pull Scout into the conflict, then have Lucio tell MC he believes in them, then add his power to the mix. You got yourself a full Fool who leaves Scout guarding the realm until they and Lucio's mortal bodies fail and they return to the realm to be together forever. Boom, you're done, you can even add some ambiguous lines so that players can decide how happy their MC is with this arrangement, send me the check.

Here is the bottom line. Our group is full of aroace, and several combinations therein, individuals. We are the last group who should have gotten into a dating sim of all things. But the Arcana did something with the primaries that was special; they wrote a compelling plot with dazzling lore, complex characters, and strong themes wrapped up in a dating sim bow. The writers know better and we know they know better. I do not know what happened with the secondaries, especially around books 10-11, which is where minor issues slowly start spiraling into major ones, but it is clear that Nix Hydra needed some more planning before they released these routes. Hopefully they will learn.

TL;DR: Nix Hydra fired their tarot consultants about eighteen months ago and it has wrecked their secondary routes until they were just embarrassments. They never intended for the secondary routes to even exist and once they had to make them, they scrambled and threw out everything that made the primaries work.

- Mod Telos

[yanderecrazysie]

Hii Bestie !!

I wondering if I could request the Yandere Alphabet for Bokuto if you haven’t done that already.

💜

HEY BESTIE! I'd love to! Bokuto reminds me so much of an overeager puppy- it's precious-

Bokuto Koutarou (Haikyuu) -The Yandere Alphabet

🦉🦉🦉🦉🦉🦉🦉🦉🦉🦉🦉🦉🦉🦉🦉🦉🦉🦉

Warnings: yandere themes, slight mentions of marking and spanking

A is for Affection: How do they show their affection for their darling? How often do they show it? 💖 Bokuto is the epitome of affectionate. This boy wants to cuddle, kiss, hold hands, WHATEVER he can do 24/7. 💖 Although he'll want to cuddle against you and hold you bone-crushingly close, this boy can also get a little rough. His kisses can be kind of bruising and he'll want to mark up your neck a lot. B is for Blood: How messy are they willing to get for their darling? Why? 🔪 Although I can picture Bokuto being willing to fight anyone who wants to hurt you or take you away, I actually can't see him trying to kill anyone. He's pretty sure he's the best of the best, so it's not like any of those other guys can steal you away from HIM! C is for Care or Cruelty: How would they treat their darling when they kidnap them? Would they mock them? 💔 Bokuto wouldn't mock you. In fact, he'd just be over the MOON about having you with him. You'd be smothered in kisses and crushed in his hugs. He's not going to want to make you feel bad! 💔 Bokuto is the BEST at taking care of you! He knows everything you love and he's willing to get/do ANYTHING just for you! D is for Delusion: How delusional are they when it comes to their darling? Do they believe their darling loves them? 💭 Bokuto is very, very delusional. Like, this boy sees a perfect future with you and he has no doubts that you're both going to get there soon. 💭 He's like the greatest??? You couldn't turn HIM down! He's the amazing ace- Akaashi thinks he's great so you do too! Right? Of course! E is for Expose: How much of their heart do they bear to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling? How much time will it take to trust them? 💧 Bokuto doesn't shut up about his feelings. Going into emo mode? Check. Whining about how much he needs your attention? Check. Letting you know just how much he adores you? Check. 💧 They talk about being an open book but Bokuto is a book you'd want to CLOSE after a while. Like seriously- he. Won't. Shut. Up. F is for Fight: How would they react if their darling fought back? 👊 Cue "kicked-puppy" noise. He's going to stare up at you with wide, watering eyes. You've gotta be completely heartless if you don't feel the TINIEST bit of guilt when you see his heartbroken expression. 👊 "I-it's okay (Y/n), I forgive you, I love you, please don't fight me, please..." he's all but begging you, even after you stop fighting. He's clinging to you and sobbing into your shirt. 👊 Your flailing fists and feet aren't actually going to do any damage to that buff man but just the idea of fighting against him leaves tons of emotional scars in your wake. G is for Guilt: What would it take for them to feel guilty about their actions? Or do they feel guilty from the start? 😔 Bokuto feels bad that he went to the extremes. He KNOWS it's so so so wrong... but it feels so so so right. He LOVES you and that's the best thing, right? That makes up for everything, right? 😔 He won't ever regret his love for you though. If he has you in the end it'll be worth everything and more! No regrets, WOOO! H is for Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them? 🔥 Bokuto can be a little... well... his emotions are extreme and can flip quickly. So if he's angry enough, you could get hurt. Like, he's not going to seriously injure you, but he'll be rough. You'll be shaking in your shoes for sure. I is for Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling? 👩‍❤️‍👨 If Bokuto has his way, you'll be his pretty little wife and mother of a bunch of his runts. This boy will want at LEAST 3 kids. Like I picture him being that "cool dad" that roughhouses with his little boys and carries them on his back and just jokes around with them. He's practically a giant kid himself sometimes. J is for Jealousy: How easily do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope? 💢 Bokuto gets jealous if your attention is taken away from him. Platonically, romantically, whatever. If someone's

