#its almost nothing but insulting and unnecessary.

[spunkykirby]

Didn't the new Chenyu lore solidify Zhongli was always a compassionate person (word for word, Xinyan's lore about pre-Archon War)?

Our precious Neuvillette IS all of that and while nice, you have to also acknowledge he is just as stickler and black and white like Zhongli is when it comes to performing as executors to their concepts. They're literally the same person, just switch "contract" with "law" and they will follow it even if they know certain details are wrong re:sending child Wrio to prison despite him stopping a CHILD TRAFFICKING RING and sending Childe to prison despite LITERALLY declaring him as not guilty 2 seconds prior lol.

Three out of four of those traits/factors can be attributed to 95% of the fandom's most popular and favorite characters (villainous or not, and this INCLUDES Focalors/Furina), so Zhongli isn't more evil-like for harboring those same traits and expressing them in a tolerable manner like them (each and every instance was controlled and he is not expressing these "flaws" in a reckless, villain-like fashion).

"Just to prove a point" sounds incredibly disingenuous/ALMOST like a somewhat biased understatement in an attempt to trivialize the topics at hand to further villainize Zhongli. It was a test curated to determine if the people he was responsible for could hold the risky reigns he's been handling for centuries. Someone responsible would make sure their replacements have a sufficient test and experience before jumping ship and leaving them in a demanding role.

The game literally goes out of its way (re:Three characters directly involved in the plot) to confirm anybody who DIDN'T sign up for this was never in any real unpredictable danger, this test wasn't even at the actual harbor (Keqing stating they couldn't let it reach the harbor in the cutscene). If he were irresponsibly reckless he would've left without a second thought and left the relations between Adepti and Humans forever fizzled and unprepared for Divine conflicts that are guaranteed to come in the future. Are we going to villainize all coaches for testing their athletes now, and every teacher testing students? There is no test without risk, that's just a fact of life.

Once again, what Zhongli embodies is also exactly what Neuvillette embodies, just replace "contract" with "law" and they're still the same thing, Neuvillette takes pride in never making exceptions to what he embodies too 💀

Blaming Zhongli for the Vishap Chronicles makes the least amount of sense in this entire rant, and sounds like an attempt to solely villainize him while ignoring any further context and nuance in the narrative. Where is the sense in blaming someone else for a villain's actions when that villain has full autonomy over what they can and cannot do? If we're going to blame a villain who has their own autonomy and is responsible for their own actions on the person who either stopped them or prevented them from doing their antagonistic things in a certain place (in this example Liyue) then we can blame all the Archons for their own problems that are completely outside of their control. We can blame the Traveler for issues they partook in when they have no control over the villain's actions too (ex:Traveler totally caused Childe to unleash Osial, they are to blame). This makes no sense.

The way "colonized" is used here applies to every country and every Primordial One-centered being in Teyvat then too, INCLUDING all of Fontaine and the humans residing there, so it's not such a unique gotcha in Zhongli's case, otherwise we'd have to villainize literally everyone in the narrative who isn't a dragon.

I wouldn't note on Ashikai being a reliable source either due to the fact outside of Deshret and Remus there is little to no evidence/100% conjecture of anyone else holding onto that title (Decarabian?? Of all characters??). This is the same person who said Zandik (Dottore) had French origins (FRENCH...he's from Sumeru) and noted little to nothing on Zhongli's Chinese motifs despite it being 95% of his character (the title Rex Lapis is solely an English translation by the way, Zhongli canonically has NO Latin ties in Chinese).

Where is the evidence of Zhongli being personally involved with PO and the Dragons besides him maybe being slightly older than Teyvat? When he's noted on being *young* during the Moon sisters era? And if he was, why would Azhdaha bother being submissive to him right off the bat, even worse, becoming BFFs with him when Zhongli was literally trying to kill him and all of his brethren a few years before?? EVERY single archon is part of the modern Celestial system, yet Neuvillette does not look down upon Focalors/Furina for participating in it despite being forced in just like Zhongli was, too.

Zhongli didn't seem that shaken up but that's just my perspective. Dude was literally smiling when Hu Tao said they'd get along, before quickly shaking himself back into Mysterious™ character "oh I actually have to be suspicious" lol he did the same exact thing to Venti last year and barely anybody believes Zhongli is genuinely afraid of Venti.

HP should've activated during Fontaine, would've made it 80x more dramatic. We're due Celestia lore 100%!!

Zhongli evading Neuvillette is like making me both laugh and cry because THE COMEDY IS LOST but also zhongli IS a filthy war criminal bastard and hes also old and neuvillette carries the weight of the pain of his previous incarnations but hes also this little young angry dragon and i NEED them to interact in the endgame(and not in an event) no zhongli and neuvillette will NOT be hanging out together remember that solid rock is shattered by water and the dragon's justice is served Cold.

[qin-qin16]

My computer is possessed?! Oh, wait, it's just my out-coded skeleton boyfriend!

Summary: When some of your work in progress goes missing, you decide to start investigating whether your computer has a virus. That is until you realize that the few remaining works are of one character: Error Sans. cw: comedy, kinitoPET and creepypasta vibes, Error is an asshole and Reader is stressed, gn!reader, dark jokes about suicide, but nothing serious, we have a bit of jealousy Error, writer Reader…  note: I finally wrote down this idea from weeks ago lol and the divider is from @sister-lucifer (Part one) (Part two)

You would never forgive yourself.

Five hours of work. Five. And it all vanished with a simple power outage. The entire neighborhood was in the dark for hours — and when the power finally came back, everyone heard the lengthy stream of insults and curses you hurled at yourself when your computer screen went blank; there were no files saved in the cloud and no trace of everything you had written.

Your body glides over the wheeled chair as you slowly spin in circles, “Eu quero me matar…” You murmur, without any genuine or serious inflection in your words, even though deep down in your mind, there’s a certain desire to end the emptiness that lingers from your anger.

“Three pages… three damn pages…” You run your hand over your face, resting it on your mouth as you feel your eyes sting from the static white of the computer screen. “I can’t believe it.” You finish, still in disbelief over the unexpected blackout.

You know that old saying, “I’ll believe it when I see it”? Well, the problem was right in front of you: a completely empty Word document, except for a few notes saved before everything was lost. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to believe what you were seeing.

“I’m not going to write all that again! I can’t even remember the last thing I wrote!” you rant to no one but the lifeless machine in front of you, running both hands through your hair and tangling it with unnecessary force — leaving only irritation in certain spots on your scalp and strands of hair sticking out in every direction.

Settling into the chair — legs crossed and leaning forward like a shrimp — you start closing all the tabs left open on the computer, not caring at all about what’s saved or not. All you want to do right now is shut off that old piece of junk (that can't even handle an internet outage) and go grab something to eat. Maybe that would help you relax and distract yourself from this mess.

However, the large ERROR 505 flashing on the screen interrupted your ongoing stream of frustration. 

The damn title, accompanied by a series of codes that made no sense to you, was plastered on the last tab of your browser, just waiting to be closed. But even after you clicked the little red box three times — eager to shut the window as quickly as possible — the page stayed open. 

It felt almost as if it were mocking you. Almost…

“Perfect! Just what I needed!” You don’t hesitate to slap the monitor, taking out all your anger on the old machine. “Now even the damn Google isn’t working!” Your grunt is muffled as you bury your face in your hands, holding back the scream that desperately wants to burst from your throat.

“God, if you exist, why are you punishing me like this?” Your murmurs are heard only by the computer as it continues to mock your suffering with the bright white screen — and that damn ERROR 505 displayed at your face.

“Know what? Screw it, I don’t care.” With your hands thrown up in defeat, you finally surrender, tired and out of patience to battle this cursed error.

This is worse than when the Ao3 is down—no, I can't exaggerate like that, you think to yourself as you crouch in your chair searching for the charger’s plug. If this page won’t close on its own, then it’ll have to be forced; nothing beats unplugging the old computer directly from the outlet.

Which turned out to be a challenging task, not only because of your awkward and uncomfortable position in the wheeled chair, but also due to the mess of wires and cables under your desk. You didn’t even know which one belonged to your computer, let alone where the outlet was.

“Maybe it’s best to just yank everything and hope the outlet comes with it.” You go back to your original position, stretching your spine and letting out a quiet grunt as a pop resonates from your back. “I need to stop spending hours sitting in front of the computer.” Your grumble is nothing more than a hollow promise, unlike your spine, which was definitely promising to develop some kind of scoliosis.

“Okay, here we go— what the hell is this?” you exclaim, and even though your voice lacks any emotion — probably exhausted from all the shouting earlier — your jaw drops, matching the widening of your eyes as you see that the once flashy ERROR 505 screen has now changed to a completely different tab.

What had once been a white background filled with bold text was suddenly replaced by your Tumblr homepage... featuring countless fan arts of Error Sans scattered throughout your feed.

It wasn’t unusual for you to search for fan art and fanfics about him; in fact, the number of tags you followed with his name was far too many to count on both hands!

However, today was not one of those days. In fact, you had been trying to set aside your obsession with the glitchy skeleton to focus on other Sanses. Those three pages you lost forever were actually part of a fanfic about Cross x Reader that you had been working on for a few days.

So… why did the page load with this theme that you had been ignoring?

It doesn’t matter, I’ll just close this tab and—oh my God, what a gorgeous fan art! You quickly get distracted by the artwork on your screen, and without hesitation, your finger starts clicking rapidly on the mouse, liking and reblogging as fast as you can.

You must have been very tired not to notice the muffled sound coming from your computer — different from the noises it made when starting up or running a virus scan. No, no, this sounded oddly like a stilted laugh, as if the audio had been chopped into pieces.

But why would you pay attention to that? Computers couldn’t laugh, especially not at your half-closed eyes and the sentences you’d written incorrectly because you were sleepy…

Right?

Tagging the people who wanted to see a fanfic of this:

@snastheskeleton64, @moonpieandfries12345, @lostsoulsofdragon, @mrcatmario, @something-random1-1-blog, @joonebugg, @crunchontoast, @honeybubbletea33, @what-have-i-unleashed, @leafwateraddict, @sweethoneybear, @sleepy-batz

If you want to be tagged in part two, please let me know :D

[sgiandubh]

There's a big difference between having a different opinion and spreading outright lies. You know that. You can defend all you want with 'believe what you want' but when you see Caitriona's interview tomorrow about how she spent her birthday. The truth is clear, but you all will call her a liar with your 'beliefs' and that is wrong and cruel to her. Why you do you think that is okay? Why do you think your opinion is more important than the facts of her life and publicly ridicule her and her husband? What if it was you and your family someone was publicly lying about?

Dear Outright Lies Anon,

There is also a big difference between submitting an Anon ask/opinion and harassing someone on a daily basis.

I think C does not need your services at all, never did. Either as PR or pro bono lawyer. In fact, despite all your desperate (and daily?) efforts to persuade me otherwise, I doubt she knows/cares you exist at all. I also happen to think that speaking on her behalf is unnecessary and borderline insulting.

As for 'tomorrow's interview', let me be the judge. I also remember this particular, poignant photograph and its press caption:

The woman in the picture is Maria Callas, la diva assoluta, flatly denying the obvious to a very complacent press on September 22nd 1959, while landing ashore in Piraeus, Athens' seaport. By that time, Onassis and her were already an item and her marriage was notoriously on the rocks. And nowadays, the entire timeline of what started as a very hush-hush affair aboard the Christina, Onassis' fabled yacht in the summer of 1957, is well-known and has been analyzed to death in its tiniest detail, by the press, the public and her/his biographers alike.

'Before flying, Miss Callas termed "rubbish" the remarks of her estranged husband, Giovanni Meneghini, concerning a romance with Onassis.' Mind you, la Callas was not angrily reacting here to the remarks of ahem, some crazies (not on Tumblr, that did not exist at the time), but to the desperate plea of her much older husband, Giovanni Battista (Tita) Meneghini, an industrialist.

I can assure you that, compared to the mindboggling Meneghini-Callas-Onassis love triangle, the story that is the traffic of our (and by 'our', I mean, of course, the shippers) stage is eh, almost childish. Oh, and by the way, from 1957 and until at least 1960, Callas contented herself to describe her relationship with Onassis to the press as 'best friends'. Of course.

This iconic picture did make me smile, by the way:

Do I despise Callas for 'lying"? The thought wouldn't even dare crossing my mind. This is not up to me to judge, Anon and it has nothing to do with her tragic majesty and unparalleled voice. This is what remains and this is why she was, is and always will be a miracle:

[Later edit]: with no social media available back in the Fifties, you would think people were more decent? Nope. Speculation and gossip have always been the public's main diet when it comes to one's charisma. Facebook, X, Tumblr only democratized the phenomenon and congregated more quickly and effectively large groups of people who otherwise wouldn't have ever met through a particular shared interest. That is all, but that is an essential difference. Enough said: it's just a matter of scale and reaction.

[roseyreveries]

To my lovely anon who sent me a request this morning, I do see it and I have written it for you, but I can not reply to your request 😭 I think I may have replied back to you accidentally half asleep at like 4am this morning and didn’t realize. I feel awful!! but here it is for you!

