#i know people have their own issues that are so much more important than my stupid anxieties

[teaboot]

So brief update: im the financially abused kid.

I've been asking my mom to let me have access to my account for quite a while now and every time she says we'll do it later. And i asked her right now, she's not doing anything, and she says "you'll get it later, it doesn't change anything if you don't get it right this second" in that Tone that is very much not convincing me. So uhh

The repliers' fear of her using my money starts sounding more realistic 😬 or at least it's platant that she's allergic to letting me have an opinion and agency

I know yall have wanted me to go to the bank directly, i just thought that maybe i could convince her, and talking to strangers is very scary and i dont even know all the terms like what do i even say or demand or convince them with if i dont even know what the difference between a credit and a debit card is?

But it's monday tomorrow and i Could go to the bank. If i end up doing something she'll certainly me mad at me

Go to the bank. Absolutely go to the bank. If you have a rough estimate of how much SHOULD be in your account, compare off that. If it’s clear she’s been taking money out, ask if you can freeze it- if you can’t access your money anyways it shouldn’t slow your roll too badly. Then ask whoever you speak with first advice of where you can go from there.

If they aren’t helpful, come in another day to speak with a different employee, and if they suck too, you can make a full withdrawal and open an account somewhere else eventually.

If she’s draining your account, you can’t freeze it, and you don’t expect her to stop, I’d consider quitting your job until you’re old enough to secure your own private account in dependant of her access.

Don’t worry about not knowing enough. Banks work with the public- odds are any experienced employee will have worked with the elderly, folks with memory issues, young people like yourself, people with disabilities and people who also experience financial abuse. A good bank colleague in this context should be the financial equivalent to a librarian in some ways- if they don’t know something they should at least be able to direct you elsewhere that does.

Another important thing:

If you find she HAS been spending from your account, ask to see the spending history, and ask if they can find any connection to a credit card, or if you can find out if your name has been used to get one.

If your mother’s credit history isn’t great and she’s willing to steal or “”borrow without permission”” from you NOW, there’s valid reason to suspect she may attempt to get cards under your name. As a person with no credit history, your credit would be better than anyone who’s had derogatory claims in the past and- you know what, I’m over explaining. Just something to consider and to talk to a professional about.

If it’s more about control than theft or fraud, that’s still incredibly shitty and certainly financial abuse, but it’s more straightforward. You will age out of her complete control, and then you change your passwords and PIN number and keep her out of it.

So, summary: Go to bank. Bring ID, like a provincial ID (? Im not American and i dont know if you are) driver’s license, passport, school ID if they take that, bring a list of questions, bring your estimate of how much you should have, and if it’s low, ask about checking into your credit score or credit cards attached to it.

It sounds scary, but just be polite and up front about feeling out of your depth and things should go well.

It is a lot to be dealing with, though. I’m sorry it’s something you have going on. Rooting for you

[amostimprobabledream]

Leave the flotsam behind (Sir Crocodile x Reader)

Idk why I wrote this, except I was randomly thinking about how Crocodile seems like he's actually good at giving advice when he feels like it. I hope this is reasonably IC. https://archiveofourown.org/works/66540658

“Enough.”

The gruff command makes you jump with an undignified yelp, whipping around, your heart pounding in your chest. You nearly drop the files you’re holding, the papers fluttering as you scramble to keep hold of them.

For someone so huge, Sir Crocodile can be deceptively stealthy when it suits him.

“Oh, sir!” you say, pressing a hand to your chest as if you can physically force the frantic thumping of your heart to slow down. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were still here.”

“Obviously not.”

The droll reply is tinged with something you can’t quite decipher – resignation? Disappointment? Even though you’ve been working under Crocodile for a while now, he’s still a difficult man to read, inscrutable as his namesake.

“I’ll just finish filing these and get out of your hair, then.” You say with a breezy smile, trying to exude professionalism to compensate for your earlier lapse.

But instead of waving you off to do your work while he goes about his own, more important business like he usually does, Crocodile instead fixes you with a look.

“What my employees do in their own time is of no concern of mine.” He says, abruptly, and already there’s a but lingering in his words. “And quite frankly, I don’t care. But not when it begins to affect your work.”

You stare at Crocodile blankly, still holding the files in your hands.

“Huh?” you say, thinking back to what you’d been doing before he scared the shit out of you, but all you could recall was a loud, heavy sigh, which you’d been doing quite a lot lately. “I don’t-“

“Don’t think I haven’t heard you sighing and muttering to yourself for the past week or so.” He cuts through your confusions and deflections as surely as a swing from his hook. “Plus, you’ve been unfocused. Staring off into space when you should be focusing.”

Your throat tightens, as does your grip on the folder you’re holding. Somehow, he manages to make you feel even smaller than you usually do when he’s in the room.

“Oh? Has my work been unsatisfactory?” you ask, and perhaps your tone is a bit too tart for his liking, because Crocodile’s brow furrows.

“Not yet. But you’re distracted and distractions make people sloppy, and sloppiness leads to mistakes.” He says, reciting this as if it’s a mantra he’s had drilled into him alongside other basics like the alphabet. “So, out with it.”

You blink. That…isn’t the direction you were expecting this sudden and rather uncomfortable conversation to go – from his scolding, you were expecting a threat to get your shit together or him telling you he was going to dock your pay or some other admonishment. This is something else entirely.

“Out with-?”

“Whatever it is.” Crocodile confirms impatiently.

He takes a cigar out of a case of his seemingly never ending supply of them – you’ve gotten so used to your boss’s incessant smoking you don’t even cough when he does it anymore, unless of course he’s particularly vexed and makes a point of blowing it into your face to make your eyes water. He doesn’t just do it to you, and fortunately only once or twice thus far.

“And hurry up, I don’t have all evening.”

You can hardly believe what you’re hearing. Crocodile wants you to tell him about issues in your personal life? What’s next, was Doflamingo going to barge into your room and read you a bedtime story?

You drop your gaze, put on the spot and feeling rather like an ant under a magnifying glass. You’d never considered Crocodile might notice a change in your demeanour, but that was naïve of you. He's almost unsettlingly perceptive.

“It’s not- it’s just a stupid relationship thing.” You say, feeling heat crawl up the back of your neck and across your cheeks even admitting that much to him. “It’s not that important.”

Crocodile just flicks open his gold-plated lighter in response, putting it to the cigar in his mouth, the end of it burning bright like a cat’s eye in dark as he inhales.

“I’m waiting.” He says in a warning tone.

Okay, he’s serious. He’s not going to let you leave or fob him off until you explain yourself. Once your boss decides that he wants something, he clamps on and won’t let it go. It’s a quality you usually admire – when it’s not being turned on you, that is.

You nearly sigh again before you stop yourself, since it’s doing that that seems to have gotten you into this mess in the first place. You might as well take the path of least resistance, even though something about letting your professional mask not just slip, but fall off entirely so you can open up to your terrifying boss about something so…mundane…is petrifying.

“I just…” you say, swallowing as you try to gather your thoughts to articulate what’s been swirling around in your head for ages. “My p-partner and I have been arguing a lot lately.”

Partner? Where the hell did that come from? Now you’ve made it sound like you’re married or something. You’re not and you’re sure Crocodile is already aware of that, but saying ‘boyfriend’ sounded so…juvenile.

“Hmph. Is that it?” Crocodile says. “About what?”

You lean your hip against the sideboard, fingers twitching to pour yourself a glass of whisky, which might make this conversation easier. You don’t because you’d quite like to keep your hands and helping yourself to your boss’s fancy liquor seems like a poor way to do so.

“Well, lately…he’s been hinting that he doesn’t want to stay here anymore.” You say, and seeing the look on Crocodile’s face, you hasten to add, “But that’s not the case for me. I like working for Cross Guild, it’s the best paying job I’ve ever had. I don’t plan on going anywhere for the time being and I don’t know why he’s suddenly getting so restless when everything seems to be going well.”

As you speak, you think back to an argument you and your boyfriend were having a few days ago, about how you were coming home later. It couldn’t be helped – if you got extra work from Crocodile, telling him ‘no’ wasn’t really on the table. Something in you wanted to prove yourself to him, even though most of the time you weren’t even sure he knew you existed. But even if you did come home, it seemed like you were always coming back to the same thing.

“I don’t know, maybe it bothers him, now I’m the one making more than he is. He says he doesn’t like how hard I’m working, that I’m running myself ragged, but I don’t know…I get  that I’m not home as much as I used to be, but…”

Crocodile groans in what seems to be exasperation, or maybe he’s just resigned, spewing a stream of smoke as he tilts his head to the ceiling.

“Tch. I forgot how…dramatic young couples can be.”

You can feel the embarrassment in you swelling as he speaks, like a fungus thriving in a humid room. Why did you tell him all that?! Why didn’t you just, you know, lie and say you weren’t feeling well? He might have given you a day off to rest instead of mocking you for your stupid problems. You want the fancy carpet to rear up and drag you underground.

“At the end of the day, you have to decide on what you’re willing to compromise on.” Crocodile says, cigar gritted between his teeth. You’ve often wondered how he manages to talk so much with that thing constantly in his mouth without either accidentally dropping it or inhaling it. “And what principles you’re not willing to bend.”

You can only gape at him. Firstly the notion of Sir Crocodile, of all people, making concessions for anyone is a shocking notion in of itself, but secondly that he’s actually giving you advice on your silly little problems – good advice, at that.

He huffs at your look of stunned disbelief, slightly amused.

“Don’t look so shocked. You think I haven’t gone through crap like this before?”

“Well…” you say, licking your lips, trying to think of how to answer honestly but diplomatically. “You always seem so…certain of everything.”

He huffs, but less irritably than before. In fact, you think you even see the hint of a smirk flickering at the edges of his lips before he takes a long drag of his cigar.

“Nobody starts out in this damn world knowing everything, girl. That only comes from experience and time.”            

He taps ash off the end of his cigar, holding it between forefinger and middle finger.

“You want my advice, don’t keep going along with something just because it’s what you’ve always done. It may feel like a bigger risk to break things off and go it alone, but really, what are you missing out on if you do?”

You don’t answer, because there’s nothing you can really say to that. He’s right, and maybe you’ve been diving into work to hide from it. Crocodile takes your silence as assent and he continues on;

“There’s no point in dancing around someone else’s feelings, especially if they’re as fragile as that. Do you really want to put your stock in someone you can’t rely on? You’ll only grow to resent someone you keep making concessions for when they wouldn’t do the same for you.”

“How…did you-?” you stammer, wondering how he’s able to so accurately pinpoint what you’ve been feeling but unable to name.

“Like I said,” he interrupts with a wave of his hand, the jewels on the rings studding each finger winking at you in the ambient lighting of his office. “You have to decide if the things you want and the things the other person want align. And if they don’t…”

He shrugs, exhaling smoke from his nose. Somehow, he manages to make it look elegant.

He lets his unfinished sentence hang, because he doesn’t need to finish it-  you know he’s right and he knows you know. Perhaps you were just clinging onto the one thing that was familiar, working in such an environment as this one, you’re always teetering on the edge of danger. Having a relationship with an ordinary person was a peculiar sort of safety net, but now…perhaps you don’t need it anymore. Perhaps what was intended to keep you grounded is now in fact holding you back.

“Yeah…you’re right…” you say slowly, feeling strangely relieved, like a heavy coat has been removed from your shoulders and now you can finally stand up straight. Saying the words out loud is oddly liberating. “There’s no point in being pulled in two directions. I guess I’ve just been delaying the inevitable.”

Crocodile grunts, stubbing out his cigar, grinding it down in the heavy glass ashtray, the smouldering embers making the rings look like molten gold.

“Good. Now get out of here. I expect you back to work on Monday with your attention where it should be. Got it?”

“Got it.” You nod, but you’re smiling as you head out. You pause in the doorway, looking back at Crocodile. “Thanks, boss.”

“Go on, out.” He waves you off, a familiar gesture that makes you chuckle softly as you walk out, your footsteps lighter than they’ve been in weeks.

Crocodile watches you slip out the door, listening to your footsteps fading. With a scoff, he opens up his desk drawer and pours himself a drink – swilling the glass as he gazes across the room, a look of thoughtful contemplation on his face.

It was quite the fortuitous timing, catching you alone and distracted and citing poor work ethic as an excuse to prod things in the direction he wanted. Now he’d sown the seeds, all he had to do was sit back and wait for you to carry out the inevitable, and he could rest easy again.

Like he’d let a useful little employee like you go waltzing across the seas with some loser, when it was obvious that you’d do far better working under him, where you should be.

Crocodile took a sip of his red wine, which was just as expensive as everything else was in his office, and smirked to himself.

After all, victory was the perfect accompaniment to a good drink.