taking your attention and it's not him, he's gonna be PISSED. 💢 Suddenly, Bokuto is 10x needier than he's ever been. He's trying to catch your gaze, interrupting your conversation, clinging to you, etc. 💢 I mean, this boy will get jealous of a video game or TV show or book you're invested in. Not just humans. Animals too... Your attention should be solely on him, ya know! K is for Kidnap: How would they go about kidnapping their darling? How much do they plan it out? 🔒 Bokuto doesn't plan- it just kind of happens. He knew he wanted to take you away from all those attention hogs (ironic) and keep you with him and him only, but he didn't really THINK about it. It just kinda happened. 🔒 Okay, but seriously, I think he might even be more surprised than you when he kidnaps you. Like this guy's just kinda like "WOAHHH This isn't a dream? I actually did this? HEY HEY HEY" L is for Love Letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling? 💌 One moment you're living your normal life, the next moment there's Fukurodani's ace cooing at you and you forgot to say your last goodbyes to that normal life you'll never see again. 💌 I don't think Bokuto knows how to court, to be blunt about it. Like, Akaashi might try to give him some pointers ("You're overwhelming her." "Give her room to breathe." "Try never saying that again. Ever." "Stop, you're crushing her.") but Bokuto's pretty sure he's got this in the bag. M is for Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they acted before? 🎭 Bokuto's emotions are so over the map that no one's going to really tell that he's kind of losing it. Akaashi might be able to tell, but no one else will notice a difference. 🎭 Other than his overwhelming happiness and affection for you. I mean, you'd have to be blind and deaf to not realize Bokuto has a huge crush on you. He's not even remotely subtle. N is for Naughty: How would they punish their darling? 🚓 Bokuto might try to isolate you a bit but if you make him angry- like really piss him off- I think he'd literally just bend you over his lap and spank you. Like, maybe that's weird, but I can really picture him trying to brat-tame you a bit. O is for Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling? What rights can be earned with time and trust? 📜 Although Bokuto's kind of overbearing and suffocating, as long as you're in his line of sight and, preferably, being touched by him, you can do whatever you want. Which... isn't a lot when he's hanging on you 24/7. P is for Patience: How patient are they with their darling? 🕊️ Patience is not one of Bokuto's virtues, unfortunately. If you take too long in the bathroom, he'll come bursting through the door. Like, this boy can't stand a full 5 minutes away from you. Having privacy is not realistic, so don't get your hopes up. Q is for Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on? 🏃‍♀️ If you die Bokuto will go into emo mode for the rest of his life. He will be completely broken without you. He's so lost without you. You know that story where the dog waited by his owner's grave for the rest of his life? That's Bokuto. 🏃‍♀️ "Escape"? Yeah, no. Bokuto gets it, you wanted a little freedom, but it's time to come home, okay? You've already had more than enough time to yourself, so he'll come find you. And once he does, you're sure as hell never leaving again. R is for Rage: How do they act when angry? How do they calm down? 👿 "Explosive rage" is the best way to describe Bokuto's anger. You CANNOT calm him down, so it's best to book it and barricade yourself in a room until he cools down. 👿 If he's mad enough, he could hurt you, so stay the fuck away from him. He'll be throwing and breaking things and just generally yelling his head off. Again, barricade yourself in a room, it's honestly your only hope. S is for Soulmate: What made them fall in love with their darling? How did they first meet? When did they realize they loved their darling? 💍 Bokuto truly is a

love-at-first-sight kind of guy, but he fell in love with you even more as he got to know you. You either met at one of his games or in some sort of shared class. I think that you would have stood out to him in a crowd. T is for Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves? 😭 Each tear falling down your face is another crack in Bokuto's heart. He really does want you to be happy and he can't understand why you aren't. His solution is to just hold you tight until you calm down, which may not help all that much... U is for Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