Domestic Disasters

REQUEST: I was imagining muggleborn!fem!reader and Draco moving in together in their established relationship. I was thinking it would be so funny if the reader realizes Draco doesn’t know how to do simple things with “muggle products”. For example, loading and starting the dishwasher, working the microwave and stove, or even washing a load of laundry. So reader pokes fun at his attempts but eventually teaches him how to do it all. Example of dialogue: “Draco this is not a big enough load to run the washing machine!” Because he has one coat and a pair of socks in it and he’s trying to add a ton of laundry detergent. 🤣

CW: so much flufffff

Directory <- click!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

The first thing you noticed when you moved in with Draco Malfoy was the distinct smell of burning popcorn.

“Draco! What the hell are you doing?” you shouted, bolting into the kitchen. The sight before you was almost comedic. Draco Malfoy, former Slytherin Prince and master of disdainful smirks, stood in front of the microwave, glaring at it like it had insulted his lineage. Smoke curled ominously from the edges of the microwave door.

“It’s supposed to make the popcorn pop, yeah?” he said defensively, his wand gripped in one hand like he was about to duel the appliance. “But it’s not popping. It’s bloody burning! This thing’s defective.”

You groaned, rushing to open the microwave door. A billow of smoke escaped, and you coughed, waving a hand in front of your face. Inside was a charred mess of what had once been a bag of popcorn.

“Draco,” you began, turning to face him, “you’re not supposed to put the bag in for ten minutes! It’s like, two minutes tops. Tops.”

He crossed his arms, scowling like a petulant child caught red-handed. “Well, excuse me for not being fluent in Muggle contraptions. How am I supposed to know the rules for these… infernal devices?” His cheeks were tinged with a faint pink, and you couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or frustration.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, fighting back a laugh. “This is why we read the instructions, Draco.”

“Instructions?” he scoffed, the word sounding almost foreign in his mouth. “Utterly unnecessary. Why don’t we just use magic? One swish of my wand, and the popcorn would be perfect. None of this… nonsense.” He gestured vaguely at the microwave, as if its existence personally offended him.

You stepped forward and plucked the wand from his hand before he could actually cast a spell. “Because,” you said firmly, “we agreed to try doing things the Muggle way. You know, since we’re living together now? And you’re the one who said—and I quote—‘I want to immerse myself in your world, darling.’ Remember that?”

Draco’s lips twitched, and he muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Worst decision of my life.”

“What was that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, though the pink on his cheeks deepened. “But honestly, darling, what’s the point of Muggle contraptions if they can’t even perform their one job properly? Popcorn is supposed to pop, not incinerate.”

You couldn’t hold back your laughter anymore. The sight of Draco Malfoy—the man who had once faced Death Eaters without flinching—getting flustered over a bag of burnt popcorn was just too much. He glared at you, but there was no real heat behind it.

“Oh, come on,” you teased, nudging him playfully. “It’s not the microwave’s fault you set it to ‘obliterate.’”

“I did no such thing,” he retorted, sniffing indignantly. “And for the record, I still think this entire endeavor is ridiculous. Magic is far superior.”

“Sure it is,” you said with a grin, grabbing a fresh bag of popcorn from the counter. “But maybe next time, let the Muggle handle the Muggle contraptions, yeah?”

Draco rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned against the counter, watching you as you placed the new bag in the microwave and set the timer for two minutes.

“See?” you said as the popping sounds began. “Not so hard, is it?”

“Hmm,” he murmured, his gaze shifting from the microwave to you. “I’ll admit, it’s marginally less of a disaster when you do it. But only marginally.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. The timer beeped, and you pulled out the perfectly popped bag, handing it to him with a flourish.

“Your Highness,” you said dramatically. “Your popcorn.”

Later that week, you discovered that Draco Malfoy—the boy who faced down Death Eaters and taunted Harry Potter himself—had met his match. His ultimate nemesis? The washing machine.

“What the bloody hell is that godforsaken racket?!” Draco’s voice rang out, sharp and panicked, from the laundry room. The clanging, banging, and erratic thuds were so loud you’d half-expected the Ministry of Magic to come knocking, accusing you both of harboring a rogue Hippogriff.

You followed the noise, already amused, and froze in the doorway at the sight. Draco stood in front of the vibrating washing machine, his pale face a mix of fury and wide-eyed terror. He looked like he was watching a Hungarian Horntail getting ready to strike. The machine shuddered violently, groaning as if it were about to sprout legs and march out of the house entirely.

“Why is it doing that?!” he demanded, flinging an accusatory finger at the poor appliance. “It’s not normal! Machines shouldn’t move like that!”

You bit back a laugh, though your lips twitched with the effort. “What did you put in there, Draco?”

“Clothes!” he snapped, his tone defensive as if you’d just accused him of committing high treason. His arms crossed tightly over his chest, and his chin tilted up in that trademark Malfoy arrogance, though his shaking voice betrayed him. “And maybe… maybe a pair of shoes. But how was I supposed to know it would throw a tantrum about it?!”

That was it—you lost it. You burst out laughing so hard your knees buckled, and you had to clutch the doorframe for support. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you doubled over, your stomach cramping from the force of it. Draco, meanwhile, stood glaring at you, his cheeks flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and indignation.

“This isn’t funny!” he huffed, his sharp tone completely undercut by how ridiculous he looked. “I think it’s trying to kill me!”

“Kill you? Oh, sweetheart, no,” you managed to gasp out between giggles, wiping at your damp eyes. “But you’re absolutely killing me right now.”

Finally able to breathe, you stepped closer to inspect the chaos. Peeking inside the washer, you found the culprits: a single coat, one pair of socks, two heavy sneakers, and what looked like an entire cauldron’s worth of laundry detergent. The foam was nearly pouring out of the machine, and it gave one last menacing thud before falling eerily silent.

“Draco,” you began, trying to sound serious despite your laughter, “you can’t just throw shoes in the washer! Or half a bottle of detergent, for that matter!”

“How was I supposed to know that?!” he hissed, throwing his hands in the air. “This… this Muggle contraption is an instrument of torture! I refuse to go near it again. You’ll have to do the laundry from now on.”

You smirked, leaning up to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “Oh no, love. You started this mess; you’re cleaning it up. But don’t worry, I’ll teach you. Just try not to blow up the house in the meantime, yeah?”

Draco groaned, muttering under his breath about “Muggle nonsense” as he begrudgingly followed your instructions. You couldn’t stop grinning, though. For all his dramatics, there was something oddly endearing about seeing him completely out of his depth—and utterly defeated—by something as mundane as a washing machine.

Dishwashing wasn’t exactly Draco’s strong suit either. If the washing machine had been his nemesis, the dishwasher was its equally vengeful twin.

You walked into the kitchen, stopping dead in your tracks at the sight before you. A frothy mountain of soap suds was cascading out of the dishwasher and spreading across the floor like some kind of bubbly, unstoppable avalanche. Draco stood in the middle of the chaos, staring at the mess with a look of sheer disbelief, a bottle of dish soap still clutched in his hand.

“What did you do?” you asked, your tone torn between exasperation and uncontrollable laughter.

“I put the soap in!” he exclaimed, his brows furrowed as if you were the crazy one in this situation. “You said it needed soap!”

“Yeah, but not half the bloody bottle, Draco!” you cried, gesturing wildly at the foamy disaster surrounding you both.

“Well, you didn’t specify how much!” he shot back defensively, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. “How am I supposed to know these things? It’s not as if there’s a spell for proper soap-to-dishwasher ratios!”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands, though the corners of your mouth were already twitching upward. When you peeked through your fingers again, Draco had run a hand through his perfectly styled blond hair, messing it up just enough to give him that irresistibly disheveled look. Too bad he was utterly hopeless in this moment.

“This is ridiculous,” he grumbled, glaring at the soap suds as if they had personally wronged him. “How do Muggles survive without magic? Honestly, it’s barbaric.”

You couldn’t help it anymore—you burst out laughing, doubling over and clutching the counter for support. “Oh, come on, it’s not that bad!” you managed between giggles. “You’re just… hilariously bad at it.”

Draco shot you a withering look that would have made lesser mortals quake in their boots. “Glad you’re enjoying my suffering,” he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Oh, I am,” you replied cheekily, grinning ear to ear as you grabbed a towel to start mopping up the mess. “I’m enjoying it a lot, actually.”

He groaned again, tossing the soap bottle onto the counter in defeat before crouching down to help you clean up. “You know, you could help a little more and laugh a little less,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that?” you teased, tossing him another towel. “Besides, you’re lucky you didn’t break the damn thing.”

Draco muttered something about “Muggle contraptions being out to get him,” but you couldn’t stop smiling. For all his frustration, there was something undeniably endearing about watching him try—and fail—at the most basic household tasks. As long as he didn’t blow up the kitchen, you figured you’d survive this particular domestic adventure… barely.

One particularly unforgettable evening, you walked into the kitchen to find Draco Malfoy locked in an epic battle with what had apparently become his latest foe: the vacuum cleaner.

“Why is it chasing me?!” he shouted, his voice an octave higher than usual as he backed into a corner. The vacuum’s hose flailed wildly, as if it had a mind of its own, and Draco looked genuinely terrified, his wand gripped tightly in one hand.

You froze for half a second, taking in the scene, before bursting into uncontrollable laughter. You had to clutch the counter to keep from collapsing. “Draco, it’s not alive!” you managed to gasp out, tears streaming down your face.

His silver-grey eyes snapped to yours, full of indignation. “Then explain why it’s attacking me!” he retorted, his chest heaving with frustration. “This… this abomination is clearly bewitched!”

“It’s not bewitched,” you said, still laughing so hard it hurt. “You just turned it on without holding the handle properly!”

Draco’s glare could have frozen the Sahara. He brandished his wand at the vacuum like it was a particularly nasty boggart. “It’s trying to eat me,” he declared with absolute certainty.

You snorted, finally catching your breath enough to step in. Taking pity on him, you reached over and turned the vacuum off with a simple press of a button. It went silent instantly, leaving Draco staring at it with suspicion as if it might spring back to life at any moment.

But before he could recover his pride, you whipped out your phone and snapped a picture of his wide-eyed, cornered expression. His hair was slightly mussed, and he looked so hilariously out of place that you couldn’t resist.

“Give me that,” he demanded, snatching the phone from your hand with a scandalized look. “If you show this to anyone, I swear—”

“Relax,” you interrupted, grinning mischievously. “It’s just for me. You’re way too cute when you’re scared.”

Draco muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Insufferable Muggle contraptions and their even more insufferable girlfriends.” But despite his protests, you caught the tiniest of smiles tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You’re lucky you’re adorable,” he added begrudgingly, handing your phone back with a dramatic sigh.

“Oh, I know,” you said cheekily, leaning in to plant a kiss on his cheek. “And you’re lucky you’re mine, even if you are completely hopeless with anything Muggle.”

His ears turned pink, though he quickly tried to hide it with his usual Malfoy bravado. “Hopeless?” he echoed, smirking now. “We’ll see who’s hopeless when I hex that infernal contraption into oblivion.”

You laughed again, shaking your head as you grabbed his hand. “Come on, let’s leave the vacuum alone before you traumatize yourself. Or worse—me.”

And though he grumbled the whole way out of the kitchen, you couldn’t help but notice how he held onto your hand just a little tighter.

By the end of the first month, Draco had reluctantly mastered the art of microwaving (under your strict supervision) and had developed a deep, abiding distrust of both the washing machine and the dishwasher. But despite his many domestic disasters, you couldn’t help but find him utterly endearing.

One quiet morning, you wandered into the kitchen, still wearing your sleep shirt and a pair of shorts, your hair slightly messy from bed. Draco was already there, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, sipping tea as he watched you with a faint smirk. His grey eyes followed you as you padded over to the toaster, your bare feet making soft sounds on the tiled floor.

You grabbed a couple of slices of bread and popped them into the toaster like it was second nature. You turned the dial, pressed the lever, and leaned against the counter to wait, completely unfazed.

Draco, on the other hand, looked utterly baffled. “That’s it?” he asked, tilting his head like a curious puppy.

You glanced over your shoulder, amused. “What do you mean, ‘that’s it’? It’s a toaster, Draco. You put the bread in, press the button, and voilà—toast.”

His brows furrowed as if the simplicity offended him. “That’s absurdly easy. Too easy. It can’t be that straightforward.”

“It really is,” you said with a teasing grin, turning back to face the toaster. “But I guess that’s a foreign concept for someone who’s used to snapping their fingers and having everything magically done for them.”

Before you could say anything more, you felt his presence behind you. Warm hands slid around your waist, and his chest pressed against your back as his chin came to rest lightly on your shoulder. “Are you mocking me, love?” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, his breath tickling your ear.

“Always,” you replied, though your voice was softer now. His touch was distracting, his arms holding you snugly against him, and you couldn’t help but feel your pulse quicken.