[didalexiabreakupwitholgaisback]

the best damn tiktok account out there spitting facts, supporting our indigenous and immigrant languages, and taking down bullfighting 👏👏👏 (and she's gay too. happy pride! 🥳)

"you don't really like spanish culture, you like your own (castilian) culture and those who submit to it."

source: linguriosa on tiktok

does it make sense that catalan, galician, and basque are spoken in institutional situations?

first, i'm not a political scientist. i don't understand politics at all. i do linguistic outreach, and this is more of a political issue than a linguistic one. nothing here is right or wrong from a scientific point of view, because what i'm about to say has nothing to do with science. i'm going to give my personal opinion, which is just as valid as any other.

so, many people say that since we have a common language, in this case spanish, why not use it for institutional meetings? that way, we can all understand each other and save money on interpreters and earpieces?

well, it's very easy to say there's a common language when you're monolingual in spanish. of course, the argument favors you; it's perfect. let's take an example. i'm from guadalajara, and speaking my language, i can interact in all the state institutions. but let's say you're from a village in galicia and you speak galician, regardless of whether you also speak spanish or not, that doesn't matter. your language is galician. your language isn't what your state says is your language. your language is what you speak with your parents, with your friends, on the street where you grew up. that's your language.

and you can't go to any institution in spain speaking your language. why do some people do it and others don't? if you force a galician speaker to speak spanish whenever you want, you don't really like spanish culture. you like our culture and those who submit to it. spanish culture is spanish, but at the same level, at the very same level, there are catalan, basque, galician, aranese, aragonese, asturian-leonese, and an increasing number of languages ​​spoken by immigrants to their children, who are as spanish as you and me. valuing spanish culture means valuing all of it.

yeah, but it's a waste of money? let's see, i repeat, i'm very, very uninformed about politics. but, without looking too hard, i've seen that, and i quote, they spend more than 4.3 million euros annually translating into spanish the way parliamentarians use basque, galician, catalan, and valencian.

personally, i think it's important to defend and protect the world's languages, and those of spain specifically represent my culture. and yes, 4.3 million is a lot of money. but do you know how much more than 4.3 million is?

40 million. i don't know much about math, but i think there's about 35 million difference between the two numbers. do you know what they invest that amount of money in? bullfighting. and, mind you, that 40 million figure still needs to include what the state, the autonomous regions, and indirect aid from the european union give. in fact, some sources say there are over 500 million in total. this definitely doesn't represent my culture. well, neither mine nor that of 78% of the population. what do you think about all this?

[reanimatedgh0ul]

this is their dynamic to me

[ozymoron]

reading posts that come across my dash and sitting for a minute to debate with my mental disorder if not reblogging this will mean a hell portal will open beneath my feet and i will suffer for eternity for my lack of action or if its all good and i can just scroll on by (its usually the hell portal thing)

[j-esbian]

so so so fucking tired of people who perceive working in an office as the only “”real”” jobs

[arolesbianism]

Thinking abt the second dream story featuring a third dream story I can't remember if I ever talked abt. I <3 body horror bonus points if its slow and agonizing

[minminambus]

Runs around!!! The pharmacy!!!!

[doubleedgemode]

@followers/whoever reads this: Please feel free to metaphorically wallop me if I say an absurd badly-reasoned take about the series, and also correct me. Thank you

[cursedcola]

Prompt: YOU ARE LIKE PAPA!!!! Aka. I'm seeing a trend. The boys are all literal carbon copies of their mommas (or one parent) at this point - so how do they feel having a child that’s THEIR spitting image? In which your genes didn’t even try. Physically...and personality. Masterlist: LinkedUP Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: House-Wardens Format: Headcannons+ imagine (Yes, I know I said I wouldn't be doing bullets anymore...but one more? It's mixed. Can't just cold turkey a gal) A/N: Do I want to make this a series?...I do not know. Maybe? It's really hard to write without the kids having names - and I'm just here like...can I use the names I want? I already made them up in a past post. Would that ruin the experience for people? I mean - it's my stuff and I can do what I want but hmmm.... Warning(?): For this to be, MC's the one who popped the kid out and has reproductive ability to house spawn. Kiddos are biological. Talk of pregnancy and general child-rearing. Use of mother and she/her pronouns to make my life a bit easier.

Riddle couldn't care if his child looked like him down to the last freckle on is butt. What mattered most in that delivery room was that the child came out healthy with no complications. He's the father that doesn't shy away from asking the doctor + midwives questions - perhaps too many, since you nearly toss him out of the delivery room for causing unneeded distress.

In all honesty? Had he studied medicine like his mother pushed - Riddle would've been the one delivering his own child. He copes with stress through control - so imagine THAT scenario.

After birth, he cares much more for the child's skills and manners rather than their appearance. Do they wash their hands before every meal? Say their please and thank you? Do they trust him enough to state their opinions - respectfully, not a potty mouth.

Riddle can and will make them lick a bar of soap if they utter a curse word before the age of 15.

How's their academic drive? Are they social? It's very important that they get along well with others from an early age. He wants them to have many friends.

He's so focused on their personality - aiming to raise a happy, confident, healthy child - that Riddle takes compliments on their physical attributes with a grain of salt until his hard work all those years child-rearing amass into... well, a second less intense version of himself.

He's adamant to ensure the child's homelife is better than what he had growing up. In a way, he misses much while worrying about other things. 10/10 an anxious father, but very doting despite being strict.

"Must I paint a heart on my cheek every day? Why not a crown, or something more fitting us? Like a rose?" his daughter huffed, yet went to paint a large red heart over her cheekbone regardless.

Just like her father, she'd received her invitation to Night Raven. The girl was expecting it, her certainty fueled by perfect grades and a strong aptitude for magic. She did not lack confidence.

Just like her father, she was assured to land in Heartslabyul. Already prepping her cheek-mark before the mirror made any verdict.

Just like her father, she aimed for the position of Housewarden before setting a single foot on campus.

Yet unlike her father, she held no issues in speaking her grievances. She bemoaned about packing, groveled at her mother's feet for her favorite biscuits before living off cafeteria meals, and surely had no reservations stealing Riddle's best fountain pen for her studies.

She keenly resembled a certain ginger that still calls the Rosehearts' household every day despite getting blue-screened by the answering machine.

That’s the last time Riddle allows you to chose the godfather of his child. Ace is an insufferable influence without that power to toss around.

Riddle sighed, plucking the brush from her fingers and pinning her V-shaped bangs back to examine her uniform. He flattens her lapels and redoes her necktie.

His necktie. Gods he’s raised a little thief.

For a moment, as he loops the tie-knot, he's a young boy calling the girl's mother over each morning to straighten her uniform. It's nostalgic, especially with how his daughter squirms under his appraisal.

Definetly her mother’s daughter, he thinks.

It is then that Riddle sees himself through her wide eyes - they're the same greyish blue that were hardened on his first day. His daughter's are much kinder, he notes. She'll easily find companions to eat her meals with.

Her cheeks are full with sweetness- his were too, but by genetic design rather than an extra treat here and there. To this day his baby-face lingers.

Her cheeks were 100% rounded with uncle Trey's spoiling. Not that Riddle could deny her when he'd eat just as much sweets while toiling over papers in his office. He remembers the familiar patter of feet slipping in, tiny hands pushing a cookie on his desk and coating it with crumbs.

He'd scold her to bring a plate next time, but take a break from work to enjoy the moment. Strict yet not domineering. A child that shares should be encouraged, at least that's what one of his many parenting manuals said.

She shared his button nose and tiny stature. Except she loved wearing matching Mary-Janes with her mother, while he wouldn't be caught without a heel at that age. She inherited his height but not his insecurity. Thank goodness.

Perhaps all those comments about his genetics weren't solely in regard to her magical prowess or ambitions. "....Father? Hellloooo?" she side-stepped to grab her bags, just as he reached to flatten her hair for the fifth time. His heart mellowed enough to not scold her impropriety.

"Ah - " Riddle coughed into his fist, " - apologies, little rose. I just never realized how much you look like -"

"You?” She cut in, “Yeah, psssssh. Mother says it at least once a day. About time you listened."

Riddle snorted, pinching between his brows. Yes, of course it was said. Although only now was he beginning to believe it.

"In appearances, yes. Yet your manners are as deplorable as ever."

Leona hopes his children are nothing like him. Which is impossible, since beastmen carry dominant traits when pitted against humans. He's not surprised in the slightest when his child has two little cub-ears atop their head, or that tiny chord barely passing as a tail. A ready snack he threatens to bite off when they misbehave.

At the very least, he hoped for your eyes. His piercing citrine was attractive, no doubt about that. He's not displeased to have them peer up at him from a bassinette each morning. Yet it is your eyes that carry a softness that this palace needs for him to get through his day.

Hey. At least there's no question of paternity. The joke falls flat with the midwives though. 'course it does.

Multiple times, by the way. For someone who claims to dislike loud children, Leona's genes are intent to sire three spitting images of himself.

In every which way - from their squeaky yawns after a mid-day siesta, to the magic flowing in their veins.

"Papa! Look what I learned how to do!"

Leona barely had time to look up from his endless pile of paperwork. The damn thing was near endless, and he'd missed three scheduled siestas just trying to get through the civil dispute filings. His brother spared no mercy in delegating the less 'enthusing' tasks to his 'smart, wise, people-smart' - pah - little brother.

He hated the sea of menial administrative filings.

His eldest daughter was well aware - she hated her homework just as much.

"A stampede's on it's way! Better freeze up before it's too late!"

Which is why she chose that moment to turn her beloved papa's woes to stone. Literally.

The moment her little fingers touched papyrus, the entire stack turned into solid rock. As did the blood in Leona's veins. Sparkly citrine eyes looked at him expectantly. Somewhere in the palace the lioness' tutor was undoubtly scouring to find her, take her back to magic theory, maybe try to cover this up from the other servants.

"You - OI! I needed those - urk, what else have you turned to stone?" he drops the pen in his hand and tries to move the now frozen stack into a drawer.

"Dammit Ki'faji...Where are your tutors? This is exactly why I told your mom combined lessons with Cheka would be a hassle," Leona grumbles and kicks from his desk, quick to check the hall outside. The kid was a bad influence - rambunctious as a twerp and even more riled up as a preteen.

Upon seeing no servants, guards, or even Cheka running up after his cousin - Leona's both relieved and angered.

Angered that his daughter was left alone. She probably escaped to avoid classwork, which he did too at that age but she deserved better. A proper education outside of solitude. One where she could hopefully grow up optimistic about this country and the people inside of it.

Relieved that no servant witnessed her Unique magic. They wouldn't understand. He can't bear the thought of them speaking of her like they did him.

Except it would be inevitable.

Then angered again, because in his hurry her little tail tucked between her legs. She hugged the side of his work desk with her hands fisted at the hem of her tunic. Her lips set in a scared pout, looking up at him past that untamed mane in her eyes. Worried.

"Papa...did I do something wrong?"

He wonders if this is what his father felt like. Being confronted with your own child, knowing that by cruel fate they'd have to face hardships and hatred for something out of their control.

Suffocating. His own throat felt full of sand. The leather on his hands too tight. She looked so much like him. Acted like him. That much Leona never once contested. Ki-Faji bemoaned to the skies that it was like time never passed, and he was stuck in a loop teaching the same unruly child.

It was funny, until it wasn't. "Nah, kiddo. Nothin' like that," he tried to keep his usual drawl. Unclench his fists. Forget about when he first slipped gloves on, "ya gotta warn me before a shock like that. So you finally got your magic tamed down, huh? Good job."

He shut the door and it set closed with a load thud. Leona might have an idea of what his father felt, but right now? She came first.

Ensuring she felt wanted, strong, and damn right accomplished - came first. Everything else later.

So with just a few strides, he swept her up over his shoulder and out from under that desk. She giggled and squawked about turning 'him' to stone if he made her go back to classes.

And Leona made no promises, but set her on the edge of his desk with 'threats' of turning her sweets to sand if she didn't at least try.

"With Unique Magic like that, you'll out-class your cousin before he even catches wind," and a bit of rivalry never hurt to keep the bloodline strong too.

Which judging by his daughter's immediate squirming to go and turn the first-prince to stone? She inherited Leona's competitive streak as well.

Unions between Merfolk and Humans are rare. Roughly 1/100 and that is giving benefit of the doubt. There were too many boundaries and complications. Prejudice born from history, the need for transfiguration, differing lifespans and culture.

One strong deterrent, perhaps the most impactful, is childrearing. The genetic output - while not impossible - is exceedingly unpredictable. Each species of merfolk reproduces differently, and their genetic dominance when put against a human's gene (especially if the mother is human) can cause complications. Capricious complications.

And as we all know - Azul is not fond of chance. Were his child to be born on land, yet have gills? Their lungs are so small, so new, they wouldn't make it to water in time. The same could be if they were born underwater and needed air.

One thing he is certain of, is that Octopi carry strong genetics. Literally. Should the child inherit his strength its kicks could do much more to your stomach than be a tickle to fawn over.

His mother wanted grandchildren, as did his great-grandmother did great grandchildren. Truth be told he wouldn't be opposed to raise one to leave his legacy to. Yet the Ashengrotto genes were strong with each descendent, so much that when he discovered you were with child? He couldn't be happy. Not truly - because too much was at risk and out of his control.

He prayed, which is not something Azul ever does, that the child would take after you. At each stage of development you were monitored down to the last detail, looking for any complications. Even the slightest hint of a tentacle or incompatibility.

Luckily, the child formed feet. Its first kick scared the hell out of him, but at most left you sore. Yet he wasn't able to relax. Not until you were taken care of in the best hospital on land, with a literal aquarium set up next to the bed just in case.