👌 Bokuto is already kind of different from the others in the way that he's not afraid to put you in your place and he has plans for the future that don't really require your cooperation. He's not changing his mind, no matter how strong your feelings are one way or the other.

👌 Not to mention, he's SUPER clingy. You can't pry him off of you. There's a strong possibility that you'll end up being very, very miserable with Bokuto. He loves you but he isn't willing to compromise or meet halfway on anything. His love is kind of selfish... more so than the average yandere.

V is for Visit: Would they allow anyone else to visit their darling? Do they trust their darling to talk to their loved ones (in person, on the phone, etc.) or not at all?

🧳 Akaashi will be over often. Like, I'm not even going to pretend like Bokuto will doubt his BFF. I really don't think Akaashi will be there to save you, unfortunately...

🧳 But Akaashi doesn't get to touch you. Sorry. You belong to Bokuto and, any attention you give Akaashi, you better give 10 times that to Bokuto.

W is for Weakness: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

❌ You're lucky enough if you can detangle yourself from Bokuto's grip for more than 5 minutes, but, if you do, you can use very few things against him anyways. He's nothing but determined.

❌ If you're delicate and careful about it, you may be able to take advantage of his emotions. Fake sadness to gain his pity or get him so happy that he'll be less likely to deny your requests.

X is for Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

🛐 He's a bit of a worshipper, but not the classic type. He ADORES you and thinks you're absolutely perfect but... he doesn't exactly put your needs above his own. Like I said, he's a bit selfish.

Y is for Yearning: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap? 😍 It depends on how receptive you are to him. If you're trying to distance yourself from him and keep your freedom (or you just aren't interested in him that way), he's going to snap FAST. You'll find yourself in his house before you can say "HEY HEY HEY". 😍 Otherwise, if you start dating him, it'll depend on if you realize the toxicity of your relationship. If you try to break up with him or loosen his suffocating grip, you're in the same boat as if you denied him in the first place. Z is for Zero Tolerance: What is the thing that always makes them snap? What things will they not allow their darling to do under any circumstances? 0️⃣ Leave him. If you deny his affection and love, he will not be happy at ALL. He wants to wrap you up in his arms and never let go. And he really doesn't care if you don't want that. 🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣 THAT TOOK SO LONG I'M SO SORRY- I feel like I portrayed him to be a little worse than he is- he really does love you!

[whileyoursleeping]

Here

Hello all, I wrote a lil oneshot post-canon for the season 4 finale. Shameless fluff. You’ve been warned. This has also been posted on AO3 - link HERE: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31520699

TW: Mentions of the shooting; mentions of PTSD.

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Buck wears socks to bed.

It’s disturbing in a way. Eddie doesn’t know anyone above the age of ten who still wears socks to bed – except, apparently, Buck.

Buck is also still sleeping on his couch.

Eddie’s been home for a week. He’s mastered the on-off motion of his sling for the shower, he’s sleeping okay – as okay as anyone can while being literally fucking shot for no good reason, and not even in Afghanistan, at that – and he’s not in significant amounts of pain, anymore. The meds have taken care of that, and he’s taking them dutifully, because he might not like them but Chris needs him. Chris needs him more a little stoned than he does bedridden from pain.

But it’s been a week, and Buck is still sleeping on his couch.

It’s not even comfortable. Buck’s not small enough to fit on there without cramping up. And Eddie just – kind of hasn’t told him to go home, and Buck just kind of isn’t going home, he’s more or less just ferrying his things back and forth between Eddie’s coffee table and his own apartment, studiously avoiding eye contact each time, as if Eddie is going to catch his eye and say – well, say what? “Go home? Thanks for taking care of my son and carrying my lifeless body to the fire truck and risking your fucking neck again to save my life and keeping a vigil – but go home?” Not fucking likely.