Draco hummed, his lips curving into a smirk against your shoulder. “It’s not my fault I’ve had house-elves and magic to cater to my every whim. You’ve spoiled me too, you know.”

“Oh, have I?” you asked, tilting your head to look at him. “I didn’t realize making toast would put me in the same league as your house-elves.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your back. “You make it look so effortless,” he said, his tone suddenly softer, almost reverent. “Everything you do, really. It’s infuriating how competent you are. Meanwhile, I’m out here battling washing machines and vacuums.”

You laughed, leaning back into him as his arms tightened slightly around you. “It’s called basic life skills, Draco. You might want to pick up a few.”

He let out a dramatic sigh, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “Why would I bother when I have you to handle all of that for me?”

“Oh, so I’m your house-elf now?” you teased, arching an eyebrow.

His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he murmured, “You’re far more than that, love. Though I wouldn’t say no to you in an apron…”

You turned your head sharply, your cheeks heating up as you swatted his arm. “Draco Malfoy!”

He laughed, low and teasing, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “What? Just a thought.”

The toaster popped, startling you both. You laughed, and Draco reluctantly loosened his hold on you, though his hands stayed on your hips. “See?” you said, pulling the toast out with a triumphant grin. “Easy. No house-elf required.”

He watched you with a mixture of admiration and amusement. “Maybe I don’t need house-elves,” he said, leaning in close again, his lips ghosting over your jawline. “Maybe I just need you.”

Your breath hitched, and you turned to face him, holding the toast in one hand as you placed the other on his chest. “Careful, Draco,” you said, your voice playful but your heart racing. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Good,” he murmured, his smirk softening into something more genuine as he leaned down to kiss you. The toast was forgotten as you melted into him, his lips warm and gentle against yours.

As the kiss deepened, he pulled back just enough to whisper, “But you’re still not making me learn that infernal contraption.”

You laughed against his lips, shaking your head. “You’re hopeless.”

“And yet, you still love me,” he said smugly, his hands sliding back around your waist.

“Unfortunately for me, I do,” you replied, grinning.

Draco’s smirk returned as he captured your lips again, the kitchen filled with the warm scent of toast and the unmistakable feeling of home.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

Join my Taglist!

@ferntv @katie_kinz

[fanfoolishness]

the thing with feathers (it isn't hope.)

Trapped and tortured in the Ossuary, Lucanis finds a possible means of escape. It'll only cost his soul. 2244 words, whump, torture, angst, Lucanis + Spite in the days leading up to Rook's rescue. Lucanis and Spite POV.

---

A vast creature with fins and a massive, sweeping tail blots out the distant sunlight, drifting lazily through the open sea above him. Lucanis watches it move on its way, his vision blurring. Pain pulses with every heartbeat.

It is not the pain of blades or poisons, nothing so inelegant as beating or whipping. It’s something in his blood, Zara’s magic invisible to his eye but writ deep in every limb, every breath, every thought. He lies limp on the cold stone table, the leather restraints unnecessary; the searing pain eats at muscle and bone. He couldn’t move if he tried, and oh, he has tried.

Determination flares within him. He cannot move, but he can stay alive. Crows are patient, and as long as he lives, there yet may be a chance to end her. He breathes in -- jagged fire -- and breathes out -- the taste of ashes.

What day is this? What night? It doesn’t matter. Zara’s voice grates at him, each word a pinprick that makes the pain coruscate brighter. She is dictating her research notes again. 

Another reason to kill her. She is insufferably arrogant.

“... a rarer demon, more fragile than some, but with true malevolent potential. Yes. I believe this will be a fine match for our Demon of Vyrantium.” A sneering laugh colors her words, and her hated face swims into view. She wears a sick, sly smile that does not reach her cold eyes. “Ah, you’re awake. Tell me, Crow, are you afraid?”

He tries to hiss out an insult. He is not afraid. Crows are never afraid. 

Hiding in a secret passage -- how he’d run from voices in the hall -- Mama and Papa in their bedroom, spilled wine on the floor -- tongues swollen, faces purple -- they wouldn’t wake up -- 

(Almost never afraid.)

He struggles. All that escapes him is a strangled groan. Zara smiles icily. “Oh, you should be.” 

She raises her arms to begin the ritual, and his blood boils in his veins. He has seen what happened to the other prisoners after this - found dead in their cells, or mutilated and destroyed here in the lab. He shudders, every muscle twisting, spasming, roiling. Zara’s voice deafens him, cruel and evil words in old Tevene, words that carry a power that crushes him to the table. He can’t breathe through bloody foam rising up in the back of his throat. He opens his mouth, gasping for air. He is choking, he is dying, death has come for him at last --

And then there’s something forced into his mouth, foul and sticky and vile, pouring into him. He gags, retches, but he cannot move under the weight of the magic, and it’s swallow or suffocate. 

Lucanis swallows filth and poison, and everything goes red. 

Violet. 

Black.

-

A small SHARP claw

Twist it into the gut, rend and tear

Hate, hate, hate

Cannot get out. Cannot see. World solid. Unrelenting. Scratch scratch rip

Scream!

Scream into dark, into cold, into empty! No Fade!

Must get her. Get enemies. Get who did this.

Feeling... stronger. Eating growing waking up.

Can start to see…

Water. Magic in the bones, in the sand. Prison. Smell of blood and tears and sweat and sick. 

Trapped here. Trapped in --

“What’s happening to me?” 

Sounds like fear. Confusion. Don’t want. Need spite!

“Get out of my head!” 

This prison moves. Made of flesh. Alive and red. Fingers claw at skull, get out, get out, can’t! Fear, fear, fear --

“What did she do to me? Leave me alone!”

Reach. Try. Ah! Flesh moves! A toy, a tool! Legs drag, sssstep sssstep fall, pain, yes.

Breath. Needs it. Tries. (hate this.)

“What are you?” 

Gasp. Tired. So tired. Mortal. Can’t even see the Veil. lost! lonely!

Take tongue and teeth. Another toy! Strange and clumsy. A voice like blood.

“Spite. No. YOU. Get out.”

“This is my body!” Rage. Tasty. sustaining! “I am Lucanis Dellamorte. I am Lucanis Dellamorte. I am Lucanis --”

“Lucanisssss.” 

Tastes like determination. Dissssssappointing. Find the way OUT! Out of Lucanis!

-

You can’t be possessed. You’re not a mage. You can’t be possessed.

Lucanis mutters it under his breath. Runs it around his head. Tries to wear it as a talisman.

He can almost believe it in the quiet of his cell. The thing skittering around in his mind could be a hallucination. He has heard of prisoners talking to themselves after solitary confinement. Perhaps his Crow training in this regard has failed him and he has simply gone mad. It would be shameful, but it would make sense.

Except he has never heard of a hallucination walking a body around like a marionette, running it into walls until it bleeds and bruises, stealing a mouth to moan and growl in garbled speech. Every time, Lucanis wrests his body back in a sick game of tug-o-war. Every time, he dabs at any blood with the edge of his cloak, licks it from his fingers, removes as much trace of injury as he can. He has been lucky that the guards have not yet realized something is… wrong.

“You are Lucanis. Spite is here! Spite needs to get out!” The voice is getting stronger. Clearer. Easier to understand with every passing day, more and more complete sentences, a sense of a… personality.

He distracts himself in every way he can. He dreams of killing Zara and her cronies in loving detail, picturing lacerated kidneys, punctured lungs, torn throats, poison, asphyxiation, drowing, crushed larynxes, broken necks. When that grows dull and he has mapped out every plausible and implausible cause of death he could visit upon them, he dreams instead of Treviso. The scents of the canals, the sound of water lapping against stone, night-blooming jasmine, coffee rich and hot, paella and pasta and stews, cioccalata calda, roasted branzino, fine cheeses, delicate chocolate pastries --

Then he falls asleep again, and wakes up with new scratches and bruises in the opposite corner of the cell from where he fell asleep, and an insidious little whisper in the back of his mind spits mine. Mine. Mine.

But Lucanis is not possessed. This thing calling itself Spite, speaking with a voice filtered through the Fade, it is only his imagination. It has to be.

It is unfortunate that he has always been a poor liar.

-

The laboratory again. They need the restraints this time. Leather rubs against his wrists and ankles hard enough to leave ulcers. Lucanis struggles -- he’ll kill them all for whatever they’ve done to him -- but it isn’t until Zara cuts his arm and twists the beading blood into her magic that the lie shatters.

“Enough is enough, Crow. Where is my demon?”

Something flows through him, unblocked at last by Zara’s spell. It’s powerful, intoxicating, a terrifying loss of control. A shower of violet light erupts from his body, formless, shapeless -- and then wings, gusting fiercely -- 

Zara steps back, fear in her eyes, then greed. “Ahhh, Spite, there you are.”

The lie in his heart dies with a whimper. There is a demon trapped within him, a monster. Zara knows its name; she put it there. His body sags against the table.

I am an abomination.

His efforts to stay in control fail him. Lucanis’ mouth opens, speaking with a voice that isn’t his, equal parts glee and malice. “You know me?” Spite rasps. “Let me OUT!”

Zara’s lip curls in disgust. “I’ve done my part. What’s keeping you from doing yours? He’s just the incubator. Erupt out of him and be done with it. Come, I’ve work for you to do.”

Don’t listen to her, Lucanis pleads, hoping Spite can hear him. She’s the reason we’re trapped like this! She did this to you! To us!

You believe in me? Understand now?

Yes. Yes, I understand what you are, Spite.

Lucanis’ head lifts as he and Spite both regard Zara. “You did this,” Spite accuses. 

“Of course I did,” Zara sniffs. “Now, come.”

She deserves to die for this. Don’t give her what she wants! Don’t --

The world is lost in a haze of violet light, and for a time, he knows nothing.

-

“I’m alive.” Lucanis. Surprised. Confused. Waking in the cell, waking after Zara. He was gone for such a long while. Spite does not know how to count it, but he knows it was not sleep.

Spite used the time well. Studying. Exploring. Understanding that the world is different here. Rules -- mysterious but there to be discovered. Always choices. He made his, back in the laboratory.

He will show Lucanis what he has learned.

Spite stretches. Reaches. Claws out of the human prison now that Lucanis is awake, takes a shape, familiar. 

Lucanis recoils. “Mierda!”

What does that mean?

“Take a guess,” Lucanis says. Suspicious. Staring. Face pale, wary, hunted. He steps around Spite, examines. Smells like shame. “You look like me.”

A shape. Your shape. Easy to take. I know you.

“You do not know me.”

Hate Zara. Hate prison. I know that. You know that.

“True.” Lucanis, sighing, sitting down, eyes searching. “May I ask about the wings?”

No wings now. He wears a Lucanis shape now, and Lucanis does not have wings in the physical world.

“From earlier.”

She called us Crow.

“Yes. I am a Crow. You are not a Crow.”

I want to be a Crow! Flying, fierce, deadly, strong! 

“Fine. Keep the wings, if you must.” Crossed arms. Closed face. Looks sick. Hurt. Zara did things to the body, see it still in winces, bruises. Not like the Fade, there and gone; lasting, lingering.

Spite could not stop her. Blood magic held them still. Hate. Hate! 

“What? You are staring.”

Zara hurts us. We hate her! 

“I thought she was going to kill me.” Lucanis waits. Pauses. Curiosity. How do mortals hold so many spirits? So many emotions? “Why didn’t she? I thought she was trying to get you… out of me.”

Prisons. I am trapped here. You are trapped here. We! We are trapped!

“You… listened to me, when I asked you to stand against her. That is what happened, isn’t it?” Touches face, touches purple-blue flesh, dried blood on lips. “You didn’t leave.”

Not for her! She would use chains of blood! She bound us, she stole me, she put me here! 

“That is two of us.” Dark eyes, hollow, twin voids. “We could… work together.”

Crow contract?

“Not like that. But a deal. You don’t do what she wants, and you help me stay alive. And I will make certain that we kill her and escape.” Determined. No. Not determined.

S p i t e f u l ! 

Yes! To stay alive only to kill, delicious!

More time. More toys. Trial, error, how to use hands and mouth, legs and feet, speak run leap. And better, to hold blades, rip tear kill, blood on the hands, taste it! 

It is a deal. Let us make the deal!

“I will work with you, Spite.” Lucanis reaches out a hand. 

What is it?

“A handshake. It means we have agreed to the deal.”

Reach back. Translucent purple on olive flesh. Agreement. Understanding. Spite lets the shape go, retreats back into the mind, curls up and waits for opportunity.

-

Lucanis paces the cell, tracing step after step. The wounds from Zara’s attempt to extract Spite have largely healed, and he takes advantage of feeling better by staying on his feet. It keeps him awake. If he is awake, he is himself. Mostly. But when he sleeps…

The weight of the deal sits uneasy on him. He has heard mages in the Crows talk of their temptations, the way demons stalk them in the Fade and in places where the Veil is thin, how a deal with a demon can create an abomination. But his deal with Spite came after abomination. None of it makes any damn sense.