A medical marvel. That's what this child was.

Not a miracle. Not a blessing.

A medical marvel, and the most beautifully unpredictable thing that has ever happened to Azul in his entire life.

There was no clear picture of how his son might look at birth. He waited with bated breath, mentally running through every text he could find on mer-human unions. Banking on all the preparations He arranged and trying not to bite through his nails from the anxiety. The success rate was too low, but you insisted.

And he was most fortunate, because had you not then he wouldn't be holding the most cherished prize of his life.

The baby didn't cry, yet neither did he according to his mother. He was pale, no gills in sight but the wispy swirls of light gray on his head showed Azul's genes wouldn't rescind everything.

It was hidden from view for now, but there were signs of mixed blood on his son's skin. Plentiful black dots spotted his entire body, too dark to be freckles yet too light to be like Azul's outer skin in his mer-form. Time would only tell if Azul's genes really did overtake all, and if his son would look at the world with wet purple eyes.

Yet what struck Azul the most wasn't these obvious traits, ones he predicted at the very start of your pregnancy after endless nights of research.

It was that right below his son's lip, in the same spot as his father, was a small mole. That truly was by chance with no genetic influence.

He thumbed the little speck, marveling at something so small yet he didn't realize he wanted until it was there.

"You weren't lying, huh? Those are some strong genetics you carry."

Azul balked, just barely stopping himself from whipping around too quick. He turned to scold you for not sleeping, worry ebbing at him all over again.

Yet you rest your head against his shoulder, cheek pressed into his ruffled button down to sink against him. His heart still spun like it did as a teenager.

"Look at his little head of hair," you laughed, and he mutely did just that, "if he gets glasses, then I think my bloodline's finished. Might as well say you did mitosis"

That got him to scoff.

"Hardly," he said dismissively, but his lips pulled to smile regardless, "I don't recall giving him feet. That's all your doing."

"Well excuse me for not having eight legs."

"You are excused," he snickered, "Truly, he would be so much more productive with them."

Azul didn't mean that. Well, partially. Yes his son would get much more done with four sets of arms but with other costs.

You hadn't pressed, and he was grateful.

Kalim wants a large family. Not only because it is expected of him as the eldest Asim, but also because he is a family man. He adores his siblings and does his absolute best to give them all attention despite their large quantity.

He's the most doting husband, and is even more attentive as a parent. One thing he will do differently from his father is keeping his family 'small'. Four children minimum, six children maximum. Monogamous as well. As much as he loves all his siblings, the unspoken tensions are too much to endure. Kalim's also a one-spouse kind of guy, and the thought of sharing - while normal for someone of his status - is not for him. No amount of suggestion or pressure will change that. It is bad enough that his children will be subject to worries about their uncles, aunties, and cousins possibly harboring ill-will. Kalim is set on ensuring that they are part of a true family, one without such tensions, and that he can give them all the love they deserve.

Perhaps he feels guilt as the eldest. He received the most attention from his father as the heir, but he has siblings who barely know anything about their father aside from how he looks. He has step-mothers he has met only in formality, and as time went on there were strains between his siblings that he couldn't ignore. Not after taking his official seat.

Kalim will not be the same as his father. Regardless for his respect and love for the man - No matter what the future does to him, no matter if he lives a long life or one cut short. Kalim will make sure his spouse and children are cared for. He loves them more than anything on the planet.

Should he have a family, and the situation demand it? He'd give up his spot as heir in a heartbeat and move far out into the dunes with nothing but the clothes on his back. All for them to be happy and safe. That's the kind of dad he is.

"Baba?"

Kalim resisted the urge to giggle. His eldest son hated when Kalim acted too childlike, and he was already pushing the boy's patience. He was just past thirteen, his fourteenth birthday already planned for a week-long celebration in just a half-month. It would be the biggest banquet the Scaldings Sands had see since Kalim's wedding. His son would soon start officially training as the next head Asim, just like Kalim did at that age.

Yet it was never too early to celebrate one of the best days of Kalim's life. Which is exactly why Kalim hovered outside the boy's window at an hour long past their family's 'bedtime'. The carpet under his feet familiar as ever, as was his son's exhausted disapproval (we wonder which attendant he inherited 'that' look from).

"Come on! Let's go for a carpet ride. Just you and me tonight," Kalim gently pat the space next to him, his smile adamant, "we don't even have to tell your mother."

His son deadpanned. Even Kalim grimaced at that one.

"Okay! If we get caught, I'll take the hit for both of us. Please? It's such a lovely night out. Perfect for a flight~"

Normally it would be the son begging his father to sneak out, not the other way around. Yet Kalim's eldest was much more mature than he was at that age. Despite being his physical copy, those ruby reds never sparkled with excitement like his father's. They were aways fully concentrated - be it on his studies, his charity, or whomever captured his attention. There came a point when a rumor surfaced that he couldn't possibly be Kalims, yet they didn't reach far thanks to the physical resemblance.

The 'only' resemblance. Since the kid hadn't cracked a laugh since he was in diapers.

Something Kalim learned to accept, but never gave up trying.

His son observed from his bed, the boy's nose wrinkled with thought. No doubt wondering if he should tattle to his mom. He was a doting momma's boy, at least he had that in common with his father.

"Fine," he sighed heavily, and rolled out of bed like it was torture.

Kalim waited, holding the curtain open eagerly until his boy hopped the ledge and sat cross-legged on the carpet's far edge.

Then they were off. High above the city where no one would see. Kalim bobbed his head happily, pointing out buildings as if his son hadn't memorized the entire map of their homeland at the ripe age of five.

"Oh! And there's the restaurant I took your mother on our first date. She loves their Kanafeh -"

"Baba, I know. We have it for breakfast twice every week."

Kalim guided the carpet towards lower ground without a response - keeping air, sassy teenagers, and his messy turban from whacking him in the face.

Only two of those three succeeded.

"Why are we even out here? Shouldn't you worry more about your responsibilities? What if mother wakes to an empty bed, did you consider the consequences? Her worries?"

There came those older thoughts out of such a young mouth. Kalim couldn't help but slump inwards, although his smile still hung on. "You're turning fourteen soon," life will change, "Don't you want to enjoy life a bit more before starting your studies? Baba will understand, you know." he said, and perhaps that was not what his son expected to hear. The boy puffed up. His tanned skin rouging with lost composure.

"I'm not like you. Being al Asim means something to me. Maybe you'd understand if you were a proper sultan who took his job and family seriously! Rather than sneaking off in the night for merry rides on a flying carpet!"

Under the moonlight, his son's perfectly primmed white hair bounced in the wind. Even in sleep he managed to keep his appearance tidy. There were times it was like Kailm was looking in warped a mirror. Those rare moments when he caught the boy lapse, usually with his younger siblings or cousins. When he looked softer, his garnet eyes full of kindness rather than the contempt held in them right now.

Except in these moments too - he still saw a mirror. Just one he wished to avoid.

He too disliked his father's way of doing things, to a certain extent. That his own son felt similar wasn't a surprise. It did not lessen the sting regardless.

"Tifli..." Kalim started, and his son faltered at the endearment, "think what you want, but there is nothing that means more to me than our family."

And even if his son wouldn't admit to it - Kalim knew he saw the mirror too. Just because Kalim disliked his father's choices, didn't mean he did not love him.

He reached for his son without a second thought, pulling the boy down to roughly rub his cheek over his head.

and just like that, Kalim was back to being happy and his son back to groaning complaints - albeit less agitated, to Kalim's delight - and pretending he was much more mature than he was deep down. Kalim's opposite yet perfect little replica.

"Ahahaha!!! Look at you! Just wait until the council has to fight against that fire! I can't wait to bring you with me! "

"AGH LET ME GO!!! WHY DID I EVEN AGREE TO THIS?!"

Papa Vil - now that's one unexpected title to tack onto his Resume. Contrary to what everyone might believe of a superstar leading a life on the go, Vil is proud to be a father. His own raised him while juggling his goals, why should Vil's career deny him the joys of fatherhood?

No. When Vil's daughter is born, he is more than prepared to balance family and work. He locked in when taking a spouse, and is never one to be unprepared.

When you were pregnant, he announced a hiatus in his career just as you entered the third trimester. He can afford it. The public loves a family man. He has money money, and wasn't going to risk missing the birth of his first child while travelling.

Also. Supportive husband to the maximum. Considering you were carrying his child, the bare minimum he could do was be readily available as you go through the roughest stage. That baby had a college fund made and filled before she was even born.

Not that he'd just let her mooch - no child of his would grow up without ambition and practiced life skills. He was not 'aiming' to create a replica or enforce his standards...but she wouldn't lack drive. No Schoenheit - not even you - is going to go through life quietly.

His hiatus was meant to extend until she turned one. Old enough to enjoy life on the road, for you to recover, and give 3-5 years for him to work until she started school. Unlike him at that age, she wouldn't be chartered around as much for his work. Nope.

He already had it planned. She'd be enrolled in a private academy, you'd work as you liked in a good neighborhood, and he wouldn't take any contracts outside of the Shaftlands until she was a teenager. Balance. She would have every opportunity, proper support, and hopefully independence to grow outside of his shadow.

The last thing Vil wanted was for her to be influenced by his career - well, other than admiring his films and being that perfect little face to single out int the audience while at a talk-show or photoshoot.

Speaking of Schoenheit genetics and their blossoming careers - heavens above, he fell in love the moment she first opened her eyes. There were few curly blond ringlets that grew out at super speed as the months past, and she inherited his lavender eyes. Although on a baby they were more rounded, doe-like, and would most definitely take his sharp edge as she grew. Every time he booped her little nose, the little giggle that came was almost melodic.

Such a well behaved baby made a cameo in one of his largest projects to date. He took the role of an unruly ostracized duke, where the special effects makeup made him both enchanting yet horribly frightening to young children. His character gained his redemption through raising an orphan, and Vil's little girl was the only baby they could find who wouldn't cry when seeing her father act so heinous.

"Vil, everyone here is itching to know, is it true that the baby we see in 'Redemption of our Finest ' is your own daughter? There are rumors and speculations from those on set yet we'd love confirmation."

Vil shifts in his chair. The many cameras at all angles did little to deter his focus from the interview in progress. It was one of many, and the talk-host across from him looked very eager to get the first scoop on his latest hit success. He smiled to the camera with his eyes, pretending to be in thought for a moment. The questions were all pre-approved, after all.

"Your assumption and the rumors are all correct," he started, crossing his legs and folding his hands together in them, "unfortunately we struggled to find a child that would not cry when faced with my appearance. Poor little things - it is a struggle to rear child actors. Especially babies."

The reporter blinked, somehow still shocked despite knowing the already.

"And you're saying that your daughter is a cut above the rest?" they asked, and he tutted inwardly. The phrasing was poor, as always with these reporters.

"Yes," he gave them a moment's victory, "and no."

He didn't wait for further inquiry.

"My daughter is remarkable - she is my greatest production, a work of perfection alongside my beloved spouse. Yet this film is rated PG-13, and includes scenes not fit for young eyes. Babies act on instincts alone, and for the majority of this film my appearance was...ah, I so rarely say this, but I was unsightly."

His tone carried warning for them not to twist his words, and the message was received as they gestured for those behind the scenes to alter the backdrop.

"We could even argue your acting ability is that good! To make such a beautiful face and poised demeanor come off as cold." they said, and with the click of a button the screen behind them changed.

On it came a picture of an old, tattered bassinette left on the front stoop of a castle. The picture flicked to show inside, and in it was Vil's precious little girl. Special effects added some dirt on her cheeks, and they wrapped her in a tattered blanket for the scene. Yet despite their efforts to make the child look abandoned, Schoenheit genetics demanded the world see such an adorable baby for all she is.

The audience awed at the picture, even without a cue card. Vil himself took on a genuine lift to his practiced smile when seeing her.

"And just look at her folks! Such an adorable little baby! Can you really expect anything less from THE Vil Schoenheit and Eric Venue's heritage. An actor before she can even count! Your wife's genes didn't even try here, did they Vil?"

The crowd appears insatiable as the host scrolls through a series of photos. Some taken from the film, others from photoshoots and the occasional candid photo snuck by paparazzi. He knew better than to try and hide his family, but said nothing as they all made assumptions.

After all - he was beautiful, and his daughter was undoubtedly the most beloved baby in all of Twisted Wonderland. It was only natural and who was he to turn his nose when faced with one of the few facts these reporters have gotten right.

Although, he wasn't entirely content He laughed into his palm, unable to resist the chance and made direct eye-contact with one of the cameras. Knowing full well that you were watching somewhere back stage, lips likely puckered from being disrespected and just waiting for him to come sneak your family out before the public was dismissed.

"I'm afraid there is nothing to argue there. My genes are perfection, not to mention competitive," he smirked seductively at the camera, propping his chin in the palm of his hand, "but I'm not opposed if my wife would like a rematch for a chance to win the next battle."

And with that - he simultaneously spiked his popularity rating and soft-launched what would likely be a second replica coming to life soon.

Maybe.

If you didn't kill him for that stunt first.

Prodigies spawn prodigies. At least in this case.