So he’s sleeping on Eddie’s couch. And Eddie’s not sure how to approach it – or if he even wants to approach it. Buck was scared. He said as much, and other people said as much, and Eddie remembers Buck picking him up and putting him in the ambulance. Fire truck? He doesn’t remember the details, he just – remembers Buck picking him up.

If he’s honest with himself – and he’s trying to be after that whole “follow your own heart” crap Carla pulled on him – he doesn’t particularly want Buck to leave. Buck saved his life, and Eddie feels weirdly safer with him here. It’s nice to have him around in the mornings – even if he looks tired. Even if Eddie’s couch has not been useable as a couch in over a week now.

He wanders into the living room that morning to find that Buck is already rubbing his eyes, sleepily, looking totally worn out and like he’d like to go back to sleep, but can’t. He sits when he hears Eddie enter – a dog standing at attention.

“Okay?” he checks worriedly.

Eddie smiles drowsily. “You know the pain meds keep me pleasantly high almost all day, right?”

“Yeah.” Buck doesn’t look soothed. “But you’re okay?”

“Yeah, Buck. I’m okay.” Eddie pats his shoulder on the way past, yawning. “Breakfast?”

“I’ll make pancakes.”

~*~

Buck is exhausted.

Eddie knows this because Eddie wakes up a lot at night and goes wandering. He does this because despite the pain pills, he’s just not moving enough to be tired, and his normal army sleep schedule never really left him. He’s like a fucked-up, traumatised meerkat – awake every two to three hours, patrolling the perimeter, looking for enemies.

Just so happens that his perimeter is the length of his hallway between Chris’s room and the couch, where Buck is decidedly not resting peacefully. His enemy, at the moment? The Roomba. Chris has stuck several dozen googly eyes to it and, at one point, had armed it with a butter knife. It’s mildly terrifying. Butter-knife-less at the moment – but terrifying. Eddie squints at it as he moves towards the kitchen.

(“Because it’s funny, Dad,” he’d giggled. “Maybe it’ll make Buck laugh.”

Buck had laughed, but in a strained, I’m-so-tired-I-want-to-cry kind of way. Eddie’s dreading coming off his pain pills for the pure fact that it’ll probably be him next. PTSD is a bitch.)

He was going to get water, but that requires moving through the living room. Buck is crashed out on the couch – his duffel is spilling over on the floor, his phone facedown on the coffee table. Eddie can see him relatively well with the street lights and moon lighting up the smallish living room – he doesn’t look like he’s sleeping peacefully. In fact, even as Eddie watches, Buck twitches.

He goes ramrod still, abruptly not thinking about his heavily-armed Roomba or meerkat analogies. He is suddenly, painfully, sober – the pain pills feel burned out of him as he watches Buck twist, his fingers twitching and then curling into the duvet, face scrunched.

A nightmare. Buck is having a nightmare. Eddie’s not high anymore. The pills are no longer filling his head with cotton and fuzz – every single sense feels alight like it hasn’t in two weeks, tuned in to Buck, struggling, on the couch.

What’s he supposed to do? What can he do?

He watches, alarmed, as Buck gasps and jerks – his stupid socked feet flail and kick into the arm of the couch, and the duvet goes flying back. Buck’s upright, at least semi-upright, on one elbow, panting and scrabbling against the thin, shitty mattress – for what? Purchase? A hand to hold? A memory to cling to, something to soothe him through the remainder of the night?

The room’s quiet. Eddie’s frozen, unsure of what to do. Is this what it was like after the tsunami?

After a moment, Buck makes a sound – a whimper, or a cry, or some awful hybrid of the two – and collapses back, rolls onto his side, away from the TV, and curls up, not bothering to adjust the duvet. His feet – he’s wearing white socks tonight – flex, toes clenching.

Buck drags the corner of the duvet up over his face. The next noise he makes is very clearly a quiet sob and Eddie – oh, he cannot stand this. He’s not going to watch it any longer.