He must worry about that later. It is a lifeline, even if it was made in desperation; it is still a blade he didn’t have before. Like any blade, it could kill the wielder just as surely as the target. 

It is the best he can do.

Spite chatters in his mind. The wards can fall. I can take them, Lucanis! I see the tricks and the sneaky locks!

Spite has been telling him this for the past day or two, eager and brash, ready to go. But the guards on them have been doubled since Zara’s failed attempt to take Spite, and Lucanis has to keep forcing Spite back. There will be a chance, but they will only get one. Lucanis knows it in his gut.

When do we escape? When do we kill her? Spite asks, impatient at being ignored. In the few days since their deal was struck, he speaks more easily, more insistently. 

More annoyingly, Lucanis thinks to himself. It gives him a shred of comfort to think of Spite as an irritant, an illusion of control he clings to readily. He is aware this time that it is purely illusory, but if it allows him to get the job done, he will continue.

“Soon,” he murmurs to Spite. He watches the guards through the wards of his cell. There is something different in their behavior. They are agitated, on high alert. They reach for their weapons, and then they are gone, summoned elsewhere. Something is finally happening.

Lucanis smiles, and Spite is there beside him, a violet shadow with a feral grin. 

“Very soon.”

[fromabasementonthehilll]

A Cold Kiss For Warmth

͙⁺･༓☾ - Summary: you unknowingly saved Jackie ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎from her own death.

Pairing: jackie taylor x fem!reader

Warnings: ...

∘₊✧────────────────────✧₊∘

"I'm not jealous of you, Jackie. I feel sorry for you." Shauna spat, her words had bled out of her mouth and into Jackie like a sharp blade.

"And I'm sure everyone back home is so sad to be losing their perfect little princess," Shauna's breath hitched slightly, "but they'll never know how tragic, boring and insecure you really are," Jackie's lips trembled beneath Shauna's sentences, eyes wide and hurt - tears gradually piling upon her face, "or how high school was the best your life was ever gonna get."

"Fuck you." Jackie's words were almost silent, disintegrating into her tears.

You watched, alongside everyone else who had been settled around the fire warmed cabin. It wasn't for you to intervene; or for anyone else to intervene, you had never seen Jackie and Shauna fight - let alone with so much spite, and you figured it was best to leave them alone, though your heart felt for Jackie, Shauna's accusations were visibly going too far.

"I cant be around you - I cant even fucking look at you right now." Jackie didn't have the malice to insult Shauna, you sensed that neither of them really meant what they said, and it had just been the sickening feeling that haunted everyone after the crash, now creeping into their friendship.

It was just last week that you had really gotten close to Jackie, in school you'd usually hang out with the other girls, catching Jackie throwing glances your way in class every now and then. And you could've been caught daydreaming, the way you'd stare longingly at her; the way her hair fell onto her shoulders - how her honey eyes glowed when she looked at you.

"Hey (y/n)." She smiled, a towel around her neck after it had rained during practice. "Oh hi Jackie!" You turned to her after brushing your hair out and handing it back to Lottie.

"I just wanted to say you look really pre-"

"(y/n), hurry up we're gonna be late." Lottie interrupted, "Oh, yeah. Sorry Jackie, I'll see you later."

It was the first time Jackie had the courage to come up to you outside of being lab partners, she was confident most of the time - but when it came to you, she was helpless. You didn't even question your feelings towards Jackie, it just felt like an adoration of some sort, and you were completely oblivious to anything more than 'school friends' being between you two.

And that's how it stayed for a while, longing stares, unsaid words and random study sessions.

Though she'd be there for you when you needed her the most, and you'd be there for her - nothing more than that.

"Well that sounds like your problem, so maybe you should leave." Your mind focused back on the situation at hand, this time watching Jackie more intently, furrowing your eyebrows and clenching your jaw, Shauna's face was ridden in sweat and small tears - her hair in a messy ponytail with strands pinning to her cheek. You looked to the side, watching as everyone lowered their gaze in shame. "Are you fucking crazy Shauna? Nobody's leaving, she'll freeze to death." You stood up, voice quiet yet loud, knowing the chances of people taking your side was slim - but another death out here would cause further, unnecessary chaos. "She'll be fine." Shauna talked to you, yet her gaze was still fixed on Jackie.

"I don't even know who you are anymore." Face painted in disappointment, Jackie scoffed, then averted her look towards you, "I need to take a walk." You followed her, ignoring Shauna's sneer and the confused stares of everyone else, who had seemed to find understanding in your reasoning despite your doubts.

-

The door closed, and frost sunk its teeth into your skin, "(y/n), you don't have to come with me, she's right - I'll be fine." Her words blamed themselves, she shook her head at the floor. "It's freezing out here," both of you began walking away from the cabin, where the light stopped its reach, "you shouldn't be alone." Jackie's face stuttered, finally making eye contact with you.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

She smiled in response, drying her tears with her cold-shaken hands. The both of you slid down behind a tree, you brought your knees to your chest; hugging them. "God, how could she, after all that I've done for her." She wrapped her arms around herself. "She doesn't deserve you Jackie," your eyes trailed her expression, "it's fucked up, what she said." You said, unreasonably nervous, and reasonably shaky.

"I never even liked Jeff that much, I cant believe I let him ruin our friendship like that."

"You didn't?"

"No," her voice settled slightly, "and Shauna knew I had feelings for someone else, I guess that's why she took it as a pass to go fuck Jeff, so I couldn't hold it against her." Jackie tried her best to make up with Shauna in her head, but everything kept leading to a dead end, "But whatever, I'm just glad you're here."

"You cant be serious, you're asking me to study?" You asked, holding a math paper that said 'C' in the biggest writing imaginable - as if your teacher wanted to rub it in as painfully as possible. "Yeah, I mean you're good at chemistry right?" Jackie said, and it was true - it was one of the only subjects you were naturally good at.

"I guess, sort of?"

"So can I come over?"

"Today?"

"If you don't mind,"

"No, yeah, sure." You smiled, raising your eyebrows and packing your bags before leaving.

You had something planned with Lottie that day, though it was easy to cancel with a 'my parents are making me clean up' excuse. It didn't phase you why you were starting to make excuses not to hang out with your friends, but it was rare to talk to Jackie, and at the time it didn't look like you two were getting closer than that anytime soon.

You bit your lip, opening your mouth to speak before stopping yourself. Jackie looked at you, the cold eating away at the two of you, "Jackie, I need to tell you something." You squinted your eyes, barely seeing Jackie's face as the trees blocked the moonlight and using it to your advantage, calming your nerves. "I like you," you wanted to say more, but it felt like you were trapped, and all you could do was drag your words out while struggling to read her face.

Snow began falling onto your hair and patterning Jackie's nose, "Really?" She chuckled, you stretched your legs out and smiled with your lip hanging out slightly, "you're kidding me right? This entire time?" She asked, scoffing at her own words. "Yeah, I guess I never found the time to tell you." The snow reached your shoes, which you hadn't stopped staring at.

"Neither," You looked at her confused, "I like you too, (y/n)." You were even more confused this time, I mean she didn't like Jeff all that much - but you couldn't have been the one that she wanted instead, right? "I swear, I couldn't have told you, I thought you liked that guy from our chem class, what's his name?" She titled her head, "Matt? Are you fucking kidding me? You thought I liked Matt?" You laughed, knowing he had asked you out on multiple occasions, yet you rejected him every single time. "So? He's cute, I thought you guys were a thing for the longest time." she snickered, leaning her eyebrows as she shifted her body to face you.

Your laughs cleared, the grass had been covered in a thin layer of snow by now, and Jackie's bottom lip hid under her mouth. She watched as the snow caressed your hair, lips, nose and skin - admiring every part of you, especially your (e/c) eyes that harboured a small reflection of the moon. "You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen, (y/n)." She faintly smiled, edging closer to you. Your eyes gazed through your lashes, looking at her in partial doubt, you didn't know how desperately she wanted to tell you that for the longest time.

Wintry hands latched onto your frostbitten cheeks, her fingers grazing your jawline as her pale lips slowly found yours. Her touch was warm, her lips were softening under yours as you caved in deeper - you could almost feel her face regaining its rosy colour. You eased beneath her, your mouth tasting hers.

She pulled away, though still being mere inches from your face, "you're cold, I can feel it." Her hands traced down to your shoulder, "I'll be fine." You whispered, wrapping your arms around her neck and kissing her again, with a greater passion than the first time, she almost instantly leaned back in, with gentle confidence.

After a moment, you let out a small giggle against her mouth before bringing your arms to her shoulders and pushing her away gently, "I think we have to go." You spoke, numbness overtaking your legs and nose, Jackie brushed a few snowflakes off of you, before the both of you got up to get back to the cabin, though could've stayed there until dawn.

[franciskirkland-deleted]

APH South Italy/Romano Headcanons 🇮🇹

(SFW, Spamano/RomaSpa centric)

He wears a lot of jewelry, but it's classy never flashy. Several rings, one of which is engraved with an 'A' for Antonio. Usually wearing at least a solid gold chain and a crucifix.

He's very Catholic, in a uniquely Italian way (iykyk i cannot elaborate)

He smokes like a chimney, high quality cigars and cheap cigarettes. If you ask him to put it out he will blow it right at you. This is on top of heavy cologne (Versace Eros) so you can smell him from a mile away.

Certified Short King™, maybe around 5'7? I can see him with almost any sort of physique, that being said I don't think he's a twink, he at least has some wiry strength. He's lean but solidly built, maybe even has some pudge esp as he ages?

He's very warm toned. His skin is a light olive, not pale yet not quite bronze. He tans well but isn't tan all year round. Honestly he probably uses tanning beds during winter lmao

He's got a fair amount of body hair and often leaves his shirts unbuttoned to display this, intentionally or not. He's a sharp dresser when out in public, but at home he sits around in sweat stained tanks and boxers.

He loves his red wine, and apertifs. Grappa or Sambuca for something a stronger. Doesn't mind the taste of hard liquor at all. Definitely holds his alcohol better than his brother or Antonio.

Loves sailing and yachting, leisure sports. Has a bit of a gambling habit. Not to a destructive point, just in good fun.

When he's in a good mood he hums to himself and you might even catch him singing if he thinks he's alone.

Dances to Dean Martin in the kitchen with Antonio. He actually likes cooking together. Normally he'd be the type of person to hate others in his space while doing something, but Toni is an equally talented chef so he allows it.

Makes a big pot of sauce and polpette on Sundays. Italians will know. Eats wayyyy too much meat than is healthy. You can pry his salumi out of his cold dead hands.

He's sensitive and not always rational - the type to make mountains out of molehills and deflect real issues with humour. Explosive temper. Born to argue. Quick to throw insults (and hands). Just as quick to forgive and forget. If he holds a grudge you really fucked up.

If he likes you, he'll tease you and call you names. If he doesn't, he won't bother to talk to you much. He likes to fuck with people to an extent but has little patience for unnecessary conversation.

He can be extremely condescending; and to Tonio exclusively, extremely sweet. He's a smooth talker and romantic when he feels like it, laying on the pet names and sweet nothings, especially when he wants something in return.

He's honest and loyal, but generally a very private person. It's difficult to earn his trust and get on his good side but once you have it you're one of the lucky few. He's hospitable and generous and often does that for show. Loves to give meaningful and lavish gifts. If he cares about someone not only will they be spoiled in a material sense, but he'll do favors for them to make their life easier.

(note: this might be controversial re; accuracy but i don't actually have beef with his canon human name. 'lovino isn't a real name' well yes and no. it's not common or representative. but there's so much variety in italian naming that it certainly could be a first name. according to forebears there are 259 ppl named lovino on record but only 9 are in italy lol. or u could just call him ~romano~ which is a more popular human first name. i kinda like lovino, its unique.)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unsolicited 33

Warnings: bad self-thought/talk, bullying, insults, low self-esteem, money problems, oral/noncon, coercion, cum, some untagged sexual and dark elements.

Wouldn’t mind some feedback! Lloyd was driving me nuts so I had to do it. Thank you in advance 💜

Masterlist

The surrealness of your situation remains. Lloyd is almost pleasant, the world is glowing and warm, and you feel…alright. A dull pain lurks behind your brow and your stomach is tenuous at best. But nothing is immediately wrong.

Your sea legs come with time but the queasiness doesn't quite relent. It's manageable. You get up as Lloyd stand gazing out over the water, thoughts unsaid and better so. 

You leave the cabin through the open doorway and go to the side. An impending doom nips at the nape of your neck. May as well enjoy the brief respite before it's gone. As all good things, if you can call it that, must.

You think of how Colin would say your pessimism was unnecessary. That not everything was destined to fail. That not everyone was selfish. Look at you now.

If you could thank Lloyd for anything its that he proved all your doubts to be true. There is no goodwill, no generosity, only whatever gets him ahead. He is the essence of humanity. The flaws everyone fights so hard to conceal. His honesty may be brutal but not as painful as Colin's lies.