Idia never pictured himself as a family man. Hells he never thought anyone would even look at him with anything other than disgust (minus that one ghost lady. He doesn’t like to talk about it) let alone marry him. Needless to say that he cannot decide if you are an idiot or if he has plot armor - because those are the only two reasons you could possibly ever agree to give up your entire life and move to STYX just to be with him.

**see Marriage series for settling THAT can of worms

Yet you do, and now he’s got not only his little brother but a whole ass spouse. He’s on cloud nine. Life cannot be letting him have such good luck. The RNG is rigged

Until he learns that you’re with child - and it all goes boom. Literally. Since not only does his daughter inherit his curse, his fiery flames that never tame themselves, and his spiked teeth that nip his lips way too many times for comfort -

She inherits his genius.

Raising a child in a contained base is a living nightmare.

Raising a child with a need to infiltrate the laboratories and experiment is hell. At least he kept to his room when tinkering as a kid. Idia’s daughter has his brains and your craftiness for going around undetected…and your habit of initiating dramatic events. Needless to say that she does NOT keep to your family’s apartment, does NOT submit to any security (he regrets teaching her how to decode the base padlocks), and very much enjoys making STYX ‘lively’….haha…yeah

No one has ever met such a happy Shroud. Excluding Ortho. He was a sweet type of happy. You spawned a menace.

But let’s not derail. Even if he didn’t want her per-say - Idia loves his daughter. His gut twisted seeing the Shroud curse start taking hold over such a tiny body. She was just a toddler and already burning through enough blot to tie her to this place. He knew the feeling of those youthful amber eyes looking at him for guidance. She looked so much like Ortho as a toddler, and as a child began to resemble him more with longer flames.

It was a constant battle every day. Balancing his work while also trying to do better - because his attitude sucked. He knew his attitude sucked. You warned him about using self-deprecative language and for the most part he did learn to reign it in.

Except old habits die hard, and deep down he still struggles to like himself. Seeing his daughter follow in his footsteps burns brutally, since she has all this potential and just like him she’ end up working for the family business without a choice. All because of these stupid flames and these stupid teeth and these stupid genetics and this STUPID curse -

“MAMAAAAAAAA!!!! DADDY’S BEING A BIG MEANIE AGAIN!!!”

Her shrill high-pitched cry carried throughout the apartment. Idia had just enough time to swipe the alarm system off before it processed. He wishes he could regret putting a system to detect and alert if she was distressed when alone here - but couldn’t. Even now. Since this was totally 100% his fault.

Dammit this kid has lungs of steel.

“Nonononononono - No Mama! No! Shhh shh shh shh!” He grapppled at her little shoulders with clammy hands, “Look! Look I’m not sad, see??? We have pretty hair! Super cool hair! Please please please stop crying -“

And then she did.

The tonal whiplash. The way this tiny manipulator just ceased all her tears, mouth clamping shut with an audible click. A literal child pulling out a handkerchief from her pocket to pat her eyes dry - like some twisted 60yr old swindler at a poker game who’s been training for this moment for decades.

He should have known.

Honestly. Idia can’t even bring himself to be mad. The amount of gaslighting it took to get this kid off his Ninswendo last week already put his best tricks to use.

He is the one who created this monster.

Just like her dad - his little girl was hyper aware of people. Including him, and picked up all his weaknesses. She knew damn well that he genuinely had reason to fear only two people - her momma and her grandmother. Both of which lecture him about being a good model. She knew that system was put in place, and to be good when no one was around to watch her. Not that she ever stayed quiet in their home with S.T.Y.X labs to infiltrate.

He just never thought the day would come, when her demon like tendencies would be used for something like this.

“Your her father, not her friend” his mother said.

“It’s bad enough you turned me into a living photocopier - don’t you dare get lenient with her at this age” you warned.

“That child scares me” he thought, and you agreed. Awful. Awful parents. You both mean it in the most loving way possible.

“Hwee hee hee! I’m glad you think so, daddy,” she grinned up at him all sweet-like, with those pointy little chompers ready to stake their claim. She snapped her teeth at him like a piranha, “hehe~ Mommy says our teeth are cool too. The pointies make eating steak easier - oh! Oh! Can we please have steak for dinner tonight? Please?? Pleaseeeeee?”

Something told him that should he say no, those distress detectors would be set off before he could catch them.

“U-uh…yeah, kiddo. Sure thing. Just go play and I’ll put an order in.”

He tried desperately to hide the quiver in his voice, but knew he failed. She skipped off to her bedroom much too happily - even if father’s were supposed to want their kids to be happy, that was too much - and whatever work remained for the evening didn’t seem important

As Idia slid up to one of the house control panels to check for instant-card delivery, he wondered how this became his life, and if this is how his parents felt having a prodigal spawn of the under-hells for a son.

No. He wasn’t that bad….was he? Did he even want to know at this point?

Boom

“DADDY!!! MY EXPERIMENT BLEW UP AND IS LEAKING RED GUNK!”

No. No. He really did not want to know. For the sake of whatever relationship he had with his parents.

He wants as many children as possible. The definition of that one clip of of the kid who wanted 100 children, so that they'd all have to be his friend. Not that Malleus would force his children to be his friends - well, it would be a plus surely - but he does want a large family to live his life beside.

He finds comfort in solitude, but comfort's close companion is loneliness. He wishes to never be partnered with that feeling. There was opposition. Union between the Briar Prince and a human? Unheard of. Not to mention the life-span difference. Not just between himself and you, but also for his children. Half-fae live long, but not as long as full-blooded fae. In time he will still come out alone, but he hopes to have many memories. Much love and warmth to take with him.

Yet this isn't meant to be sad - no, let us focus on the absolute joy he felt when his first child was born. A boy, his magic exceedingly strong despite his lineage. Even the elders were surprised at the magical prowess this child held. It was almost as if Malleus' nightly wishes for his child to be well, to be loved, to be healthy - taking every precaution to ensure you were well cared for during pregnancy, speaking blessings to your stomach in the dead of night - it all just manifested and out came the world's most perfect child.

A Draconia who would grow up with both parents. He'd be protected, nurtured, loved, and never ever alone. Some might call the King overbearing, making sure his spouse had a desk in his office and attending his meetings with a bright yellow baby sling over his chest. It definitely stood out against his royal attire but Malleus didn't mind.

In magic - there was also physical appearance. Being half-human, the child physically aged quicker than Malleus did in his youth. Yet he still retained the Draconia genes, with two curled scaly horns poking out above his forehead. He had no tail at birth, but around puberty many little scales began to poke their way through at his temple, back, wrists, and neck. No one predicted this since the Draconias have never reproduced with humans, but you tried to calm him with poorly convoluted jokes about ' fancy dragon acne'.

Yet according to Lilia, the boy looked like a near carbon-copy of Malleus once he sprouted up. His hair may have been kept shorter, slicked back, and he may carry himself entirely different from his father. Yet the look in his slitted-emerald eyes was exactly the same. His aura was the same.

And Malleus hadn't any idea how to handle that observation. Surely it was meant as a compliment. In the moment, he laughed and took it as one. Who wouldn't be prideful to see themselves in their child? Especially one so accomplished, growing into his scales with pride and eagerly stepping into his role as prince.

Except Malleus wouldn't, because the thought of his child sharing the feelings he had at that age? It unsettled him greatly. Perhaps one of his worst nightmares as a doting father.

“Father?”

Three sharp knocks echoed in Malleus’ study. He needn’t look up from his book, since the door opened with a thud without waiting for his approval.

Not that he minded - no, quite the contrary. He felt excitement building up at the first knock after all. There was only one person who it could be.

No one would dare impose on the Briar King during his downtime.

None had permission for such rudeness.

No one except his dear family, of course. Although as much as he wished for them to cling to his side and be a welcome reprise from his duties - Malleus was rarely afforded such a gift. His eldest son in particular conducted himself more as a knight or distant consultant than a loving son. Perhaps that came from leaving him in Sebek’s care - as much as his knight was ecstatic to become the first prince’s personal guard, his constant reverence to the elder briar ways likely left an impact on an impressionable child. Instead of bedtime stories, the little Draconia likely fell asleep to Sebek's long-winded lectures on the daily.

Back when he was a starry-eyed toddler, of course. Now the boy wouldn't dare let his guard down enough to sleep, even if his safety was guaranteed. Somehow despite Malleus taking every last precaution to rear a tranquil child, he raised a stickler instead.

“Hm? You look troubled, my son” Malleus met his eldest’s rare lack of decorum with amusement. He didn’t bother to hide a fanged smirk from him.

His son, who seemed to bristle in the doorway when under Malleus’ eye, clearly struggled to contain himself into the proper prince he was trying to be.

“Because I am troubled, father” he grit out, hands flexing at his sides. Sharp black fingernails pricking at his palms.

“Oh? And what seems to be the problem? You so rarely come to me with such matters” - to anyone who didn’t know the king, the sentence read as a bitter slight.

Yet it was merely a father sulking for his son’s attention, in his own prideful way.

“That’s precisely the issue,” his son huffed, “with all held respect, you cannot just drop in on my classes whenever you feel like it! It’s disruptive!”

Malleus merely turned the page in his book, “and whose fault is it that I had to resort to such measures?”

His question met a guilty conscience, and so he continued.

“What else am I to do? My child no longer behaves as my blood. He writes home giving stale reports as if he is one of my soldiers and bids his precious family far too few visits,” Malleus looks up from his ‘reading,’ and gestures to the uniform his son wears, “What else am I to do to see my precious son, other than visit his school? I was a student there once. Your headmaster wouldn’t dare to deny my entry.”

“Father - I understand your anger with my negligence but that is not an excuse for disrupting my classmates -“

“They looked quite please with my presence. I even supplemented material for your lecture -“

“They were scared beyond their wits! - And what of mother?! Surely she was against doing something so drastic! Think of our image! The King of Briar Valley cannot just casually drop his responsibilities whenever he so pleases.”

The boy’s composure finally cracked - and even for a half-blood, his power easily contorted the world around them if left unteathered.

Crackles of electricity buzzed across the study, flickering through a lit desk-lamp. As did the temperature lessen some degrees. Rather than be miffed by his son’s explosion, Malleus laughed in the face of it.

So this is how he must have looked during his moments of impulsivity. Hah.

“You’d be foolish to assume she didn’t try and come along. I thought to spare you her ire, as a mercy.”

At that, the lamp ceased it’s flickering to beam a steady light once again. The teen’s cheeks flushed a shameful color, so rare for one who prides himself more than any of his siblings.

"That was not necessary," he softened almost instantly. Even if she nearly committed the same 'crime' as Malleus, it seems favorites were at play.

"You know with certainty that it was."

A Draconia through and through. What was the term Lilia used? “Momma’s boy”? Considering that none disrespect the Queen - the King included - as her ire could strike the most sore spots of their family after all.

The boy pulled at his collar, out of arguments and simmered to displeasure rather than anger. He muttered an apology for losing his temper, and Malleus found himself wishing for the argument to continue just a bit longer.

After all, these were the times he felt most like a father, a husband, part of a family - rather than a king. He misses the early days when he was only the first three, before the council and other influences pushed his children to focus on responsibilities and their lineage.

“I’m sorry for not writing home…or visiting…I hadn’t thought it would trouble you. I simply - I thought it best to place distance between us.”

“Distance?” Malleus balked, “Distance from your family?”

He couldn’t understand why his child would want distance.

How could the boy he worked so hard to instill belonging within, whom he raised from egg to man, whom he would give up everything for - possibly say such a harrowing thing.

His own blood. His heart and soul. To spew such things in the face of ancestors who were bound to loneliness.

Whatever explanation for his manners didn’t matter so long as he was happy, but to intentionally want to be away from all Malleus thought worthwhile in life?

Never-mind. Malleus wanted the argument to cease. Indefinitely. And to tie himself to this desk for a decade or more.

“Yes, Father. Otherwise it is too difficult-“ he hesitated to continue, but one look at his father- whatever expression he might hold that couldn’t be contained despite his efforts - seemed to be the last push, “- being away. From my family. Leaving. I do not like it, but it is my duty. Coming home, hearing from you, mother, even the care packages I receive from grandfather! I can’t eat them but somehow just smelling the burnt food makes me falter! How can you expect me to preform up to our family’s standards, if I am homesick all the time!?”

It was the first time since he was a boy, clinging to Malleus’ legs, begging his parents not to leave him with his babysitters, that his son cried so openly. Malleus nearly gave in each time it happened too.

The pressure of royal duties, of perfection, on his shoulders was the same as those who came before him. Yet Malleus found himself more relieved than anything, even if his child might never recover his pride.

It was also the first time in many years that Malleus hugged his son, careful to avoid his growing blunted horns, and wasn’t pushed away.

“You are already doing more than enough. Loving your family is nothing to be ashamed of, and it is one of my greatest regrets that you thought otherwise for a single moment.”

[sunderwight]

Headcanon that Shen Yuan was hotter than Shen Qingqiu, actually.