It’s not like he doesn’t know Buck hasn’t been sleeping, at least not well. He did the first night – eleven hours, actually – but every night after that has been plagued with nightmares. He’s heard Buck rustling around or pacing and watched him try to put on a brave face every morning at breakfast, and he can’t do it anymore.

His feet cross the floorboards. He sits on the edge of the couch – Buck flinches – and puts his free hand on Buck’s shoulder, rubs gently.

Buck sniffles. He doesn’t move for a long time, keeps the duvet up over his face. He doesn’t make any more noises, but his shoulders shake, and Eddie remembers – I kinda lost it when I told him you got shot. I’m sorry, I should’ve held it together.

Eddie wonders when anyone reasonably expected Buck to hold it together.

Buck moves suddenly – his fingers grip at Eddie’s, and they’re shaking. He holds on and – well, if Buck wants to hold hands, it’s not like they haven’t done it before. Eddie held his hand for an hour or more while they were getting him out from under the ladder truck two years ago. Eddie’s happy to hold his hand.

He doesn’t know how to help. Buck’s still sniffling, his face angled away from Eddie’s. He’s happy to take the comfort, but not happy to let Eddie know he’s crying, apparently.

They sit like that for a while. Eddie’s helpless and almost angry for it. It’s not like he hasn’t suffered – he has. It’s going to take therapy, physical and mental, to get past this. But Buck – Buck watched it happen. Watched him almost die. Buck’s not stoned and he wasn’t shot and there’s no buffer between him and the memories. For the first time, Eddie is angry at the team – how has no one noticed? How has no one cared?

Buck drags a hand across his eyes. “Sorry,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “Bet you’re sick of me crying.”

“What?” Eddie asks. “No, I – I am, but not for the reason you’re thinking.”

Buck nods into the pillow. His legs flex – he has to be cold; the air is definitely cool and Buck hates cold weather with a passion. He’s wearing socks and boxers and a hoodie and all of that thoroughly confuses Eddie – he wants to arrange the duvet properly but he can’t with Buck clinging to his hand. That’s fine too.

He thinks about it for a moment. Problem – Buck is sad; Buck is scared. Buck is clearly traumatised. Nobody appears to have addressed that last one.

Solution. Well, Chris seems to help a lot. But Chris is asleep, and Eddie can’t really properly address the trauma thing.

But he can maybe make Buck feel less alone.

He removes his hand from Buck’s shoulder, clumsily adjusts the duvet, and then climbs under it, adjusting until his side is pressed to Buck’s back and he can feel Buck trembling horribly against him. His legs twitch; his socks brush Eddie’s bare feet.

“Why do you wear socks to bed?” Eddie asks.

There’s a long pause. Then, “That’s what you want to know?”

“Sure.”

“I… don’t know?”

Eddie makes a face at the ceiling. Buck hasn’t rolled over. “You don’t know?” he asks dubiously. “Are your feet cold?”

“Not particularly.”

“Do you wear socks to bed in summer?”

“I… sort of do it all year round – Eddie, what’re you doing?”

He doesn’t know, truthfully, beyond trying to cheer Buck up. Although, maybe he just – needs to cry? Sometimes when Chris is upset he just needs to cry. No solutions, just… comfort.

He pushes against Buck’s back more, and, because he can’t reach Buck’s hands like this, links their ankles together. Buck shifts – but only to stop the knobs of their bones rubbing uncomfortably. He sighs, shakily, but when breath finally leaves his lungs entirely, he almost feels steadier.

“Thanks, Eddie,” he whispers.

~*~

Buck rolls during the night, a soft breath leaving him. Eddie’s only aware of it because it ghosts across his throat – Buck’s rolled towards him.

The mattress shifts. Buck is deliciously warm against Eddie’s side – his socked feet brush against Eddie’s shins, a few times, almost deliberately. Buck sighs again, settles.

The air goes still. Eddie can smell something new and different, faintly – the couch bed smells like Buck, like the woody, fresh scent of his aftershave and a little spicy and like Buck’s own shampoo. There’s something indefinable about it – something that’s just how Buck smells.