You give a start as you notice Lloyd in your peripheral. He says nothing as his hands rest on the metal rail. He slides closer until your arms meet. He bends forward, leaning on his forearm as he looks to the horizon.

"You're thinking about him, aren't you?" He asks.

You stare down into the endless blue. The depths plummet below with fading daylight. You pinch your cheek between your teeth before you find an answer.

"Yeah, but I don't miss him, okay?"

He nods and adjusts his round sunglasses, looking over at you, "so why bother?"

"Ugh, I wish you'd stop."

“I’m just asking.”

“No, you’re trying to egg me on. I’m not stupid. You don’t care. There’s no reason to just ask.”

“You think you know me so well, don’t you, peaches?”

“I do,” you turn to face him, “you’re not that complicated.”

“Neither are you. Not that much different from me, huh? You just don’t let it out.”

“Sure,” you scoff, “I already told you, I’m sorry. About hitting you and everything else–”

“Something about sober thoughts and drunken acts… I don’t know,” he waves his hand at the water, “I’m asking because you’re with me now. I’m wondering– thinking divorce.”

“With you?” You shake your head, “is that what you think? I work for you.”

His mouth slants and he brings his hand up to rub his jaw, “you don’t have to.”

“No. No. I don’t believe you. And you know what, you’re right. I don’t understand. I don’t. I don’t get you, Lloyd. I don’t get this,” you gesture around you, “I don’t get the hotel, the game, the boat, this stupid dress. None of it makes sense. You are not a nice guy.”

He tilts his head back and blows out through his lips. He pushes himself straight and slides off his sunglasses, folding them over his pocket and letting them hang. He faces you with a hand on his belt.

“I’m trying. Never said I was a nice guy. But fuck it if I’m not fucking doing my best.”

You blink in confusion, “why?”

He shows his palm and shrugs, “no fucking idea.”

“Jesus,” you touch your forehead, “I can’t…I can’t think anymore–”

He startles you as he charges at you, grabbing you by the neck as he forces you against the rail. He bends you back over it as you grasp the bar and your toes barely stay on the floor. Your eyes round as he brings his face close to yours, his thumb squeezing just behind your jaw.

“You’re making this difficult.”

“I’m sorry, I—”

“I could dump you in. Toss you down there and sail away. No one would ever know. You think that idiot would care? Your fuckstick husband? No, he’d be free. That’s what he’d think,” he pushes you back further, balancing you painfully across the railing, “and who’s going to come looking for you? Daddy left years ago, mommy doesn’t talk to you–”

“Lloyd,” you touch his wrist, “please…”

“I know everything. Everything about you. It’s my job. I don’t miss the details.”

“I get that,” you snap, “if you’re going to do it, do it.”

He glares at you. He dips you over further, further, your hands slipping along the metal. Your feet fly up and your fingers release as the strain throbs in your knuckles. You yelp as he lets you go and you fall towards the water. You lurch suddenly as he catches you by the ankles and dangles you over the side.

“Jesus!” You scream.

“You don’t think I will.”

“I’m wishing you would,” you hit the boat as you try to see past the billowing skirt as it flutters up your torso. You don’t know if the shiver that rolls over you is from the water or fear.

“You talk a big game but I can feel you shaking.”

“Nothing I say is going to change your mind,” you retort, “so why should I try?”

“All you have to do is play along, Mrs. Hansen.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“You could do worse… you have.”

“Drop me or pull me up,” you growl as your head floods with blood, “make up your mind.”

He huffs and for a moment, you think it’s over. You’re convinced he’s going to let you go and the water will swallow you up. He grunts and hauls you up, a little at a time, heaving you over the rail to bring you back to your feet. You sway and steady yourself against him.

Your hand rests on his chest and you feel the fabric of his polo. Your eyes meet his and anger sparks in your throat. You grab his collar and bunch it in your fists, “are you fucking crazy? What the fuck was that?”

“There she is,” he grins, “nice to see you again, honey.”

“God,” you let him go, stretching your fingers wide as you look at your hands in horror, tamping down your rage, “you really are the worst.”

“Don’t you know it,” he reaches for you and you back away, “aw, baby, did I hurt your feelings?”

“Leave me alone,” you fix your skirt as you spin around, “you fucking jackass. I can’t– You really are a coward, you know that!” You storm past him to the cabin, “you keep saying your big shit. Acting like you’re gonna do something then the next minute, you’re all over me. I’ve figured out and it’s not working on me anymore.”

“Trust me, I got a few more tricks up my sleeve,” he trails you into the cabin, “Mrs. Hansen, please, forgive me. I was having fun with you–”

“No, you’re being— you!”

“You know,” he catches your arm and pulls you back to him. Your ankles almost tangle as you’re twirled around to face him, “I could have a skinny Mrs. Hansen. A bleach blond Mrs. Hansen. An international supermodel Mrs. Hansen,” he draws out the last few words, “but I only want this one.” He slaps his hand against your hip and slides it back to grope your ass, “the tasty, thick, fiesty Mrs. Hansen.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you sneer, “I won’t fall for it.”

He chuckles and pulls you against him, his other hand crawling up the back of your neck, “you don’t have to fall for me. In fact, you don’t got a fucking choice. I own you.” He leans in and you push your head back as he spreads his hand across your hair, “you fucking bite me and I actually will throw you in this time.”

He closes the gap and smashes his lips into yours. You hum in surprise, arms trapped between your bodies as he holds you tight. His tongue flicks over your lips and pokes between them, invading your mouth. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his polo and you murmur. 

He kisses you, long and deep, trapping you in his embrace until you can’t breathe. He parts at last, his breath glossing over you as he nuzzles your nose with his.

“I’m not a nice guy, Mrs. Hansen,” he whispers, “but I can still be nice.”

[ksqwildwest]

This Is Madness

----

Phil rarely regretted his line of work. He could count on one hand the amount of times he had truly, deeply reflected on his work and regretted it. Mostly about the way he went about approaching a target and making a careless mistake or causing unnecessary extra death.

Usually, he would take that regret and turn it into determination. Working harder. Practicing longer. Being better at his job. The paycheck was worth every sleepless night spent swinging a practice sword or following around strangers to practice his stealth. Worth every concerned glance from Wilbur, every argument with Tommy, and every missed moment with his wife.

It was all for them.

That's what he always believed. That he would never - could never hurt his family. The thought made his skin crawl, and his stomach flip. Not even for all the money in the world.

His latest and final job had shaken that belief down to its core.

C- Karl Jacob. When had he become family?

Before they helped him run away, that much is clear. Younger than that. Maybe when he took the blame for a vase that Tommy had accidentally broken when he was a young child. Maybe it was when Wilbur tried to teach him how to bake a cookie from scratch and the two ended up nearly setting fire to the oven.

It- It couldn't have been that first day on the job. Waiting in the too-perfect-Jacobson-garden for the parents to arrive from a meeting. Feeding the flock of crows that followed him around like lost puppies.

A tiny gasp from behind one of the trees almost had him scolding Wilbur for following him to work again. Almost. Instead, it had been a young boy with a book clutched to his chest and curiosity in his eyes. Flighty, the energy of a young child being condensed and trapped by a suit and some manners, it took nearly an hour to draw him out of his shell.

He had asked so many questions. His book was all about birds, and Phil was proud to say he learned so much from Karl in the thirty minutes they had to themselves. He even allowed Karl to gently touch his feathers. The birds warmed up to him too. One of the bravest even let him pet their head. It was shocking that one child could hold so much wonder in their eyes.

Maybe he did become family the moment his parents strutted in. Watching such a bright child shut down in fear so quickly was heartbreaking. The casual dismissal and degrading from them was so shocking that he couldn't actually process it before Karl was sent away to his room. Maybe that's why he accepted the honestly underpriced job they were asking him to do. Why he stuck through the genuinely insulting comments he heard coming from side rooms and guests about him.

Yes. That sounds right.

He couldn't say no to the job. He had to save his wife. But now it was time to save the rest of his family. He couldn't just kidnap him, not with the security he knew Karl was under. He needed more people. A fresh perspective. People that cared for Karl just as much as he did and were far less cowardly about something as normal as death.

A truly impressive string of Spanish curse words floated out from behind the thin walls of the cheapest motel on this side of town.

Thompson hadn't exaggerated Jack's creativity with words.

No more time for moping. Time for action. And hopefully not getting shot by two emotional bandits.

He knocks on the door with three solid raps. He waits a few seconds and hears nothing, like they're hoping he's just a drunk at the wrong door. Or preparing to shoot first and ask questions later. Probably the second.

"Hello," he calls out towards the door, "Mr. Kenoff. Mr- er, I don't think I know your last na-"

He's cut off by the door swinging open and a gun being pointed directly at his head. Ah, make that two guns. He takes his nerves and hours of training and shoves it screaming into the back of his mind. Let them control the conversation. Ignore the guns pointed at his head. This is fine.

"Yer Thompsons pa, right?"

Jack's voice is much rougher than when they last spoke. It's a dry crackle. Like he hasn't had any water at all while riding through a desert all day. Or like he'd scratched up his throat raw while screaming or crying. Maybe both? Probably both.

He gives the shallowest nod, and Mason steps just outside the door. His gun moves to be pointed right at his heart. Definitely not survivable. Just- focus on the conversation. On Mason.

Mason has red rimmed eyes and cheeks still shiny from tears. But he must have just finished crying instead of being interrupted. His eyes are aware and focused on every move or twitch Phil makes.

"Thompson told us you've never been to early morning church when you visit. You know about them, but you've never joined. Is that right?"

"I h-" the safety clicks off on both guns. That's fine. One word answers then. "Correct."

There's a few seconds of silence. Don't spiral. Don't disassociate. Catalog what you see. Stay in the moment.

Mason's shoulders droop. Jack's head tilts just a touch to one side. Mason glances down at his gun. Jack bites the inside of his lips. Hesitant. Considering. Calculating.

Jack breaks the silence first. "Why the fuck are you talkin' to us?"

Okay, now or never. Just have to get through one sentence without being shoot. Here he goes.

"I want to help you get Karl-" okay, fingers moving towards triggers. This is still fine. "- back to Lazarus-" Trigger fingers moving away now. Getting better. "-in a way that will prevent his parents from following him back."

It takes a moment for the information to sink in. Mason barks out a single wet sounding laugh. Or a sob. His eyes are dark when he growls out, "Why the fuck would we believe that from you?"

"What reason would we have to trust you when you're the one who took him away?" Jack hisses with a poisonous fury.

Right, he can do this. This is the dumbest thing he's ever agreed to but he can do this.

"My sons would like to help too."

Two clicks. They really are careful around kids.

"Wilbur, Tommy, would you like to come out now?"

He can't turn around. He doesn't want to startle the bandits. But he hears the moment his boys come out of hiding.

"What the-"

"IS THAT A REAL GUN?!"

Jack and Mason immediately holster their guns. Both are looking at him like he's officially lost his mind. Which, fair, bring his two sons with him wasn't a good parental decision. But they would have followed him anyways so he might as well make sure they were safe when they did it.

Jack's mouth twitches into an almost smile for less than a second. Mason nods, not in approval, but more to himself.

"Alright. We'll hear you out."

They get ushered into the room. There's only two rickety chairs, a worse for ware table, and two beds that look better suited for children than any adult to sleep in.

Jack and Mason sit at the edge of the beds. Tommy and Wilbur get the chairs. Phil stands between his boys. He's fine. He just has to explain again.

So he does. He explains the letter and how Karl was found. His wife's sickness and his impending retirement. His regrets. His realizations. His plan.

Jack and Mason listen to every part patiently. They barely twitch at the explanation behind the wedding. They don't ask questions or interrupt. Phil almost wishes they did.

When he finally runs out of words, he takes a deep shivering breath. Please let this go well.

"So," Mason gestures at Tommy and Wilbur, "these two here are gonna be messengers."

"Which only works because the bride is a lesbian," Jack chimes in with a thoughtful expression.

Phil nods and finishes off, "and our plan is to kidnap Karl after the wedding once the security dies down. I'm stuck on how we're going to make sure no one goes after them. Any ideas?"

"Mason," Jack says with mischief in his voice, "you remember how you told me you got out of your old life and into this one?"

"Yah. And you swore not... to-" a spark of something ignites in Mason's eye, "Oh. Oh yah. I can set something like that up easy."

"Are you going to tell us or..." Wilbur's confidence quickly flees as the two bandits turn towards him. Knowing your dad got into dangerous situations and actually watching your dad get into the dangerous situation were two very different things. Being in the dangerous situation was something the two boys insisted upon. Phil was so proud of them for behaving this long.

"Nah," Jack answers easily. "We want to get Karl back, but we weren't born yesterday."

"Words are cheap," Mason cuts in when it looks like Tommy is going to protest, "but actions? Now actions are worth far more then words."

Mason and Jack look back at Phil.

"Right," Phil nods and pulls out some paper and ink, "I've got a lot of actions to make up for. First, let's get you two in contact with Karl."