Like yeah SQQ being a cultivator gave him a boost to enough attributes + being in a stallion novel where everyone is either unrealistic hot or dog's butt ugly got the Shen Qingqiu body extra points, and he wasn't bad looking to begin with. Plus not being ill is vastly more important to the new Shen Qingqiu than those extra hotness points (Without a Cure notwithstanding). But part of the reason why he's kind of like, meh, at least I'm not hideous or anything, is because Shen Yuan's original body was a knock out.

I also like him as chronically ill, and, as many people know, beauty standards and sustained suffering are not as incompatible as they should be. Shen Yuan was conventionally attractive in part because conventional beauty standards seem to want everyone slowly dying all the time. But even setting that aside, the man had flawless bone structure, an appealing figure, captivating eyes, and the kind of voice that stopped people in their tracks.

All of which was a contributing factor to his antisocial lifestyle, actually. Despite the fact that Shen Yuan does enjoy company and requires a certain baseline of social enrichment for his enclosure, his internalized homophobia and closeting did not play well with overtures from interested parties (regardless of gender). The only way to minimize the odds of him being asked out on dates was to essentially become a shut-in, especially since even Shen Yuan can only make so many excuses before he himself starts to notice that he's going to a lot of effort to avoid specifically that avenue of socialization. Far better to just remove himself from any risk of it, and then vocally lament that oh no he's just too much of a nerd to get anywhere with women!

Anyway this largely doesn't matter much outside of sheer comedy potential for any situation where SY gets his old body/life back. Like imagine a reveal scenario where the System is going to transport them back to their old lives.

Shang Qinghua: well bro I guess this is gonna be the ultimate test of love, right?

Shen Yuan: what do you mean?

Shang Qinghua: our husbands are gonna see what we looked like back before we were glorious cultivators! they're going to have to track us down in our mundane, kinda shitty pre-transmigration lives! it's gonna be at least a little embarrassing, right?

Shen Yuan: *gets his old body back*

Shang Qinghua, normal human with average looks: ...

Shen Yuan, exemplary 11/10: ?

Shang Qinghua: what. the fuck?? bro what the fuck why are you hot???

Shen Yuan: don't make it weird

Shang Qinghua: make it weird??? why were you sitting at home reading my shitty novel when you could have been out there building your own harem???

Shen Yuan: stop exaggerating

Shang Qinghua: oh my god you've always been like this. this is it, isn't it? it wasn't even brain damage from the transmigration or something--

Shen Yuan: hey

Shang Qinghua: --you've just always been completely unaware, haven't you? every time I wrote a beautiful woman who didn't know her own appeal you'd be jumping down my throat--

Shen Yuan: because that's a stupid trope--!

Shang Qinghua: --JUMPING DOWN MY THROAT EXACTLY LIKE THAT but this whole time THIS WHOLE TIME it wasn't even a glow-up issue, you've just been that, personified, yourself--

Shen Yuan: look I know I'm not ugly but I'm not I'm hardly that good-looking

Shang Qinghua: YOU ARE NEVER ALLOWED TO CRITICIZE THAT TROPE AGAIN! oh my god. how many broken hearts did you leave behind when you died?!

Shen Yuan: none, I wasn't even seeing anyone--

Shang Qinghua: yeah full offense but I am nottt taking your word for that. I bet you had a harem you didn't know about in this lifetime too. I bet you had a fan club, like an anime prince

Shen Yuan: *mumbling*

Shang Qinghua: what was that?

Shen Yuan: I said... only in high school...

Shang Qinghua: oh my god

Shen Yuan: it wasn't a big deal!

Shang Qinghua: *frantically trying to see if he can find any trace of it on the internet now*

[pukicho]

Puki I wanna know how you feel about Christianity

Gee, u really wanna know? Should I get deep?? Mind u I'm not a theologist or philosopher, so if I sound stupid to those more versed in this shit, feel free to tell me WHY. Anyway here's my view:

I've been a self-proclaimed atheist since my early teens. Of course, as a 13 year old, I held too much confidence in my beliefs; it's likely any learned theist at the time would've absolutely obliterated my arguments on the subject. I felt an underserved sense of intellectual superiority for quite some time, reinforced by the thought that belief only worked given proof, which ignored the inherently nebulous nature of such a thing. So, that was me back then! Now, I believe things a bit differently: in an argument derived from logic, I haven't been convinced ... and tbh, spiritualism is simply not useful to me - but philosophy is!

Not to play too heavily into Christian apologetics, but since a lot of philosophy IS the interplay between science and theology, Christianity has a big influence in the field. In searching through this nebulous field, we can help define the structure for our beliefs - religious or otherwise. It's the grounding-element for all human belief, which is pretty important. Even if it's not empirical, it's a lot more functional than theology all on its own - and that's something that someone who wants tangible arguments for God can get behind! There exists God in this field, whether science wishes for it to or not, and vice versa. So, though I don't believe outright in a God, I am not ignorant to the forces it holds in this field, and am flexible in its terms for the sake of exploration in this field.

I have respect for clever Christians. Emphasis on clever. The problem I have with theism is its self-assuredness: it CAN be one of the strongest reinforcements for one's belief, but it can also be used as a crutch, justifying a lazily-thought-out version of that same belief; or occasionally, a more dangerous variant. In Christian Nationalism, there lacks a healthy consideration as to 'why' someone believes what they believe. Scarier still, certain people conflate 'why' to sacrilege - instead of simply seeing it as a means to empower their faith through healthy scrutiny. God never granted us free will to flee from such questions. Clearly, these people are not self-assured in the proper-sense, instead choosing to live in willful-ignorance, fighting in crazed-belligerence towards those who disagree.

A learned Christian can comfortably ask themselves 'why' and end the exercise feeling more confident in their beliefs, whilst applying it compatibly to our modern society. I never have issues with these Christians and even think they're pretty awesome!

So that's the issue, a good Christian can mean two things: someone who's well-versed and educated in their beliefs - and someone who blindly obeys the words of a commercialized megachurch pastor, ad-libbing the Bible to fit their skewed agenda - the latter is DANGEROUS.

END

[cake-writes]

Whoops

Pairing: Kakashi x Female!Reader

Warnings: smut, sex pollen, consensual somnophilia, substances, oral sex + rimming (female receiving), vaginal fingering, anal fingering + anal sex (female receiving), rough sex, playful sex, unprotected sex, edging, spanking, creampie, soft!dom!kakashi, this fic had no right being so fucking filthy, 'honey' used one (1) time as a pet name, safe word mention, so! much! banter!!!

Word Count: 5.4k

Summary: When you and Kakashi both forget to bring along something important on a mission, the two of you have to fight the effects of an aphrodisiac without.

—

You and Kakashi sit side-by-side on the sofa, staring down at the single white pill atop the coffee table of your inn room. His thigh presses against yours, allowing you to feel the heat radiating off of him—which is certainly, well, something, because your own body also feels way too hot. Stupidly hot.

“How could you forget to pack more detox pills?” Kakashi asks, looking over at you in mild disbelief. His cheeks appear rosy where they peek out above his mask, but you know it’s not so much from embarrassment as it is from the poison you’d both been hit by some hours ago.  

You shoot him a half-hearted glare. “How could you forget to pack condoms?”

Your first aid kit really should have had more pills in it than just the one, but you can’t remember the last time you did an inventory. And Kakashi, by regulation, should have had condoms in his bag in the event of a situation like this. Maybe he’d forgotten to double check his reserves, same as you. Whoops. 

The two of you would have been dosed just before dinner. That’s the only time an enemy trap had sprung, but there hadn’t been much of an effect until the middle of the night, long after the shops had closed and you’d settled in for sleep. At the time, you'd both assumed that it was just a bit of dust from the trap's explosion. Whoops, again.

With a weary sigh, your mission partner leans back against the couch, loosely crossing his arms over his chest in a deceivingly relaxed manner. “You take it,” Kakashi says, his uncovered eye drifting down your body before it flicks back up to yours. “You seem to have been hit harder than I was. I should be able to manage on my own.”

You swallow thickly at the mental imagery his words bring on. He’ll have to rub one out. More than one, most likely. “We should cut it in half. You’re still—”

“No. You’re smaller than I am, and you’re dealing with a stronger dose.”

He’s right. You can feel the sweat beading on your forehead, feel the warmth of a flush slowly creeping up your neck and onto your face, feel your skin burning for attention. Kakashi really is quite attractive—you’ve always thought so—and with the aphrodisiac coursing through your veins, your attraction to him has been cranked up to eleven. 

Fuck, your pussy aches, and only he can fill it the way that you need.

“Now take the pill before it gets any worse,” he tells you flatly. “That’s an order.”

“Ugh, fine.” Annoyed that Kakashi would seriously pull rank on you in this situation, you grab the pill and pop it into your mouth, before you chase it with a glass of water. Then you frown at him. “If you can’t manage, let me know. I’ll help.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“I mean it, Kakashi. Without a condom, we may not be able to, you know,” you jokingly make a rude gesture indicating sex, “but I know how shitty it can be to try and get through this on your own. If you need my help, let me know. Okay?”

If he’d brought condoms, he’d probably already be inside you right now. God, you feel so fucking empty.

“Okay,” Kakashi agrees, unfazed by the suggestion. The two of you are shinobi first, and people second. Your bodies are tools to be used in service of your village. You know that he knows that, same as you do. It’s definitely not the first time either of you have encountered an aphrodisiac; you’re both too experienced in the field to have that sort of plausible deniability.

The biggest issue, however, is that if it gets worse during the night, then his life could actually be at risk. Aphrodisiacs are still poison, albeit more pleasant than the usual suspects.

Kakashi gets a pensive look about him, then. “The pill will probably knock you out, you know. What then?”

You grimace. Right. So much time has passed since you last needed to take one that you’d forgotten. Forcing rest helps the body to heal more quickly, or some such. It’s terribly inconvenient.

“Well…” There really isn’t another option. If his hand isn’t enough, your unconscious body will have to be, because you sure as hell aren’t waking up to a dead teammate tomorrow. “You can use me,” you say finally, cursing your horny brain for actually enjoying the idea of it, of him using you for his pleasure while you’re asleep. “Take what you need, even if I’m knocked out. You have my permission. Just don’t hurt me, and don’t knock me up.”

A lick of heat comes into that dark grey eye of his, before he clears his throat and nods. “All right.” When he pulls himself to his feet, it’s impossible to miss the tent in his tac pants, though you make sure to keep your eyes above his waist out of respect for him. “Get some rest. I’ll try not to disturb you unless I have to.”

“Have fun,” you say sweetly, waggling your fingers in a wave as he heads back to his room.

—

Blearily, you wake to the sensation of fingers slicking through your folds.

The plush of your futon cushions your body, just as you remember upon going to sleep, though your yukata has since been pulled open at the front. The slight chill in the air brings goosebumps to the surface of your naked skin, bared to the night, and pebbles your nipples.

The poison seems to have worn off—of you, at least. You aren’t so stupidly hot anymore, but your tits and stomach do feel a bit sticky, a smattering of wetness cooling on your skin.

It’s cum, you vaguely realise. A lot of it.

Heat pools in your abdomen at the realisation that Kakashi used you—your nudity—for masturbation fodder. And now, he has your thighs splayed wide, allowing you to feel the heat of his breath against your soaked core while he spreads you open with his thumbs.

You should tell him that it’s okay. You should tell him that you don’t mind, that he can do whatever he needs to with you, but there’s something unbelievably sexy about him using you for his own enjoyment without you ever knowing. Then again, you’re still pretty out of it from the meds.

When his hot tongue slides up through your slit, a pleasured sound bubbles up from your throat before you can help it. He’s good with his mouth.

Kakashi chuckles against you, swirling his tongue over your clit until your hips jerk. “Finally awake?”

“M’sleepy,” you slur drowsily, rubbing at your eyes.

He hums in response, sluicing his fingers through your slick heat. You expect him to slide them into your aching core, but instead he moves a little lower, circling the rim of your ass with a fingertip. A glob of saliva joins it, before he coos, “I’m sorry for waking you. Is this okay?”

It’s been some time since you had anal, and the thought of it with him only makes you want it more. Maybe there is still some poison coursing through your veins. You’re too out of it for the pill to have fully done its job.

“Yeah,” you sigh, relaxing into his touch.

He flattens his tongue over your clit as he slowly eases his finger inside your tight hole. It’s a bit of a stretch, but you take it easily, moaning at the sensation.

“I know this isn’t ideal,” Kakashi murmurs against your heated flesh, sounding apologetic. “I would have loved to fuck you here,” he delves his tongue into your cunt for a moment, pulling a quiet gasp from you, before he drags it up to your clit again, “if I hadn’t already gotten off a few times. You’re so wet.”

It’s too risky for him to fuck your pussy with whatever semen might be lingering behind. He’s respecting your boundaries, but you’re sure he doesn’t want to take the chance, either.

“S’fine,” you answer sleepily. “Feels good.”

“If it hurts, tell me and I’ll stop, okay?”

“Mm. Okay.”

Time passes like a fever dream. You still feel foggy from the pill, and the pleasurable sensations that Kakashi bestows upon you only muddle your brain even further.

Soon your thighs are squeezing around his head, your fingers buried in soft, silvery hair as he edges you with his mouth for what must be the third time—or more, but you’re too out of it to really keep track. With each near-orgasm, he eases another finger inside, slowly but surely stretching out your tiny hole to take him.