Eddie yawns. His jaw cracks. His shoulder, at the moment, doesn’t hurt, even when he shifts and looks for Buck’s hand, clumsily – he finds it, pulls it up until he can link their fingers together and rest their joined palms on his own belly. He squeezes. Are you there?

A second passes before Buck squeezes back. His palms are rough and hot and his thumb nervous where it brushes Eddie’s knuckles.

Yes. I’m here.

Eddie yawns. He goes back to sleep.

~*~

The sunlight punching through the living room window wakes him up.

He blinks. He’s on his back still – his feet are cold. When he turns his head to the side, the first thing he sees is Buck’s face – buried somewhere in the vicinity of Eddie’s shoulder, eyes closed, mouth slightly open.

He’s drooling. It’s a little cute. Eddie raises his head – his shoulder twinges unhappily – and looks to the end of the couch.

Yep. Buck’s still wearing socks. His legs are curled up, almost like he’s trying to keep warm, and he’s more or less pressed to Eddie’s side, but not quite on top of him.

Eddie’s struck with the sudden though that if his shoulder wasn’t injured, he’d roll over – put an arm over Buck and let Buck hide as long as he needed to. He can’t do that right now, and the impulse is frightening if only because it doesn’t come from the so-called brotherly love he’s continued to tell himself is what he feels for Buck.

It’s not so frightening he can’t deal with it though. Quietly. And he might not be able to hug Buck right now – but Buck slept through till morning, the first time in more than a week in all likelihood. He even looks peaceful.

If Eddie does pursue this – whatever this is, this little, fledgling, hopeful thing in his chest – he can only hope that Buck reciprocates. It’ll take time, of course. Plenty of it. But – Buck is already Chris’s other parent in the ways that matter and he’s kept bedside vigils and they slept here, last night, holding hands for the majority of it. Is there a lot left to think about? Eddie doesn’t think so.

He raises his head again. Looks down.

Except those socks, maybe. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to that.

[musingsofvenus]

jacob black headcanons + observations nobody asked me for

We all have to remember that Jacob abruptly changed from a physically clumsy/ awkward taco into a graceful panther. Like he literally went from stumbling around just like Bella to perfectly sure and agile movements overnight. WILD. My point– physically, he’s different. But his personality should have remained in tact????

Around girls, he’s shy. Very little experience dating and is super awkward. He is not smooth at all. I have no idea why/how he became weirdly arrogant in Eclipse, but if that was SM trying to pass it off as him being a teenager or blame it on lack of experience, she did it wrong lol

He really spent a bunch of Eclipse chanting, “I know you feel something more for me Bella” when he, being the observant little softie that he is, would’ve known he didn’t have a chance in New Moon, especially once Bella chose to go to Italy. 

It would make more sense if he were hurt, maybe a little jealous, but eventually gets over it because ultimately Bella will always be his best friend.

Absolute nonsense that he forced himself on Bella in Eclipse. I rebuke all of that. This is the same guy that said, “I like heavy metal but music makes you uncomfortable so we won’t play music”? The very same one who said, “I won’t say your ex’s name because it causes you debilitating pain”?? And the same guy who was like, “Motorcycles and cliff diving is stupid but you need it so I’ll help you out”??? ELECTRIC FUCKING CHAIR! Jacob is ALL about consent and comfort and warmth! Do you even know your characters SM? Fuck off. 

I think the only thing SM got right was him being straightforward about his feelings (Jacob has a big mouth, a motor mouth this guy– he literally gave out tribe secrets like candy and casually confessed his love to Bella like nbd), but he’s forthcoming with his positive feelings, not negative ones.

Jacob does NOT want to push his problems onto other people, so he withholds his negative feelings. He would act upset but never articulate what got him that way, not unless it’s coaxed out of him

He wants to help other people. And he feels extra embarrassed/ out of his element when the feelings stick is passed to him. He would much rather deal with your problems instead. 

Jacob is everybody’s rock. I don’t think he realized how much of a rock Bella was to him until she went to Italy, and boy did that sting. And when she didn’t need his support anymore, but he still very much needed hers (and didn’t want to admit it), he felt like he was left flailing on his own again

He puts on this calm “Sam-like” face to cover up how he’s feeling, which, post transformation, is pretty much sad/angry all the time. But he covers it up, not actually dealing with it.