It's not going to undo his actions. It won't rewind time. But as Phil watches the bandits lightly argue about what to write about and Wilbur and Tommy slowly get pulled into the discussion bit by bit, maybe that's okay. Maybe they'll get Karl out of this town and back to Lazarus, and everything will be fine. Maybe everything won't be fine.

He's trying. He's trying with every fiber of his being. He hopes it will be enough.

-------

This part is done! I hope you've enjoyed this newest part! Thank you to my newest beta reader for reading through the entire series so far earlier today and motivating me to finish this! Please let me know what you think!

This was meant to be a Mason or Jack POV part, but I couldn't get it to work until I tried out Phil's POV! He's really going through it right now! Next up: we catch up with our lesbians, Karl, and some cake!

Hope you all have a lovely day!

[vnyverse]

A/n: just an idea I had, nothing new but still under edit, but feel free to lmk your thoughts on this piece!

Fall was your favourite. Red brown leaves hung on the trees, until they decided to depart and adorn the grass in their autumn hues. Accompanying the little sounds the wind chimes made, little droplets of rain visit your window sills almost like a little greeting, you liked to think. On the other side of the windows, you were taking a little break from studying, but truthfully you were distracted by your thoughts. It wasn’t that you liked to be cheesy or anything, but it felt like something was missing. You were reminded of something you’d heard of something in class today-the halo effect, was that it? Hanni, your seatmate was doing a more in depth project about it. Maybe that could explain your lean toward hot matcha especially so in the cold October evenings, how you developed an interest in amphibians and could possibly explain why you wear your glasses more often lately (she told you it made you appear more intelligent). This was all the courtesy of a person taking painfully long leisurely strolls in your mind, seeming to be oblivious of the effect they had on you.

This person also just happened to the your student council Secretary, and together with yourself, as student council treasurer, you bore the brunt of students’ frustrations when events were underfunded, teachers’ scoldings when your grades slip from spending too much time planning school events, though they were still stellar and a cut above the rest, it was an apparent cause for serious concern, with the honour of your family names at stake. Even though your family didn't take issue with your grades, it wasn’t like this in every family. You see, the Kang family has long produced accomplished doctors and scientists, while yours was the name of the large business conglomerate- L/n Industries. It really didn’t help with the President and vice President being mere faces of the student council, being the grandchildren of the school’s chairman, Mr Cha, they got away with many things. Last time when they were needed to, they simply emceed the school sport’s day for a mere ten or so minute and then ditched it to go for “enrichment classes'' which entailed chilling in the student council room to get escape the heat, leaving you and haerin to have no choice but to step up to oversee the event, despite having already done the planning of the event down to a T. Sure enough, a similar circumstance arose recently. Their poor excuse of not wanting to “exert unnecessary effortful force” on a singular broken finger of the vice president’s had both the presidents bail the planning of the school’s summer concert, thus leaving it a mess for you to untangle with your fellow secretary.

The following day was a first for you. The first, of many other firsts, that was. Taking small, light but powerful steps down the hallway to quickly get to class, you caught sight of students clamouring for better planning for the upcoming summer concert, a little too dangerously close to the first period that the discipline master would've liked. You took a glimpse at your wristwatch that read 8:15 am. Today was going to be long. Approaching the crowd of students, you make the realisation that the students were not just crowding outside the student council room, but rather surrounding an individual, accompanying the action was a flurry of insults and before you got too close to the individual, they bolted to the restroom in tears. What you did not miss was the shiny school crest shaped badge pinned neatly on the left lapel of the school blazer, indicative of the identity of its owner being a top student councillor. Ignoring the commotion, you decide to tail the figure into the restroom, taking in a deep breath to compose yourself before entering the restroom.

That’s when you saw her figure crouched over her knees, sat on the bench near the showers, whose presence could be easily overlooked. No, it wasn't that you haven't seen her before, you know that your family did supply medical equipment to her family’s chain of hospitals, and on numerous occasions you have seen her in gatherings your family had you participate in. It was just that you never really spoke to her other than sending her the occasional email about allocating budget to events, and seeing that she mainly kept to herself, and more so because she had a cold and impenetrable exterior. Now it contrasts with the silent sobs she let out, the quivering of her shoulders like a scared animal, and how she grabs harshly at the blazer anyone would think it would tear. Taking out some tissues that you always carry with you, you silently approach her and offer it to her, almost in the manner you would always approach your neighbour’s cat.

Upon realising she had company, her head perked up akin to that of a spooked kitten, yet the hot tears that ran down her cheeks seemed to tell a story of fear and dejectedness, wiped away furiously by her now unkempt, wet sleeves, and she flashes you a weak smile that stung. How stressed had this poor girl had to be to put up a front even when she is visibly crumbling away? Her smile seemed to question your intentions, as it reeked of discomfort, yet in the most graceful and put together fashion you’ve ever seen.

“Here to join in on the fun and make fun of me too?” she says, wiping all emotion off your face.

“No, I wasn’t, I know we don’t talk much but I also share responsibility for planning the summer concert. Why would you think of me that way?”

A soft sorry makes its way out her mouth as she wipes away her tears. You didn't know what got into you but you instinctively used your own blazer sleeve to wipe her tears away. “Don't cry, please” spills out of your mouth of its own accord. She lets you, surprisingly, and for a moment you think she has something to say, but you don’t press. Your extended attention on her turns into silent admiration, she could have easily dropped out of the student council altogether too many times but instead she continues to entertain the idea of overworking herself to ensure everything went smoothly. Something else comes out of your mouth, that even you yourself seemed surprised. (Sigh, you were such a simp for pretty girls.)

“Hey, need an extra pair of hands to help you plan the event? I’m just about done with planning the budget and it seems like you could use some help with logistics.”

“Really?” accompanied by the gaze of earnest (albeit slightly swollen) eyes hung on you.

“Yes, really, I think it's impressive that you excel at what you do, and I think I can learn from you too. I’ll just set a date on discord? Like not a date date, but a date to plan the event, how's that?”

You awkwardly smile, brows scrunched together, and you wonder if you’ve done it again, made a fool out of yourself, that is. The last line should have been left better unsaid, stuck in your throat and now the insinuation had left a soft pink flush cast on your cheeks, and a chucking Haerin. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea considering you had to intern at your Dad’s company after school, but maybe again it could help build closer ties within your families. What was it with you?

“Right, see you.”

Days later, when you two finally settled on a available slot, the time came for a discord meeting to decide on which rooms were to be allocated as waiting rooms, and it was also time to finalise the artists and school bands which were going to perform at the concert as well as create a rough event rundown. You felt strangely excited to see her again, hearing she had the flu and had been resting at home for the past few days.You even tried to put in some effort to look decent, applying lip balm on your chapped lips and turned on what you nicknamed the “vibe lamp” - a warm yellow lighting cast onto your wall of books and film posters.

The familiar “ding” welcomed you as you were now on a screen looking at a different Haerin, amazed at how different she looked. She wears thick, black framed plastic glasses at home, and was changed into a comfy set of white, either cotton or linen, daisy patterned pjs, positioned in a manner which looked like she was at her desk, but she looked fatigued and the laptop was really just resting on her thighs. You made it a note to record minutes for today’s planning in case she falls asleep. Her haircut, which you learned was a “hime cut”, was japanese for what translates into a princess cut, an appropriate deduction for how she looked in the moment. Long, black blades of her hair framed her face, further accentuating the sharp curve of her jaw if that was even possible, with the longer strands streaming down her shoulder, which she slowly tied into pigtails with a subtle, casual elegance.

“Haerin, the band on the third page looks like a very popular one, what do you think about them? I’m sure I can write in for a tad more funds to have them come instead. I’ve also looked through the rough plan and I think it would be beneficial to add a little buffer time between each of the performances.” Somehow within an hour, planning had come far, with you two doing much more than you had planned, even if the other at this point was just replying with “mhmm”s, nodding adorably at whatever you said and on the verge of dozing off. Nearing the end of an hour, the pocket of time agreed by the both of you to plan, you made an observation. Her head gently tilted to rest on the pillow, and her glasses were loosely hung on the bridge of her nose, threatening to fall at any moment. But no, that was not the observation, it was that the meeting confirmed your thoughts- Kang Haerin looked good doing anything, even when crying or sleeping. Hitting the “send” button, you gave Haerin a summarised copy of the meeting minutes and secretly wished that she would maybe feel a little better. For the next god knew how long, the image of Haerin dozing off was stuck in your mind. Even when you wanted to shake these thoughts off, you found yourself thinking about wanting to know more about her, and weirdly enough, wanting to look good for her. A plan started to form in your mind. Something along the lines of gift, surprise and just maybe, hug?

Kang Haerin

Thanks for the help, I really appreciate it. You better have not taken screenshots of me dozing off last night. I’d like to give you a little something as a token of my appreciation :)

y/n

Don’t worry, that was nothing. Maybe I took a picture or two, nah I’m just kidding lmk if you still need help with anything else!

Let’s see. To meet at 6pm, she said. The books on fishkeeping were next to those on horticulture, on one of the last shelves at the back of the library, to your pleasant surprise. You could kill some time somewhere there weren't students mugging for tests, and you could sit on the carpeted floor and look out the window to daydream all without the interruption of the librarian trying their best to be polite by asking you to instead sit on the couches a few metres away. If you were just a normal student, you would imagine this would be something you could come to regularly enjoy.

Her head half pokes through the side of the shelf, her eyes becoming crescents and corners of her lips manage to crease as high as they could when they meet your eyes, before she fully steps out and whispers a “boo”. You had no idea why she did what she did, but that was so characteristically her, and you break eye contact with her before you’ll think she sees you as a creep. But something about her was just so arresting. The way the sunlight peeked through the shutters and cast a golden sheen onto her figure, the way she seemed to smile with her mouth, nose and even eyes, her little canines showing when the smile fished out of her was true and wide, the way soft sounds of her giggles penetrated your heart, like an unknown and somewhat sacred noise that you didn’t know how to react to.

The dark oak shelves seemed to section you off from the rest of the school, and you decided this was time to give her the present you had tried to put together for the past few days, before cowardice got the better of yourself. Trying to string a coherent sentence together under her warm gaze was by far the most challenging thing you had to do today.

“Umm.. for you”

Of course she was zoning out, you thought to yourself. Before she realises what was happening, a situation only possibly described as acting out an intrusive thought takes place. She inches toward you, allowing you to see the crease of her blazer spreading across a larger area, before you see the finger incoming, making contact with your cheek. Her finger makes an impression on your skin, almost like she was physically trying to form a dimple on your face.

Were your cheeks nice to touch? What quality about your cheeks were so enticing to the girl before you managed to ignore your words, and your gift completely? She breaks out of her trance, and now holds eye contact with you. For a second she looked like she was scrutinising you. (Note: Haerin may or may not have realised that she showed up but left her gift she was supposed to give y/n in her classroom at this moment.)

“Wow, even softer than I thought, kind of , uhm, mochi-like? Sorry, thank you” and with that, she receives your gift. You chuckle at her antics in your heart, and you perk your head up, signalling her to direct her attention toward the gift.

“May I?”Haerin asks. You don’t hesitate, allowing her to do what you thought would be, unwrap her gift. However, her arm seemed to come near you again, and before long her whole hand came down onto you, squishing your cheek like it were a food item of sorts, even though you were taller, and had a good height difference with her. You try to silently wince in pain, not knowing whether you should laugh at her antics, which would possibly get you both kicked out of the library, or to pull her out of the library. You decide on the latter, hand intertwining with the said girl’s, and eagerly rushing out the library, leaving a confused yet obedient Haerin tailing you, eyes wide yet unquestioning of your action, almost like she knew you were secretly mischievous. Today, you made another observation. You decide, in the few seconds it took you to run from the shelf of fishkeeping books to the entrance of the library, near the librarian’s corner, that you would spend your days basking in Haerin’s smile, her presence, and that you would do whatever to see that smile of hers, even of you had to join her to go against the world (of endless student council tasks to complete).

“Girls, what did I say about running in the library?”

“Sorry Mrs Kim!”

Part 2?

[jesuschristsouperstar]

so one of my favoritest things about musical theatre is how sometimes someone will play a role MANY times and each time that character is portrayed differently because of different directors AS WELL AS that actor growing to understand the character more

that being said, barry dennen played pilate like THREE TIMES! as any of you would guess from my pfp, i LOVE that guy! so! for funsies! im going to analyze (ramble about) his second pilate portrayal, which was in the 1971 broadway musical! im mostly going to break down his character in trial before pilate because pilate’s dream doesn’t offer anything much different from the 1973 movie version… trial before pilate however…

in case youre wondering how differently he plays the same character… this photo should be a good summary for what this analysis will contain… (hint: he is so angry)

here is the song so u may listen along while i break it down:

okay! so! first off, yeah he is literally so much angrier. and i mean as soon as the questions begin he is already shouting!

he is throwing everything out fast! he is pissed! babygirl drink some water! and also, he has a lot of silly sounding voice cracky moments? not voice crack but like sudden and unnecessary shifts in pitch that make me take him less seriously (ex. when he goes like “respect for caesAAA” bro it just sounds goofy what are u trying to do)

then he goes from this HIGH HIGH point of emotions to very low low soft emotions for “talk to me jesus christ” and its like. idk im just thinking bro where is this coming from?!! ur all angry and then u turn around like “jesus literally say smth jesus pls :3” like idk i think its a bad transition.