When your body starts to quiver from pent-up release, he carefully withdraws his fingers from your ass and folds your thighs to your chest. Then, his tongue presses into your tight rim, tasting you directly.

The choked moan that rips out of you is nothing short of ungraceful. “K-Kashi,” you slur, cracking your eyes open to blearily meet his. “You don’t have to—mm!”

Kakashi gives you another long, savoury lick, holding eye contact the entire time to make his point, before he sits back up onto his knees and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re offering me your body,” he rasps, smoothing his hand along your calf where it rests on his shoulder. “The least I can do is make sure you enjoy it.”

Then he spits into his palm, messy and wet, and slicks up his cock with saliva. The action is so vulgar that your pussy clenches around nothing.

“Are you ready? I’m happy to prepare you more if you need it.”

“I’ll let you know if I’m not,” you answer breathily. It’s hard to see him in the darkness of your inn room, even if your body falls within the cascade of moonlight coming in through the window. You can still make out the shine of his eyes and the sharp, hard lines of his muscular form, but his face remains in shadow.

Damn it. You really want to see what he looks like under his mask.

“I’ll go slow,” he promises, and he does. Even though you can feel the heat coming off of his skin, and even though you can almost guarantee he’s just as horny as you’d been earlier, he takes it slow.

Kakashi has always had more self-restraint than you, even now.

His cock really is big, too—not bigger than you expected, but it’s definitely a stretch. He presses in carefully, not even an inch at a time, taking in every single one of your reactions to ensure that he doesn’t hurt you.

Your face screws up when the head pops in, locked inside by the tight squeeze of your body. “Fuck,” you choke out. “It’s big.”

He licks his thumb, before he brings it to your clit, rubbing soft circles over it to help ease you into the stretch. “Better?”

You make a soft, pleased noise in the back of your throat. It is better. It helps quite a bit, actually, by offering a distraction for when he slides in a bit further and you encounter a small amount of pain. Nothing severe; it just comes with the territory.

Even still, your hand flies down to jam against his thigh, keep him from going any deeper.

“It’s okay,” he says gently. “I’ll wait.”

And he does.

By the time he’s all the way inside, you’re practically panting like a dog because he feels so fucking good. Your empty cunt still aches to be filled, but the slow, beautiful glide as he pulls nearly all the way out of your other hole is a welcome alternative.

Kakashi adjusts your leg on his shoulder for a better grip. “Ready?”

You nod your head, peering up at him in the darkness.

Then he pushes back inside, all at once, and you both groan.

“I’m not gonna last long,” you gasp, and he lets out a laugh that sounds almost as winded as you feel.

“Neither am I.”

Kakashi treats you like glass in the way that he handles you, ensuring that it’s good for you, but there’s an undercurrent of need in his every movement, his every touch. You can feel it when his fingers dig firmly into the meat of your thigh; feel it in that slight loss of control every so often, when he thrusts hard, once, then reins it back in.

He’s prioritising your comfort, but he needs more.

“More,” you beg, because you need it, too.

He lowers your leg down and leans forward onto his hands, caging your body in between. The moonlight finally, finally reveals his face, and fuck, he just might be the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen. Strong, angular features paired with soft lips and a beauty mark on his chin—he’s gorgeous.

“More?” Kakashi asks amusedly. “Are you sure you can handle it?”

He snaps his hips forward once, testing your resolve.

“Yes, I can fucking handle—”

But you don’t finish, because when Kakashi shifts back slightly to allow another glob of saliva to fall from his mouth and onto the place where the two of you are connected, something in your brain breaks at the sight. It’s filthy, messy, wet—absolutely nothing like what you’ve come to expect from your mission partner, reserved as he is.

Or not. He’s just as much of a freak as you are. He just hides it better. Kakashi ate your ass without a shred of hesitation, and the memory is such a turn-on that you wiggle your hips impatiently.

Another soft laugh leaves him at that. “Needy,” he teases so affectionately that your cheeks burn, but you barely notice because he’s already fucking into you again, slow but so unyieldingly firm in his thrusts that you can almost feel the impact in your throat.

Cursing something unintelligible, you grab at the futon above your head to brace yourself. It feels so mind-numbingly good that you swear you might be going insane—or maybe that’s because the haze from the meds still hasn’t fully cleared.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as Kakashi well and truly gives you more, just like you asked for. Every time he hits as deep as he can go, you feel another shred of his self-control slip until he shoves your thighs up next to your ears and leans forward to trap your knees in the crooks of his elbows.

Then he fucks you faster.

You can see the aphrodisiac plain as day on his face, in the beautiful flush that colours his cheeks and chest and the sweat that dots his brow. Some of his hair sticks to his forehead, and when his near-manic eyes lock onto yours, you’re held captive under his hungry gaze.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks raggedly. The muscles in his arms tense and strain as he holds himself above you, pounding into you, and then his lips curl up to reveal the slight point of a canine. “Maa, I just might break you at this rate, you know?”

It’s almost impossible to think, let alone string a sentence together, but you do it somehow. Each word punches out of your lungs with another forceful thrust. “Break me, then,” you demand, sounding breathless.

A dark note of desire comes into his features, sharingan swirling just a tiny bit faster when you reach your hand between your legs to play with your clit. As if the sensation wasn’t enough already, the sight of him looking so debauched could easily do you in.

And it would, too, if Kakashi didn’t bat your hand away. He drops down onto an elbow to change the angle, and although his cum smears wet between your bodies, neither of you notice because he plunges two fingers knuckle-deep into your cunt.

“You want me to break you, honey?” he asks, voice low, and a choked sort of wheeze rips out of you as he roughly crooks his fingers up into your g-spot. “All right. I’ll break you. Would you like that?”

Scratch that, he might be even more of a freak than you are, and you fucking love it. “Yes!”

Kakashi doesn’t pump his fingers in and out; instead, he uses them to bully your g-spot exclusively, dragging his thumb over your clit with every brutal snap of his hips. Your eyes roll back at the combined sensation, the overwhelm of it all, and you can’t even manage to get another word out—just an embarrassing mix of gasps and whines.

“Oh, look at you,” he sighs appreciatively. “Are you close?”

Your cunt flutters around his fingers as if to answer the question, and he lets out a knowing hum. Then, right before you crest, Kakashi pulls out of your ass and drops down to devour your pussy with an urgency that makes your toes curl.

“Shit,” you squeal, your body writhing under his sudden onslaught.

He rapidly pumps his fingers in and out, hooking them into your g-spot again and again, the wet, sloppy sound of you echoing throughout the room as he finger-fucks you into oblivion, all the while sucking on your clit until you can’t handle it anymore.

“M’gonna—fuck,” you swear, pulling at his hair. Your eyebrows scrunch together as you look down at him, admiring the sight of him, the way he’s focused so intently on your pleasure even as you grind your pussy into his mouth. “Yes, yes—”

The intensity in his eyes when they snap up to meet yours is what finally sends you over.

You shatter apart with distinctly wet gush that soaks your futon straight through to the tatami, but before you’re even finished convulsing, he’s already on top of you again, sliding right back into your poor, abused asshole until he bottoms out.

You choke. The size of him is even more noticeable after your orgasm, especially with the aftershocks still rippling through your body, but it feels good. Mostly.

He pauses, a flicker of softness in his expression. “Too much?”

“Never,” you say, offering what you intend to be a cocky smirk, even though you can barely keep your eyes open.  

His brows raise in surprise, just for a split-second, before he laughs softly and starts to ease in and out of you in slow, patient strokes, giving you a chance to adjust in spite of your bravado. “It’s a shame we didn’t do this sooner,” he comments, tone teasing. “We could have had a lot more fun on all those courier missions last year.”

You snort. “Don’t forget those awful recon missions in the snow.”

“Would have been a great way to keep warm,” he jokes, before his gaze trails over your face for a prolonged moment. “Better?”

You offer him a grateful smile, before you lick your lips, relishing in how his focus drops to your mouth for the briefest of moments. “Yeah. Now fuck me like you mean it, Hatake.”

“Oh?” Kakashi tilts his head in his familiar way—just like when he’s about to knock you on your ass in a sparring match. “You don’t think I meant it before?”

“No,” you answer snootily, because you’re a glutton for punishment.

“I see, I see,” he hums. “My mistake.”

In one fell swoop, you’re flat on your stomach, your face buried in the plush futon; and then he’s spreading your cheeks, spitting crudely onto your hole, and hiking your ass up higher with his grip on your hips.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, your cheek mashing into the sheets as he shoves his cock deep inside your stretched-out channel, deeper than he’d been previously.

All sense of softness is gone, now, replaced by a brutality that makes your eyes cross. Kakashi fucks into you hard, relentless in his pursuit to break you just like you wanted, and you love every second of it.

“What do you think, hm? Do I mean it now?” Kakashi asks lightly, after which one hand claps down on your ass when you struggle to piece together an answer. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes,” you croak out, drooling onto the sheets.

“Hm?” Another spank, harder this time, and you hiss in pain. “I don’t think I heard you.”

“Yes!” Your voice cracks on the word, and when he slows down to check on you, you rush to add, desperation in your tone, “Green, fuck, don’t—”

His hand embeds itself in your hair, before he yanks you up, making your back arch almost to the point of discomfort. His other arm snakes around your front and between your breasts, his fingers wrapping loosely around your throat as he pulls your body flush against his chest.

“You even have safe words,” Kakashi murmurs into your ear, grinding his hips into yours. “Why the hell didn’t we do this sooner?”

God, he’s so fucking deep.

“Probably—hah—because we work together,” you say breathlessly, leaning your head back onto his shoulder, “and because Lady Fifth would kill us for fraternizing.”

His laughter puffs hot against the shell of your ear. “What a way to die.”

He releases your hair, and slides his hand between your legs in order to messily work your clit. Your thighs tremble and shake from the added stimulation, your moans only increasing in volume the longer it goes on.

Five seconds, maybe? Ten? You can’t be sure.

“God, I feel like I’m drunk,” you groan, your words still slurring just a little. Time doesn’t feel like a real construct right now; all you know is that Kakashi is the only thing grounding you, keeping you from drifting away with the midnight breeze.

“I’m sorry. I waited as long as I could for the pill to wear off.” Then he presses an apologetic kiss to your temple, and a warm, happy shiver ricochets through you thanks to the affection behind it. “Do you want to stop? I should be able to manage from here.”

“No,” you breathe. “S’fun, just a little out of it.”

“Still want me to break you?”

You shake your head. “I’m getting sore.”

“All right.” He releases you, then, and carefully withdraws. “Lay on your back again. I’ll try to be quick.”

You do as he instructs, shifting onto your back with your legs spread. As you watch Kakashi smear a bit more spit onto his cock, you make a mental note to pack condoms and lube in your bag for future missions—you know, just in case.

He settles back between your thighs, his expression now reminiscent of what you’re used to: calm, serious, measured as he searches your face for any sign of discomfort. “Are you sure? We don’t have to keep going if you’re sore.”

“Mm, yeah. I think I can come again.”

“Yeah? Then I’ll make it happen.”

Kakashi holds himself at your entrance, still watching your face as he starts to ease back inside, and he does it so gently, so tenderly, that you might actually be tempted to fall for him. You’ve never seen this side of him until tonight, even though you’ve been working together off and on for years.

“You’re sweet,” you say without thinking.

His eyebrows shoot straight up onto his forehead, before he coughs to cover a laugh. “My cock is in your ass, and you think I’m sweet?”

Well, when he puts it like that, he has a point. “No, never mind, I take that back,” you respond haughtily, but there’s no heat behind it. “You’re a dick. My bad.”

This time, he does laugh. Kakashi smooths his palm along your thigh as he hooks it over his hip. “Yes, yes. Now, how do you want it? Like this? Or…” He drops back down onto his forearms, pressing your bodies together, and studies your reaction. “Like this? What’s more comfortable?”

You wrap your arms around his neck and lean up to brush his nose with yours, teasing and affectionate. “Like this.”

His eyes shine warmly. “Can I kiss you?”

The question throws you, because he hasn’t kissed you yet. How the hell hasn’t he kissed you yet? “Yeah. Yes. Please.”

He smiles just a little before his lips slot over yours, and your body thrums electric as he begins to rock into you with sensual, fluid movements that alleviate that incessant ache in your abdomen.

“Touch yourself,” Kakashi breathes into your mouth, following the words with his tongue like he intends to explore every inch, maybe steal your breath while he’s at it. You’d let him, too. He’s that good of a kisser.

When you shove your hand between your bodies and find your clit, you throw your head back to bite out a swear. “S-Shit, that’s good—”

He kisses a blazing trail up the line of your neck, his teeth scraping pleasantly against your skin every so often. “You like it when I’m sweet to you?” he hums.

Of course he’d still be making fun of you for that. You can hear it in his tone, but you don’t pay it any mind because he feels so fucking good that you want to scream. It’s all you can do to make a soft little sound in the affirmative, your nails digging into his back.

“Good,” he murmurs, “because I like being sweet to you.”

You whine as he lovingly sucks a bruise on your neck, laving his tongue over the mark to soothe it after.