When Jacob needs to focus his mind, he needs to keep his hands busy. That’s how he tunes out. He fixes up things in his garage, tinkering away at cars and motorcycles. He whittles wood, and likely has a collection of figurines all over the place

When his older sisters made plans to leave the house for good, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything to stop them. He didn’t want them to be miserable, but he didn’t know any better either. So he was left to take care of his disabled father on his own. He was THIRTEEN. Goodbye childhood

Imagine Jacob trying to get his superstitious father to go to his doctor appointments and Billy absolutely refusing because he will NOT step foot in an establishment where a Cullen works. Imagine the frustration. Imagine Jacob watching his father’s condition getting worse because of his stubborn beliefs in their tribe’s stories.

You cannot tell me that Jacob’s interest in cars wasn’t sparked because of his mother’s death. I’m sure Billy probably wanted the car taken away, but Jacob insisted they kept it. 

And when he was old enough, and learned more about cars, he finally took that stupid car apart piece by piece so he could pinpoint the cause of the accident himself. From then on he swore to only build and drive his own cars, because he doesn’t trust other mechanics

[oya-noya04-archived]

wooo a new blog, could i please request hc’s for tendō, tsuki, tanaka and kuroo cuddling their shy and soft s/o?? (it’s her first time cuddling and she’s kinda jittery?) thank youssss💗

cuddling with their shy s/o

characters : tendou, tsukishima, tanaka, kuroo

gender neutral reader

a/n : whOoo new blog 😌 ty ty for requesting and I hope you enjoy it!🥺💞

gif credit : tendou/kuroo - @/houseofkarasuno

tsukki - @/akaashiisbae | tanaka - @/kaheyama

»»————-　➴　————-««

satori tendou :

- you’re over at his house for the first time and honestly?? things are going suuuper well

- y’all watched movies, ate a shiT ton of junk food, tendou gossiped abt his team but you didn’t hear that from me 😗

- eventually, it’s time to sleep🤩 buT like,,

- the whole time u were with him y’all didn’t cuddle or anything,,

- tendou tried sO hard omg 😭 he tried “accidentally brushing your hands together” in an attempt to get some cuddles in but uh-

- you swiped your hand away to get more popcorn 😔💔

- buT this time, tendou was determined 😼

- you on the other hand😳 were panicking and nervous as fuCK

- “we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” tendou’s voice interrupted the million of thoughts running through your head.

- you snapped your head up and meet his kind eyes, a change from his usually mischievous ones.

- “n-no! it’s okay!” you pause, thinking about what to say next, “i’m fine, it’s okay.”

- his lids lowered and his gaze went from being soft into ones that were teasing.

- “if you say so,” and with that he wraps his long arm around your torso, he pulls you in close, lips coming dangerously close to the crook of your neck.

- you feel his soft breath on your skin and your cheeks immediately warm up in embarrassment.

- you tense up and tendou looks at you.

- “you okay?” although he meant it, he couldn’t help the slight mischief in his voice.

- “mhm,” you say not trusting your voice enough, a few moments later you relax.

- tendou notices the change of behaviour and takes this time to rub small circles on your stomach.

- “you’re really cute like this you know?” he mumbles into your neck making you squeak out loud.

- “satoriiii” you whine and hide your flustered self into the pillows as tendou’s laugh fills the air around you.

kei tsukishima

- this bitch- 🙄 ugh this bitch is so annoying

- at times, he understands your shyness and will do his best to make the situation as comfortable as possible

- bUT AT OTHER TIMES

- this bitch will take advantage of how shy you are

- yk, say things like :

- “oh? you’re flustered already?”

- “c’mon y/n, I didn’t tease you that bad,”

- “hm.. cute”

- SJDHJDDJ TSUKKI PLEASE-

- y’all cannot tell me tsukishima kei wouldnt go all out to make his s/o a shy mess

- uGh and he’s have his stupid smirk too 🙄

- oH BUT CUDDLING?? this is where things change 😈

- not rlly-

- tsukki’ll be a bit flustered at first ngl

- but seeing as you’re already nervous abt being close to him? yeahh he’ll be fine

- tsukishima laughed at himself at the sigh of you nervously fidgeting with your hands as you sat on the edge of the bed.