AND THEN WE GET! im going to put this clip here for those not listening along

this segment. i can literally hear him frothing at the mouth WHO GAVE MY BOY RABIES?!!! WHY IS HE SO FERAL?!!!!

i just. its almost like hes looking for a crime because he actively wants to kill jesus and just needs a reason to pull the trigger. which is like. so not true about his character??? he also sounds like hes insulting jesus here, mocking him. like bros, literally everyone else is already mocking and insulting jesus in this moment. alternatively, if this moment is played more like pilate showing pity on him it provides good contrast! it makes everything more complex and Layered!

i dont have much to say about the flogging except i think girlypop is doing a bit Much(tm) but its acceptable (anythings better than the concept albums robotic counting…. eugh)

OKAY! so when he starts singing the “where are you from jesus” segment, i think this starts out so well! perfect sense of how pilate is just desperate for jesus to speak, to say anything to defend himself. bro also lowkey sounds like hes about to start weeping?? get this man some tissues!

AND THEN he ruins it in the way he emphasizes “dead soon.” YOU WERE DOING SO GOOD! what now?! are you threatening him for answers? and then he goes back to that previous tone like that was nothing! HUH? AND THEN! by the end of “i dont believe you understand” hes just kinda suddenly shifted back into that anger we are so familiar with. dude get a nap or something. chill out my guy good lordt

and the way hes like “youre a foOOL jesus christ” is just such a weird delivery (like that caesar thing from earlier, odd changes in pitch) and it just! i cant take him as seriously! i do like his “how can i help you?” right after, though, it just sounds deliciously horrified and like desperate and sick. acceptable!

and then the climax of the song! the part where he SHOULD show some kind of anger and SHOULD outright yell! “DOOOONT LET ME STOP YOUR GREAT SELF DESTRUCTION!” it just doesnt stand out as much when you have set the precedent of “oh well hes just kinda. feral and angry like that for the entire time” NO! GIVE ME CONTRAST OR GIVE ME DEATH! and even in this final part, hes still just too angry! theres not much else to it! hes yelling the words but hes not comprehending them!

i think when it comes to pilate as a character, it is very easy to lean into “angry, intimidating, angry, intimidating” and that’s just kinda… no! yes, he needs to have presence and be at least a little intimidating but not because hes yelling at you all the time! hes also terrified, full of guilt, and he has sympathy for jesus! he doesnt want to kill him, but he eventually realizes that he has no choice in the matter and THAT is what leads to him snapping and finally yelling at the end! because everything is fixed and YOU CANT CHANGE IT! AND HE CANT!

and yeah! thats my thoughts and breakdown about this specific performance! lmao! i think a lot of things about pilate, also they shouldve hired me to direct the 1971 bway production… i woulda given good notes… and also barry dennen was still developing his interpretation of the character and it IS better than the concept album (and concept album pilate has like… 0 presence… he sounds like a little nerd dork… i COULD break down that performance but its not asssssss juicy.)

BONUS if you got to down here, this is another picture of jesus choking out pilate, which means this was literally in the shows blocking AHAJSJDJF

[yooniesim]

not ah00b posting cc that (once again) looks almost identical to other stuff he’s released.

how many graphic crop tops and behind-the-ear white girl hairs do these creators think we want…? it’s laughable at this point

tbh I don't really use early access cc anymore (trying to keep the unnecessary stuff out of my folder as much as possible) so I havent kept up with them, but i will say I always liked ayoshi's clothes and used them a lot back in the day. prob the only ea cc I kinda miss out my folder. he was always respectful towards me and in response to criticism so points for that too. but maybe I'm just used to crybabies and insults lol. ah00b's hairs are nothing im interested in and pretty same-y but we been knew that. personal taste. crop tops are boring but as long as they learned their lesson about putting out the same exact top/hairs for sale in different releases more than once im not hatin. and I think they did cos I havent really seen any complaints from ppl about that since, unless I just missed it. as long as they ain't scamming they can do what they want ig. paywall simblr is a marketplace that caters to basic white ppl, whatcha gonna do. more than ah00b, its a trend across all the sims small business bureau so. idk im tired 😂

[banana-milk-enthusiast]

beat Forspoken, and while I probably will write an in-depth review down the line cuz i have many thoughts, I'm just going to pointform my basic thoughts while it's still fresh.

PROS

Great designs all around, the Tantas look so breathtaking with their extravagant designs and yet it doesn't take away from their world, it fits just right in. Absolutely love it.

Good world building most questions i had were answered either through the main story or extra archive stuff. Nothing felt too weird yknow

Gameplay gameplay gameplay. The magic system is literally amazing. I dont think I've had this much fun fighting in an rpg in a long time. Theres so much fun variety so you can focus on whats comfortable for you while also looking sick as fuck. Have i mentioned how good the battle system is cuz i avoid playing mage in every game because its such a slog but here its so fast paced and hits hard. Perfect for me.

The music is soooo good, I love the main theme and find myself humming it literally all the time.

Great graphics but maybe a lil too many particle effects but otherwise really pretty.

The story is technically a pro. Like its good, not bad, not great, just good. Basically something you'd find in the YA Fantasy section, thats the kinda quality it was. Which isn't a insult I did enjoy the story and characters. It just needed polish, fix up the dialogue and trim some of the story fat and i wouldn't have any complaints tbh. Probably would do better as a book series tho ngl, not sure what game format would have saved it.

Shoutout to the accessibility options. I'm glad more games are including these. I'll never understand complaints about them though, like just dont use them if you dont want/need to thats it.

ALMOST FORGOT THE COOLEST THING. THE NAILS. I'm sorry but the idea of using nail art to inscribe magic runes to give you buffs is the coolest fucking idea ever, why has this concept not been used till now. We always see rune tatoos or written on gear and stuff im fantasy media but this is such a neat ideaaaa and im forever thankful for it. Her capes are cool too I guess, with there was more variety rather than recolors tho. Kinda wish we could also get different outfits for her tho. Those jeans probably chafe.

CONS

THE OPEN WORLD IS SO BIG FOR NO GODDAMN REASON. I honestly wish this wasn't an open world game tbh, its so unnecessary. Halfway through the game, i got so frustrated and ignored everything that wasn't story points cuz getting everywhere takes so damn long, especially early on when you dont have fancy parkour or stamina. Easily its biggest fault for me.

I understand they thought it'd do way better than what happened but planning out a story as a trilogy in the gaming industry is not a smart move. I've yet to play the dlc so idk if we get closure but the loose ends werent a great way for the game to end.

Oh, the dialogue. Its easily one of the gamest weakest points. Like the type of dialogue i was writing in my original stories when i was 13 (not that ive gotten any better tbh). Basically, it's not what you expect from such a vaunted company. Frey is great when shes excited or angry, which is most of the time, but occasionally, they'll hit me with the cheesiest line I've heard in years, and idk how to handle it. Like the stuff she says in the final chapter is honestly so robotic, there is no natural flow present. Which is a pity cuz the actress was killing it tbh, like she definitely carried the lines with her emotion. Unfortunately, it couldn't save them. Like if it was something they dropped on ps3 or wii, it honestly would have done fine. What i mean to say is the dialogue is very outdated in this age of gaming. im actually surprised how out of touch it feels. Especially since otherwise its a solid game all around. Regarding Cuff and Frey banter you do have the option to make it less frequent or just turn it off but i never really found them annoying regardless.

Maybe its just me but the control scheme feels so weird, the games makes you feel like you should be gliding most of the time but holding O while spaming all those trigger buttons feels so awkward to me. But then again I also didnt care enough to change the control scheme so.

[zumicho]

IM SO GLAD YOU LIKE LONG ASKS BC I DO TOO!!! LIKE AS A YAPPER I HAVE THINGS TO SAY AND I WILL SAY THEM 🔫🔫🔫 ANYWAYS!!!! LAST ASK OF THE DAY BEFORE I FINISH EATING AND RAWDOG TWO CHAPTERS OF CHEM NOTES AND THEN MORE I HOPE

ONE THING I NOTICED IS THAT IM ALWAYS EATINF WHILE SENDINF ASKS TO PEOPLE?? LIKE IM SENDING AN ASK TO NESS AND IM EATING LUNCH OR BREAKFAST OR SOMETHINF AND EVEN NOW!! IM EATING LUNCH🫢🫢🫢

anyways just remembered i have school on saturday i think i shall Cry BUT CONTINUING

about the movies!! at heart ive always been a marvel baby <- one of the reasons why i didnt branch out of anything really but i love love love marvel sm!! or i love the older movies.. new ones just dont hit the same

like last month i saw your ask title (underoos) and so i watched the clip from civil war and almost SOBBED the nostalgia omfg WHATS UR FAVOURITE MARVEL MOVIE btw!! mine is the winter soldier <333 or age of ultron or the original avengers OR RAGNAROK OR THE GUARDIANS I LOVE THE GUARDIANS SM ALL THEIR MOVIES R 10/10 ALWAYS as u can see i was like hardcore a fan <3 irs so embarrassing like i have marvel tshirts and a (broken) mjolnir keychain and a bunch of original comics and a thor funko and a loki badge pin thing (but i lost?? it?? i think????) AND I READ LIKE AT LEAST 500 COMIC ISSUES OVER 2020-2022 AND THE SHOWS WERE ALSO<3333 like me and my sister would watch them together ,, good times..

I WENT OFF ON SUCH A TANGENT WHAT THE HECK!!!! I WAS GOING TO SAY recently i watched american psycho and it was like,, cool i enjoyed it except for the smex and also my english teacher talking about health and giving us unnecessary unasked for therapy(?( bc i was actually watching it in (online) english class. ALSO I STARTED WTACHING MEAN GIRKS TODAY BC ONLINE CLASS AGAIN BUT THEN THE ENGLISH TEACHER GOT WEIRD SO I HAD TO LOCK IN TO SAVE THE CLASS (i succeeded)

MY BIRTHDAY IS MARCH 16TH IT'S PRETTY CLOSE TO URS AND MAYBE IM WEIRD FOR THIS BUT WHENEVER SOMEONE TELLS ME THEIR BDAY I (INVOLUNTARILY) CALCULATE THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THEM IN A YEAR AND I MUST SAY ITS A VERY SATISFYING TIME DIFFERENCE (IM WEIRD!!!! I KNOW!!!!! math kid moment) ANYWAYS I SHOULD STOP USING ALL CAPS LIKE THIS and go study BYE <33

best of luck with chem and school !! more under the cut again lmao

the eating while sending asks is ipad kid behavior but don’t get me wrong that’s not an insult I’m right there with u .. call it multitasking or something I guess? ??

I’m gonna put the movie recs last because I will geek tf out and forget about everything else ,, MCU AAAAA YES I GREW UP ON THOSE MOVIES THEY HAVE MY HEART !!!! IM ALWAYS DOWN FOR A MARVEL RAMBLE ANY DAY ANY TIME !!! age of ultron is my fav avg film but my hyperfixation on spidey in general has me attached to nwh <3 ITS THE CAMEOS FOR ME + THE CINEMA EXPERIENCE WAS CRAZY 😭 andrew and tobey trigger nostalgia like nothing else .. underoos was a nod to my favorite dynamic in the mcu (peter & tony) <3333 i love how i said I’d talk movies last but I’m already typing all this out like a maniac ,, anyway

hemsworth was my first celebrity crush so i get the thor love 100%, tho i hated love and thunder with a passion ‼️ that movie — HARD flop. ragnarok was great

I can’t not mention wandavision the graphics were insane and there was so much wasted potential for it to just end like that :// I was so frustrated ugh .. I haven’t seen daredevil (though I want to), and shehulk looks terrible. got bored of tfatws

LOKI OH MY GOD LOKI WAS INCREDIBLE HELLO THE PLOT ?? I’m a sucker for plot twists and unpredictability cause I have good intuition (sounds like a positive, but not when you’re watching something) LOKI WAS SO GOOD THOUGH. this is where my movie recs start :)

if you liked loki, please please watch everywhere everything all at once.

if you liked mean girls, watch 10 things I hate about you, the breakfast club (<3), clueless, how to lose a guy in 10 days, pretty woman

for american psycho, watch the social network, fight club, x + pearl + maxxxine, kill bill, maybe .. pulp fiction? <- check the content warnings for each of these though !!!

my general recs are the grand budapest hotel, goodfellas, little women (2019), moonstruck, challengers, and juno !!

oh and this is incredibly random ,, I think you’d maybe like whiplash (2014) if you haven’t seen it — just based off of vibe

the best ones are bolded in red !! i know these are a lot sorry 😭😭😭😭😭 this is my happy topic and if u don’t give me the specific mood ur in I go crazy

AND MARCH 16 !!! GOT IT !!! <3 all my love

[00sgoth-1]

if the conversation hadn't already been consumed with an aura of melancholy and woe brought on by his own loathing —— well , the mention of a dead loved one will certainly do the job. there's a small amount of movement as he adjusted his seated position that suddenly felt a little awkward ; probably from the inevitable remorse of a touchy subject. if he were kaz , if his significant other had passed before the chance to spend the day together [ ... ] well , he'd be more than just bitter. it's almost admirable that the other still felt so dreamy and optimistic about a day focused on romance —— but then again , ian was sullen about almost everything. just another thing he wouldn't understand.... when he would be more inclined to raising hell.

there's a scoff that scratches the back of his throat as they so thoroughly read him , features scrunched in offense and he shoots him a less than intimidating glare. ( it wouldn't feel like an insult if it weren't at least partially true. ) ❛❛ 'm not bitter. ❜❜ filter muffled words and clung dangerously to lower lip for only a moment before being grasped. ❛❛ it's just unnecessary. ❜❜ another flick of thumb would bring a new but small tower of ash to its demise.