Then he pulls back just slightly to meet your heavy-lidded gaze. “Where do you want it? I’m not going to last much longer.” 

Your breath comes out in short, sharp pants as he brings you higher—and himself, too, judging by his bitten-back moan of approval when you lock your ankles behind his back. “Inside,” you breathe. “Need it inside.”  

“Fuck, I know you do. Are you—?”

You nod your head frantically as you hold the eye contact, though it becomes increasingly harder to do so the closer you get to the edge. Your eyelids flutter when he hits a particularly good spot inside of you, which he makes a point to target from then on.

“Oh, fuck. Oh my god,” you babble mindlessly, clutching at his shoulders with one hand, rubbing at your clit with the other. “Yes, right there, just like that!”

Kakashi holds you gently under your chin, his fingertips lightly pressing into your cheeks to ensure that you can’t look away, and there’s a fondness to his expression as he watches you fall apart. “Yeah? Like that?”

“Yes,” you sob. “Yes, yes, yes—”

When Kakashi kisses you again, there’s no decorum to it, no finesse, and his teeth click against yours from the sheer need behind it. His tongue pushes deeply into your mouth, stifling your moans as you finally come undone, your muscles bearing down around him so tightly that he has no choice but to shove in as far as he can go and coat your insides with his cum.

He lets out a sound of male satisfaction against your lips, and the sudden burst of heat deep inside your body brings on a sense of warm, fuzzy contentment—the satisfaction of a job well done.

As the aftershocks fade, your heart pounds a frenzied tattoo within the confines of your chest as you work to regain your breath. Kakashi slumps against you, boneless and fatigued and heavy as hell, and you grunt when he all but crushes you under his weight.

“I don’t think I can move,” he says tiredly, muffled with his face buried in your neck. “I think I pulled something.”

“Oh, poor baby.”

At that, he only lays more heavily on you, purposely, which knocks more of the breath out of your lungs; but he does lift up after a moment, and the way he rolls off of you and onto the futon, splaying out spread eagle, would be funny if you weren’t aware of how exhausting the comedown can be from an aphrodisiac.

He’s probably thoroughly tapped out. It’s impossible to say how many times he got off, not to mention all the physical exertion he’d gone through to get there.

“Did you die?” you ask.

“Probably. Your ass did feel like heaven.”

When you groan at his terrible joke and give his side a playful shove, Kakashi chuckles, and god, he sounds beyond tapped out. You’re actually a little concerned, so you lean up onto an elbow to give him a once-over, make sure he’s all right.

That pretty red flush is thankfully beginning to recede from his skin, though you find a number of scratch marks from your fingernails around his shoulders and upper arms. A surge of feminine pride flows through you upon seeing them, and you absently trace one with your fingertip before you finally glance up at his face, only to find him watching you in amusement.

“Pervert,” he says.

You choke on a laugh. “Excuse me?”

Kakashi tucks one of his arms behind his head as a makeshift pillow, looking entirely too self-satisfied for your liking. “You’re just as bad as I am. I could have sworn you’d be more vanilla.”

You turn your nose up at him. “Well, I already knew you were a pervert. You read porn in public.”  

“Erotic literature,” he corrects pointedly.

“Sorry, you read erotic literature in public. Because that’s so much better.”

The two of you look at each other for a moment, trying not to smile at the banter, before you roll your eyes in mock annoyance and lay back down, resting your head on his chest. Kakashi wraps his free arm comfortably around you, trailing delicate patterns along your shoulder with his fingertips.

“Are you feeling better?” you ask quietly.

“A bit. Thank you. I hope you aren’t too sore.”

“Oh, I’m definitely gonna feel it tomorrow. I haven’t done anal in months.” Then you lift your head to give him a cheeky grin, resting your chin on his chest. “Worth it, though. I mean, I finally got to see your face after all these years, so I’m not complaining.”

His lips twitch, like he’s trying not to laugh. “You could have just asked.”

You scoff. “Pass.”

Then you go to lay your head back down, but he stops you.

“Wait. Look at me.” When you do as he says, Kakashi brushes his thumb along the corner of your mouth. “You’ve got something right here.”

“What?” Frowning, you lift your chin a little so he can have a better look. “Well, get it, then.”

Before you can react, he leans in to give you a quick, unexpected kiss.

You blink at him, your heartbeat stuttering inside of your chest.

“Got it,” he hums, licking his lips.

Your cheeks flush all over again. “You—That’s—”

“What, am I only allowed to kiss you if I’m inside you?”

“No! Just…” Your face feels on fire, and you look away, embarrassed. There’s a difference between sex and intimacy, and you’ve just discovered the fine line between them. “Just warn me next time.”

“All right.” You can hear the amusement in his voice, but he doesn’t poke fun at you any longer. Instead, Kakashi leans up to grab the blankets with his free hand, after which he pulls them over you both and wraps that same arm around you, holding you closer than before. “Get some rest. We have a long day tomorrow.”  

Nestled comfortably in his arms, you finally allow your eyelids to flutter shut. “Night, Kakashi.”

His lips brush tenderly over your forehead, before he whispers, “Goodnight.”

—

A/N: yes they need a shower. no we do not acknowledge this. lmao

thank you for reading! if you could please please please keysmash in the comments or reblog to show your appreciation, it would give me sooo much dopamine :)) thank you!!!

[faiszt]

⠀

⠀⠀⠀ .⠀⠀⠀˚⠀ ⠀⋆⠀ ⠀ROBERT REYNOLDS IN⠀⠀:⠀⠀♥︎︎

01.⠀PROLOGUE⠀꒰ summary ꒱⠀ ❛❛ good men die too, so i’d rather be with you. ❜❜ he looks like he works with his hands and smells like marlboro reds⠀⠀ ─── ⠀⠀never be tempting, never show more than you should, never stop being modest and respectful, the words you heard daily from your mother. you did all that, you were everything your parents polished, until he came into your life. the pastor’s son, robert—or, as he was affectionately nicknamed, bob. the kind of trouble your mother warned you to stay away from, but what could you do when trouble had such a pretty face?⠀ ⠀⠀PLAYLIST

·⠀୨୧⠀·⠀contains⠀:⠀mentions of religion / god topics. age gap ꒰ all characters are of legal age ꒱⠀mentions of cheating. mommy issues. pastor’s son!bob x younger naive!reader.⠀no use of y/n ⠀·⠀ꕀ⠀·⠀ wordcount⠀:⠀2.2k.

·⠀୨୧⠀·⠀diary notes⠀:⠀this is inspired by “ the starling girl ” and i think it’s pretty easy to notice it. ⠀ anyway, this is also my first time writing a series, so... enjoy it! ♡

my masterlist and the guidelines! !! NEW CHAPTER

YOUR EYES were so fixed on the pastor that you didn’t really listen to him, you just stared at him, without blinking, your mind was somewhere else, although your body was there. sitting next to your mother in the church pew, you sighed, noticing how it felt like a sin to think about what you were thinking.

god knows how you would never be a bad girl. the crosses scattered around your house reminded you of who you would always be: a good christian girl, the one who listens to her parents, who respects the laws of christianity and who makes her life a temple of worship for the lord. there was nothing beyond that, or maybe they didn’t want you to know whether there was or not.

it doesn’t matter. what will you do? run away to another state? how? taking a train should be hard enough.

but, since he came into your life, your instinct to escape from the customs has practically become null. robert reynolds, the reason you prayed for god to take away the temptation. wanting a man you couldn’t have not even in your dreams was like wishing you could have bitten into the forbidden fruit.

sin.

your thoughts were thrown into disarray when you felt icy fingers pinching your arm, your mother looking at you as if you had committed a crime by simply staring. “blink your eyes, it’s rude to look at people like that.” she whispered, trying to make you understand what was right—although different people had different concepts of right or wrong, you didn’t, your mother knew what was best for you.

you did it, you blinked and looked away. looking at your feet and the little heels you wore, the highest allowed, just enough to make you look like a well-behaved and demure young lady with your dress below the knees and covered at the shoulders. no low-cut tops, shorts, tight or ripped clothes, there was nothing more important than looking respectful inside and outside the lord’s house.

if it weren’t a little strange it would be funny that you don’t know many people your own age, or even many people outside the community. no way, what could you learn from people like that? just friends from church, your parents made it clear. which, in a nutshell, meant you didn’t have many friends.

at least, you could say that the old ladies talked to you often when they weren’t trying to marry you off to some boy who made your stomach turn just by looking at him.

“mrs. reynolds would like your help in choosing the choir songs for next weekend. go talk to her, yes?” the cold fingers that your mother had always had now gently tapped your shoulder. it wasn’t a request, but an order. go and do it, that’s it.

and again, you did it. if it weren’t for the fact that mrs. reynolds loved to talk, and she talked too much, more than her mouth could handle, probably, since she always had to stop talking and take a sip from her water bottle. this forced you to walk home alone, in the cold, because you left your jacket in your father’s car. great.

you sighed, looking at your feet again, before walking out of the church with your arms crossed and a bored expression, even though that was basically your resting expression.

“are you really gonna go home alone? brave girl.” for a moment, you were startled and turned around with your eyebrows raised, a little confused, until you saw bob come out from behind his car. he was in the shadows, watching you silently until he decided to speak and come closer, he didn’t say much—the problem was how much this only increased your curiosity to understand him, when you should have stayed away.

“i guess i have no other option.” you managed to answer him after a few seconds, looking away immediately when you noticed he was looking directly at you.

bob crossed his arms over his chest, he continued to stare at you in silence as he leaned back against his car. “come in. i’ll ride you home.” it sounded like an offer, but surprisingly he seemed to use the same tone of voice your mother used when she told you to talk to mrs. reynolds, not a request, but an order.

but, you could almost hear her voice telling you not to get into a man’s car alone with him, especially at night. could it be a sign of concern? yes, but it wasn’t. mommy just didn’t want the family name to be tarnished because you decided to be the mistress of some engaged man. she was always expecting the worst from you even without any reason to.

“you don’t have to, i can walk.” you denied his offer profusely, swallowing hard again to the point where you thought he might have heard the slurred noise your throat made. “but... thank you, anyway.”

your stubbornness didn’t please him much, maybe because he could see right through you and you didn’t want to walk alone, just as you didn’t want to be seen inside his car. your concern made sense, the point was that he wouldn’t let you walk alone to your house—which he knew wasn’t as close as it seemed. “i didn’t say you had a choice, but i did said i’m gonna ride you home... so, come in.” he said a little more harshly, opening the passenger seat door as he waited for you. “i won’t park in front of your house if you don’t want me to.”

the last sentence came out as you were approaching him and makes you stop walking, thinking about how he had noticed you were thinking about it when you hadn’t said anything at all. you could have questioned, but you just nodded and got into his car, snuggling into the passenger seat, a little uncomfortable and uncertain about it all.

as the engine roared to life, you took a moment to sigh again, leaning back into the leather seat as you turned your face slightly to face the view outside the window. maybe it was easier to keep your distance from him as much as you could, you found him interesting because you felt you should, not because you knew him.

“older sister?” his voice reappeared beside you after what seemed like less than three minutes of silence, pulling up a conversation, which only makes you look at him with a confused expression. “the bracelet on your wrist... i always see you with two little girls.” oh, the beaded bracelet on your wrist that one of your little sisters had made for you, of course he would notice that, you thought.

it was a bad idea to have a conversation with him, but it was also rude to simply not answer him when you could hear all his words. “oh, yeah... yes, i’m the older sister.” you answered him, looking directly at the bracelet on your wrist as you ran your fingers over the beads gently.

“that’s nice... i really wanted to have sisters, but i only have brothers.” bob looked away from the road for a moment, keeping one hand on the steering wheel as his eyes dropped to the bracelet you were also now looking at. “and i’m not even the oldest son, so... i guess you’re the lucky one here to be the oldest and have two little sisters.”

you felt bad that you couldn’t say anything, but you really couldn’t say anything, especially when your mind was spinning around the fact that you didn’t want to be going through this. how bad would it be if someone saw you getting out of his car and it became gossip? then, your mother would find out, and...

“did you like today’s sermon?”

your thoughts trailed off when he spoke to you, again, he’s a little pushy, you thought. on the contrary, he only noticed that you were silent when you were thinking too much—he noticed every little thing in your behavior: the way your feet started moving, you stopped blinking and were breathing as if you were asleep awake, it wasn’t his insistence, it was just a remark.

“yeah, that was a good sermon... the pastor is... really good with words.” you didn’t even know what you were talking about, maybe because you didn’t remember a single word the pastor said, nor what he was talking about the whole sermon. your words made a short laugh escape bob as he ran his hand over his chin, brushing his long, calloused fingers—where you could see his engagement ring shining—against his freshly shaved beard.

he just found it funny how you seemed to barely know how to talk sometimes. “but, i’m the one who gave the sermon today.” the seriousness in his tone of voice made you raise your eyebrows, thinking that you had really been caught not paying attention to anything, so he laughed a little more amusedly. “i’m messing with you. it was my dad who gave the sermon, but you really didn’t pay attention, huh? you weren’t even blinking.”

as soon as he talked about the fact that you weren’t blinking almost the entire sermon and even imitated the way you were staring at the pastor, you laughed for the first time around him and he appreciated it more than he should have. “oh, you laugh... good to know you’re not in a bad mood all the time.” bob teased you again before his eyes returned intently to the road. “i started to think i’m a terrible driver.”