- “are you scared of me or something?” he blurts out making you jolt, lifting your head up you glance at him. a smirk was plastered on his face that was soon replaced with a sigh.

- “you can come closer, you know? we’ve been dating for a while now,” he rolls his eyes teasingly. you muster up the courage to slip under the covers with him.

- good! you were beside him... except you’re as still as a rock, worrying that you’re breath would cause too much of a ruckus.

- sighing once more, tsukishima pulls you in closer leaning in to give a light peck on your forehead.

- “kei I-“

- “hush, you looked cold.”

- sUREEE TSUKKI

- you catch the hint and drop your shoulders, burying your head into his chest.

- you fall silent as you realize what was going on right now.

- “ahh, getting shy now?” kei’s voice comes through and you whine against his chest, hitting it lightly.

- “shushhh, leave me alone,” you huff as he hums contently and rubs your back, soothing you to sleep.

ryunosuke tanaka :

- first off,, mans loves your shyness

- it fills him with sM joy and pride

- you’re also sOoO fucking adorabe?? like?? it’s not fair???

- ugh,, when you get too shy around new ppl and cling onto his sleeve? 🥺🥺

- like, he’s so proud that he can make you feel safe, that was his sleeve that you were holding onto, you’re hiding behind his back when you get flustered

- truly adorable

- he loves showing you off, but obviously you may not be comfortable with that

- so he brings up cuddling sessions in private

- “so.. what do you think?” he tilts his head, giving you a warm smile, obviously a huge change from when he’s with his team.

- excitement fills your veins, or was it nervousness? honestly at this point it’s both-

- “of course!-“ he quickly adds, “we don’t have to do anything that doesn’t make you comfortable!” he flails his arms around wildly, as if that would help comfort you.

- “but if you want..”

- you take a moment to think about it, of course you’d want to cuddle with your boyfriend! you’d be lying if you said you’ve never daydreamnt about being wrapped in his arms

- you nod, and he starts by situating you on top of his lap. your cheeks flush at the position and tanaka smirks.

- “don’t tell me you’re getting shy already,” he smiles and you turn away, hiding your warm cheeks from him.

- “sorry I can’t help it,” you reply truthfully, he shifts into a more comfortable position before smiling at you.

- “don’t apologize babe, I like when you’re shy, it’s cute.”

- “ryu!” you squeal, cheeks heating up as tanaka laughs kissing your temple lightly, rubbing the apple of your cheek with his thumb.

- “adorable.”

- “you’re going to be the death of me.”

tetsuro kuroo :

- son of a bitc-

- is pretty used to shy ppl because he hangs out with kenma a lot so he knows the drill

- but that does noT stop him from teasing the hell out of you

- loves to tease you, but will also know when to help you through your shyness

- will try and help you come out of your shell but won’t over do it

- he doesn’t rlly care abt PDA, if you’re into he’s into it, if you’re not he’s not 🤷‍♀️

- buT will show you off once in a blue moon,, specifically when a dude is too close to you 🙃

- you’re over at his house, he bring up the topic of PDA/cuddling

- you think about it for a bit before glancing up at him, his eyes are soft and kind

- unlike his usual cat eye ones

- he still has a predatory gaze on you, watching your every move, that part never changes

- you nod, and he picks you up, bringing you to his bed. he gently urges you to come closer to him, seeing as you pulled away as soon as you felt his sheets under you.

- “ahh getting shy, chibi-chan?” your boyfriend’s deep voice whispers in your ear, purposely leaning in closer to get a reaction out of you.

- you squirm, as kuroo laughs heartily at his successful attempt on flustering you. he wraps and arms around you, pulling you closer into his chest.

- you tense up at his actions, but his soothing and warm touch has your shoulders relaxing. eventually, your body loosens up.

- “you’re okay now? no longer shy?” kuroo teases and you slap his chest lightly, whining in embarrassment.

- “tetsu~ you’re so mean to me,” you huff, crossing your arms resembling a small child that had enough of the teasing.

- he laughs, but listens to your complaint to not to tease as much.