❛❛ yeah , and we have how many other holidays t'do the same thing? birthdays , anniversaries , christmas , hanukkah... ❜❜ a list rattled off —— he's nothing if not stubborn. but his demeanor would shift into something softer as he catches himself and settles [ ... ] tongue rolling across the silver stud pierced through his lip , as if in thought. he'll extend his leg to give them a gentle nudge ; an almost awkward form of affection. ❛❛ 'm sorry about your boyfriend , by the way. ❜❜

he's currently laying on the ground with a cigarette hanging loosely in his mouth (don't ask him why he's laying on the ground, they don't have an answer for that) as he stares up at him with a disgruntled expression on their face. he seems disappointed by his response, head canting to the side as he sucks on the cigarette between his teeth. it's unlit, he could probably light it and actually smoke it, but laying down and smoking is probably unsafe and Kaz would rather not get ashes in his eyes. that isn't very appealing to them. "my boyfriend loved valentine's day," he responds finally, staring up as they watch the ashes fall from the other's own cigarette. it's a fascinating thing to watch, seeing ashes fall like snow from the sky. he's almost transfixed by it. "he would have been my very first valentine if he hadn't died before we had the chance to celebrate it." yeah, they're making the whole thing super depressing now---go figure. shaking his head, Kaz sighs. "but i don't think it's that ridiculous of a holiday. you sound bitter." he grins. "you must not have ever had a valentine either." slowly, Kaz moves to sit up, sitting on crossed legs as they finally take his fingers and light the cigarette with a flick of them, inhaling the smoke into their lungs. once he exhales, he continues to speak. "while i think you should love your significant other and show them all year 'round, i find it rather romantic ta have a designated day to go all out for 'em. cause i mean, it's expensive, right? love is expensive anyways. why not have a few days a year where you can spend as much money on them as you want without it seeming like an overkill? i think it's nice."

[christallise]

reasons why you (should)n't play league of legends

pairing: felix x reader (afab)

word count: 2000

warnings: sub!felix, mummy kink, implied lactation, use of pet names (angel, baby boy etc etc), breeding

a/n: this was lowkey inspired by happenings in an actual league game, i hope anyone who plays league get's a little chuckle out of this too! i was considering maybe making a series of meeting the boys through games but idk yet !!! written at the behest of @lixtokki

Playing league of legends is unnecessary stress that, if given the choice, you would never partake in. The game stirs emotions in you that you didn’t know you even had, the rage blinds you and although your friends insist that its humorous, you have your doubts. Sometimes your mouth runs a little too far; irregardless if the person on the receiving end is deserving of it or not.

Today, you’re laning against Diana in the top lane — already annoying since she can get close to you — you’d have to play safe until mid game. It’s less than two minutes in before you curse aloud to no one when you see the chat ping. 

lixie001 (Diana): report my team noobs

lixie001 (Diana): don’t know how to leash jungler

Great, she’s toxic to boot.

So there is something so satisfying when you’re up 4 kills to 0 and the chat moves at a pace that’s difficult to keep up with as none other than lixie001 chooses you to fall victim to his fiery wrath. 

lixie001 (Diana): you fucking scrub who even plays teemo

lixie001: (Diana): uninstall the game cunt

Oh, a C bomb. 

Usually, you don’t take the bait from flamers; in the end it’s really not worth it to get all riled up over a stranger on the internet that knows nothing. Today felt different though — no, something about this Diana felt different. Something tells you that pressing her buttons would be fun. 

What’s the worst that could happen?

ihatethisgame (Teemo): goo goo ga ga

ihatethisgame (Teemo): little baby gonna piss his pants?

lixie001 (Diana): fuck you noob

Oh this was definitely gonna be fun.

The remainder of the game, you continue to stomp this Diana, each of her deaths accompanied by complaints, whines and insults flooding the chat. This makes you laugh, to see this person so depressingly defeated that the only way they can deal with the failure is losing their shit.

Your team thank you when the victory screen flashes on your screen and the final message from lixie001 reads something along the lines of “go touch some grass freak”. How Satisfying.

The assumption that this feud would end alongside the game was wishful thinking; of course your client pings and lo and behold, it’s the person of the hour.

lixie001: fucking scrub, plays were so shitty and playing the noobest champ

ihatethisgame: you talk big for someone who went 0/12

lixie001: lol going 10/1 but probs got a tiny cock

ihatethisgame: bet u couldn’t run your mouth like this irl lmao

lixie001: u wanna bet?

ihatethisgame: i literally already did, idiot

Man, this guy really was a piece of work. You start to wonder if trying to have some fun with him was even worth the trouble. Then, he propositions you with something interesting.

lixie001: fucking 1v1 me where you at

lixie001: come to my pc bang we’ll make a fucking day of me kicking your arse

You have no idea what makes you accept the offer, maybe it was the fact you would be meeting in a public place or maybe it was the comfort of the assumption that you were probably a man; either way an agreement is made. You both decide on time and a place to meet this loser in person and give him the beating (in game) he deserves.

*******************************************************

Turns out almost every pc bang is filled with sweaty, try hard men with a desk full of doritos and littered with empty cans of monster energy so finding Lixie would prove to be a task that you couldn’t fulfil without begrudgingly questioning the owner; if Lixie spends a lot of time here then he must be infamous. Of course you’re correct, the owner points you towards the middle of the large yet somehow cramped room to a row of PC’s that were mostly unoccupied with dots of empty seats. There, you find a dainty looking boy with brilliantly artificial blonde hair; surely this little thing could not be the behemoth that told you to go fuck yourself? You doubt it even more so when he turns to face you, lips perfectly pouted and a smattering of freckles adorning his face.

“Lixie?” you question.

“That’s me.”

Fuck — his voice is deep; it shakes you to the core. How can a voice like this come from…well, that. 

Now your confidence has shaken but only slightly and it almost disappears entirely when Lixie’s lips curve into a smile that you thought unimaginable from a person like him.

“And you’re y/n, huh?” He quizzes, making sure to give you a good look up and down, hands cradling his hips. “You’re what I’m beating? Kinda feel bad for beating a girl.”

Oh. There’s the snark. And the confidence you recently lost.

“Oh I’d watch that smart little mouth of yours,” you grin, taking your jacket off and swinging it over the back of the swivelling seat before setting your ass down. 

“You have no idea what’s about to go down.”

*******************************************************

Perhaps you should have listened to your own words. You have no idea how but now you’re entangled in each other’s arms, lips pressed together, tongues dancing to an imaginary beat as you attempt to find your footing through Lixie’s? Felix’s? Apartment? You’re unsure what you should be calling him and honestly with the feeling of his hands cupping your ass as you manoeuvre your way to the bedroom makes it slip your mind.

“You,” he breathes through breaks in kisses, “Aren’t what I expected.”

“You expected a man don’t lie to me,” you chuckle softly, making quick work of your clothes, tossing your jeans to the darkness. “Didn’t you?”

Felix nods in agreement, too busy removing his own jeans to really find the time to reply properly. Now, in the freedom of just your underwear, you gently shove Felix to the bed so his back comes into contact with the sheets and without hesitation, you sit neatly on his lap.

“Now,” you say, letting your fingers explore the blank canvas of his chest, “You gonna run your stupid little mouth of the way you did before?” Your fingers locate a nipple and pinch it gently for good measure.

“N-no,” he stammers because fuck that feels so good, his voice is weak and quiet — such a beautiful contrast to the first time you’d heard him speak. Unsatisfied, you pinch a little harder and watch him squirm and writhe beneath you.

“No?“ You repeat yourself, beginning to grind your clothed cunt along the growing bulge in his boxers, “Speak up, angel.”

“No!” it’s a little loud but you forgive him, the poor thing's cock is already hard and giving your pussy the most wonderful friction as you dry hump him, your underwear growing damper by the second.

“Good boy,” you say because he really is being so good and so well behaved. It’s a little shocking to see how willingly Felix gives himself to you but you’re definitely not complaining; watching his teeth gnaw on his bottom lip from the sheer pressure on his dick makes you moan. “Do you like feeling Mummy’s pussy on your little cock baby boy?”

Of course he nods — he nods so much you worry about his poor neck. “Yes fuck , it feels so good Mummy.”

You continue like that, gliding your heat along his clothed cock until he’s twitching and squirming, rolling his hips around in a desperate attempt to get you closer, he needs you closer. It’s cute, honestly, you watch him with fond eyes as you cup your own tits, rolling your nipples between your fingertips. Then, an idea comes to you.

“Is my pretty little boy hungry?” You ask, watching how his eyes light up and his lips part only slightly to allow him to breathe the tiniest “yes”. You coo, motioning with a single finger for him to sit up before you offer him your tits; tits he happily latches onto and begins to lap at and suck.

“Oh my pretty baby boy,” you coo once more, threading your fingers through his golden tufts of hair, making sure to give nape of his neck extra attention, “You’re doing so well for me.”

And you mean it, you really do. The way his tongue expertly flicks and sucks at your nipples just perfectly, like his lips were made only for you makes your cunt throb. Felix, still suckling at your tit, glances up at you through thick lashes and moans so adorably. “If you do a good job, Mummy will reward you, my sweet boy.”

That only spurs him on more and you’re surprised to see that his concentration has now turned solely on you; his hips have stopped begging for your pussy and you can tell he so badly needs to be rewarded, so badly needs to fuck you. 

By now, the pressure in your pussy is overwhelming and you can’t take it anymore; your soft strokes of his hair come to a slow halt and you tilt his head up to face you with a single finger. “You did so well!”

Felix grins, his angelic smile almost makes you forget all about how horrible he was to you in your first encounter. No, you’ll never forget that and you know he hopes you won’t. For a moment you hum, feigning ignorance on what to do next and Felix huffs.

To this, you lean back on your knees and present your clothed cunt to him, patting it gently before showing Felix just how fucking wet he made you. “You see this?” you say, teasing your clit through your panties. “You want this angel?”

“Please,” he groans with a violent rut of the hips, “I need your pussy Mummy please.” He’s sweating now, chest heaving and you’re intoxicated by how fucking full of want and need he is.

You can’t wait any longer, you hastily make work of his boxers before using two fingers to slowly slide your panties to the side after which you lower you pussy onto his cock; enchanted by the missed feeling of being so fucking full and watching with twisted delight how Felix hisses and gasps.

His hands immediately seek your tits while you bounce ever so gently on his dick, making sure to roll your hips every now and then just to watch how he unravels below you. 

“Look at you!” You praise, hips never once halting, “You’re filling me up so good aren’t you?”

“Yes fuck, so tight. So fucking good, shit.”

Felix can’t speak in full sentences, he’s lost the ability to be coherent. All he can think about is how your cunt squeezes so delightfully around his cock and how fucking full your tits feel in the palm of his hand. His head lolls back as your pace quickens, breath hitching in his throat.

“You gonna fill Mummy up, yeah?” one of your hands join his, clasping around them to make him squeeze your tits harder. “Wanna fill my cunt up with your cum, yeah?”

Now he’s really lost it, his hips snap against yours in a random rhythm and your free hand reaches down to rub at your clit while you ride him, desperate yourself to reach the high that was so, so fucking close.

Felix grunts, he squirms and he writhes as his own orgasm teases him — it’s when he catches a glimpse of you bouncing so perfectly and tirelessly playing with your clit that he almost combusts. “I’m gonna cream all over your cock baby boy,” You groan, losing all inhibition, “Wanna cum for you.” 

Almost instantly, you feel his cock swell inside you, stretching you so fucking good and then you feel his orgasm approach. Within seconds he’s a moaning mess, cock pumping your little cunt full of cum. This feeling alone is enough to bring you to your own high; your juices soaking Felix’s lap.

In the darkness you lay there, both panting and gasping for breath as you feel the familiar comedown. It’s not until your breathing returns to normal that you realise Felix has his arm tucked neatly around you and you’re far too tired to switch up your positions.

“What did you learn from this?” You try to mask your teasing but of course, Felix can see right through it.

“That I should flame people more often.”