“terrible driver or not, i’m sure you’re much better at driving than i am.” you were actually talking to him, not just talking, but banter with him. your walls were really down and that was a huge problem, he was observant, more than you could notice.

bob kept that amused expression on his face, although he was keeping his eyes fixed on the road as a precaution, it was not uncommon for animals to try to cross the road at night. “don’t say that, you can’t be that bad with a steering wheel, can you?” he questioned. “maybe i’ll let you drive my car one day just so you can remember what it’s like. if you’re anything like you say, i bet your dad doesn’t trust you to drive his car.”

another laugh escaped you and you nodded, it wasn’t a lie, your father preferred you stay away from the wheel of his car. “you shouldn’t trust me so much.” you smiled, lips parting lightly when you noticed that you weren’t as anxious as before—but, that same anxiety slowly returned when you noticed that you were in your neighborhood.

“i can always give it a try.” he said, returning your smile as he parked his car under a tree about four houses down from your house. “is it okay to park here?”

you looked out the window for a moment, no neighbors around, just the streetlights illuminating the street and the tree above the car blocked the light from reaching the two of you. “yes, thank you for the ride. i owe you one.” you replied, ready to get out of the car as you took off your seatbelt, but bob grabbed your wrist. “is something wrong?”

he sighed when he saw what he did, quickly letting go of your wrist and bringing his hand to his hair, combing it back like he did quite often. “no, no... i just wanted to say goodbye, see you at church, yeah? my mom said you’re going there tomorrow to help her organize the choir song.” he said and you remembered, of course, you helped mrs. reynolds choose the song and would also help her organize everything.

“yeah, that’s right...” you nodded, still a little taken aback by the fact that he had grabbed your wrist earlier.

“i can come pick you up. i have things to do at church tomorrow too, do your parents mind? i can talk to them.” bob didn’t know how harmless this idea was, but he suggested it anyway, perhaps because he himself was only doing what he wanted to do, and not what he was supposed to do.

your breath caught in your throat at the suggestion, it definitely seemed like something you weren’t sure of his intentions for. it didn’t matter, he was just a man trying to be kind, you hoped he was. “no... no need to talk to them, just park here at 2pm and i’ll... come. they won’t mind.” lie. they would care, especially your mother, but it was just... they shouldn’t know, bob seemed so nice, you didn’t want to lose that right now when you could have someone. a friend, just a friend.

he nodded, almost giving a smile, though he suppressed it by just pressing his lips into a line. “fine, 2pm, i’ll be here.”

you got out of his car with calm steps, avoiding making unnecessary noises before crossing the street and walking slowly to the door of your house. for one last time, you turned around and saw him there, watching you from inside the car, just to make sure you were okay.

to be continued...

REQUESTS ARE OPEN.⠀⠀feel free to send me asks and suggestions in my inbox, you’ll be welcome. ꒰ ˶> ˕ <˶ ꒱ ♡

©⠀𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐙𝐓, 2025.⠀don’t use my work without my consent.

[absentlyabbie]

i'll tell you what converted me to being all-in on keeping cats indoors only:

living for a year and a half in a rural area with a sudden feral cat colony explosion on the property.

i moved in with my folks for a bit and at that time, one (1) stray cat mama had taken up residence on the property, but was too feral to let my mother anywhere near her. but especially after she brought three kittens around, mom fed her and the kittens in hopes they'd grow trusting enough she could catch for spay and neuter at the minimum. momcat stayed mean and hella wary, but the kittens would hang around a little nearer and play with my mom via long stick, but still wouldn't come close enough to touch or catch.

unfortunately, two of the three kittens were girls and started having kittens of their own before further progress was made, shortly after i moved in. and that was pretty much instant doom.

there were so many kittens. SO MANY. multiple litters. every time we turned around, more kittens.

we fed them. we hunted for and located the kittens every time anywhere on the property and would move them to a repurposed doghouse anytime a mama cat had them somewhere else, so that they could grow up human-socialized and we could spay/neuter them when they were old enough. (also it was a handy tactic to push the issue of the mamas getting more used to/trusting of us themselves. only really worked with one of them, though.)

and we watched them die.

we watched litter after litter of kittens never make it to the age they could be spayed or neutered. the moms stayed, for the longest time, too skittish to more than briefly touch, much less catch and crate for a vet visit.

it sounds like a silly joke to say i have kitten-related ptsd, but i absolutely do.

too many goddamn times i'd walk out of the garage and find the carport and gravel drive strewn with tiny bodies. others simply went missing, never to be found.

one in particular, i wish i hadn't found, and the visual literally haunts me still, almost a decade later.

i saw so many kittens die of snake bite, spider bite, wild dogs, birds of prey, hit by cars, respiratory illness, covered in fleas and eyes crusted with infection.

and we loved them all. scrimped for antibiotics if the vet could be convinced to give it to us despite our being unable to bring them in. bought flea collars and ointments. we cared for them and fed them and petted them and played with them, brushed their fur and cleaned up their little faces, put ice in their water in hot summer, rigged a heating lamp in their house in the winter.

and they died. horribly. that property is pocked with unmarked graves of kittens and cats.

all the best intentions, not enough resources, and it didn't matter anyways because the population went from three to almost twenty (at times, over thirty) in the blink of an eye.

they died and died and died. our hearts broke over and over again. the stress and anxiety wore us down like sandpaper. i think, by the end of it all, we managed to find less than 10 of them all homes, including batman the disabled kitten i found a home across the country through tumblr.

it was carnage and tragedy, frankly. and we were helpless.

it only ended because they started dying faster than they could be born, and because we finally caught the two remaining mom cats in traps and got them spayed.

the points about outdoor cats being invasive predators devastating to local wildlife populations is true and valid and important.

but i know cat people, and cat people who don't know better than to let cats outdoors. what matters to you is the cat itself, generally. the cat being happy and taken care of.

keeping cats outdoors, letting them outdoors, is not taking care of the cats. it's not protecting them. it's not giving them any happiness or invigoration that couldn't be provided to them as indoor-only pets with just a little research and effort.

they die. they get ill. they get hurt. they're at risk of predators, and cars, and disease, and carelessly cruel children and deliberately cruel adults. they're at risk of disappearing on you because someone else saw a cat outdoors and intervened to give it a better, safer life not in conflict with the local environment.

and if that offends and angers you that someone would just take a cat they saw roaming outdoors, even collared, and that it sounds like i'm endorsing that, i am, but not if you intervene and be that person yourself for your own cat.

if what matters to you is doing right by your cat because it's family and a living creature whose happiness and health and safety is important to you,

keep them indoors. not part time. always. exclusively.

edit: since apparently i need to clarify this, i'm saying cats should live inside, that they should not live outdoors, even part time. visiting the outdoors supervised on a leash or in an enclosed catio is not the same as even part-time living outside, and i am certainly not advocating against it.

[rotagnus]

what this man thinks of you? 🐞

guys i feel like i've been doing so much romance/male-centered readings lately so i can't wait to finish this one then do some SELF related readings because you're the star of your own show.

PLEASE ask this about someone who you have a slight connection to; friends, crushes you've spoken to, etc. i don't read into strangers' feelings and i don't want any of y'all to delulu what is going on. if you'd like i can later on do a reading about eyecontactships, but this is NOT the one. all love.

take this if it resonates, leave it if it doesn't. messages may lie elsewhere. remember to take care of yourself, lovebug--never invest yourself fully in another person. your roots belong to you, never another person.

none of these are rooted in romance unless i state so.

pile 1.

you're a strong woman, in his eyes--independent and grounded, like your very presence is grace and gift. he thinks that you're unique, because you manage to be so many things at once. tender, soft, but at the same time you have this quiet power in yourself. you know how people can carry strength in many different ways? that's all you, pile 1. some of you might be powerful with words, my gentle poets, some of you may exercise and BODY TEAAA. anyways. you guys know what i mean! just had to hype you up there. many of you have a wistful resting expression, all soft and doe-eyed. most of you have brown eyes, i'm getting, and i think that this is one of your best features. your eyes may be watery, and they're definitely important. you guys may have a lot of eye contact with this man.

okay, so another thing that he thinks of you is that you bring little moments of joy into his life. you're very clever. he also probably has some degree of intuition and he knows that you have a strong tie to the universe, god, etc. you're the kind of person that has whimsy pouring out of every single fiber of your being, you speak words into the air and they fly out of your mouth like doves. he also thinks that you're a loner; even if you have a friend group in front of him, you stand out. maybe you're on the quieter side, or you're on a different level than them; you're very obviously the different one in his eyes. it's clear that while the rest of your circle may be unsure of themselves, like baby fawns, you've honed yourself out. intelligent, wise, and calming, you have a motherly energy. he thinks that this is nice, because he himself may suffer with his own maternal issues.

how likely is he to have romantic feelings for you? -?- as of now, i think that this male has a lot of decisions he has to make. he hasn't acknowledged his feelings for you or lack thereof, because he's been busy and out of his mind lately. i can't read his energy well, so i can't say whether this connection is worth waiting for or anything, but he doesn't seem to have any bad or extremely good feelings for you; yeah, he thinks you're sweet and nice, but those feelings don't go deeply as of now.

pile 2.

he thinks that you've been a bit busy lately, and he's wishing that you two talked a bit more, for those of you that talk often. he's been kind of going through mush and wishes that the clarity regarding the both of you was clearer. you and him may be similar in one way or another; have similar interests, gone through similar things, etc. OH MY GOD anyone else but you by the moldy peaches started playing, so yeah, most of you are probably friends with this person. you have this very childlike innocence in this little connection, which is so adorable. he feels as if he's getting closer and closer to you recently, even though there have been ups and downs in this situation. i want you to know that i'm proud of you; a lot of you are avoidant attachment or have such difficulty being vulnerable, but i'm hearing that you're trying. he wishes you rested more. he feels a genuine pull to you and he thinks you have a very gentle calmness to you. that you have a good heart and good intentions...although you're a little oblivious or naive.

right now he's a bit nervous surrounding you, and the rest of the things in his life--the wheel of fortune shows that he doesn't know the way that things will end, but that he's betting his damn hardest that they'll work out. for most of you, this is a new beginning. you're not terribly sure on how to navigate this, and you feel like you're being split open...hahaha that's how he feels too. what you feel right now is what he's feeling, you guys are like mirrors of each other, so i would just try to invest some energy into yourself. i'm not getting any bad feelings from him at all, and i think that he genuinely wishes the best for you. he may be a bit insecure about what he is to you, due to social differences or the way that you're very selective with what comes into your life. he likes you the way you are. 'i don't wanna change you' is a lyric i just heard. flowers may be significant!

how likely is he to have romantic feelings for you? -?- as of now, most of you just have to keep going forward with this situation. listen, take in what i've told you--you guys always want answers, but i think you have to trust your gut with this. a surprise or reveal is coming soon, but you have to stop rushing and slow down and enjoy this time period. this situation will unfold by itself, and your worrying and anxiety won't change it. you have to know that good things are coming. you deserve this. so work on your fear and your own problems, and rest assured; this will end brightly. you have room to grow so focus on that. :)

pile 3.

why do you guys have an aura of tragedy around you?!! he may have met you when either you or him or even both of you were at a rough patch in life. i don't think you're a very trusting person; you've built up walls and it's very visible. you ever meet someone and you can tell that they're careful with who they let into their circle? not rude, not cold, but simply guarded? yeah, that's you. so he can see this very clearly. you're a very introspective person, all shy smiles and soft cadence. you may be emotional, too, and he thinks that this is sweet. it's almost as if you come off a bit brash and guarded, but deep inside, you're soft and vulnerable. for some of you, he wants to protect you and take care of you, especially if you're friends right now. he feels a lot of responsibility for you. you're weak at some points, and he wants to make sure that you're doing alright, y'know? this chaste type of care.

he may be an impulsive person, but he's the type of guy who would do anything for his girl. i do think that for most of you, you guys are friends. he's probably the opposite of you, i'm getting puppy energy. imagine a baby golden retriever and a baby black cat. that's literally you guys. i think that for this situation, he mainly has concerned feelings for you. wants to make sure you're doing alright, because you're the kind of person who wouldn't ever say something if you were doing bad. he's worried. but other than this current, temporary energy, i would say that he has a very tender attachment to you. you're important to him and he thinks that although he doesn't know you fully, he knows you well enough to hope that you're able to heal from the things you don't speak about. you have a very sunny kind of beauty to your physical looks, and he thinks that's neat. polaroids may be significant.

how likely is he to have romantic feelings for you? -?- as of now, i would recommend waiting. he sees you as this very smart person, and if he's been acting a bit odd recently--not withdrawn, just a bit nervous, then there is a chance he likes you. you have him in a chokehold and he doesn't necessarily know what to do with what he's feeling, he's not attuned to his emotions as you are; but there is luck coming. i don't know if it's about him, or anything else in your love life, but later on, specifically summer, your love life will be good! i would recommend trying to grow closer to him as of now :) but this is good news!